“I have played a game,” resumed the unmasked physician. “So have you” — Lagwood paused to eye Cliff with a glittering gaze — “and in order to be fair as well as impartial, I shall sketch my activities for a beginning.
“I have known Wolf Barlan ever since his racketeering days. This underground hospital was used for treatment of convalescent gangsters. Then that game ended. I resumed my ethical practice; but I still maintained this hidden establishment.”
“I gained a reputation for the treatment of paralytics and victims of trance conditions. Because of that, I was approached by a chemist named Troxton Valdan. He had devised a gas that induced that strange condition which has been termed the death sleep.
“Valdan and I met secretly. He brought me guinea pigs that he had gassed. He wanted my opinion of the efficacy of the gas before he took it to the War Department at Washington. Valdan was indiscreet. He mentioned that he had a supply of gas bombs in his laboratory and that file one hundred and eleven contained two formulas: one for the gas, the other for the neutralizer.”
The physician paused. He saw that Cliff was drinking in these revelations. This pleased Lagwood. He resumed.
“I contacted with Wolf Barlan,” declared Lagwood. “Valdan was to meet me in Providence. While the chemist was away, Wolf operated through Spud Claxter. Henchmen stole the gas and the formulas. The bombs went to the hideout. The formulas came to me from Wolf. The gas was tested on Seth Tanning and the persons in his apartment. It proved its merits. Tanning’s place was chosen because of its proximity to the Talleyrand Hospital.
“When Valdan returned, he was murdered by one of Spud’s minions. Guinea pigs in the laboratory nearly gave the police a clue to the gas. I diverted their suspicions. Meanwhile, I had a pharmacist make up the neutralizer, supposedly for a vapor treatment. Spud sent a man to steal it.
“Then” — Lagwood paused and resumed in a cold tone — “then came crime. With it, The Shadow. Your friend, Luke Gonrey, was wounded, along with another mobsman. Spud reported it to Wolf, who called me in turn. I said to bring the men here and let Carson take care of them. When you and four others were found paralyzed in the hideout, this was the logical place to bring you. But” — again Lagwood paused — “you made the mistake of recovering too soon. That fact, coupled with your dopey condition, proved that you had not been gassed. Carson called me at the hospital to inform me of his discovery.”
LAGWOOD became silent. Chaotic thoughts were passing through Cliff’s brain. He saw the whole game. Lagwood had devised it and had left the work to Wolf. The big shot had hired Spud. Wolf also had other workers, unknown to Spud. They were men who spotted opportunity for crime. An inside man at Currian’s; an inside man at Galder’s. Yet Wolf, who managed crime, was but a tool for the man higher up. Doctor Seton Lagwood!
The physician had both formulas. More gas could be manufactured when needed. Lagwood had been crafty in the matter of the neutralizer. He had ordered it made by a pharmacist, as an experimental prescription. The green liquid had been stolen by Skeet, who knew nothing of Lagwood’s connection with crime. Subtlety had been Lagwood’s watchword!
“Tonight,” remarked Lagwood, seeing that the time had come for further speech, “one of the death sleep victims died because he knew too much. I refer to a man who called himself Huring, who worked inside at Galder’s.
“You, too, shall die if you prove dangerous. But not by the simple method that my friend Wolf has suggested. Suppose Marsland, that you should experience the death sleep. Two days of oblivion; then recovery. Just long enough to make you feel that life is good — that recovery. For promptly upon it, you would receive the death sleep once again.
“Think of it! Life worse than death! Up from beneath the surface long enough to gain respite; then submerged again. So on, for weeks, for months, for years. What would you do? I shall tell you. After a few periods of that sort, you would talk. You would tell your story as I have told mine. You would frankly give us full word concerning The Shadow.
“Why not confess and save yourself that dread existence? Do you wish to become a dead man who lives? Hardly. You have your opportunity to avoid the fate that I have outlined. You have served The Shadow. We can use you in our service. Take your choice: life or the death sleep.”
Lagwood’s tone had become almost hypnotic. Cliff was staring into the physician’s cold eyes. He found himself yielding to the persuasive, purring words. It required an effort to break that spell.
“No!” challenged Cliff.
Lagwood made a gesture with his left hand. Carson stepped forward to take Cliff away. Wolf Barlan leered. Let Cliff be snowed under for forty-eight hours. Maybe the fellow would talk after that interval. The big shot saw the merits of Lagwood’s scheme. Wolf was gloating when he heard a sound from the outer door. He turned; the other followed his example.
THE loose door had swung open. There, cloaked in black was an ominous figure. The Shadow stood upon the threshold. Burning eyes glared from beneath the brim of his slouch hat. Automatics loomed from his gloved fists.
The men in the room stood silent. The Shadow’s whispered laugh broke the stillness. There was meaning in the mirth. The Shadow had heard all that Doctor Seton Lagwood had said to Cliff Marsland.
“Your confession, Lagwood,” sneered The Shadow, “was unnecessary. I had divined the truth of your evil game. Two events, today, were the conclusive points. Your order for new neutralizer, to replace that which had been destroyed at my command. Your deliberate murder of the tool who called himself James Huring.
“I took no chances when I prepared my final stroke. I gave the police an inkling of your nefarious game. They covered the hospital, while I came here. At either place, your apprehension was made certain. It has been my privilege to effect the capture.”
As The Shadow’s tones ended, Lagwood acted with sudden fury. Like a madman, the treacherous physician hurled himself forward toward the cloaked avenger. His spring was made with amazing swiftness. It left The Shadow but one course. An automatic barked. Lagwood’s long hands clutched The Shadow’s cloak; they lost their hold as the physician slumped to the floor.
Wolf and Carson had yanked gats, aiming for The Shadow. The second automatic thundered; its bullet found Wolf’s heart before the big shot could discharge his revolver. At the same instant, Cliff Marsland, leaping in Carson’s path, delivered a left hook to the man’s jaw. As Wolf crumpled, Carson slumped.
Echoes died. Then the silence was broken, by the croaking voice of Seton Lagwood. Mortally wounded, the supercrook was gloating even though he faced death. His words were directed to The Shadow.
“You will die,” was Lagwood’s prophecy. “You are trapped. This house is surrounded. Those shots will bring Wolf’s henchmen. You have no escape. For you” — Lagwood coughed — “for you, the death sleep — then — death itself.”
The Shadow’s cloak collar fell to reveal a gas mask beneath. Lagwood stared with blurred eyes as the cloaked avenger brought forth a second mask and passed it to Cliff Marsland. Yet Lagwood managed another chuckle as Cliff donned the device.
“They are coming” — footsteps echoing from stony corridors proved the statement — “and you have no retreat. You may avoid the death sleep — but death — will be — yours.”
Lagwood lay gasping, his life almost ended. The Shadow’s cloak collar moved up under pressure of his hand. The gas mask was hidden. Whirling, The Shadow, swung to the outer door. His gesture warned Cliff not to follow. Then, with a shuddering laugh, The Shadow opened the barrier and stepped into the vaulted room outside.
LAGWOOD was right. The place was a trap. Stepping into full view, The Shadow was covered from three corridors. Each passage contained four mobsters. All held revolvers. Superfighter though The Shadow was, the situation offered impossible odds. Yet The Shadow laughed.