A crowd had gathered outside of the Daily Globe. Death always brought out the curiosity seekers. The body had been removed but people were still fascinated by the chalk outline, especially the outline of a well known man like Lee Travis. He died just outside the office building which he owned and worked in.
Upstairs, in what had been Travis' office, detectives Pierce and Van Ness were investigating the wrecked office with the broken window. Van Ness was looking out the window down at the street.
"That's a hell of a drop," Van Ness said. "I wonder if it's true that you die before you hit the ground."
"The only people who would know that, we can't ask," Pierce replied. "So wudda you think happened here?"
"Probably a mob hit," Van Ness said. "Travis wrote a lot of anti-mob stuff. Made a lot of the wrong people mad. Made some powerful enemies. There've been attempts on his life before, y'know."
Pierce was looking at some photographs that were tacked to Travis' bulletin board. "Looks like he had some powerful friends as well. Look at these pictures. Here he is with Alan Scott, Britt Reid and Estaban Rodriego Hidalgo."
"Yeah? Well I think we can eliminate them as suspects," Van Ness said. "Doesn't seem like their style."
"That'd be funny if we had any better clues to follow up," Pierce said. "I mean, who do we like for this one? You got any particular mobsters in mind? Assuming that this is a mob hit."
"I think that's the most likely thing, but I'm not writing it in stone," Van Ness said. "I know one thing though . . . It was personal! Nothing stolen. Somebody really had it in for this guy! I mean, to throw him out a fourteenth floor window!"
"Maybe he tripped against it."
"Nah! That's strong glass. Even if you banged into it, it don't break. You'd have to be thrown! Somebody really wanted Lee Travis dead!"
Lamont Cranston arrived late, as usual, to the garden party. A lot of women watched him as he walked along the lawn. He'd become the darling of the New York social scene in recent weeks. Cranston looked around and spotted a group of people he knew, including banker Osgood Bamber and the lovely Margo Lane. Lamont was hoping to get to know Margo better but his nocturnal activities made relationships difficult.
"There's a certain greatness to your lateness," Margo said.
"It's nice to have a reputation that precedes you," Cranston said. "So what are we gossiping about today?"
"We were talking about the Travis murder," Osgood said.
Cranston cocked an eyebrow. "Travis murder?"
That night, the Shadow payed a visit to the offices of the Daily Globe. He didn't know Travis that well. They'd only met once or twice since Cranston came back to New York. But Margo and Osgood knew him and liked him very much. And his reputation as a philanthropist and crusader against crime was well known. So the Shadow investigated.
Using his abilities to cloud the minds of men he easily got past the police who were stationed outside the office. The Shadow did a thorough job investigating the crime scene. Unfortunately, there was nothing else to find here that the police hadn't already found. Clearly someone large and strong, with a very personal grudge, broke in, assaulted Travis, and threw him out of the window. But there was nothing else to see here.
Still, there was another avenue of recourse: Travis's home. The police had probably been there but they'd have focused their investigation on the crime scene. But the Shadow knew the darkness in the hearts of men. If this was a personal motive, then it involved something in Travis' personal life. And so the place to look was in Lee Travis' house.
Later that same night, Cranston was in the plush estate of the late Lee Travis. He prowled around the house. He wasn't sure exactly what he was looking for, but when he found it, it would jump out at him like a beacon in the dark. He did everything from check under the carpets to banging on the walls. While banging on the rear wall of one of the closets, the Shadow noticed that there was an unusually hollow sound. He felt around the edge of the closet and found a small panel. He opened it and there was a button. Pressing the button, he heard a click, like a lock unlocking. He shoved the back wall of the closet and it swung open. There was a secret room behind it.
Inside there was a costume. Something like an old Highwayman. There was also a red cloak and a mask. There were also two pistols and some extra ammo. The Shadow recognized the ensemble . . . It belonged to that 1920's & 30's mystery man, the Crimson Avenger! Travis was the Crimson Avenger!
The Shadow found this all very strange. Not much was known about the Crimson Avenger, but wasn't he involved with the mobs? Wasn't he a criminal? Yet Lee Travis was by all accounts a good man. Was Travis' entire life one big act, meant to cover up his criminal life? But with the money Travis had as owner of the Globe, why did he need to take risks as the Crimson Avenger. And why pick that name--"Avenger"? If he was just out for the money, what was he avenging? This didn't add up!
