Again, The Shadow laughed.
This was ingenious. The mere removal of a box of waste; the simple act of unscrewing a burned-out incandescent — these were sufficient to destroy all evidence. Only a small piece of wire would remain upon the floor. Waste and bulb would be thrown away. Nothing could remain to show the cause of Wycroft Dustin’s death.
The Shadow’s flashlight flickered across the laboratory. It disappeared altogether. From then on, The Shadow’s course was invisible. When next his presence became apparent, it was in the room which he had left earlier in the evening — the black-walled laboratory.
THE light switch clicked to reveal The Shadow in his garb of sable hue. Upon the table, The Shadow placed two objects; one was the transformer which he had removed from the box of waste; the other was a small package wrapped within a broad strip of rubber.
Donning his rubber gloves, The Shadow unwrapped this and produced the incandescent which he had taken from Dustin’s alcove.
Swift preparations followed. Soon the bulb was resting in an upright socket; to this was attached the transformer. The Shadow screwed the bulb in place.
There was no sign of activity until the black-gloved hand pressed the light switch of the room. Darkness came; with it, the bluish-violet glow within the incandescent.
On came The Shadow’s flashlight. A hammer poised above the incandescent. A short, quick stroke. The glass was shattered. The bluish glow remained. It came, not from the bulb itself, but from a short tube that was within the frosted glass of the incandescent.
The Shadow detached the transformer. While his flashlight still focused its rays upon the discovered tube, The Shadow’s laugh crept fantastically through the darkened laboratory. The weird investigator had learned the final details.
The tube within the bulb was the creation of some highly inventive mind — an intensified emanator of a fever-producing ray. Its like was already known to science, but this heat-causing apparatus was obviously of greater power than any which had been previously produced.
Glowing within what appeared to be a dead incandescent, emitting its powerful rays through the aid of the transformer, this tube had brought death to Wycroft Dustin. The chemist, standing steadily within its unscreened range, had succumbed to its terrific force.
Who had developed this ray?
The Shadow knew. Merle Clussig must be the man responsible. Clussig had died, through the use of dry ice containing carbon monoxide, a deadly substance designed by Wycroft Dustin. Each victim had unwittingly been responsible for the other’s death!
Some unknown schemer had played one against the other. No trace of his evil identity had been left.
Merle Clussig could have revealed his name; so could have Wycroft Dustin. These men were dead, and the fruits of their inventive and research genius belong to the plotter who had designed their doom!
What other secrets had been gained by this murderer? That question could not be answered until The Shadow had gained the key to the unknown’s identity. Well did The Shadow know that neither the plotter nor his agent — the tool who bore a remarkable likeness to Spud Jagron — would return to the scenes of crime.
The overturned wastebasket at Clussig’s; the trash-buried transformer, and the burned-out incandescent — these were clews which Joe Cardona had failed to discover. The murderer, however, had not reckoned with The Shadow. The master of crime detection had found the clews and had linked them!
THE SHADOW’S laboratory was empty. A light now glimmered in the sanctum. Bluish rays upon a shining-topped table — white hands with their sparkling girasol sending back its vivid flashes. The Shadow’s fingers were inscribing inked thoughts.
How had the murderer formed contact with Merle Clussig and Wycroft Dustin? There was only one logical answer.
He had unquestionably offered them possibilities for financial gain through the development of their inventions. Both had intrusted him with their devices. By eliminating both parties, he had gained all usage for himself.
What promises had he made? Promotion was the answer. This unknown individual was undoubtedly a man with recognized financial contacts. Possibly he had previously brought gain to inventors and research specialists.
The Shadow’s hand was writing swiftly. Coded words appeared in vivid blue. Before the drying ink could vanish, the hands closed the note and sealed it, in an envelope. Upon this, The Shadow inscribed the name and address of Rutledge Mann.
Cliff Marsland was already searching the underworld for clews to the disappearance of Spuds Jagron.
Tomorrow, Rutledge Mann would begin an investigation in The Shadow’s service. Where Cliff was working by stealth and cunning, Mann would be open in his methods.
As an investment broker, with a wide range of activity, he would offer opportunities for those who might be interested in the purchase of newly developed inventions. Through this course, Mann would learn the identity of financiers most likely to seek such offerings.
The Shadow had correctly visioned a triangle of circumstance. Merle Clussig and Wycroft Dustin represented two points; the third was some man of money who they believed was ready to capitalize the results of their ability.
Somewhere within that triangle lay the hidden murderer. He had slain the two creators who knew his identity, but the moneyed man with whom he had negotiated had evidently not been touched. Perhaps that man’s life was also threatened; perhaps not. At any rate, The Shadow sought the financier — through him to learn the identity of the superslayer.
With the aid of his capable agents, The Shadow was reaching out to avenge past crime, and to prevent the stroke of greater evil that might lay ahead. It was The Shadow’s aim to thwart a dangerous crook before the villain could launch a fierce campaign of terror.
To date, The Shadow had not encountered Eric Veldon; yet the master of darkness was directly on the trail of the man with the fiendish smile. Eventually, their paths would meet. The Shadow had linked the clews that were leading to that meeting!
CHAPTER X. THE FIRST REPORT
TO the underworld, The Shadow was known as a lone wolf who battled crime. None had an inkling to his methods. There were those who had sought to thwart The Shadow. They no longer lived.
The eyes of The Shadow were always focused upon affairs in gangdom. So uncanny was The Shadow’s ability to learn the facts of impending crime that it was generally conceded that The Shadow visited the bad lands himself whenever the occasion demanded.
Thus mobsters were constantly on the lookout for The Shadow. Reward and fame awaited the skulking gunman who could terminate the career of this terrible being who was called The Shadow.
The Shadow, however, was ever elusive. He never appeared until crime was due to break. Then he arrived, conquered and departed.
No one in the bad lands had ever solved the full secret of The Shadow’s strategy. There were times when the master sleuth prowled the underworld at random, but those times were few. While crime was latent in gangland, The Shadow devoted his attention to other matters.
How, then, did he gain an inkling of approaching deeds of desperate crime? Mobsters did not know.
Those who did know were The Shadow and his agents. For The Shadow, as a preliminary to his own operations, frequently sent trusted men on errands in the underworld.
Of the Shadow’s agents, the one most suited to gangland investigation was Clifford Marsland. This man had had a picturesque career.
Cliff had served time in Sing Sing for a crime which he had not committed. Only The Shadow knew that fact. He had taken Cliff into his service. Cliff, in turn, had preserved his own reputation among crooks.