THE SHADOW questioned Yat Soon. He was asking the arbiter about Ku-Nuan’s past. Slow headshakes were Yat Soon’s replies, until The Shadow changed the query. He asked if Yat Soon had recent news from Shanghai, apart from Ku-Nuan.

“This holds interest, Ying Ko,” announced Yat Soon, his statement inspired by The Shadow’s query. “There is a man from Shanghai but recently arrived in New York. He is not of my race; he is an Englishman. He served once as a commander among the Chinese armies.”

Pausing, Yat Soon stroked his long beard in reflective fashion. He was recalling facts about the man whom he had mentioned.

“This man,” stated the arbiter, “calls himself Major Philip Rowden. He has taken residence in the penthouse of the Maribar Hotel. Certain merchants of Chinatown have called to greet him. None have been received; all have been turned away. Nor have calls upon the telephone been answered.

“Until this day, it was my belief that Major Rowden could be one who cared to form no friendships with Chinese. Your words, Ying Ko, have made me change that belief. It may be that Major Rowden wishes none to view his abode.”

The Shadow spoke, his Chinese words included the name “Ku-Nuan.” Yat Soon bowed his agreement. Both he and The Shadow had formed the conclusion that the penthouse atop the Maribar Hotel might be the hiding place of the yellow-faced assassin.

With thanks to Yat Soon for his information, The Shadow departed from the arbiter’s presence. The Shadow’s visit to Yat Soon had brought no direct result. Nevertheless, the chance clue offered possibilities. Two men recently from Shanghai were in New York. One, Major Philip Rowden, had avoided all visitors. The other, Ku-Nuan, had prowled in quest of murder.

To such Mongols as Ku-Nuan, Chinatown was a sure refuge after deeds of crime. There were pathways in that quarter that the law could not find. Only The Shadow had contact with such important Chinese as Yat Soon; and his connection was secret. Lesser Chinese did not know the extent of The Shadow’s influence in their own bailiwick.

Had Ku-Nuan recognized The Shadow to be his adversary, he would have headed for Chinatown in preference to another quarter; unless – as The Shadow supposed – Ku-Nuan had a better hideaway under the protection of a master chief. Major Rowden’s penthouse could be such a refuge. Nevertheless, there was one point that prevented The Shadow from falsely attributing to Rowden the part that actually belonged to the unknown Kenneth Malfort.

The hidden supercrook had used ordinary thugs in other murders. It was unlikely that Major Rowden would have New York gang connections to match any possible acquaintanceship that he held with Shanghai assassins.

Nevertheless, the possibility of a link was great enough to give The Shadow an immediate objective. Departing from Yat Soon’s, The Shadow planned a prompt trip to the penthouse atop the Maribar Hotel.

TIMED almost to The Shadow’s departure from Yat Soon’s, events broke elsewhere. They were occurrences that offered interference with The Shadow’s new mission; for the instigator of these cross purposes was Kenneth Malfort.

The master crook was seated by his fireside, calmly reading an afternoon newspaper that carried only a short item concerning the death of Durlew, the druggist. The police had attributed Durlew’s end to gang connections. They had seen no link between the obscure apothecary and the important Northern Drug Company, whose label had appeared on the poison bottle in Hessup’s room.

Malfort was pleased by that fact.

Another matter, however, suited him less. Malfort laid the newspaper aside, to look toward a corner where a crouched man glared from the depths of a squatty chair. Malfort’s companion was Ku-Nuan. The firelight’s flicker made the foiled assassin appear more venomous than when The Shadow had encountered him.

Ku-Nuan looked like a lesser demon in the presence of his satanic master. The evil gloat that Malfort framed was like a language to Ku-Nuan. The Mongol’s ugly lips widened; a hiss escaped his fangs.

Malfort saw Ku-Nuan thrust a quick hand beneath his jacket, a sign that he was ready to draw a fresh knife at his commander’s order. Malfort quieted the Mongol with a wave of his hand. Purring, Malfort spoke:

“Who is it, Wardlock?”

The moon-faced secretary had stepped into the room without Ku-Nuan detecting his entry. That made it even more astonishing that Malfort, as usual, had caught the stealthy tread.

“Spark Ganza is here, sir.”

“Tell him to come up.”

WARDLOCK departed. Half a minute later, Spark entered in apparent haste. Grunting a quick greeting, he gave prompt information.

“The guy beat it,” he told Malfort. “The mug we thought was Furbish. Stepped right in a cab and rode away. He didn’t show much hurry.”

A hissed snarl came from Ku-Nuan. Malfort silenced the Mongol. Musing, the supercrook remarked:

“I have never seen George Furbish. He could have acted as this man has done. Furbish – granting that he has nerve – would have departed as openly as he arrived.”

Spark started to give objection, but thought better. Malfort spoke further. “The Shadow, too, could have come and gone openly,” he added. “That equalizes the matter. I am still doubtful regarding last night’s episode.”

Spark decided to interject a comment.

“It would have taken The Shadow to handle Ku-Nuan,” he insisted. “Believe me, chief, on that one. Say – I’ve been jittery all day, on account of figuring that some of my gorillas might be wise to The Shadow being in it!”

“One moment, Spark.”

The lieutenant paused abruptly as he heard Malfort’s harsh note.

“You forget the sequel,” rasped Malfort. “When Ku-Nuan fled, he was an open target for The Shadow. Ku-Nuan tells us that four shots were fired. Does The Shadow miss aim so consistently, Spark?”

“No,” admitted Spark. “Maybe he was groggy, though, after the battle with Ku-Nuan.”

“Let us take the opposite possibility,” chided Malfort. “Assume that Furbish was fortunate in his struggle; that luck enabled him to put Ku-Nuan to flight.”

Spark considered. He saw likelihood in Malfort’s theory. The master crook added to his statement:

“We would then have Furbish firing deliberately; unable to drop Ku-Nuan because his aim was poor. Quite as plausible a situation, Spark.”

The lieutenant nodded; then questioned:

“Suppose the guy was Furbish. What then? You want me to handle him?”

“Yes,” replied Malfort, “but not at the Royal Arms. Furbish may not return there. Tonight, however, he is likely to appear at the Maribar Hotel.”

Spark grinned in anticipation.

“He must not be disturbed when he enters,” reminded Malfort. “We want no trouble at the Maribar Hotel. Keep the area covered, as usual. Be at your station, ready for a call from Barthow at the desk. He will notify you when Furbish calls at Rowden’s.”

“I get it,” nodded Spark. “Barthow tips us off. We close in while Furbish is in the penthouse. We nab Furbish afterward, instead of before.”

“Exactly!”

With an imperious gesture, Malfort dismissed his lieutenant. When Spark was gone, the archplotter turned to Ku-Nuan, who had been listening eagerly to every word.

“Go, Ku-Nuan,” ordered Malfort. “Watch the penthouse from your secret post.”

Ku-Nuan’s eyes gleamed snakelike. Twisting from his chair, the yellow killer sidled to the door. His creeping footsteps faded.

Alone, Malfort stretched his hands before the fire and spread a smile that the firelight painted into a demon’s leer.

Kenneth Malfort had set a double snare. He was satisfied that either George Furbish or The Shadow would enter the twofold mesh.