Footsteps. Someone was coming. He stepped out of the closet to see who it was. He clouded the mind of the approaching person, so that the new arrival couldn't see him.
An Asian man came into the room, holding a gun. He looked around cautiously. The Shadow recognized him. His name was Wing Chin, Travis' valet and chauffeur. Then the Shadow recalled that the Crimson Avenger had an Asian sidekick called the Wing. Obviously the same man.
Wing was shocked when he saw the open closet door and the open secret door behind it.
"Wing!" the Shadow said.
Wing crouched in alarm, ready to fire at anything that moved. "Who is there?" he asked.
"Turn around, Wing."
Wing turned around and received a powerful blow to the face. He dropped the gun and fell to the floor. When he recovered his senses he looked around for his gun but it was nowhere to be seen. The only gun he did see was the one that the Shadow was pointing in his face. "Don't move, Wing," the Shadow said. "I don't want to harm you. At least, not yet. Not until you help me make sense of something."
Wing looked confused.
"Your friend Lee Travis, the Crimson Avenger," the Shadow began. "What was he? Tell me about him. Tell me all about him. I need to know."
"Why?"
"Because I need to know whether or not he should be avenged."
"You," Wing whispered. "You're that new vigilante . . . the . . . Shadow. Mr. Travis was developing and interest in you."
"As an admirer or an enemy?" the Shadow asked.
"Mr. Travis was a good man," Wing said. "Let me up and I'll tell you all about him."
Lee Travis was born in 1896, and grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth. His father owned and ran a newspaper, the Daily Globe. He had the best of everything and enjoyed the great gifts that life had bestowed on him. One of his father's closest friends was fitness guru John Gordon. Young Lee became obsessed with physical conditioning and trained his whole life to keep fit and strong. In high school, Lee won the state Golden Gloves boxing championships. It was a proud accomplishment for him.
Everything changed for him in 1915 when he was called to fight in the great World War. That horrible experience opened his eyes. He saw first hand what suffering was like. He saw man's inhumanity to man and it horrified him. Death surrounded him. The deaths of allies and of enemies. Blood and horror.
When the war ended, he returned with a different outlook. A much less optimistic one. He looked at the world with his eyes opened. He witnessed the violence that was prohibition era USA. The "roaring", violent 1920's. Gangsters warred openly with the police. It was a different kind of war from the one he was used to, but a war just the same.
His father died in the '20's and Lee took over control of the Globe. He decided to use the paper as a force for good. He became a crusader, printing editorial after editorial condemning the gangsters and their violent ways, and calling for the citizens to stop encouraging them by buying their products. He made a lot of enemies.
Lee Travis is threatened many times and attacked once. He decides that he must be able to defend himself. He begins retraining himself in the skills he was once so proficient at . . . The survival and marksmanship skills he learned in the army, the boxing he learned in high school and the fitness tips he learned from John Gordon. He soon became a highly skilled fighter and could defend himself very well.
In the late 1920's, while attending a costumed ball dressed as a masked highwayman, he stepped outside to get a moment of privacy. He then witnessed a man getting beaten and threatened by bootleggers. He rushed to the man's assistance and defeated the thugs. He had an epiphany . . . This was his purpose! And so the Crimson Avenger was born. He chose to infiltrate the mobs by pretending to be a villain. Once inside, he would sabotage them and set them up for arrest. He brought down a number of gangs in his ten year career.
"And that was the kind of man Lee Travis was," Wing said. "He was a hero."
The Shadow nodded. Now it made sense. Ten years undercover. That took commitment! "No one has heard from the Crimson Avenger in years. What made him stop?"
"You did," Wing said. "Or at least, your kind did."
"My kind?"
"Super powered beings," Wing answered. "Sentinel was the first. Then the Flash, and Dr. Fate and then more and more. He felt he was superfluous. What good was a man in a mask with a gun, when you had men with magic rings or who can run at the speed of light. His last case was five years ago. He teamed with a short lived, little known hero called El Hombre, who also appeared to share Mr. Travis' feelings toward the new generation of hero. They defeated the Deacon together and then the Crimson Avenger hung up his mask and cloak forever. He continued his newspaper crusade, however."
