Two steps back in the test room, The Shadow spoke cold words to Lawsham.
"Your pretexts were useless," he told the professor. "The evening that Arlene Delton came here, this house was unwatched. Yet crooks sought her life immediately after she returned to her apartment. It was obvious that you had issued the order.
"Odd, too, how you 'remembered' those telephone calls from Hadley; how crooks showed up here to trail Vincent when he left. You had time to summon them when you went below. All in all, professor," -
the tone was mocking - "Remingwood's testimony was helpful, but not essential."
Lawsham stretched to his full height. He folded his arms, tilted back his head to shake away locks of whitish hair.
"Of what am I guilty?" he questioned, cannily. "Thurnig, Brellick, Mandor - none are dead. They are ill, like Vincent and Arlene. You will restore them to soundness - and I will be very much obliged to you, for then I cannot be charged with murder!"
LAWSHAM'S beady eyes were watching The Shadow. Tiny pinpoints, they sought to scrutinize the face beneath the brim of the slouch hat. Lawsham wanted to analyze The Shadow's expression, before offering more argument.
There was one fact which the shrewd professor had wisely dodged. It was The Shadow who suddenly presented it.
"You have forgotten Broyce," spoke The Shadow. "One man, Lawsham, who was murdered at your order."
The professor's lips produced a grin. He was prepared for that statement. His smirk faded, his face took on a look of well-feigned sorrow.
"Poor Doctor Broyce," he said. "He had a shock - one that his weak heart could not stand. There is no one, however, who could ever prove that Broyce was here when the attack struck him; that it was induced by inhalation of the sleep gas.
"Broyce was found dead, in a bus, traveling west. He was pronounced a victim of a heart ailment.
Unfortunately" - Lawsham's smirk had reappeared - "he had no papers that identified him. No, Broyce's death will never be classed as murder."
So sure was Lawsham of that point that he stepped closer to The Shadow, raising his head boldly. If ever a master mind of crime had prepared to meet all emergencies, that man was Professor Uriah Lawsham.
"Should you testify regarding my activities," he chuckled, "you can swear only that you saw me restore a gassed victim - our friend, Quill Baxton. Young Remingwood, it happens, owes his life to me, and will have to testify to that effect. More than that, I can produce the record that credits him with our new process, granting me only the right of purchase.
"As for the option that I gave Mandor and his associates, I can produce it also, with receipts for money already paid me. When they reached Mandor, he can only thank me for preserving them. He will be too pleased to accuse me of misdeeds."
The Shadow shifted slightly. From the edge of his cloak, a bit of white appeared - the end of a long envelope. It told Lawsham that The Shadow had already acquired the papers mentioned, while in the little office. Lawsham bowed, as though The Shadow had done him a favor.
Despite the professor's smugness, the pretense that he wished to clear himself, The Shadow could see an evil gleam in those tiny eyes. It was a quick-flashed signal, well-covered; but it gave the next move away.
Behind The Shadow's back, Quill Baxton had risen from the wheeled table. He was reaching for the tank that contained the green gas, hoping to smash it upon The Shadow's head. That would have been a double deed to Lawsham's liking: elimination of The Shadow, along with the antidote that could save the Dead Who Lived.
Lawsham's quick look was an instinctive signal of encouragement to Quill. It proved useless. Quill's fingers were numbed forever before they could tighten on the glass.
The Shadow's right hand sped in a semicircle; his fingers pressed a gun trigger. Quill sagged, stabbed to the heart by the bullet that came with tonguing flame.
THE SHADOW had seen Quill's moves reflected in the chromium-plated surface of a globular sterilizing cabinet just inside the doorway. With Quill's figure dwarfed by that convex mirror, The Shadow had too small a target to take chances on a clipping shot.
The sweep of The Shadow's arm took away the gun that covered Lawsham. No longer did the professor display a faltering gait. He was on the move the instant that The Shadow started to cover Quill.
Recovering his revolver with a long-armed scoop, Lawsham came bounding in with agile speed. His servants gave a shout as they sprang from the office doorway, reclaiming their guns.
The Shadow made a long step forward to meet Lawsham. His left hand was busy loosing shots at the reckless servants. While they were doubling to the floor, The Shadow made a sidestep that forced Lawsham to a shift of aim. The old professor fired; his shot hit the door frame.
With a sweep, The Shadow sidled in upon him. A fierce laugh mocked Lawsham; he was covered again, by a muzzle that almost touched his forehead. Wildly, the professor dropped; as The Shadow's hand slugged downward, Lawsham came up beneath his swing.
A choppy left-hand stroke was all The Shadow needed to bash the revolver from Lawsham's fist. Even the loss of the gun didn't stop the maddened professor. He had become a frantic fiend. Clutching for The Shadow's throat, he forced his black-cloaked adversary toward the wall.
Footsteps pounded; more servants were coming from the floor above, attracted by the gunfire. They saw the struggle between their master and The Shadow. Four in number, they deployed, hoping to get an angled range of fire.
While he fought off Lawsham, The Shadow kept the professor as a shield. He had a gun loose; with it, he could have picked off the servants. Instead, The Shadow gave them a defiant laugh - one that halted them. There was something sinister in that challenge, that told them they were trapped.
New footsteps proved it. Before the servants could wheel to the stairs, men appeared there. Dick Remingwood had arrived, accompanied by a pair of The Shadow's agents. They had used the old route through the bay window.
Flinging Lawsham to the floor, The Shadow let the murderous professor grovel there, his gun just out of reach. The servants were disarmed. Dick and the men with him were following The Shadow's low-toned orders, while their cloaked chief kept foemen covered.
It was Dick who pocketed the precious notebook that contained the formula for the antidote. Cliff Marsland and "Hawkeye" - the two agents of The Shadow - carried away the cylinder of green gas. The Shadow intended to use it immediately, without mixing more.
Dick stopped to open the rear entrance to the basement. When he had gone up the main stairs, The Shadow stepped in the same direction. Lawsham, glowering, kept watching him; the servants stood sullen and silent.
Men were coming through that rear passage. The first to arrive was Inspector Joe Cardona; behind him, a squad of detectives. They had received a tip-off while searching through Quill's hide-out; a call from The Shadow!
Knowing that Lawsham had intended to take half an hour, The Shadow had made that call from the professor's own office, just after overpowering the lone guard stationed there. When Cardona received orders in The Shadow's whispery voice, Joe followed them.
THE SHADOW watched the law take over. Uriah Lawsham made a grab for his revolver; but one detective kicked the gun away, while another pinned the professor's arms behind him. That grip didn't last long.
Madly, Lawsham broke the hold. Fighting, clawing at the dicks, he dived for the test room. The Shadow couldn't get off a shot; the detectives were in the way. Like The Shadow, Joe Cardona saw the professor grab bottles from a shelf. Joe shouted a warning.
Detectives dropped back. Triumphantly, Lawsham, raised those bottles, to heave them into the laboratory. His murderous eyes were wild with delight; like his high-pitched, incoherent cries, they registered his thoughts.