Friday, March 30, 2012
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Cards of Death
I really like this cover. The nod to The Shadow's origins as a radio presence. The skeleton on the Tarot card. The fabulous fire opal and the accusing stare from the Night Master. Yes, quite a nice cover. I have not, however, read the tale originally titled "Cards of Doom" so I'll send you (as always) to this synopsis.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Monday, March 26, 2012
Bells of Doom
Nice cover, in my opinion. Sort of "Hunchback of Notre Dame" in concept. Perhaps that was a popular public theme in the day. The execution of the painting is very nice, almost Lyendecker in technique.Don't know much of the story since I haven't progressed that far in the reprints but I will get to it someday. In the meantime we can just be content with this synopsis, it sounds like a winner.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Thursday, March 22, 2012
The Silver Scourge
Early iconic attempt. Great concept with some not as great finishes on the foreground characters. I've read this story and it is a fun ride. Counterfeit coins and the dead coming back to life. What's not to like?
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
The power of the ring
This is from "The Five Chameleons", just a couple of chapters after the description of the sanctum.
Slowly, The Shadow drew the black glove from his left hand, to reveal the long, white fingers. Martha stared in amazement at the resplendent gem which she saw. Its marvelous changing hues were reflected clearly, even in the dim light. "This girasol," said the spectral voice, "is the symbol of The Shadow. Few have ever known its significance. You are one. "He who wears this stone - like which there is no other - is The Shadow. No matter what his guise may be, he is The Shadow. Tell none what I have told you!" "I understand," said Martha breathlessly. "I shall remember. No one else shall know." As the girl stared at the gem, she lost all sense of material forms about her. The effect of the glowing jewel was hypnotic. The figure of The Shadow seemed to melt into darkness. The white hand disappeared. Only the changing girasol, with its hues of ultramarine and crimson, sparkled before her eyes. The impression was fading. The glorious gem was melting away. Martha reached forward to clutch it. Her hands closed on space as the colors no longer remained. The girl looked about her. She was alone in the room. Her eyes had retained the impression of the wavering colors, and she had fancied that The Shadow had remained. Now all was like a dream. Only the paper in her hand stood as proof of The Shadow's presence. Had she imagined the singular conversation which had taken place? It was possible that such was the case; yet Martha could not dismiss the semblance of reality. She was sure that The Shadow had been in this very room. She believed that he would aid her. She felt positive that he would return; that soon, again, she would see the mystic gem that was his token.
The Golden Masks
Kind of an iconic cover although there really isn't much going on other than the "golden mask" illustrating the title. The story is one I haven't read although I have it as a reprint. As I've pointed out in the past, I'm a slooooooow reader. If you want to know more about the story then check out the synopsis here.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Friday, March 16, 2012
The Sanctum
I've always been a big fan of the mysterious Sanctum. Here is an interesting description from "The Five Chameleons" by Walter B. Gibson.
"All data had reached headquarters, in this room.
Back at the filing cabinet, The Shadow brought out another paper from File F. This, when placed upon the table, showed the name of Hawk Forster. Memoranda concerning such a small-fry gangster had not been acquired easily. Hawk Forster had thrived as an underling with many mobs.
A low laugh came through the gloom above the light. It echoed with a hollow tone from the walls and ceiling. Reverberating, it seemed to die away at the floor, as though absorbed by the thick blackness there.
The Shadow's hands were out of sight. Then they reappeared at the metal panel which fronted the case of archives.
Here the hands moved back and forth, lightly touching portions of the panel. Their motions were like those of a mesmerist, and with their action the panel responded in mysterious fashion. The metal barrier melted downward, into the floor itself.
Small lights within the uncovered section of the bookcase showed a row of black-bound books. From each shone a date, inscribed in gold numerals.
The Shadow's hands drew one of these volumes from its special place. Book and hands vanished, then came into view again beneath the table lamp. The hands opened the book.
The girasol gleamed above parchment pages. Each contained its record - not printed, but inscribed in perfectly engrossed lettering. The preparation of these pages had been the work of a painstaking recorder.
