"With wealth gained through your pact with Sharrock, you two placed Orlinov in this castle. You became brain thieves. Professor Pierre Rachaud was your first victim. He never sailed on the Albania when it left New York, cruise bound.
"You had trapped him before that. He was on his way here in a box. You posed as Rachaud. All that went overboard were clothes and false whiskers — through the porthole of your cabin. Then smug Doctor Savette was merely a passenger for the rest of the trip"
Savette looked at Tremont as The Shadow paused. The man in black had spoken the truth. He had detected the method behind Savette's game.
"Clark Murdock was the next," resumed The Shadow. "I was at his house that night when you seized him and left the body of a dead man in his place. I heard Murdock speak to his servant about the box.
"At that time, I suspected that someone might have designs on Murdock's life, but I did not believe that danger was due to strike so soon. You were clever then, Savette.
"You, Tremont, have told me how you snared Matt Hartley. You would never have succeeded, had you not trapped Marsland, my man here. From then on, you thought you had me helpless. There was no way whereby I could strike. So you thought. Yet there was a way."
The Shadow's laugh was mocking as it crept softly through the room and reverberated eerily from every corner.
"Lamont Cranston was the way," announced The Shadow. "Lamont Cranston, because he was The Shadow. This box was waiting for you, Savette. You came to Cranston's home with your faithful hypodermic. You did not see Cranston place another in the pocket of your coat, and take yours in its stead.
"You did not choose to take the taboret. So Cranston used it, after you had gone to summon the truckmen. He opened the hinge of this box. From the hollow taboret he took certain articles which he required. In the box, Lamont Cranston became — The Shadow!"
A realization dawned on Savette. He remembered how light the taboret had seemed, when he had lifted it after pushing it before. No wonder. It had contained the weapons and the garb that were a part of The Shadow — articles which Lamont Cranston had chosen to carry with him on his journey.
"Tonight," continued The Shadow, "you shall know the death that you imposed upon others. The death from which men awake. Within this building dead men live. They will be released tonight; you shall remain.
"That syringe which you hold, Doctor Savette, will do nicely for Glade Tremont. I shall let you make the injection. I have another in my pocket. You will receive an injection from my hand. When you awake, you two, affairs will be different here. Ivan Orlinov and his horde will be gone. I shall settle with them." The Shadow pronounced these words with amazing calmness.
He spoke as though the conquering of a crowd of gunmen was simple in accomplishment.
Savette tried to sneer. Tremont was pale. He remembered his awakening after the battle on the dock. The Shadow had fought then to protect himself. Tonight, he would have the advantage of a surprise attack.
"We shall delay no longer," gibed The Shadow. "Go, Savette. Use that hypodermic which you hold. Tremont is to be your subject. Go!"
Mechanically, the physician approached Glade Tremont. He dared not disobey The Shadow. The tables were turned, and Savette knew well that The Shadow would not hesitate to start his battle here by first shooting him and Tremont.
Grim retribution! These monsters were to taste that state of oblivion which they had forced upon others. They were to experience that which they had termed temporary death.
No alternative offering, Gerald Savette wrenched away Tremont's coat and tore off the lawyer's sleeve. He was treating his accomplice as he had treated Harold Sharrock, who now stood pale and tense, watching this strange turn of events.
Glade Tremont offered no resistance. Like Savette, he was a beaten man. Neither one could stand against The Shadow. Even glowering looks were gone. Hopelessness had replaced animosity. The fiends were demonstrating their cowardice.
The Shadow had spoken. His captives were forced to obey. Savette raised the hypodermic. Tremont quailed. The Shadow spoke again.
"Proceed."
That single word sounded like the knell of doom. There was no escape. Savette prepared to make the injection. Then, suddenly, he stood still, and his eyes regained their shrewdness. For a moment. They had looked beyond Harold Sharrock, toward the door of this secluded living room. Quickly, Savette dropped his eyes toward Tremont's arm. He appeared to be busy with the hypodermic. But in that moment, he had betrayed himself.
The Shadow's quick eyes darted toward the door. There, a wicket had opened. And, noiselessly, a panel had dropped.
Peering through the hole in the door was the fierce, bearded face of Ivan Orlinov!
Something gleamed beside that blackened countenance. Orlinov was bringing the muzzle of a revolver into play, turning it toward the figure of The Shadow!
The game had been discovered. Orlinov, coming to conduct his confederates to the torture chamber below, had been wary. He had heard the sound of voices. He had decided to look in to learn what had transpired since the arrival of Doctor Savette.
Now he was preparing to slay The Shadow. He had arrived in the nick of time to save his companions from the sentence that The Shadow had imposed upon them!
Chapter XXIII — The Attack
The Shadow and Ivan Orlinov acted simultaneously.
Their chances of success were equal. The Russian, with his gun beside his face, had a difficult aim to make, but the tall form of The Shadow formed an excellent target.
Orlinov's countenance, framed in the open panel, was a small mark, but one which The Shadow could cover with a quick swing of one automatic.
Had Orlinov attempted to beat The Shadow to the shot, he might have succeeded. But the Russian played a quicker, more instinctive game. He dropped away from the open panel. The little barrier slid down to receive The Shadow's shot.
Tremont and Savette were acting ere the automatic roared. So sure were they that Orlinov would not fail that they saw only one menace before them — Harold Sharrock.
Savette dropped the syringe as he and Tremont sprang forward. All odds were with Sharrock. He had only to draw away and pump his enemies with bullets. But he acted too late.
He did not shoot until the men were upon him.
His gun sounded a muffled report as the three tumbled. Then The Shadow's automatic spoke to rescue him. Savette, the upper of the three, received a bullet, and fell away from the struggling forms. Muffled shots were repeated as Savette dropped. Sharrock rolled over, and Tremont staggered away from him, holding the pistol in readiness for another shot. The Shadow's well-timed aim was again effective. His automatic roared. Glade Tremont fell.
Now, The Shadow was sweeping toward the door. Just as he reached it, the barrier was hurled inward. Revolvers gleamed as Biff Towley and three mobsmen dashed into the room.
They had heard the shots. They had come at Orlinov's bidding. They were making a mass attack to trap The Shadow before he could escape.
Here he was upon them, his automatics pumping lead, his tall form swinging away behind the door. A few wild shots responded. They were all. The mobsmen had been too sure of themselves. They had walked into a close-range attack from two powerful guns. The Shadow had lost no time. He had not saved a single bullet. In this emergency, he discharged every cartridge.
His enemies were on the floor. The Shadow was unscathed. Laughing, loud and fiercely, he flung away his pistols and drew two new weapons from beneath his cloak. He had come here prepared, a human arsenal. Into the hall strode The Shadow. Three gunners were entering the front door. The Shadow's automatics jerked back and forth as he struck down his new group of enemies.