cylinder.
They wheeled in a portable bench that looked like an operating table, with Quill stretched upon it. An oxygen tent was placed over the racketeer's head. Attaching a hose, Lawsham let the gas trickle through.
The door of the test room was shut; the scene was tense. Lawsham was counting seconds, as he changed the flow of the gas. Slowly, the greenish line descended into the cylinder, then stopped.
Like Lawsham, the assistants were intent upon the scene. They didn't notice the slow inching open of the door, when it occurred. All during the process, they were watched by eyes that peered from the outer laboratory.
Lawsham tolled off several minutes, then gave another application of the gas. He cut the flow to a mere trickle, as he leaned beside the oxygen tent to listen. Quill's breathing had changed. It was choky, spasmodic.
'Oxygen!' ordered Lawsham, cutting off the gas. 'Let him have it slowly.'
One assistant removed the gas hose; the other applied a tube from an oxygen tank. The new flow brought deeper, steadier strength to Quill's stifled breathing. Lawsham nodded; the treatment was finished.
The little tent was taken away. Quill lay with his eyes closed, breathing ordinary air in long, satisfied drafts. His eyes opened; he propped himself upon the table, blinked at Lawsham. The professor glanced at his watch.
'Pike will be pleased,' he remarked, dryly. 'The half hour is not quite over.'
Quill's senses were restored, although he looked weak and shaky. Perhaps that shakiness was due partly to another sight that met his eyes. Lawsham's assistants had produced revolvers. One on each side of the table, they were holding Quill covered.
'What - what's the idea?' gulped Quill. 'Say, prof, how'd I get here - and why the gats?'
'You don't remember,' soothed Lawsham. 'Ah! Neither did Remingwood, until I unwisely reminded him.
In your case, Quill, a jog of the memory may be useful. I spoke of Remingwood - by the way, where is he?'
Quill chewed his lips. Lawsham nodded, wisely.
'So you double-crossed me!' he sneered. 'It appears that Pike was right. Pike Fengel - do you remember the name, Quill?'
A look of terror came to Quill's blunt face. His hard eyes darted wildly, his long jaw quivered. The men who covered him thought that mere guilt caused that expression; but Lawsham knew Quill too well, to let it pass at that.
'Pike Fengel!' blurted Quill. 'What do you know about him?'
'I've met him,' replied Lawsham, watching Quill closely. 'He's here - in my office.'
'He can't be!' Quill's tone was frantic. 'Pike's dead! The guy that's here - he's - he's -'
Lawsham didn't wait for the completion of Quill's gasping sentence. The truth had struck the shrewd professor. He grabbed his men, pointed them to the door and gave a raucous order.
That command drowned the final words that Quill panted:
'The Shadow!'
CHAPTER XX. LIVING AND DEAD
LAWSHAM'S burly servants were through the doorway and halfway across the laboratory before the professor was out of the test room. Stopping just beyond the threshold, Lawsham pulled a revolver of his own, to back his fighters in case of a sudden fray.
He saw them yank open the door of the office. As they sprang in, Lawsham viewed the scene they uncovered.
The only person in the room was the servant who had stayed to watch Pike Fengel. The servant was bound and gagged, stretched on the couch amid a litter of discarded pictorials.
On the desk rested the satchel that the fake Pike had brought. It was open, empty, but not in hope of receiving Lawsham's tainted cash. Black objects had been taken from that bag; the crooked professor was soon to realize what they were.
An eerie laugh whispered through the laboratory. Lawsham heard it, realized that the sound came from behind him. The professor spun about, to see The Shadow step from the wall, squarely to the threshold of the test room.
Cloaked in black, The Shadow had become a being of vengeance. He had penetrated to the source of crime; he held its chief perpetrator helpless. For an instant, Lawsham's scrawny hand tightened its clutch on his unaimed revolver, despite the menace of The Shadow's looming automatic.
'Unwise, professor!' The Shadow's tone was sibilant. 'Your efforts will be useless. Your formula book is on the bench. The tank is still well filled. I have witnessed your entire procedure. No details were missed.'
Recognizing that his life was worthless to The Shadow, Lawsham let the revolver clatter. His thin arms came upward. At a motion from the automatic, Lawsham sidestepped. Two seconds later, he was gritting oaths at his folly in obeying that gun nudge.
The Shadow had moved Lawsham over, to point a second .45 at the two servants who had piled from the office. Tricked by the tone of The Shadow's laugh, they had looked in the wrong direction. When they stared toward the test room, they saw that they were covered. They let their guns drop.
Two steps back in the test room, The Shadow spoke cold words to Lawsham.
'Your pretexts were useless,' he told the professor. 'The evening that Arlene Delton came here, this house was unwatched. Yet crooks sought her life immediately after she returned to her apartment. It was obvious that you had issued the order.
'Odd, too, how you 'remembered' those telephone calls from Hadley; how crooks showed up here to trail Vincent when he left. You had time to summon them when you went below. All in all, professor,' -
the tone was mocking - 'Remingwood's testimony was helpful, but not essential.'
Lawsham stretched to his full height. He folded his arms, tilted back his head to shake away locks of whitish hair.
'Of what am I guilty?' he questioned, cannily. 'Thurnig, Brellick, Mandor - none are dead. They are ill, like Vincent and Arlene. You will restore them to soundness - and I will be very much obliged to you, for then I cannot be charged with murder!'
LAWSHAM'S beady eyes were watching The Shadow. Tiny pinpoints, they sought to scrutinize the face beneath the brim of the slouch hat. Lawsham wanted to analyze The Shadow's expression, before offering more argument.
There was one fact which the shrewd professor had wisely dodged. It was The Shadow who suddenly presented it.
'You have forgotten Broyce,' spoke The Shadow. 'One man, Lawsham, who was murdered at your order.'
The professor's lips produced a grin. He was prepared for that statement. His smirk faded, his face took on a look of well-feigned sorrow.
'Poor Doctor Broyce,' he said. 'He had a shock - one that his weak heart could not stand. There is no one, however, who could ever prove that Broyce was here when the attack struck him; that it was induced by inhalation of the sleep gas.
'Broyce was found dead, in a bus, traveling west. He was pronounced a victim of a heart ailment.
Unfortunately' - Lawsham's smirk had reappeared - 'he had no papers that identified him. No, Broyce's death will never be classed as murder.'
So sure was Lawsham of that point that he stepped closer to The Shadow, raising his head boldly. If ever a master mind of crime had prepared to meet all emergencies, that man was Professor Uriah Lawsham.
'Should you testify regarding my activities,' he chuckled, 'you can swear only that you saw me restore a gassed victim - our friend, Quill Baxton. Young Remingwood, it happens, owes his life to me, and will have to testify to that effect. More than that, I can produce the record that credits him with our new process, granting me only the right of purchase.
'As for the option that I gave Mandor and his associates, I can produce it also, with receipts for money already paid me. When they reached Mandor, he can only thank me for preserving them. He will be too pleased to accuse me of misdeeds.'
The Shadow shifted slightly. From the edge of his cloak, a bit of white appeared - the end of a long envelope.