The hands turned the leaves until they reached the spot that they required. There, a forefinger traced a paragraph. The action was slow and deliberate.
The hand was lifted. The book was closed. It was replaced by those same hands, among the secret archives. The automatic panel came upward, and closed the opening.
The Shadow's record books were not only accounts of what had happened in the past. They served as a guide for the present, and an index to the future. Here, by exacting research, The Shadow had gained an inkling of some strange work that was afoot.
By a process of keen elimination, he had cut down the associates of Hawk Forster to one whom he could, in some manner, identify with Daniel Antrim.
Tonight's work had been a check-up of his labors. In his secret archives, which told of all that he observed and knew, The Shadow had found the key to the affairs of certain men.
THE room seemed lifeless as The Shadow pondered. His mind was bridging a gap of time. From the past, he was determining the future.
Minutes rolled slowly by; then the white hands came from the folds of the cloak, and appeared upon the table. The fingers of the right hand penciled these words upon a sheet of paper.
They have but one possible purpose... The time and method of operation
depends upon the place... The choice of place is restricted...
The writing ceased. The Shadow moved away from the desk. His left hand appeared beside a bookcase that continued up to the dark ceiling.
The hand touched a hidden switch. From a cylinder on the top edge of the bookcase, a mammoth map of the United States unrolled itself until it covered half the surface of the wall.
The eyes of The Shadow were studying the illuminated chart. At last the inspection was ended. The map rolled upward in response to The Shadow's touch.
Back at the desk, the hand inscribed a list of places, visualized from the map. These were considered by the hidden eyes.
The hands tore the paper into fragments, a name on each piece. It arranged them slowly, choosing each one with care until the task was satisfactorily ended. At the top of the list appeared the name of Middletown.
The hands of The Shadow had done their work. The eyes of The Shadow had seen the result. Now, the voice of The Shadow whispered through the room. He was talking over a telephone, located somewhere in the darkness.
Mysterious instructions were going over the wire to Burbank, The Shadow's competent aid. They were spoken in a terse, low-toned voice. The meaning of the cryptic sentences were clear to the man at the other end.
The Shadow was arranging his affairs in New York. He had a mission somewhere else - and the name of Middletown was uppermost. The ways of The Shadow were mysterious; the activities of The Shadow were many. Therein lay his penchant for method.
The Shadow, though he stalked alone, would never call a truce in his war with the underworld. He relied upon his subordinates to carry on the lesser work when duty demanded his presence elsewhere.
What he had uncovered now, only The Shadow knew. But with the delays that had impeded progress, there was no time for a preliminary survey.
The Shadow had spotted Middletown as a place where crime was brewing. It would be his own mission to go there - not the task of a subordinate.
The hand of The Shadow wrote its last notations - a series of tabulations that referred to certain operatives. There appeared the names of Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland, two bold adventurers who served him.
Following them was the name of Rutledge Mann, an investment broker, whose office was the clearing-house for the routine work of The Shadow.
Last of all came Clyde Burke, the newspaper reporter, whose services could be pressed into duty at The Shadow's bidding.
These operatives were in New York, ready to spring to action should their master need them. They were prepared to go anywhere at any time, in response to The Shadow's orders.
Through the connecting line of Burbank, through detailed instructions mailed to Rutledge Mann, The Shadow could thwart the underworld in many places at once. His faithful yeomen were weapons, like his automatics.
Conflict lay ahead. The Shadow, dark, mysterious, and unseen, was going forth to strike. No one would know of his presence until he struck. His territory was everywhere. His resources were unlimited.
The hands of The Shadow appeared before a filing cabinet in the corner. They drew forth the bottom drawer. In response to a secret mechanism, all the drawers of the cabinet extended - in steps. The tops of these projections were covered with a solid surface.
The black cloak swished as The Shadow strode up the stairs that he had formed. The same action that had opened the cabinet, raised an invisible panel in the wall. Poised before this secret exit, The Shadow laughed. While the notes of his mirthless tone still clung within the room, the panel dropped, and the stairs slid mechanically back into position in the cabinet.
