The ring of the telephone interrupted the big shot’s reverie. Wolf reached for the instrument — it was on the table beside him — and held a short, grunted conversation over the wire. Laying the telephone aside, he resumed his smile as he stared toward the skyline of Manhattan.
Wolf Barlan was in the money. His rackets had been shot; he had retired to obscurity waiting for better times. Then had come opportunity. Wolf Barlan was a big shot who had contacts. He had learned of a new instrument that could serve in crime. He had called in Spud Claxter; through the services of this lieutenant, he had gained what he required.
Last night had been the test. The death sleep had worked. The future lay open. New henchmen would be needed; Wolf could acquire them through Spud. Hidden, the big shot could launch a campaign of terror and profit that would be under constant control.
He could pick his victims. He would know where they were going for treatment. He could learn the results and act accordingly. Wolf had made money from his old rackets. So far as the law knew, he was extinct — retired from crooked games and living in luxury purely upon his previous profits.
Another ring of the telephone. Wolf answered it and held another abrupt conversation with the new speaker. His smile had increased when he hung up the receiver. Secret informants — men unknown to Spud Claxter — were giving Wolf the tips he needed.
Swift crime — effective strokes — these were the policies with which Wolf Barlan expected to defy the law. The big shot felt confident of sure success. He could foresee nothing that might obstruct his path.
Wolf Barlan, however, had not as yet given thought to powers that lay beyond the law. Elated by the result of last night’s experiment, he believed that the death sleep would remain a perfect weapon for the commission of crime. There was no one, in the big shot’s opinion, who could challenge the methods that he planned to use.
Such confidence had caused Wolf Barlan to neglect consideration of one important factor. In all his careful planning, the big shot had studied the methods of the law, alone. He had not considered the power of The Shadow.
CHAPTER V
DEATH AT DUSK
LATE that same afternoon, a taxicab pulled up in front of an old house that fronted on a quiet street of the upper East Side. A gray-haired man alighted and brought out a satchel. He paid the driver and ascended the brownstone steps of the old house.
Urchins, at play on the opposite side of the street, had stopped their frolic to gawk at the old gentleman from the taxi. It was an event when a cab delivered a passenger in this street. The only respectable-looking house in the entire block was the one that the man was entering. All the other buildings were either empty or tenanted by clustered families that lived in tenement fashion.
A solemn-faced servant answered the gray-haired man’s ring. He reached for the satchel, then stood aside while the arrival entered. The servant followed in obsequious fashion. No words were uttered until the gray-haired man had reached the inner hall and the servant was ready to go upstairs with the satchel.
“Anything unusual, Crowder?” inquired the old man, speaking for the first time.
“Nothing, Mr. Valdan,” replied the servant.
“Where is Benzig?” asked Valdan.
“Below, sir,” replied Crowder. “In the laboratory.”
“Very well. I shall go there at once.”
The gray-haired man descended a flight of stairs. When he reached the bottom, he arrived in a large room that was fitted with work tables and other items of equipment. Large beakers, Bunsen burners, racks of test tubes and shelves stocked with bottles announced the place as a chemical laboratory.
A wan-faced man was at one of the tables. He was pounding with a pestle, grinding powder in a mortar. He stopped work as Valdan arrived. Removing a pair of rubber gloves, this assistant stood by, as though expecting orders.
“Good afternoon, Benzig,” greeted Valdan, in a crackly tone. “What progress have you made during my absence?”
“Quite a bit, sir,” responded Benzig. “I have completed the three compounds which you required. The quantity of the first seemed insufficient, so I am preparing more.”
“Very good. Has all been well since yesterday?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have there been any visitors?”
“Only the delivery men, sir.”
“What delivery men?”
“They brought three boxes, sir,” explained Benzig. “Large cases, they were, with laboratory equipment. They were sure that the consignment was intended for you.”
“I ordered no new equipment.”
“That is what I told them. But they were argumentative. So I went upstairs and questioned Crowder to learn if he knew anything of the matter. I thought perhaps you had forgotten to tell me that a consignment was due. Crowder knew nothing about it, so I sent the delivery men away.”
“With the boxes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hm-m-m.” Valdan looked perplexed. He stared across the laboratory, toward a bolted door. “You have been careful to keep the outer door locked?”
“Yes,” replied the assistant. “Of course I opened it for the delivery men; but I bolted it as soon as they had gone. Then, today, when they brought the guinea pigs—”
“The guinea pigs?”
“Yes, sir. The same men. They came back with a crate of guinea pigs. They said they had been mistaken about the shipments. The equipment was for another laboratory. The guinea pigs were consigned to you.”
“I ordered no guinea pigs.”
“No?” Benzig looked surprised. “There were only a few left, sir! I thought of course this second consignment must be a correct one.”
“Where did you put the guinea pigs?”
“In your private laboratory, sir, where you always keep them.”
VALDAN stalked across the big room. He reached an inner door and opened it. He stepped into a small laboratory where a confused array of boxes was strewn on a table. Benzig followed his employer. He pointed to a crate of guinea pigs which lay in a corner at the right side of the room.
“Probably a duplicate assignment,” crackled Valdan, in a querulous tone. “What did you do with the few cavies that I still had here?”
“I put them in this crate with the new guinea pigs,” replied Benzig. “I let the delivery men take the old box away with them.”
Valdan nodded. He looked about the room while Benzig watched him. This small laboratory was a curious place. Its small amount of equipment was located in the center, directly opposite the door, at the spot where the box-strewn table stood.
There was a door to a closet at the left side of the room. At the right, just beyond the box of guinea pigs, the entire wall formed a huge file cabinet that went up to the ceiling. The drawers were marked with cards that listed numbers. A step-ladder was handy, as a means of reaching the higher files.
To Benzig, this small laboratory was a room of mystery. Like the outer door of the large laboratory, it was fitted with a bolt. Whenever Troxton Valdan used this room for experiments, he invariably entered and bolted the door behind him.
When Valdan was absent from the house, the door of the little laboratory remained unlocked, for it was fitted with bolt alone. On these occasions, Benzig was very careful about the outer door of the large laboratory, for it opened between this house and the next and might easily prove a lurking place for intruders bent on robbery.
Troxton Valdan registered annoyance as Benzig watched him. The gray-haired chemist seemed perplexed by these matters of delivery. When he spoke again, his tone was critical.