The Shadow stood quiet, a spooky silhouette, who's thoughts were unguessable.
"So now you know," Wing said. "And knowing, I hope, will compel you to look into this matter. Please, I implore you . . . Avenge the Crimson Avenger!"
"I will do what you ask," the Shadow said. "Tell me, who knew Travis' secret?"
"We never told a soul," Wing said. "Although if anyone suspected, it was the Deacon. He was the shrewdest and most frequent of Mr. Travis' enemies."
"That will do," the Shadow said. "If I need more information, I will return. Otherwise, you will not see me again."
The Shadow vanished right in front of Wing's eyes. Wing looked around but this time he sensed he was alone. His visitor had faded into the night.
The coincidence of the Deacon being involved in the Crimson Avenger's very last case and the fact that he may have suspected the Avenger's identity was too much to ignore. It was time to get some information from the Deacon - or from his mouthpiece.
The Deacon was very elusive, and rather than tracking him down, it was easier to pay a visit to the law firm of Nelson and Tower. They were well known as the legal puppets of the Deacon's organization but no one could prove anything against them. But the Shadow didn't care about legality. He cared about justice.
He knew that the lawyer who had the closest working relationship with the Deacon was a guy named Lindsay Overstreet. He represented all the people suspected of being in the Deacon's employ, and he was just the type of smug, greedy son-of-a-bitch who would take bribes from the Deacon. Overstreet was about to receive a visitor.
Lindsay Overstreet was working late in his office. He'd triumphed again in the courtroom - in his arena, where he was the greatest warrior. He smiled to himself in smug satisfaction and continued working.
"Lindsay Overstreet!" a powerful voice exclaimed.
Overstreet leapt to his feet. "Who the hell is that?!"
"One who loathes small, greedy creatures who care more for money than for their fellow man. You use a law book like a gun!" the Shadow said. "I use a real gun!"
Overstreet began to panic. He couldn't see who was speaking to him, but whoever it was scared the hell out of him. He reached for the inter-office phone to call security. But he got a fist in the face first. He yelped and fell to the ground. He looked up, holding his bloody nose. Suddenly, his assailant appeared before him.
"The mills of the gods grind slowly," the Shadow said, "but they grind exceedingly small!"
"Who are you?" Overstreet asked.
The Shadow slapped him. "I will ask the questions, cretin. You will answer. Briefly and to the point." The Shadow pointed a gun at the cowering lawyer. "And do not lie! The Shadow knows a lie when he hears it!"
The Shadow, Overstreet thought fearfully. One of the most ruthless vigilantes around. This is bad. Threatening him with legal action is not going to work.
"What do you want to know?" the lawyer asked.
"What do you know about the Deacon's plan to kill the Crimson Avenger?"
"The Crimson Avenger?" Overstreet asked, confused. "Is he still around? Had no idea."
The Shadow studied him. His eyes and his manner indicated that he spoke the truth. "You haven't heard anything about a plot against the Crimson Avenger?"
"No. Nothing."
"Think carefully!" the Shadow said. "I will know what the Deacon is up to!"
"I've told you," Overstreet said. "I haven't heard of any plan against Crimson Avenger."
The Shadow noticed the way that Overstreet phrased the question. The way a lawyer phrases things when he wants to say something misleading without actually lying.
"If not against the Crimson Avenger, then against whom?!" the Shadow asked.
A moment of nervousness showed on Overstreet's face before his lawyer face returned. The Shadow knew he was on to something. "Against whom?" the Shadow asked again.
Overstreet refused to talk. The Shadow grabbed his hand, and broke his finger. Overstreet screamed but the Shadow shoved the gun down his throat. "You have nine fingers left, Overstreet," he said. "After I've broken them all, I'll start with more . . . delicate areas of your anatomy. And if I still don't get an answer, I'll put a bullet in your brain. I strongly urge you to tell me what I want to know."
"Against the . . . the Sentinel," Overstreet said.