The lights went out when the motion was complete. The room was in total darkness. Even then, the sound of that mysterious laugh continued a fading echo."
"All data had reached headquarters, in this room.
Back at the filing cabinet, The Shadow brought out another paper from File F. This, when placed upon the table, showed the name of Hawk Forster. Memoranda concerning such a small-fry gangster had not been acquired easily. Hawk Forster had thrived as an underling with many mobs.
A low laugh came through the gloom above the light. It echoed with a hollow tone from the walls and ceiling. Reverberating, it seemed to die away at the floor, as though absorbed by the thick blackness there.
The Shadow's hands were out of sight. Then they reappeared at the metal panel which fronted the case of archives.
Here the hands moved back and forth, lightly touching portions of the panel. Their motions were like those of a mesmerist, and with their action the panel responded in mysterious fashion. The metal barrier melted downward, into the floor itself.
Small lights within the uncovered section of the bookcase showed a row of black-bound books. From each shone a date, inscribed in gold numerals.
The Shadow's hands drew one of these volumes from its special place. Book and hands vanished, then came into view again beneath the table lamp. The hands opened the book.
The girasol gleamed above parchment pages. Each contained its record - not printed, but inscribed in perfectly engrossed lettering. The preparation of these pages had been the work of a painstaking recorder.
The hands turned the leaves until they reached the spot that they required. There, a forefinger traced a paragraph. The action was slow and deliberate.
The hand was lifted. The book was closed. It was replaced by those same hands, among the secret archives. The automatic panel came upward, and closed the opening.
The Shadow's record books were not only accounts of what had happened in the past. They served as a guide for the present, and an index to the future. Here, by exacting research, The Shadow had gained an inkling of some strange work that was afoot.
By a process of keen elimination, he had cut down the associates of Hawk Forster to one whom he could, in some manner, identify with Daniel Antrim.
Tonight's work had been a check-up of his labors. In his secret archives, which told of all that he observed and knew, The Shadow had found the key to the affairs of certain men.
THE room seemed lifeless as The Shadow pondered. His mind was bridging a gap of time. From the past, he was determining the future.
Minutes rolled slowly by; then the white hands came from the folds of the cloak, and appeared upon the table. The fingers of the right hand penciled these words upon a sheet of paper.
They have but one possible purpose... The time and method of operation
depends upon the place... The choice of place is restricted...
The writing ceased. The Shadow moved away from the desk. His left hand appeared beside a bookcase that continued up to the dark ceiling.
The hand touched a hidden switch. From a cylinder on the top edge of the bookcase, a mammoth map of the United States unrolled itself until it covered half the surface of the wall.
The eyes of The Shadow were studying the illuminated chart. At last the inspection was ended. The map rolled upward in response to The Shadow's touch.
Back at the desk, the hand inscribed a list of places, visualized from the map. These were considered by the hidden eyes.
The hands tore the paper into fragments, a name on each piece. It arranged them slowly, choosing each one with care until the task was satisfactorily ended. At the top of the list appeared the name of Middletown.
The hands of The Shadow had done their work. The eyes of The Shadow had seen the result. Now, the voice of The Shadow whispered through the room. He was talking over a telephone, located somewhere in the darkness.
Mysterious instructions were going over the wire to Burbank, The Shadow's competent aid. They were spoken in a terse, low-toned voice. The meaning of the cryptic sentences were clear to the man at the other end.
The Shadow was arranging his affairs in New York. He had a mission somewhere else - and the name of Middletown was uppermost. The ways of The Shadow were mysterious; the activities of The Shadow were many. Therein lay his penchant for method.
The Shadow, though he stalked alone, would never call a truce in his war with the underworld. He relied upon his subordinates to carry on the lesser work when duty demanded his presence elsewhere.
What he had uncovered now, only The Shadow knew. But with the delays that had impeded progress, there was no time for a preliminary survey.
The Shadow had spotted Middletown as a place where crime was brewing. It would be his own mission to go there - not the task of a subordinate.
