CHAPTER XXII
WITHIN THE HOUSE
“COME on, you!”
Rutledge Mann raised his head from between his hands. He looked up toward the doorway to see a rough-faced fellow who had growled the command. Mann arose dejectedly from the dilapidated chair on which he had been seated.
Ever since his arrival in the house on Long Island, Mann had been kept alone in a little, barren room. His captors had carried him there through a hallway. They had cut his bonds, ungagged him and shoved him in the chair.
Barred windows and bolted doors had made escape useless. Mann had waited patiently for new developments. At last some crisis had arrived. Slowly, the chubby-faced prisoner walked out into the hallway that his summoner indicated. A revolver muzzle jabbed Mann’s back. He was urged along the hall.
Light showed from an opened door. The mobster behind him urged Mann through the opening. Blinking in brilliant light, the captive investment broker stepped into an oddly arranged room.
White plastered walls showed on all sides, except where doorways broke the calcimined spaces. A few chairs were located in one corner; in one of these was Basil Tellert, his face drawn and troubled.
In another corner was a flat-bowled projector that reminded Mann of a circular electric heater, built on large scale. Mann, informed by The Shadow, knew that this must be one of the disintegrating ray machines that could eat away substances that came too close to its wide mouth.
In another corner, partly covered by a torn canvas, was another device. It was an elongated projector shaped like the shell used in a field gun. It was more than three feet in length and its mouth was a foot in diameter.
Mann knew that this was an experimental atomic gun, an attempt by Professor Jark to amplify the work of the disintegrating ray. Apparently, Jark had been experimenting of late, for a heavy, insulated wire was attached between the atomic gun and the floor plug.
The tough looking mobster jostled Mann into a chair beside Tellert. As he sat down, Mann noted others who were standing about. Pacing the corner near the atomic gun was a white-haired individual whom Mann knew must be Professor Jark.
Leaning against the wall was a tall, heavy-browed fellow who answered the description of Matt Theblaw. Near him was a long-jawed onlooker who Mann decided was Luke Cardiff. Then a door opened and a short, sandy-haired individual stepped into view. A half-smoked cigarette dangled from the newcomer’s pasty lips. Digger Wight, decided Mann.
Matt Theblaw looked toward Professor Jark. The old man nodded wisely; then stepped forward and studied Mann through thick-lens spectacles. Mann met the professor’s gaze. He realized immediately that he was facing a man of shrewd instinct.
“Good evening, Mr. Mann,” began Jark, with a chuckled cackle. “I regret exceedingly that your presence here has been a matter that involved forced action. Nevertheless, it was imperative that I interview you.”
“I understand,” remarked Mann, serenely.
“Mr. Tellert has explained to me,” declared Jark, “that he received word from Bruce Duncan, my former secretary. The word came through you. I might mention” — Jark’s manner was leering — “that I had already formed the theory that Duncan had communicated with you and Tellert.
“It required considerable persuasion before our friend here” — Jark indicated Tellert — “was willing to admit that my assumptions were correct. But I finally convinced him that it would be wise to speak the truth. That advice, Mr. Mann, will apply to you also.”
Mann nodded soberly as Jark paused for a response.
“You received a letter from Bruce Duncan,” asserted Jark, his cackle slightly harsh. “You were asked to communicate with Mr. Tellert.”
“That is true,” admitted Mann.
“The letter,” resumed Jark, “requested you to denounce me as a man of crime. You and Tellert decided to brand me as a swindler.”
“In a way, yes,” returned Mann, slowly. “We issued statements to the newspapers.”
“But you mentioned nothing about Bruce Duncan.”
“No. We thought it unwise until we managed to locate him.”
“Very good. Where is Duncan?”
“I do not know.”
Mann had come back with a prompt reply to Jark’s quick question. The professor scrutinized the prisoner closely; then nodded in satisfaction. His eyes became narrow through their lenses as he started a new tack.
“Bruce Duncan,” asserted the old man, “was rescued by a person who calls himself The Shadow. Tell me: who is The Shadow?”
“The Shadow?” echoed Mann, his round face puzzled. “The name is strange to me.”
Jark stared closely to see if the investment broker might be bluffing. Mann retained his composure. Jark raised a hand and motioned to Digger Wight. The short man opened a door. Mobsters shoved Cliff Marsland into view.
“Do you know this man?” snapped Jark.
MANN studied Cliff soberly, as the mobsters forced the prisoner forward. In easy, methodical fashion, he eyed every feature of Cliff’s face. Then, as if troubled by his own inability to give an affirmative reply, Mann shook his head.
“I am sorry,” he told Professor Jark. “This gentleman is an absolute stranger.”
The old inventor eyed Mann as keenly as the investment broker had studied Cliff. Jark rubbed his chin reflectively; then turned to Theblaw and gave a shake of his shocky head.
“Neither Tellert nor Mann knows Marsland,” decided the professor. “I think it would be best to offer terms. Do you agree?”
Matt looked to Luke, who nodded. Digger joined in the nod. Jark swung about to Tellert and Mann.
“I am willing,” he stated, “to release you if either of you can offer proper bond. By that I do not mean cash. I require some form of assurance that will make it impossible for you to betray me.
“On that account, I shall allow you to talk matters over, together. I promise you that your conference will not be disturbed. Moreover, I shall place Marsland with you. Perhaps you may wish to hear his opinions, for he has been a prisoner before tonight.
“Moreover, he is an agent of a certain meddlesome party who calls himself The Shadow. We know that fact, although Marsland has not chosen to admit the connection. Perhaps, by this time” — Jark chuckled, gloatingly — “Marsland is convinced that not even his mysterious chief can aid him. That is why I think it wise to leave him with you.”
Jark waved toward a door behind the prisoners. Digger walked over and opened it. Mobsters made nudges with revolvers. Mann and Tellert went into a room beyond the door. Cliff followed. The door closed behind them; the three men heard a bolt click shut.
A DIMLY lighted room, with three chairs. Barred windows as in Mann’s former prison. Seating themselves, the trio looked at each other. Tellert, after studying Cliff, spoke in a whisper to Mann.
“Be careful,” urged Tellert. “We may be overheard. What is more, this other man may be a spy.”
Mann nodded.
“If you know him,” added Tellert, his lips scarcely moving as he whispered, “ask him for a cigarette.”
Mann made no move. He deemed it unwise to give even Tellert the true information. The promoter had weakened under a previous grilling, according to Jark’s statement. Having told old facts, he might tell new.
“We’ve got to get out of this, Mann,” asserted Tellert. “What do you think of this offer of terms? Can you give Jark the security he wants?”
“I don’t see how,” replied Mann, soberly. “Have you any way to help yourself out?”
“Yes.” Tellert considered. “One time, Mann, I was connected with a certain enterprise which failed. If facts concerning my connection were known, it would be damaging to my reputation.”