THE SHADOW GIRL By RAY CUMMINGS (Author of "Into the Fourth Dimension," "Beyond the Stars," etc.) _Here Is Another Classic Science Fiction Novel, Reprinted by Your Request._ Illustrated by Smolenski. Out of the misty reaches of time came a man and girl of the distant future-New York to wreak vengeance upon Dr. Turber, prominent physician of 1945. But what mystery lay behind Turber's Indian assistant, who seemed to belong to the New Amsterdam of Peter Stuyvesant, and how could Turber menace Great-New York of 2445? An absorbing book-length novel by one of science fiction's prime favorites. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Science Fiction Quarterly Spring 1942. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] CHAPTER I WHAT THE TELEVISION SHOWED The extraordinary and mysterious visions of the shadow girl appeared on the television screen which Alan and I had just erected in his workshop. It was nearly midnight--a hot sultry evening of late June. The instrument was a Farodyne polychrome receiver; latest model of the multiple-cell semi-oscillating type. We had worked all evening installing it. Alan's sister, Nanette, sat quietly in a corner, modeling a little statue in green clay. Occasionally she would ask us how we were getting along. We were planning to receive the broadcasting from the powerful Bound Brook station--a program which had been advertised for 11.30 p.m. The room was dark as we sat at the small instrument table with the six-foot screen erect against the wall and only the flashing beams from the whirling color-filters to cast a lurid glow upon us. The screen hummed as the current went into it. But at once we saw that something was wrong. The screen lighted unevenly; we could not locate with any precision the necessary frequency ranges; not one of the three near-by broadcasting studios which we knew were at that moment on the air, would come in. Nanette was disappointed and impatient as I manipulated the dials at random, and Alan verified the connections. "Is there nothing on it?" "Presently, Nan. Alan must have grounded it badly--I'm sure we have everything else--" I stopped abruptly. My grip tightened on her arm. We all sat tense. An image was forming on the screen. Alan said sharply: "Don't touch it, Ed!" I relinquished the dials. We sat watching, tense, and interested. Then mystified, awed. And presently upon us all there settled a vague, uneasy sense of fear. For this, confronting us, was the Unknown. * * * * *