door, then faded. The Shadow blended with the gloom along the wall. He studied the doorways on the right.
From one, the last in line, came a thin shaft of light. The Shadow knew that it must indicate the room where Harry and Arlene had found Dick Remingwood.
Keeping close to the right wall, The Shadow advanced. As he neared the doorway on the left, he saw the big room where two attendants watched their half-dozen patients. A third attendant had joined the pair already there. The additional man was the servant who had brought Harry and Arlene here.
The Shadow spent no time studying the six patients. All looked eccentric; anyone of them might suddenly glance toward the corridor. Men in their apparent state had the faculty of seeing things that escaped ordinary observers. If one spied The Shadow, the fellow might imagine anything, and shout it.
With quick, gliding stride, The Shadow passed that danger spot, blended into gloom beyond. He reached the doorway just before Dick's. Its depth, the dullness of the painted door itself, showed that it could be a perfect hiding place.
That tested, The Shadow stepped forward and peered into the room where Harry watched Arlene and Dick.
Arlene had introduced the two men. All three were seated, ready for a conference. Arlene's eyes were troubled, though, as she stared toward the shaded window. She could see the outlines of bars through the blind.
'Why are you here, Dick?' she questioned. 'You seem well - and quite normal -'
'I'm in fine shape,' interposed Dick. 'I'm here merely for observation, and because I needed a rest. I supposed that Professor Lawsham had explained all that to you.'
Arlene stared, amazed. She looked at Harry; with a grim smile, The Shadow's agent stepped to the door.
He saw that the corridor was empty. The Shadow had withdrawn to the next doorway, but he resumed his observation as soon as Harry returned into the room.
'I'm leaving the door ajar,' Harry told Dick, in an undertone, 'so we will know if any one approaches.
Let's hear your story from the start, Remingwood. Never mind what the professor told us.'
DICK settled back in his chair, rearranged a few books that lay on the table.
'It was my own stupidity,' he said. 'I was in the testing room working with an acetylene reagent, and I overlooked the professor's instructions. I knew there'd be a gas, but I hadn't counted on the quantity that came.
'Before I knew it, the stuff had me. In that tiny room, with the door closed, I didn't have a chance.
Professor Lawsham thought I was dead, when he found me. Fortunately, he knew the whole formula that I had been using.
'How he managed it, I can't guess; but he's a wizard! He knew what was the matter. He didn't wait to send for a physician. He cooked up some kind of an antidote, and it worked.'
Stark realization had come to Harry and Arlene. They knew exactly what had happened to three victims who were lying helpless, in New York hospitals.
'I was asleep, that's all,' assured Dick. 'Rather wobbly for a while, I'll admit; but the professor made me rest for a few days. Then he told me he'd tried the same test on guinea pigs. He said he was afraid there would be after effects.
'The antidote would work - any time within a week or so - but he said it took a strong heart to stand the gas in the first place. So he sent me here to get a real rest.'
Arlene clutched Dick's shoulders.
'Don't you realize what's been happening?' she demanded. 'Professor Lawsham lied to you - like he did to me!'
'The professor saved my life!' Dick was indignant. 'Don't forget that!'
'There are other lives that he is not saving! Haven't you seen the newspapers?'
Dick shook his head. Harry unfolded a copy of an evening newspaper. Dick was horrified when he read about the shooting at Arlene's apartment. Harry turned to another page, pointed out a column that mentioned the Dead Who Lived.
None of the sleeping sickness victims had shown any improvement. Dick scanned that news; he looked up, startled.
'The gas!' he blurted. 'It could have caused it!'
'These Dead Who Lived' - Harry was pointing to their names - 'did you ever hear of them?'
Dick couldn't recall the names, but he remembered something that linked with them.
'Persons came to see Professor Lawsham,' he declared. 'I remember, one night, that he told me he intended to give them an option.'
'What could have changed his mind?'
'The new tests, perhaps. It was always the same problem: finding some way to cut the production cost.
But it wasn't until I tried my new formula that -'
'Your formula?'
'Yes. The one I told you about. We needed acetone, and it can be obtained by fermenting potatoes, but that never worked out well, until I developed my formula. With the way we have it now' - in this enthusiasm, Dick was forgetting the charges made against Professor Lawsham - 'we can turn the whole surplus potato crop into synthetic rubber.
'Bad potatoes, small ones, rotten ones - they don't matter. We can use them. We'd looked into prices, and potatoes are as cheap a source material as anyone could want. And there are thousands of acres of cheap potato land! And Lawsham promised me -'
Dick stopped. His eyes had taken on a horrified stare. His voice was hollowed to a whisper, as he added:
'Lawsham promised to credit me with the process; to buy it from me. But he lied! He saw a way to crowd me out!'
'As he did with the investors,' inserted Harry. 'They were all right, while the proposition looked doubtful.
But with everything in the bag, Lawsham wanted it all, your share included, Remingwood.
'Your accident showed him how to get it. He saw what happened to you; he figured out an antidote, because you were still useful. He railroaded you here, so he could cut loose with the gas. He got rid of the men that he didn't want, by making them the Dead Who Lived!'
THE whole insidious scheme drilled home to Dick. He was listening, while Arlene recounted her visits to Lawsham, repeating how the professor had lied about Dick's whereabouts. Dick saw clearly how Lawsham had tried to get rid of Arlene, because she was the one person who might bring up the question of the professor's absent assistant.
'So he got back those options,' gritted Dick. 'He's probably keeping them for souvenirs, along with the record that credited me with the discovery of the new formula. But why' - Dick's face showed bafflement
- 'am I still alive?'
'Because,' said Harry, 'Lawsham didn't want to be troubled with explaining the death of someone who worked for him, until he had settled with the others. He's holding you in reserve, to become another of the Dead Who Lived.'
Dick was staring for the door, ready to yank it open. He seemed to think that a clear path lay ahead.
'We've got to get out of here!'
'Easy!' advised Harry, blocking the way. 'Who do you think is in charge here?'
'Doctor Broyce,' returned Dick. 'I know him. He used to drop in and see the professor.'
'Have you seen Broyce since you came here?'
Dick shook his head. Harry gave a grim nod.
'Broyce must have made one trip too many,' declared Harry. 'Suppose he took one of those gas doses, on
