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Transcriber's note: This story was first serialized in the _Boys of New
York_ story paper and was later reprinted as Vol. I, No. 70 in _The New
York Detective Library_ published November 16, 1883 by Frank Tousey.
This e-text is derived from the reprinted edition.




  SHADOW,
  THE MYSTERIOUS DETECTIVE.

  By POLICE CAPTAIN HOWARD,
  Author of "Old Mystery," "Young Sleuth," "The Silver Dagger,"
  "A Piece of Paper," "The Broken Button," etc., etc.




CONTENTS


  INTRODUCTORY.
  CHAPTER I. A MURDER.
  CHAPTER II. MAT MORRIS.
  CHAPTER III. SHADOW--WHO WAS HE?
  CHAPTER IV. OUT OF THE LION'S JAWS.
  CHAPTER V. HELEN DILT.
  CHAPTER VI. THE REMEMBERED BILLS.
  CHAPTER VII. A HAPPY MOMENT.
  CHAPTER VIII. A NARROW ESCAPE.
  CHAPTER IX. IN THE BLACK HOLE.
  CHAPTER X. FAVORING FORTUNE.
  CHAPTER XI. IN THE MAD-HOUSE.
  CHAPTER XII. SHADOW.
  CHAPTER XIII. IN A BAD BOX.
  CHAPTER XIV. DICK STANTON.
  CHAPTER XV. A FIEND IN HUMAN SHAPE.
  CHAPTER XVI. DISAPPOINTED AGAIN.
  CHAPTER XVII. HELEN'S TORTURE.
  CHAPTER XVIII. PUZZLED.
  CHAPTER XIX. IN DEADLY PERIL.
  CHAPTER XX. STILL SEARCHING.
  CHAPTER XXI. FUN!
  CHAPTER XXII. OUT OF JEOPARDY.
  CHAPTER XXIII. WEAVING THE NET.
  CHAPTER XXIV. "HELP IS HERE!"
  CHAPTER XXV. MAN OR WOMAN?
  CHAPTER XXVI. CORNERED CRIMINALS.
  CHAPTER XXVII. THE MYSTERY EXPLAINED.




INTRODUCTORY.


Again I have been called on to entertain my wide circle of young
friends, by relating another story of detective life. Before plunging
into my story, I have thought it best to address a few words to you
personally, and about myself.

It is held as a rule that an author should never introduce himself
into the story he is writing, and yet I find, on looking back, that in
nearly all of my recent stories I have described myself as playing a
more or less conspicuous part.

And yet I could not avoid doing so, as I can plainly see, without
having detracted somewhat of interest from the stories.

As I sit here now, prepared to commence, the question arises: "Shall I
keep myself in the background, out of sight, or shall I bring myself
in, just as I actually took part in the strange story of

                 "'SHADOW, THE MYSTERIOUS DETECTIVE?'"

Well, I don't know, but I think it may be just as well to introduce
myself when necessary, since when I write thus I feel that my pen is
talking to you instead of at you. And, besides, I think that to you the
story is more realistic.

Am I right?

Don't each of you feel now as if I had written you a personal letter?
And are you not satisfied that there is only one Police Captain Howard,
and he that one who now speaks to you?

I am sure of it.

And now for the story.




CHAPTER I.

A MURDER.


It was a dark and stormy night. The rain fell heavily and steadily, and
what wind there was roamed through the streets with a peculiar, moaning
sound.

It was after the midnight hour.

Not a light was to be seen in any of the houses, nor was there any
sound to be heard save that produced by the falling rain, and that
soughing of the wind--not unlike the sighs and moans of some uneasy
spirit unable to rest in the grave.

It was as disagreeable a night as I ever saw. And I could not help
shuddering as I hurried homeward through the storm, with bent head, for
I felt somewhat as if I were passing through a city of the dead.

This heavy silence--except for the noises mentioned--was very
oppressive; and, while I gave a start, I was also conscious of a sense
of relief, when I heard a human voice shouting:

"Help--help!"

I paused short.

My head having been bent, the cry coming so unexpectedly, I could not
locate its direction.

Presently it came again.

"Help, for Heaven's sake, help!"

Off I dashed to the rescue.

Crack!

Then came a wild wail.

Crack!

Then I heard a thud, as of a human being falling heavily to the
sidewalk. And as the person uttered no further cries, one of two things
must be the case--he was either insensible or dead.

I increased my pace, and presently turning a corner, saw a burly fellow
just dragging a body beneath a gas-lamp, the better to enable him to
secure the plunder on his