A tiny metal object gleamed in the physician's hand. With a quick motion, he steadied himself and drove the point of a hypodermic needle into Lamont Cranston's right arm.
The millionaire uttered a sudden exclamation. His face took on a startled expression as Savette staggered away.
Then the millionaire saw the fiendish gleam that was spreading over the physician's face.
He came toward Savette, with an unexpected fury. His hands went for the physician's throat. The evil man had unmasked himself too soon.
Cranston's fingers caught the villain's neck. A ring pressed hard against Savette's throat.
Then the sudden hold began to weaken. Savette shoved Cranston away; the millionaire staggered backward, toppled, and fell, his shoulder striking the front edge of the box.
There he lay, helpless, without motion. Savette, his teeth together, and his fists clenched, stood above the prostrate body and spat low, furious oaths.
He was recalling statements that Cranston had made last night and tonight. He uttered them now, with evil satisfaction. He cared not that the unconscious man could not hear.
"Going away for a long trip, eh?" snarled Savette. "May never come back. Dangers strike anywhere here, as likely as in the jungle. Fill the box, eh? With a taboret — packed so it can't break. You wouldn't mind taking a trip in it yourself.
"Well you can." Savette's voice became a hideous chuckle. "Yes, take a trip. You are dead, Cranston. Dead. For forty-eight hours, so far as I am concerned. But to the world, you will be dead forever. Dead — when I choose to say the word. Dead men sometimes live — for a time. You are one who will live, until your usefulness is ended!"
Savette examined the hypodermic. Satisfied that he had given his victim the full charge, he dropped the syringe back in his pocket. Stooping, he tumbled the millionaire's body into the box. The form seemed stiff and inert as the fiend huddled it among the padding rugs. Savette stood back and surveyed his handiwork. He closed the door of the box and applied the three heavy padlocks. He pushed the taboret a little to one side. Then he turned to the hall. He went downstairs, carrying Cranston's portmanteau with him.
Out on the porch, the physician gave a low whistle. Two men came from a truck parked in the darkness. Savette gave them a terse order.
"Upstairs," he said. "Bring down the big box from the lighted room." While the men were on the way, Savette placed the portmanteau in his car. He waited until the men brought out the large box and placed it on the truck. He waved his hand as a signal, and the truckmen drove away.
Doctor Savette went back into the house. He walked up to the den, and laughed as he looked at the taboret. It was a valuable article, but not so valuable as the one that he had taken in its place. He picked up the taboret and set it in a corner. The top flopped open. Savette noted that the interior was empty. He turned out the light in the den. He extinguished other lights on the same floor. He did the same when he reached the downstairs hall. He closed the big front door, latching it behind him. Richards would be here in the morning. He would find nothing out of order. All of the furniture had been removed; only the few articles that were in the den remained for the valet to clear away. When Doctor Savette reached his home in New York, he carried Lamont Cranston's portmanteau upstairs with him. He opened the suitcase eagerly. He went through its contents with excited fingers. Here were the articles he wanted! Checkbooks, lists, and other objects of importance. Savette found gold and negotiable notes to the value of two thousand dollars. But he pushed these valuables aside in contempt. What were such trifles? This suitcase would be the means of making millions!
Money! He would have it now. The firm of Savette and Tremont, with their Russian partner, Orlinov, would teem with sure success. Lamont Cranston's wealth would be the basis of many millions more!
Curbing his criminal emotions, Savette closed the portmanteau and placed it in a corner.
He began to consider a milder subject, the simple matter of a short vacation. Savette leaned back in satisfaction as he rested in his easy-chair.
He, too, would go to Glendale. There, Lamont Cranston, under the subtle treatment of Ivan Orlinov, would be induced to disgorge his wealth, at the bidding of his captors!
Chapter XVIII — Orlinov's Threat
It was long past midnight. Orlinov's gray castle stood bleak and barren in the flooding moonlight. Its stone walls were deserted; yet its sullen battlements and sturdy towers spoke of hidden men-at-arms, ready to rise should the ramparts be threatened by an enemy.
A heavy truck glided up to the massive gate that bore the half-defaced name "Glamartin."
The lights clicked off and on. In response to the signal, the gate opened, and a stocky man stepped out and walked to the side of the big vehicle.
The watcher had recognized the truckmen who were bringing a new shipment to the castle. All three two truckmen and one watcher — were handpicked gorillas in the service of Biff Towley. The truck passed on. The gate clanged behind it. The truck stopped in front of the stone building. Men came from the door. Strong hands unloaded the heavy box from the truck.
Through the door went the box, into the hallway, then to the security of Orlinov's living room.
The handlers noticed the heavy fastenings of the box, its long pivot hinge, its solid padlocks. The burden rested on the floor as they surveyed it. Then the men left, locking the door of the room. There was no light in the living room, save the dying glow of embers in the fireplace. The mysterious box loomed large in the vague light. The only tokens of activity were the flickering, changing shadows that wavered across the floor in response to the faint glow from the large fireplace. Strange shadows in a strange room! Shadows that varied with the dying of the coals. Shadows that flitted like ghostly, goblin shapes. Shadows that were unreal, yet shades that seemed possessed of an uncanny life.
The faint crackling of the embers; the occasional creaking of the floor; these were the only sounds within that room. Then, shadows and sounds took on a more eerie trend. They were vague and uncertain as the firelight dwindled almost into nothingness.
One might have thought that elfin footfalls were creeping through that room, that the heavy door that led to the hall had opened, and then closed.
In the mystery wing of the house, a lone gangster patrolled the dim, lengthy corridor. His vigil took him from the second floor to the first; then back up to the second.
On the upper story, he stopped frequently to lift up square panels in the centers of certain doors, to make sure that no lights glimmered from the rooms within.
Calloused and unimaginative, this watchman was unperturbed by the creaking of the floor beneath his feet, and the strange, grotesque shadows that he encountered in the gloomy light. Fantastic silhouettes did not impress his sordid mind.
He was alert, but calmly so, as he patrolled his course. Reaching the end of the corridor, he turned and went back over the route that he had covered before.
Within a veritable cellroom, Cliff Marsland lay half awake upon a corner couch. The flicker of dim light passed over his eyes as the watching hoodlum lifted the panel in the door that led to the hall. Then the panel closed.
A short time later, Cliff opened his eyes, fancying that another beam of illumination had strayed into the room. Then he felt that he must have been mistaken, for all remained dark by the door. Cliff pitched restlessly. He was wearied by this captivity. He had found himself in this room, weak and pepless, after he had recovered from the effects of the hypo jabbed into his arm.
He had remained here a long while — weeks, it seemed — and his jailers had been uncommunicative. Actually, Cliff realized, his confinement had been a matter of days only; but time had passed dully. He had eaten the food that was furnished him. He did not fear poison for he knew he was completely in the power of his captors. He had realized that he had been receiving a mild opiate for he had constantly lacked strength since his capture.