That savage blow was parried the instant it started. Plucking Quill's arm, The Shadow used his other hand to get a throttling grip on the racketeer's throat. He shoved Quill back into the room. Bulge-eyed, Quill could hear the hissing gas behind him.
Handling Quill like the rat he was, The Shadow gave him a terrific sideward shake. Half strangled, Quill sagged; his eyes were dazed. The Shadow gave him a spinning fling that landed Quill close beside the gas tank.
The heavy vapor was settling on that portion of the floor. Quill's flattened figure disappeared in the yellow haze. From the doorway, The Shadow watched, ignoring the moans of thugs who lay close by him.
There were other sounds, too, to which The Shadow paid no heed: the muffled shrills of police whistles; the rattles of a nightstick from the sidewalk in front of the house. All that concerned The Shadow was the subsiding of the gas. It required less than one more minute.
As Quill's figure came to sight, like a derelict motionless in settling fog, The Shadow strode over and hoisted the senseless racketeer across his shoulders. Lighter than Bosco, Quill made an easy burden.
Rapidly, The Shadow reached the hall.
ALTHOUGH the boarded front door was bursting under the attack of the police, the rear route still was clear. Descending the short stairway, The Shadow reached the back door, that he had left unbolted when he returned from carting Remingwood down. He was in the blackness of the alley, when he heard the faint crash that told the front door had gone.
The Shadow had added to the ranks of the Dead Who Lived; but the victims upon whom he had forced the sleep gas were the sort who deserved its clutch. When found by the police, their part in crime would be recognized, for the punctured gas tank stood as evidence.
No longer would mystery enshroud the Dead Who Lived. The condition attributed to a malady would be properly classed as a man-made state, produced through criminal deeds. But there was still a task that concerned The Shadow. It was the rescue of the other Dead Who Lived - innocent persons, among whose number were Harry Vincent and Arlene Delton.
To save them, The Shadow needed an interview with Professor Lawsham. His only course would be to outwit the schemer who held the precious antidote. After a return to life was assured the Dead Who Lived, The Shadow could take up the matter of Lawsham's crimes.
So far, only one murder could be checked against the crafty professor - the death of Doctor Broyce. But other murder was on its way, creeping in with slow-motion precision. Murder of the Dead Who Lived, unless Lawsham could be tricked into revealing the secret that could save them!
Soon, The Shadow was riding in the taxi that had stayed by to await him. Beside him lay Quill Baxton, breathing in the belabored fashion that maintained a ceaseless monotone.
That strange breathing was drowned by an even stranger tone, that issued from lips that looked like those of Pike Fengel. That tone, a whispered prophecy, was the laugh of The Shadow.
For The Shadow had found a way to enter Lawsham's close-guarded preserves. As Pike Fengel, he was bringing a human passport in the person of Quill Baxton, the most recent addition to the Dead Who Lived!
CHAPTER XIX. IN THE TEST ROOM
A TINY flashlight glowed upon a grimy hand; in the palm lay a paper, written in the scrawled penmanship of Quill Baxton. The tiny light went out. A figure moved along the sidewalk, to a gateway between two buildings.
That figure was carrying a burden. Lugging it through the gate, the carrier followed a darkened passage hemmed by old brick walls. He came to another gate, then a tiny courtyard where stunted trees grew from hardened ground.
There were steps that led downward to a rear door of a basement. That was the carrier's destination. He halted; found a bell-button and pushed it. Soon, he detected footsteps beyond the heavy door.
The grimy hand delivered a tattoo of knocks. A wicket opened in response to the signal. A blocky-jawed man spoke from within:
"Who is it?"
"Pike Fengel," was the word from outside. "Bringing Quill Baxton!"
A face thrust close to the wicket. The inside man saw the thuggish features that looked like Pike's. He didn't guess that behind that disguise lay the unknown face of The Shadow. The guard looked doubtful.
"Who did you say was with you?" he asked.
"Quill Baxton," whispered The Shadow, hoarsely. "Take a gander at his mush. You'll know him."
Hoisting the man that he had carried through the passage, The Shadow shoved a drooped face into the light. The guard recognized Quill; moreover, he knew what had happened to the racketeer. He opened the door.
Together, The Shadow and Lawsham's servant lugged Quill to another barrier. There, the servant told The Shadow to wait, while he reported. It wasn't long before more servants arrived. They carried Quill through; The Shadow picked up a small satchel and followed.
Professor Lawsham was in a little corner room fixed like an office. It was an untidy place; among its furnishings was a book-strewn couch. The books were removed and Quill was laid on the couch. Eyeing The Shadow over spectacle tops, Lawsham motioned him to a chair.
The professor didn't doubt that this visitor was one of Quill's outfit. But there were questions that he wanted to ask. He put the first one:
"Your name is Pike Fengel?"
"Sure!" The Shadow gave a grin. "That's me! Pal of Bosco Treff's. It was him got me into the racket."
"Ah, yes." Lawsham evidently recognized Bosco's name. "And how did you happen to come here?"
"So's to bring Quill." The Shadow pointed to the slow-breathing racketeer. "That's easy to answer."
"Yes, yes!" Lawsham's eyes were darty. "But why did you choose this place?"
"Because Quill gave me the dope on how to get here. He wrote it out for me."
The Shadow shoved Quill's direction paper into Lawsham's hand. The professor frowned.
"I know what you're thinking, prof," said The Shadow, in his rough tone. "Quill wasn't supposed to put nobody wise. Only, he did - and I was the guy. His idea was to double-cross you. Savvy?"
THE evidence bore that trend, and Lawsham was shrewd enough to see it. Clasping his hands together, he suggested that Pike tell his story. The Shadow gave it, suiting the details to his present purpose.
"Quill hands me this guy Remingwood," The Shadow related. "Tells me he's slated for the spot, but the idea is to stow him somewhere. Then Quill's coming here to collect five grand. I'm to show up later and tell how I croaked Remingwood.
"All the while, he's keeping the guy, to make sure you cough over the coin. And maybe - he makes me think it, anyway - maybe he's going to shake you down, later. So I takes Remingwood and croaks him!"
Lawsham's eyes showed sharp delight.
"You did that?" he exclaimed. "Even though Quill ordered otherwise?"
"Why not?" The Shadow puffed his lips into a grin. "Quill was staging a double cross. And the way I figure it, a guy's always O.K. if he fixes a double-crosser.
"When I get back with Quill, I fixed him! Took him like that" - The Shadow spread his hands to indicate a choking gesture - "so's he wouldn't make no squawk! Then I hands him the gas pipe!"
"Rather a drastic step," observed Lawsham.
"How come?" demanded The Shadow. "I had to lug him here, didn't I? Anyway, Quill says that you can snap guys out of that sleep, if you want to."
Reaching for the old satchel, The Shadow plunked it on Lawsham's desk.
"That's to hold the mazuma," he told the professor. "Only, five grand ain't enough. I ought to get that much for croaking Remingwood. Some more dough for fixing Quill."
LAWSHAM was tapping the desk. He saw a possible flaw in the story. That was exactly what The Shadow wanted, and had expected. He didn't have to read Lawsham's thoughts; he had foreseen them.