The hand of The Shadow wrote its last notations - a series of tabulations that referred to certain operatives. There appeared the names of Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland, two bold adventurers who served him.
Following them was the name of Rutledge Mann, an investment broker, whose office was the clearing-house for the routine work of The Shadow.
Last of all came Clyde Burke, the newspaper reporter, whose services could be pressed into duty at The Shadow's bidding.
These operatives were in New York, ready to spring to action should their master need them. They were prepared to go anywhere at any time, in response to The Shadow's orders.
Through the connecting line of Burbank, through detailed instructions mailed to Rutledge Mann, The Shadow could thwart the underworld in many places at once. His faithful yeomen were weapons, like his automatics.
Conflict lay ahead. The Shadow, dark, mysterious, and unseen, was going forth to strike. No one would know of his presence until he struck. His territory was everywhere. His resources were unlimited.
The hands of The Shadow appeared before a filing cabinet in the corner. They drew forth the bottom drawer. In response to a secret mechanism, all the drawers of the cabinet extended - in steps. The tops of these projections were covered with a solid surface.
The black cloak swished as The Shadow strode up the stairs that he had formed. The same action that had opened the cabinet, raised an invisible panel in the wall. Poised before this secret exit, The Shadow laughed. While the notes of his mirthless tone still clung within the room, the panel dropped, and the stairs slid mechanically back into position in the cabinet.
The lights went out when the motion was complete. The room was in total darkness. Even then, the sound of that mysterious laugh continued a fading echo."
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Murder House
Published 75 years ago today, Murder House sports a great cover. Perhaps it's because I'm now immersed in the gaming industry that this appeals to me or just the fact that I'm a big fan of James Bond (the literary version moreso than a lot of the films) but either way, I like it. This cover is well painted and I love the inclusion of the screenprinted gameboard on the green felt background. Of course, this means The Shadow is either lying down on the table has been placed on its edge. Heh, it really doesn't bother me since it looks great.
The story remains a mystery to me since I haven't read it yet but I am making my way to it. In the meantime I rely on "The Shadow in Review" for an overview of the tale (originally submitted under the title "House of Murder"). Great site, by the way, for those of you who have never visited.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Gems of Jeopardy
I like the concept of this cover, just not the finish. I know nothing of the story but, as always, you can get an idea from Mr. Olson's review. Since this is a Tinsley tale, expect a more amped up version of our hero and events.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Late clew...
computer problems. Did Burbank ever have to deal with a malware problem? I don't think so!
Friday, March 9, 2012
Dictator of Crime
Eh, no great shakes with this cover. I haven't read the tale but Agent T seems to recall it as a decent tale. Is he correct? Only The Shadow knows... oh, wait, you can find out for yourself by going to this review right here. We can only hope the story is better than the cover.
"...To Cloud Men's Minds!" page 24
And so we come to the end of yet another adventure of The Shadow.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
The Creeping Death
One of the greatest covers in the long history of The Shadow Magazine. Iconic! Pure Pulp! I can never get bored with this image and I'm sure it made readers in the day fairly shake with excitement at what must lie behind this incredible cover. It makes me want to revisit the tale myself since it has been a very long time since I read this one. If you haven't and want to know a bit about it, click here.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Monday, March 5, 2012
The Black Falcon
Great cover from the great age of The Shadow. I've actually read this one and found it to be a wonderful early adventure in The Shadow's crusade against crime. The "horror face" is featured here, something that inspired Sam Raimi when he filmed "Darkman" with Liam Neeson. If you haven't read this one, do so now. It has been reprinted and is very much worth the effort. If you just want to get a brief synopsis, check this out.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Thursday, March 1, 2012
The Mask of Mephisto
I read this many years ago when it was part of a double novel hardback along with Murder By Magic. I really don't remember much but I do like this cover. Not for it being part of The Shadow's canon as it doesn't really have anything in common with the great covers of the golden age but simply as an illustration. If you haven't read this or, like me, read it and can't really recall the story check this out.
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