It's a holiday, don't you know.

You don't? Can't blame you. Doesn't feel like the start of summer to me, because, of course, you know. When I got up on Sunday, I remembered the Sundays past of three-day weekends. Why, time seemed to stretch out like a cat in the sun. The whole day ahead, and Monday as well! A cookout, friends over, the start of the long sweet summer.

What seems odd about this year, at least in these parts, is how everything seerms somnambulent, langorous, dream-like - the old routines and rituals aren't gone, they're just over . . . there, behind that thin gauzy cloud, and we can see them, but can't quite go there. Not because we are unable but because we've somehow lost interest in trying. For now. Perhaps later.

Maybe it's just me! Entirely possible. I know I'm not walking around depressed, and it's not because I'm in denial or shoving everything down in the hole - I'm just trying to push on ahead because the alternative is circling the drain but never going down it.

Anyway, this being a holiday, there's no Bleat, except for all the Bleat that follows.






I'm enjoying this one a lot, even though the Shadow does not have the power of cloud men's minds, and his arch enemy is invisible.


Let's use the crawl to catch up.

This may be the best one yet, and that isn’t saying a lot.


So far we’ve seen the Shadow get out of the traps and cliffhangers just by surviving them. Drop a house on him? He shakes it off! Blow up the building he’s in? He’ll be right as rain in a minute!

Lamont brings his plane photos to the Board of Plutocrats, and says they show a secret entrance.

Uh . . . last ep we saw him board a plane under his own name. That’s an unforced error.

Back at his lab, Margo, his lovely assistant is listening to the radio they rebuilt along the lines of the captured Black Tiger radio, and it’s all gibberish. High tech:


So a couple of plain-clothes cops who look too old for the job go to the site on the pictures, and find a deserted shed. “No doubt about it, this is the Black Tiger’s hangout,” says one, based on nothing. While they’re looking around, BT’s henchmen show up - but not before the cops find some equipment.

“This is the answer to all the airplane crashes,” says the cop, “but I can’t explain it.” But it’s the answer.

The crooks lock the cops in the lab and set about blowing up the lab with electricity!

But the Shadow shows up and defeats them with electricity!

Meanwhile, Margo is tracking down who owns the land where the Black Tiger’s shack is located, because chances are it’s a shell company that will lead right back to the Tiger!

It’s owned by . . . Frank Milford of the Citizen Press!



Naturally, she goes to his house, whereupon henchmen come out and grab her and throw her in the backroom. Brilliant. No possible blowback from that. The Shadow reads a note she left about going to Milford’s house, and it’s fisty time. Quite the move here, going over the staircase railing:

Gun? Did I have a gun? Nevermind

Back where the henchmen have taken Margo, we get more of her horrible screaming:

And then they bring the elevator down. Oh no she will be cut in half there’s no way out of this one

I'd say you'll have to wait until next week to find out what happened, but no, you'll have to wait until next month.

That'll do, even though it's less than usual. Be prepared for a week of underwhelmage. (Not a word, but it shoud be.)



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