Within the sedan, Louis Steffan saw the vague form of another enemy. There, as before, he caught the glimmer of a revolver.
A nudge from his captor and Steffan stepped into the car. He huddled back upon the cushions, his hands raised piteously as his frightened, staring eyes saw the second revolver covering him.
"Get going," said the man on the curb.
"Right, Jake," came the growl of Louis Steffan's new guard.
The first captor closed the door. The car pulled away. Louis Steffan was going for a ride.
Jake Bosch laughed as he saw the sedan disappear around the nearest corner. He gave his revolver a twirl and pocketed it in a leisurely manner.
He strolled along the street to the corner in the opposite direction. There, he walked calmly past a uniformed policeman and turned down the avenue. He reached a drug store on the next corner and entered a phone booth. A minute later, he was talking to Biff Towley.
"O.K., Biff," said Jake, tersely. "The boys were waiting. They've gone away — with a passenger."
"You were there first?" came the voice of Biff.
"I was near there first," replied Jake. "Made good time in my cab. Got out a block away. Walked down to the house and dropped out of sight when our friend came along."
"Good work, Jake. See you later. I've got another call to make." Leaving the drug store, Jake Bosch returned along the block past Clark Murdock's home. He grinned as he passed the house where he had made his capture. He continued on at a leisurely gait. His job was finished.
Hardened underling of a calloused gang leader, it was Jake Bosch's duty to obey orders, without knowing why. Tonight's business was a mystery to him.
Biff Towley had stationed mobsmen in the car near Murdock's home and had taken Jake with him to Weehawken to intercept Louis Steffan — a man of whom Jake had never before heard. Jake had done other jobs like this one. He was the skilled pilot who steered victims to waiting automobiles. Where they went or what happened to them was a matter of no concern to Jake Bosch. He felt no interest or sympathy for Louis Steffan. That young man was merely another on the list of those whom Biff Towley had chosen to obliterate.
So Jake forgot the entire matter as he headed for his favorite nightclub, a haunt where bright lights and gaudy women lured. He did not realize that tonight he had played a vital part in the schemes of men craftier than Biff Towley.
For Louis Steffan had brought a singular message to New York. Had he delivered it, he might have frustrated the progress of strange and incredible crime. But he had failed — he who alone had gained an inkling of a fiendish plot.
Up in the Bronx, the death car was stopped beside a deserted lot. A muffled shot — a dying gasp — and all was over. The door opened and the body of Louis Steffan tumbled from the sedan.
The car traveled on its way.
Then from the lowered window fluttered fragments of paper, which scattered widely in the breeze as the car swept homeward toward Manhattan. Louis Steffan's shorthand notes were meeting with destruction. The man with the message was dead — and his message was gone forever. To the police, it would be another gangland killing. By the time that Louis Steffan's body was found and his empty pockets searched, the unknown crime would be accomplished!
Chapter II — A Strange Discovery
"Step into the laboratory, gentlemen. My demonstration is ready." The speaker was a stoop-shouldered, gray-haired man of fifty years. He was garbed in a white gown. He was addressing a group of keen, intelligent-looking men who were seated in a little living room. This man, to whom the others gave close and respectful attention, was Clark Murdock, whose chemical experiments had gained him an envied reputation
The men arose and followed the chemist into his laboratory. It was the rear room on the second floor of Murdock's old house. He had chosen this secluded spot, away from the main arteries of Manhattan, that he might conduct his experiments without disturbance.
Murdock's laboratory was a remarkable place. It contained shelves of bottles, long tables strewn with appliances and pieces of oddly assorted machinery. His guests looked about them with interest, and the chemist smiled as he saw their wondering glances.
These men had come to see a practical demonstration of his new experiments in atomic disintegration. Clark Murdock had made some remarkable discoveries, but he realized that few of his visitors would understand their full significance.
Motioning the men to chairs, Murdock gazed about him with the air of an instructor about to address a class. He waited until silence had been obtained; then stared at his solemn-faced assistant in the corner.
"You may go, Stevens," he said, brusquely.
"Yes, sir," said the man, with a slight bow. "Do you wish me to wait until the truckmen come, sir?"
"That's right," declared Murdock, with a nod. "They were to return for that box they brought here by mistake. I shall attend to that, Stevens. You left it by the elevator, did you not?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well. I shall answer their ring. Good night, Stevens." The solemn assistant left the laboratory and Murdock again smiled at his guests.
"Stevens is a good assistant, gentlemen," he said, quietly. "He knows nothing. That is much better than knowing too much — as some assistants do."
The others laughed at the chemist's witticism. Murdock looked about the group. He noted two men who impressed him more than any others. They were seated side by side.
One was Doctor Gerald Savette, a keen-visaged man who stood high in his profession.
The other was Lamont Cranston, a wealthy millionaire, who was a likely investor in promising inventions. Clark Murdock, despite his querulous disposition, had an eye to business. He was looking for financial aid in his present experiments, and it had occurred to him that Savette's approval would bring Cranston's interest. Hence it was upon these two that he centered his discourse.
"It is nearly ten o'clock," he said. "For two hours I have been discussing the value of atomic disintegration as a source of tremendous power. In that time, I have endeavored to fully outline the principles that are involved in this great subject. You have been patient, gentlemen — now I shall reward you with the actual demonstration."
Murdock went to a covered table near the center of the room. He drew aside the cloth to disclose a hollow sphere of glass. This globe, which measured more than a foot in diameter, was mounted upon a base of metal.
"Watch," said Murdock, quietly.
He pressed a switch and a motor began to hum. Tiny sparks appeared within the globe.
Then came quick soundless bursts of flame as invisible particles broke asunder.
"Atomic action," spoke the white-haired chemist.
The activity within the hollow sphere seemed like warfare in miniature. The onlookers stared in fascination, while Clark Murdock stood aside, watching the expressions on their faces.
When the chaos had reached its height and the globe seemed ready to break apart, Murdock again pressed the switch. The terrific commotion continued for a few minutes, then gradually ceased. The witnesses gazed at one another in amazement.
"That," declared Clark Murdock, "is a perfect demonstration of my discovery. You have seen the results of atomic disintegration conducted in a vacuum. Now imagine, gentlemen" — the chemist's face took on a visionary stare — "the same activity on a much larger scale — within a steel-walled chamber. There is power here that surpasses all dreams—"
He stopped suddenly as he heard the sound of a telephone bell in another room.
Carefully, Murdock disconnected the apparatus and went from the laboratory. He returned in a few minutes and spoke to Doctor Savette.
"You are wanted on the telephone, doctor," he said.