his last visit to Lawsham. What then?'
'He'd have become another of the Dead Who Lived!'
'Not Broyce.' This time, Harry's head was shaking. 'He had a weak heart. Around here, the natives think Doc Broyce is back from California, but they haven't seen him. Soon, they'll think he's gone away again.
'They don't know that Broyce is dead. They'll think he's gone away again, when this place closes.
Nobody will ever find Broyce's body. Those crooks who work for Lawsham are smart enough to have stowed it where it won't bob up again.'
Harry's words seemed echoed by a whisper from the corridor; The Shadow's approval of his agent's claim. Along with his evil deeds against the Dead Who Lived, Professor Lawsham had gone the full route, with actual murder, in the case of Doctor Broyce.
This trip to the New Jersey hill country had produced all that The Shadow hoped. It had laid bare the full machinations contrived by Professor Lawsham. Dick Remingwood stood as a man more greatly duped than those three Dead Who Lived. Completed crime - the murder of Broyce - was proof of Lawsham's final intent toward all other victims.
The spot where The Shadow stood was an important vantage point. He had heard all that passed within the room, and he was guarding against trouble from outside. Trouble was due, for Harry and Arlene had overstayed their time with Dick.
There was a slight sound from the door at the inner end of the corridor. The Shadow drew away from Dick's door and took to the darkness of another doorway. Outsiders were invading, by a back route.
The Shadow intended to let them show their hand.
The end door opened. In stole a band of masked men. No longer was their real part unknown. They were tools of Lawsham, under the command of some lieutenant. They were here for swift action, like the lot who had been at Mandor's apartment. The leader reached Dick's door, yanked it open.
ON the threshold, the masked leader was flanked by a pair of henchmen. All held revolvers. The leader snarled a challenge, that brought a quick turnabout from Harry. Up went Harry's arms; Dick and Arlene copied the motion.
'Talking it over, eh?' The masked man's voice was a sarcastic rasp. 'That's fine! We'll give you plenty of time to keep up the conference. You're coming with us, see?
'Don't try to be tough. It won't be good for you. We're going to hand you the gas treatment, if you behave. You won't mind it much. Remingwood can tell you it don't hurt. That'll be for two of you.'
The masked man's eyes looked first to Harry, then to Arlene.
'We've got something else for you, Remingwood,' he added. 'The prof wants to talk to you. Maybe he'll let you off easy, if you don't act foolish.'
The Shadow no longer had doubt as to the identity of the leading invader. He could see the man's profile, below the mask; he recalled the raspy voice, from episodes of a few years before.
The fellow was Quill Baxton, a racketeer who had always balked before stepping over the borderline into crimes that would mean combat with The Shadow. Quill was almost the last man that The Shadow would have picked as leader of a motley mob like this.
There was a stir within the room. Harry and Dick were shifting forward, urged by a mutual impulse to put up a fight. Quill saw it; he took a backward step, as he snarled to the men beside him:
'Grab 'em! Slug 'em, if you have to, but lay off bullets! We want this bunch alive!'
The thugs did not spring forward, as Quill expected, and the masked leader, himself, was instantly acquainted with the reason. Like the crew that served him, Quill was rooted where he stood, chained there by a weird challenge that seemed to come from the wall beside him.
Through that corridor burst the laugh of The Shadow. As the crooks stared, they saw a cloaked form materialize - a shape with burning eyes that promised doom. Gun-weighted fists leveled their weapons straight for the massed crew.
Crooks were trapped; clustered, they were covered by muzzles of death. Once again, Quill Baxton and his henchmen had met The Shadow. This time, the odds were turned.
The Shadow held mastery over men of crime!
CHAPTER XV. BLAST OF DOOM
TO Harry Vincent, The Shadow's intervention was not unexpected. There had been a moment, when crooks thrust themselves in sight, wherein Harry had wondered what had happened to his chief. But with the first tones of that strident laugh, Harry knew the answer.
He saw how completely The Shadow had tricked the invading throng: learning their purpose and bringing them to bay. As mobsters quailed, Harry was ready with cooperation. Thrusting his hands to his hips, he pulled two automatics. He planked one gun in Dick's hand, kept the other for himself.
Together, they sprang past Arlene, to cover the invaders. By threatening the crooks from the flank, they enabled The Shadow to handle another thrust. The Shadow had counted on Harry's cooperation. It was needed.
The Shadow's challenge was bringing other foemen.
With a quick wheel, the cloaked fighter faced toward the front of the corridor. He was turned about when the white-jacketed attendants appeared. It was their turn to be under The Shadow's guns, while Quill and the outside crew were held by Harry and Dick.
From his pivot position, The Shadow held complete control. He had sized the total number of his foemen: had figured that it lay within the odds that he could readily handle.
There was a factor, however, upon which The Shadow had not counted.
The white-clad men dropped back; then, when they had almost acknowledged defeat, they started a sudden drive. Into that surge came more men, to back the few guards. The Shadow was faced by a squad of nine, all armed with guns.
These added attackers were the patients from the big room!
No longer was the doddering old man aged. His wig was cast aside. The mumbling checker players were in the drive; so were the rest, including the pasty-faced fellow who had looked like a dope addict.
This place had been stocked with more than a few hoodlums passing as attendants. Even the 'guests'
were fakes; members of a full-sized mob, ready to prevent the removal of Dick Remingwood!
ANY fighter but The Shadow would have been slated for instant death. His quick choice, his amazing speed, were all that saved him. Forgetting Quill and the latter's thugs, The Shadow flung himself squarely into the human deluge that came from the front half of the corridor.
Guns ripped; The Shadow's automatics thundered amid that rapid fire. He was the center of a milling mass, and men were sprawling from that whirl. Despite the odds against him, The Shadow was giving those crooks a battle from such close quarters that he held the edge.
The Shadow had left Quill's outfit to Harry and Dick. That was where the counter-thrust went wrong.
Realizing The Shadow's dilemma, Harry instinctively opened fire to clip the crowd from the big room; and Dick did the same. There were others, unfortunately, who reasoned that The Shadow was in too tough a spot to survive without aid. Those others were Quill and his gunners. They thought they were clear to carry out their original plan. Quill, quickest thinker of the lot, rasped an order to that effect. The others followed it.
En masse, they piled upon Harry and Dick, bowled them to the floor. Arlene had no chance of escape; leaping thugs trapped her in the little room. They hauled her, struggling, to the corridor, where they had disarmed their first two prisoners.
At another command from Quill, they started through the rear door, expecting that The Shadow could never follow.
They would have made a bad mistake, if Quill had not stopped to take a look along the corridor.
There, Quill saw a thinning of the fray. The inside crooks were groveling on the floor, except for a pair that still grappled with The Shadow. Even those two were due to be finished; they were fighting hopelessly, realizing that The Shadow had crippled so many of their pals.
Quill hesitated; he was caught between two desires: The first, to carry away the prisoners; the other, to make sure that The Shadow died. Quill chose a middle course.
Letting the rest go through the rear door, he grabbed two of his masked squad. Shoving them around, Quill