The information came too easy - too lawyer-like. The Shadow broke another finger.
"I told you not to lie. Do not think you can deceive me. The Shadow knows. Now once again. Who is the Deacon plotting against?"
Overstreet muttered, "All he said was, 'The Spanish bastard with the whip.'"
That struck the Shadow as the truth. "Thank you, Overstreet. I'll be going now. The good news is that I've decided to let you live. The bad news is that I'll be watching you. So be good Overstreet. If you aren't . . . the Shadow will know!"
It all came down to El Hombre. He was involved in the Crimson Avenger's last case. And now the Deacon was talking about a Spaniard with a whip - too much of a coincidence. The Shadow needed to visit El Hombre. But how to find him? He'd been out of action almost as long as the Crimson Avenger had been.
From what the Shadow had picked up on the streets about El Hombre, he had a source of information. A small time hood called Emanuel the Bull. It didn't take the Shadow long to hunt the Bull down.
Waiting until Emanuel was alone, the Shadow dragged him into a burnt down tenement.
"I am the Shadow," he said in his most frightening voice, "and you will do as I say or I will be the last living thing you will ever see."
The terrified Bull muttered some words of defiance. The Shadow had no time or desire to go through another session of physical persuasion. He held his ring in front of the Bull.
"Gaze into my ring," he ordered. "My Girasol. Let it's fiery depths engulf you. Your will is as the snow melting in the spring. Melting, melting. You have no will power left. You are powerless to resist me."
"Yes," the Bull muttered emotionlessly, "I will obey."
Lamont Cranston spend most of the next day in his estate thinking over the information he had gotten. Emanuel hadn't seen El Hombre in years. The last thing he heard from El Hombre was that he was looking for the Mechanic. The Mechanic was a former engineer who now did work for the gangs of New York, especially the Deacon's gang. Whenever they wanted something technologically elaborate built, they called in the Mechanic. Apparently, according to the Bull, El Hombre wanted the Mechanic to build him something, and he was willing to pay for it.
So what did all this mean and how did it connect to the Crimson Avenger? The answer lay with El Hombre. He needed to find him. But first, he needed to figure out who El Hombre really was. So he started to put together a profile. Obviously El Hombre had money. Only rich gang lords could usually afford to hire the Mechanic. So El Hombre must be quite wealthy in his civilian life if he could meet the Mechanic's price. Using that knowledge, plus El Hombre's approximate age, height, condition, area of operations, skills with a whip and date of his first appearance, he created his profile. By looking through the "Who's who" of the rich, he finally came to a conclusion.
Estaban Rodriego Hidalgo was El Hombre. All the physical clues matched. Plus, Hidalgo's family had struck gold years before and came to New York only months before El Hombre first appeared. And Hidalgo's uncle was a circus performer who was an expert with a whip. He could have taught Estaban the finer points of it. It had to be him!
The Shadow was searching Hidalgo's mansion for proof that he was El Hombre when he made a startling discovery. An armored exo-skeleton. No ordinary millionaire had one of these in their homes. However, El Hombre didn't wear armor either. This was strange.
At that moment, Estaban Rodriego Hidalgo walked in on him. Having heard noises, Hidalgo had grabbed his old whip. The Shadow pointed his guns at Hidalgo. Hidalgo, with an amazingly swift motion, whipped one of the guns from the Shadow's hand. However, with his other gun, the Shadow shot the whip out of Hidalgo's hand.
"Don't move!" the Shadow ordered. "The Shadow never misses!"
"The Shadow?" Hidalgo said with surprise. "I had believed that you were on the side of the angels. More or less."
"I am far from the angels but I am the spirit of justice," the Shadow said. "I am here about justice for Lee Travis . . . the Crimson Avenger!"
Hidalgo looked disconsolate. He dropped into a chair, with a miserable expression. "I didn't want to do it. I didn't want to kill him. I regret doing it now."
The Shadow suppressed his shock. Estaban Hidalgo was the killer? He hadn't expected that! He'd met Hidalgo on the social scene and he seemed like a decent man. And El Hombre was a hero.
"Why did you do it?!" the Shadow demanded to know.
