There was a chance that Quill had needed special services from one of his men. Logically, he would have chosen Bosco; but Lawsham knew that Bosco was dead. Quill could have chosen Pike as substitute.
Pike, not Quill, might be the double-crosser. Knowing too much of the game, he might have gassed Quill, then cooked up the story, to claim the five thousand dollars - and more. Lawsham finished that mental process. Tilting his head, he looked shrewdly toward The Shadow.
"Think I'm stringing you, prof?" demanded The Shadow, preserving his thick-lipped grin. "That's why I gassed Quill, instead of croaking him. Just so there wouldn't be no argument."
"No argument?"
"That's it!" The harsh tone became earnest. "Look, prof. I ain't selling you no bum bill of goods. You yank Quill out of this trance he's in and put the heat on him. You do it right and he'll go yellow. When he does, you'll find out that what I told you is the real McCoy!"
Lawsham considered; at last, he nodded.
"An excellent idea!" he decided. "By tomorrow night -"
"Nothing doing!" The Shadow shook his head. "I'm lamming tonight, and I want the dough that'll be coming to me. Besides" - The Shadow added the next bait shrewdly - "there's a chance Quill may have put some other guys wise to something. If I was you, I wouldn't waste no time finding out. Quill's the bozo that can answer. If you don't know how to give the heat, I'll show you."
Lawsham saw the value of the argument. He also decided that Pike's services might prove useful, if Quill refused to talk. Opening the door, Lawsham called his servants. He told one to remain with Pike; he ordered the others to carry Quill to the test room.
While the servants were present, Lawsham reached in a desk drawer, took out a leather-bound notebook. He didn't see the glitter that came to the eyes of the pretended Pike Fengel.
The Shadow knew, almost to a certainty, that the little book contained the formula for the antidote to the sleeping gas. To risk fighting for it at this moment would be too great, especially with three of Lawsham's men on hand.
Indifferently, The Shadow lighted a cigarette. He asked as Lawsham was leaving the office:
"How long you going to be, prof?"
"About a half hour," replied Lawsham. "Just why do you wish to know?"
"Thought maybe you had some books with pitchers in 'em," returned The Shadow. "I get the heebies, sitting around looking at nothing."
Lawsham told the servant to bring some picture magazines from a book rack in a corner of the office.
Leaving, the professor closed the door. He decided that one of his capable watchers could keep Pike Fengel pacified.
IN the test room, Professor Lawsham consulted the formula book. His assistants brought him chemical mixtures as he called for them. From those, Lawsham compounded a greenish gas, that filled a large glass cylinder.
They wheeled in a portable bench that looked like an operating table, with Quill stretched upon it. An oxygen tent was placed over the racketeer's head. Attaching a hose, Lawsham let the gas trickle through.
The door of the test room was shut; the scene was tense. Lawsham was counting seconds, as he changed the flow of the gas. Slowly, the greenish line descended into the cylinder, then stopped.
Like Lawsham, the assistants were intent upon the scene. They didn't notice the slow inching open of the door, when it occurred. All during the process, they were watched by eyes that peered from the outer laboratory.
Lawsham tolled off several minutes, then gave another application of the gas. He cut the flow to a mere trickle, as he leaned beside the oxygen tent to listen. Quill's breathing had changed. It was choky, spasmodic.
"Oxygen!" ordered Lawsham, cutting off the gas. "Let him have it slowly."
One assistant removed the gas hose; the other applied a tube from an oxygen tank. The new flow brought deeper, steadier strength to Quill's stifled breathing. Lawsham nodded; the treatment was finished.
The little tent was taken away. Quill lay with his eyes closed, breathing ordinary air in long, satisfied drafts. His eyes opened; he propped himself upon the table, blinked at Lawsham. The professor glanced at his watch.
"Pike will be pleased," he remarked, dryly. "The half hour is not quite over."
Quill's senses were restored, although he looked weak and shaky. Perhaps that shakiness was due partly to another sight that met his eyes. Lawsham's assistants had produced revolvers. One on each side of the table, they were holding Quill covered.
"What - what's the idea?" gulped Quill. "Say, prof, how'd I get here - and why the gats?"
"You don't remember," soothed Lawsham. "Ah! Neither did Remingwood, until I unwisely reminded him.
In your case, Quill, a jog of the memory may be useful. I spoke of Remingwood - by the way, where is he?"
Quill chewed his lips. Lawsham nodded, wisely.
"So you double-crossed me!" he sneered. "It appears that Pike was right. Pike Fengel - do you remember the name, Quill?"
A look of terror came to Quill's blunt face. His hard eyes darted wildly, his long jaw quivered. The men who covered him thought that mere guilt caused that expression; but Lawsham knew Quill too well, to let it pass at that.
"Pike Fengel!" blurted Quill. "What do you know about him?"
"I've met him," replied Lawsham, watching Quill closely. "He's here - in my office."
"He can't be!" Quill's tone was frantic. "Pike's dead! The guy that's here - he's - he's -"
Lawsham didn't wait for the completion of Quill's gasping sentence. The truth had struck the shrewd professor. He grabbed his men, pointed them to the door and gave a raucous order.
That command drowned the final words that Quill panted:
"The Shadow!"
CHAPTER XX. LIVING AND DEAD
LAWSHAM'S burly servants were through the doorway and halfway across the laboratory before the professor was out of the test room. Stopping just beyond the threshold, Lawsham pulled a revolver of his own, to back his fighters in case of a sudden fray.
He saw them yank open the door of the office. As they sprang in, Lawsham viewed the scene they uncovered.
The only person in the room was the servant who had stayed to watch Pike Fengel. The servant was bound and gagged, stretched on the couch amid a litter of discarded pictorials.
On the desk rested the satchel that the fake Pike had brought. It was open, empty, but not in hope of receiving Lawsham's tainted cash. Black objects had been taken from that bag; the crooked professor was soon to realize what they were.
An eerie laugh whispered through the laboratory. Lawsham heard it, realized that the sound came from behind him. The professor spun about, to see The Shadow step from the wall, squarely to the threshold of the test room.
Cloaked in black, The Shadow had become a being of vengeance. He had penetrated to the source of crime; he held its chief perpetrator helpless. For an instant, Lawsham's scrawny hand tightened its clutch on his unaimed revolver, despite the menace of The Shadow's looming automatic.
"Unwise, professor!" The Shadow's tone was sibilant. "Your efforts will be useless. Your formula book is on the bench. The tank is still well filled. I have witnessed your entire procedure. No details were missed."
Recognizing that his life was worthless to The Shadow, Lawsham let the revolver clatter. His thin arms came upward. At a motion from the automatic, Lawsham sidestepped. Two seconds later, he was gritting oaths at his folly in obeying that gun nudge.
The Shadow had moved Lawsham over, to point a second .45 at the two servants who had piled from the office. Tricked by the tone of The Shadow's laugh, they had looked in the wrong direction. When they stared toward the test room, they saw that they were covered. They let their guns drop.