THE GRAY GHOST
by Maxwell Grant
As originally published in "The Shadow Magazine," May 1, 1936.
Bullets didn't harm him; water couldn't drown him; traps failed to hold
him as he plundered and murdered his way to wealth. The only way to conquer
this master of crime was to outsmart him - as The Shadow did in this thrilling
novel.
CHAPTER I
THE RAIDER IN GRAY
"They call him the Gray Ghost, sir."
It was a solemn-faced butler who made the statement. He was facing a group
of four young people, who were seated, smiling, in the mellow lamp glow that
lighted an enclosed porch.
Opened windows gained a wafted breeze; the tang of the air, the distant
blasts of steamship whistles, betokened that the house was near Long Island
Sound.
"Yes, Mr. Gilden." Solemnly, the butler nodded to the Tuxedoed young man
who formed the center of the group. "The Gray Ghost is what they call him."
"The Gray Ghost," chuckled Gilden. "Come, Furbison! Don't tell me that you
believe in spooks!"
"There are those who do, sir. Butlers, housemaids, chauffeurs - here on
Long Island. They have seen the Gray Ghost prowling about -"
Gilden stopped the butler with a laugh. The young man turned to the other
persons beside him. One was a young man his own age; the other two were girls
who looked like sisters, both in their early twenties.
"Fancy it," chuckled Gilden. "We are living in the twentieth century. Here
am I, Pierce Gilden, and you" - he gestured toward the other man - "Alan Reeth,
both of us imbued with the realism of the modern age. We come to the home of
Martin Debrossler, a wealthy banker -"
Pausing, Gilden swept his hand about to indicate the surroundings.
"We are chatting with the banker's beautiful daughters," continued Gilden,
with a bow toward each of the girls. "On my right, Jane Debrossler; on my left,
her sister, Louise. The scene is one of modern romance, until it is disturbed
by a man who believes in ghosts and sprites. A superstitious person who should
have lived in the Middle Ages, when they had ghouls and werewolves, warlocks
and witches -"
Gilden stopped short, laughing; the others had joined in his mirth. They
were looking at the butler, whose face had reddened, whose manner was
apologetic. Gilden straightened his face.
"I mean you, Furbison!" he accused, in a tone of mock seriousness. "You
tell us of the Gray Ghost - a fabulous, impossible creature! You expect us to