"I'll . . . I'll tell you everything," Hidalgo said. "Maybe once you know the whole story, and you understand what drove me to this, you'll find some pity in your heart for me."
"The Shadow knows no pity!" the Shadow snapped. "Now speak! Why did you kill the Crimson Avenger?!"
Five years earlier, El Hombre chose a bad time to become a crime fighter. With the arrival of the Sentinel, the golden age of the super-beings arrived and people like El Hombre were nothing more than men playing dress-up. When he met the Crimson Avenger, they realized that they agreed on this matter. They were both discovering that they were no longer needed. The Crimson Avenger then revealed that he had figured out El Hombre's identity as Estaban Rodriego Hidalgo. To make Hidalgo feel less threatened about this, Travis revealed his identity to Hidalgo. They were both safe, as each knew the other's secret. After that, the Crimson Avenger retired. El Hombre considered doing the same thing, but his pride wouldn't let him become obsolete so quickly. So he came up with an idea . . . A wonderful, terrible idea. He tracked down the notorious engineer known as the Mechanic and got him to create the exo-skeleton - the Same one that the Shadow just found - which he would use to make himself somebody again. Inside the armor, El Hombre would be a formidable force again. He called himself the Conquistador and went out looking for a crime to foil. But on his first patrol, he was upstaged by the Sentinel, who clearly didn't need any help. In a fit of anger and wounded pride, the Conquistador attacked the Sentinel. He quickly realized that he was no match for the mighty Sentinel and barley managed to escape while the Sentinel was rescuing some people from a fire that the Conquistador had accidently caused. Before he knew it, the Conquistador had been christened the newest super-villain in town.
As a means of saving face, El Hombre sought help from the Deacon. The deal they made was this . . . El Hombre would turn a blind eye to the Deacon's activities, and in return, the Deacon would have one of his men put on the Conquistador armor and run amok, and then allow El Hombre to stop him. That way, El Hombre would be hailed for stopping the new super-villain Conquistador. The Deacon agreed. His man put on the armor and ran amok. But he got too excited and refused to lay down too easily to El Hombre. He killed four innocent people before he allowed himself to be stopped. As part of the agreement, El Hombre allowed the man to escape. El Hombre got the applause and praise he wanted. But he couldn't forget the fact that his ill-conceived plan had caused the deaths of four people. Like the Crimson Avenger before him, he hung up his costume and retired.
However, recently, the Bull had put out the word on the street that the Deacon was looking to meet with El Hombre. For the first time in years, Hidalgo took out his costume and whip. He met with the Deacon. The Deacon's business, it seems, was suffering because of the new heroes like the Shadow. He needed capital to keep his business strong. He threatened to tell the whole world that El Hombre had been the Conquistador.
El Hombre refused to pay. He was no longer active as a hero, and if his meager reputation suffered, then maybe he deserved it. Let people revile the memory of El Hombre. It was a suitable punishment. Few people had ever heard of him anyway.
But then he remembered Lee Travis. Travis knew who El Hombre really was! If it was revealed that El Hombre had been responsible for four deaths, what would Travis do?
Hidalgo visited Travis and put the question to him. Travis stated without reservation that Hidalgo must pay for his crimes. Travis gave him twenty-four hours to turn himself in or he'd call the police himself. Travis was willing to admit that he had been the Crimson Avenger if it meant bringing justice to four dead men. Furious, Hidalgo left.
Later that night, the thought of his family name being exposed to scandal and disgrace made him snap. He put on the powerful Conquistador armor, went to Travis's office, took him by surprise and threw him out of the window.
"I've been haunted by guilt ever since," Hidalgo said to the Shadow. "I'll turn myself in. I'll do whatever you want."
"You have one hour!" the Shadow said. "If you are not in police custody by then, I will bring justice down on your head myself!"
The next morning, Lamont Cranston was eating breakfast and reading the paper. He read that millionaire Estaban Rodriego Hidalgo had committed suicide the previous night.
"The mills of the gods grind slowly," he said, "but they grind exceedingly small!"
Next Issue: The underworld of New York City has their own personal bogeyman. Who knows how to terrify the worst criminals in the city? The Shadow knows! Paranoid runs rampant as the hunters become the hunted in The Shadow #4!