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Should they be forced； under unexpected pressure； to declare that Cranston was The Shadow； he could simply drop that personality forever and keep his enemies hunting him until doomsday。 Doomsday； in their case； would be translated by what would probably happen to them if The Shadow caught up with them while they were on the hunt for Cranston； the man they could never find。
There were times； rare indeed； when The Shadow did drop the guise of Cranston and bee himself： Kent Allard。
This was one of those times。
The Shadow wanted to go to Centralba。 He couldn't very well go as Cranston。 The gatomontes； or secret police who served as Castenago's private organization； were very suspicious of all wealthy Americans who visited Centralba。
About all that such visitors could do would be to buy up concessions which had been sold to half a dozen others。 Through various technicalities； all such concessions； together with the purchase money； became the eventual property of Luis Castenago。
Meanwhile； the gatomontes kept 〃protecting〃 the visiting Americans； to such a degree that they were glad to get out of Centralba； regardless of financial loss。
In his way； Luis Castenago made such big…time confidence men as Murk Wessel look like very small children who hadn't been broken of the habit of swiping pennies off stacks of newspapers。 So； to meet Castenago properly； The Shadow was choosing a unique mode of entry into Centralba。
He was going there as Kent Allard； and because Margo Lane would probably escape suspicion； he was taking her along as an unwitting helper。
LIKE a great bowl of bluish chalcedony； the Caribbean Sea lay beneath the speeding wings of Allard's cruise plane。 Other members of the party； half a dozen in all； were chatting about the fog…tinged weather； while Margo Lane was watching the pilot。
In one of those vague ways； which couldn't be explained； Kent Allard reminded Margo of Lamont Cranston。 When she tried to reason out the resemblance； Margo decided； smilingly； that it was because the two were so different。
Allard's face was thinner than Cranston's； in a sense； it was almost gaunt。 His eyes were set； rather than steady。 His motions； though deliberate； were done with a precision； whereas Cranston's were leisurely to the point of indolence。
It seemed that Allard must have acquired his manner from association with the Xinca Indians； just as Cranston had learned a placid philosophy from the lamas of Tibet。 Those things became ingrown with a man who experienced them。
Margo didn't begin to realize that one background could be dropped at will； and the other taken up。 Few people could have done it； however； though The Shadow did。
He'd found； though； that people would pare Allard with Cranston； as Margo was doing at present。 It didn't matter； because the longer the parison continued； the more they would argue themselves into deciding that the two were different。
The thing that served The Shadow best was his ability to render each character unique。 No two things can be unique and at the same time alike。 Thus； Allard and Cranston； twinned at first impression； veered from each other； never to be reunited in any person's mind。
Where the ship was at present； Margo hadn't an idea。 She knew that it planned to swing from island to island； and also follow the coast of the continent； for it was a land plane。
Allard hadn't announced the exact itinerary； but the passengers were talking in terms of Panama。 Then； very suddenly； came the cry that land was in sight； ahead。
From the cabin window； Margo saw a low…lying coast； with a sprawling town stretched back from banana docks where white steamships were loading cargo。
If there happened to be a landing field； Margo didn't see it； and Allard； for some reason； ignored it。 He was giving the ship altitude； as he headed for high…rising mountains that formed a background behind the seaport setting。
Someone was talking about fog above the mountains。 Then laughter followed。
The 〃fog〃 was smoke； issuing from a live volcano。 Of a sudden； laughter ceased when one of the passengers exclaimed：
〃Centralba！〃
The very word cast gloom。 It produced too graphic images of Castenago and his gatomontes。 Out of the buzz； it became evident that everyone wanted to question Allard as to his choice of destination。
Recognizing the low chatter； Allard turned from the controls and spoke to Margo； the nearest passenger。
〃Tell them it is a forced landing。〃 His tone was clipped； quite the opposite of Cranston's drawly speech。 〃There is an excellent airport at Libertad； the capital。 We shall use it。〃
Margo passed the word along。 Others were doubtful； wondering。 While Margo was trying to separate the queries； Allard did it for her。
〃Our gasoline is low。〃 He gestured toward a cluster of a dozen dials； among the many that spread over the panel。 〃Probably a faulty gas tank。
Castenago won't annoy this party； unless individual members criticize his regime。 There is an American consulate in Libertad； we shall notify it as soon as we arrive。
〃The Imperial Hotel is excellent； and has survived half a dozen earthquakes。 Anyone who wants to go home can take a train from Libertad to Puerto Marias； the town we just passed； and take the first ship for New Orleans。〃
WHILE Margo was dispensing that information in individual doses； Allard guided the ship through a wide； curving mountain pass； where the roar of the motors awoke flocks of condors and sent the giant thunderbirds away in scattering squadrons。
The mountains spread into regiments of peaks； and miles ahead； a great valley splashed the vivid green of tropical verdure。
Fears of Castenago dwindled as the air voyagers watched the unfolding scene。 Traces of white appeared among the green and soon became a solid splotch； with dabs of faint pink and creamy…yellow serving as a touch of color。
The plane was approaching a city so charming in its setting； so bizarre in its own appearance； that no one could retain thoughts of the ominous。
Conspicuously inviting； the airport practically beckoned to Allard's plane。 He crossed it； banked； and came to a perfect landing inside a mile…wide inclosure； where men in picturesque uniform came dashing over to meet the ship。
Some of these men were airport attendants； others police； still more were soldiers。 One representative of each group was on hand when Allard stepped from the plane。
Allard talked in Spanish； with a trace of local accent that seemed to please them； with the exception of two listeners； who wore green…gray uniforms and remained in the background。 After the passengers alighted； to be received with courteous bows by all but the green…gray pair； Allard undertoned to Margo：
〃Gatomontes。 They don't trust anyone； not even themselves。 Don't tell the other passengers； they'd only worry。〃
Margo was pleased to thus receive Allard's confidence。 She remembered what Cranston had said that afternoon in Miami。 He'd spoken well of Allard； and Margo had seen the aviator that very evening； but hadn't known who he was until the next day。
When Cranston mention