A huge outer door came crashing forward. With it, Joe Cardona and his detectives hurtled into view.
With guns in hands, they faced a menace which they had not expected. Hastily, they raised their revolvers to fire.
Lined across the wide lower corridor were Eric Veldon’s minions. Like statues, these one-time criminals had been waiting stolidly for the breaking of the door. Each monstrous creature held a pair of revolvers.
As the detectives came in sight, the instinctive reactions of these killers took effect.
Tried detectives against transformed mobsmen. Brave men of the law against sullen, automatic minions who did not fear to die. Shots burst forth as both sides fired, but with that opening attack came roaring bursts of flame from another quarter.
The Shadow, a brace of automatics in his hands, was aiding the cause of Joe Cardona. Timely aid, for the detectives had plunged headlong into the path of fire. As The Shadow’s automatics barked, Veldon’s minions swung instinctively to meet the fire from the rear. Though gangsters once — rats who would then have feared The Shadow — they did not recognize him now.
But with that fatal motion, the minions of the fiend were doomed. Their fire had been turned; only one of Cardona’s men had been wounded. Detectives blazed from one direction. The Shadow, elevated on the stairs, fired downward from the other.
Shooting deliberately, Eric Veldon’s men began to fall. They did not crumple; they uttered no cries of pain. Instead, they stood staring in their tracks. Rigid, they plunged dead upon the floor.
The Shadow was retiring. Dumfounded detectives, excited by the battle, were riddling the fallen minions with lead. The sight was uncanny; forms that seemed corpselike more than human had dropped like tenpins. Cardona and his men were coming through.
At the head of the stairs, The Shadow merged with the darkness of a side corridor. Footsteps sounded.
Joe Cardona reached the top of the stairs. He saw a man awaiting him at the door of a lighted room. It was Doctor Rupert Sayre, calling the detective onward.
The raiding squad reached the room. Doctor Sayre declared his identity. He pointed to Cliff Marsland, who now had the revolver, and was guarding Alpha, a prisoner.
“This is Marsland,” explained Sayre. “He was brought here as a victim. He and I were planning to escape.”
“And this man?” quizzed Cardona, as he indicated Alpha.
“One of Veldon’s henchmen,” said Sayre. “The only intelligent one. He was aiding us to escape when the attack began. We feared trouble from him, and Marsland overpowered him. He is the one man we need. He is the one who can tell us where to find Eric Veldon.”
Cliff Marsland had released Alpha. The dull-faced man was standing on his feet. Rupert Sayre was attending to the wound of the one detective who had been clipped in the fray.
Facing Alpha, Joe Cardona began his quiz of Veldon’s minion. Alpha, with eyes steady and staring, answered each question that the detective gave him.
CHAPTER XXIII. FIEND VERSUS SHADOW
“YOUR name?” inquired Cardona.
“Alpha,” responded the corpselike man.
“Eric Veldon is your master?” quizzed the detective.
“He is my master,” responded Alpha, pointing to Rupert Sayre.
“Where is the one who was your master?” put in Sayre, to aid Cardona’s quiz.
“He is away.”
“When will he return?” asked Cardona.
“Soon,” declared Alpha.
“Show us where he will be,” ordered Cardona.
Steadily, Alpha walked forward. The detectives followed as the man mechanically led the way to the floor below. He stopped before a panel in the wall.
“Is this the place?” demanded Cardona.
“Yes,” said Alpha, staring at the panel he had pointed out.
“Open the panel,” commanded Cardona.
“I cannot,” said the man in his deliberate tones. “Only my old master can open it. From within.”
Doctor Sayre had arrived with the wounded detective. He nodded as he heard Alpha’s statement.
“Veldon’s room is somewhere near,” he asserted. “He has an X-ray device that makes him look like a living skeleton. If we wait—”
“Quiet, every one,” whispered Cardona, with a nod. Then, to Alpha: “Does your master summon you here?”
“Yes.” Alpha’s eyes were staring wide open. “Soon. He will summon me.”
The group moved back as Alpha approached the panel and stood in listening attitude. Cliff Marsland and Rupert Sayre were as tense as the detectives.
“I think the panel will open,” whispered the surgeon. “We can go in then — and wait until the lights go out.
The skeleton will then appear. It will not be invulnerable. By shooting from the sides of the screen—”
“Keep ready,” decided Cardona.
A full minute passed. Suddenly, as Alpha stood staring, the panel slid open. Cliff Marsland gripped the minion’s arms. Quickly, the detectives entered the dim room. Cliff and Sayre followed, with Alpha. The minion was completely subdued.
The lights went out. Only a slight flicker of dull illumination came from the corridor, for the panel was still open. Then came the bright glow beyond the screen on the table. The skeleton came into view. Doctor Sayre gave a gasp of elation. He realized that from the skeleton’s seat, one could not see who was in the room!
“Get him, men!”
The command came from Joe Cardona. With it, the detective fired. Shots burst from the sides of the room. The skeleton toppled and disappeared as it fell beneath the table.
“Find a light switch!” ordered Cardona.
A DETECTIVE discovered one with the aid of a flashlight. Another found another switch. Both pressed.
One switch brought illumination to the room; the other caused the radiant light to vanish from the farther wall. The second switch had raised the leaded panel covering the front section of the X-ray projector.
A cry of amazement came as Cardona rounded the end of the table. Upon the floor, instead of a human body, lay the crumpled figure of an actual skeleton!
Click!
All eyes turned toward the exit. The panel had shut. With it came the knowledge of a trap. In the confusion, Alpha, the minion supposedly turned to aid the law, had gone from the room!
“Tick — tick — tick—”
A teletype was working in the corner. Doctor Sayre sprang to it and began to read the ribbon. Cardona joined him; so did Cliff Marsland. The detectives stared about them, ready with their revolvers, but seeing no one at which to shoot.
This message came along the ribbon:
“YOU ARE TRAPPED. YOU WILL DIE. LIKE CLUSSIG, LIKE DUSTIN. LIKE BARRATINI.
LIKE EDKINS. I AM ERIC VELDON. I AM ALSO ALPHA. AS ONE OF MY HENCHMEN I FURTHERED COMMUNICATION BETWEEN MY PRISONERS TO LEARN HOW MUCH THEY KNEW. I OPENED THE PANEL BY STEPPING ON THE SECRET SPRING IN THE FLOOR. I PLAYED THE PART OF ONE OF MY OWN MINIONS. IT ENABLED ME TO KEEP CONTACT WITH THE OTHERS. THE SKELETON WHICH YOU SHOT IS THAT OF JOSEPH BARRATINI. I DESTROYED THE FLESH AND USED THE SKELETON AS A FAKE DEVICE.
IT WAS BEHIND THE SCREEN WHEN YOU ENTERED. YOU COULD NOT SEE IT THROUGH THE SCREEN UNTIL THE RAYS APPEARED. YOU ARE FOOLS. PREPARE TO DIE WHEN I RELEASE THE DEADLY GAS.”
The ticking ceased. The doomed men looked at one another. They realized that the extinguishing of the dull light and the appearance of the rays had been automatic. They were truly due to die. Somewhere, they could picture Eric Veldon, the superfiend, ready to release poison gas through jets that lined the walls of this terrible room!