They went down the spiral staircase at the end of the room. They did not stop when they reached the level of the ground floor. Still moving downward through the metal cylinder, they reached an inner doorway a dozen feet below. Professor Urlich pressed the barrier, and brought Ricordo into a dimly lighted room.
LARRY RICORDO blinked and looked about him. The illumination came from indirect lights. It showed that they stood within a large round pit, like the center of a coliseum. The analogy was more pronounced, due to the presence of a balcony that circled entirely around the room.
A low rail, with metal posts supporting it, made the balcony a gallery. Here people could stand and view the pit. Professor Urlich pointed across the room toward the front of the building.
“One enters the balcony from there,” he explained. “Coming through the outer doors, one sees a door ahead. It leads to the balcony. A very natural course to follow.”
Urlich cackled as he spoke. Larry Ricordo felt uneasy. His feet were upon metal plates — a peculiarity he had noticed on the first floor. But it was not this factor, nor the presence of the balcony, that troubled him the most. The gang leader’s eyes were attracted to the center of the room.
There he observed the strangest device that he had ever seen. It was a huge machine, different from anything that Larry believed could exist. The odd device, which measured a dozen feet in each direction, was mounted upon a heavy base, and was supported by posts fitted with rubber insulators. From it extended insulated wires that disappeared into the metal floor.
Glistening wheels, flat disks of shiny metal, together with large glass tubes and other pieces of mechanism, gained the gang leader’s full attention. Ricordo noted a control box at the side of the machine.
“What is it?” he questioned, in an awed tone.
“An electric-ray device,” responded Urlich, with a smile. “Designed to deliver death.”
“You mean it’s like the hot seat — up at the Big House—”
“If you are referring to the electric chair at Sing Sing prison, I can assure you that your analogy is partly correct. The electric chair is designed, however, to kill only its occupant. This invention of mine will slay at a distance.”
“How far?”
“Within the radius of its electrified circles. At present, it will kill only those who are within the circular corridors or who are close to this building. The metal plates receive the current. Watch.”
The professor went to the control box. Ricordo stood beside him. Urlich swung a switch. The big machine began to crackle. Long, snapping flashes of miniature lightning jumped back and forth across the top of the complicated machine.
Ricordo, nervy though he was, shrank away and stared at myriad sparks that flashed along the balcony rail.
Professor Urlich swung back the switch. His cackling laugh replaced the buzz of the machine. Larry Ricordo sniffed the ozone with which the atmosphere was now charged.
“When I first designed the machine,” explained the professor, “I had a small platform mounted beside it.
The only sphere of influence was the floor on which we are now standing. I placed cats — dogs— other animals upon this floor. They were killed instantly.
“Then I extended the zones. The balcony — the outer corridor— finally the portico. These colored lights” — the speaker pointed to a row of unilluminated incandescents — “are for each zone. They tell which portions of the ground floor happen to be occupied.”
“But we are standing on metal,” objected Ricordo. “You say you used this floor. Why are we safe?”
“Each zone is separate,” explained the professor. “There are strips of insulation between. When I extended my experiments to the outer circles, I merely disconnected this one.”
“You have three circles now—”
“Yes, and I shall tell you why. I learned that each circle threw a killing power outside its boundaries. The greater the circle, the greater the effect. It was only a few feet at first; now the sphere of influence extends a dozen yards beyond this building!
“With a machine much larger than this one; with a circle a thousand feet in diameter, I estimate that I could slay all persons within a radius of one mile!”
“It would be a big job to rig up an arrangement like that.”
“Of course. But in the meantime” — the scientist’s eyes gleamed wickedly — “this building is completely protected by silent death. Should an enemy venture here—”
“You mean if The Shadow should try to attack you!”
“Yes. He would come to his certain doom. I have other lights upstairs. We watch them constantly. That is why I have said that I would welcome a visit from The Shadow. But do not look for it, Ricordo.
“Sanoja is ready for us now. I shall view the device that he has made for my approval. If it is exactly as he designed it, we shall be ready to lure The Shadow to another trap of doom.”
THE professor wheeled and walked back toward the cylinder which housed the spiral stairway. Larry Ricordo shuddered. Hardened criminal that he was, the amazing schemes of death designed by Professor Folcroft Urlich frightened him.
One last look at the glittering electric-ray machine; then Ricordo ascended at the professor’s heels. Until now the gang leader had not realized the stupendous power of dealing death that Folcroft Urlich possessed.
Doom to The Shadow! It would be a certainty should the black-garbed visitant attempt to penetrate the heart of Professor Urlich’s domain. Yet Larry Ricordo still digested the scientist’s final words.
A new trap for The Shadow. Another subtle scheme in the making. Again, it would be Ricordo’s part to lay the snare that Professor Urlich had designed.
The gang leader grinned. He was confident now. He had a hunch that The Shadow would never even learn of this strange place where Professor Urlich lived.
Some subtle device would soon accomplish an effective result against the one being who blocked the scheme of widespread murder.
CHAPTER X. CARDONA INTERPOSES
EVENING had arrived. Detective Joe Cardona was seated at his desk. He was studying reports on the explosion which had occurred at the apartment of J. Wesley Barnsworth. He also had a pile of data referring to the episode at Alfred Sartain’s penthouse.
Completing his survey, Cardona arose with a satisfied smile. He went from the office and entered another room where he accosted a bluff-faced man who was sitting at a desk. This was Inspector Timothy Klein.
“Hello, inspector,” greeted the detective. “Thought I’d better let you know that I’m going out on this explosion case. I may get somewhere with it, tonight.”
“You’d better, Joe,” responded Klein. “You know how boiled up the police commissioner is about it. He’ll have you on the carpet first thing you know.”
“I’ve got a hunch it’s linked with the trouble that took place up at Sartain’s.”
“A hunch?” Klein snorted. “That’s no hunch, Joe. The commissioner has the same idea. That’s why he’s steamed. He knows both of those men personally.”
“I know all about that,” answered Cardona. “I also know that the commissioner is keeping quiet only because neither of his friends were killed. He’s got a hunch — like I have — that there’s going to be a third mess soon.”
“If there is,” warned Klein, “you’ll be up against it, Joe. If the same people have tried to kill a big millionaire and an important man in Wall Street, it’s bad enough. It leaves it up to you to block them before they murder somebody.”