Again, Jocelyn breathed inward; once more came the throat rattle, accompanied by reeking breath.
Grewson was leaning closer to the dying man. The gangster’s head was swaying slightly.
Thomas Jocelyn made another effort. The intake of air was followed by a long exhalation, a sign that Jocelyn had tried, with all his remaining strength, to speak. Grewson’s head moved from side to side. The gangster’s fingers clawed feebly at the bedspread.
The dying man was seeking to deliver another effort. Before he succeeded, Grewson’s fingers lost their hold. The gangster’s body tumbled to the floor and rolled over on its back. Grewson’s eyes gazed upward in a glassy stare.
The Shadow stood like a statue. His keen eyes studied the weird result that had occurred. Thomas Jocelyn was breathing on, with long, wheezy sighs. Life still was lingering within his frame. But Grewson, the treacherous servant, had succumbed to a more sudden fate.
Grewson was dead!
THE SHADOW’S laugh echoed eerily through the room. There was no mockery in its sound. It was a laugh of understanding. The secret of Thomas Jocelyn’s peculiar breathing was apparent to The Shadow now.
Death lurked in every exhalation that came from the dying financier’s lips!
The chemical compound that Jocelyn had taken, was, itself, a death trap for whomever might approach the victim!
An effervescent fluid, caused by a strange, secret mixture, had poisoned Thomas Jocelyn and had paralyzed his limbs. It had destined him to a lingering death, a long, continued spasm during which he could only breathe with great and constant effort.
With each gasp, Jocelyn breathed out the fumes of a poisonous vapor. He, a dying man, had been transformed into a potential killer!
Only by amazing intuition, only through his capture of Grewson and his orders to the gangster, had The Shadow evaded the most fiendish of Professor Folcroft Urlich’s snares.
Silent death! It had awaited The Shadow surely tonight; yet silent death had failed again. Grewson, the man who had administered the fatal potion to Thomas Jocelyn, had gone to a deserved doom slain by the breath of the man whose death he had assured!
Grewson lay dead upon the floor. Thomas Jocelyn still breathed his sighing, dying gasps. The death that lurked had gained an unintended victim.
Grimly, The Shadow laughed.
CHAPTER XVII. THE LAST WORDS
HORROR had no effect upon The Shadow. The tragedy which had befallen Grewson did not deter the black-garbed observer from his single purpose. Grewson’s death was merely the test that proved the presence of insidious death designed by a fiend.
More than that, it told The Shadow a fact that he already suspected; that a mind much greater than Larry Ricordo’s lay in back of this subtle crime. The hand of Professor Folcroft Urlich had left its mark before; but never so graphically as upon this occasion.
Through Thomas Jocelyn, perhaps, could be found a clew to the potent murderer. Still breathing forth his fetid breath of doom, the financier lived on. The prolonged state of his agony was further proof of a scheming master mind.
The death potion had been devised to produce a long-lingering condition. Many minutes had passed since the dose was administered; more than time enough for an investigator to have come and died from Jocelyn’s exhalations.
The Shadow, however, was not deterred by thoughts of the fate which he had so narrowly escaped. His keen brain was devising a means whereby he could learn what Jocelyn had tried to say. One word was all that The Shadow sought: the name of the supercriminal who dealt in silent death.
Jocelyn could not utter it; that seemed plain now. It was impossible to avoid death if one leaned close to the dying financier.
The Shadow’s gloved hand, extended to Jocelyn’s face, felt the trembling lips and learned that they could not frame a motion which might be understood and interpreted.
There was still one opportunity. Jocelyn’s eyes were open and staring with a vivid glare. The man could hear. He would listen to any instructions that might enable him to throw his last effort against the fiend who had brought him to this horrible fate.
Slowly, in quiet, whispered tones, The Shadow spoke to the dying man. Jocelyn watched the form above him. The financier’s eyes glistened as his ears gained the significance of The Shadow’s plans.
“You must name the one who caused this,” declared The Shadow solemnly. “Letter by letter, I shall seek his name. Indicate, with all your strength, the letters that tell it.”
BREATHING in long heaves, Jocelyn watched and listened. The Shadow’s ominous voice droned the letters of the alphabet. One by one they came until the letter “U.”
At that point, a change occurred in Jocelyn’s expression. With all his might, the dying man did his best to prove that The Shadow had reached the important letter. The glow and barely visible motion that showed in the financier’s eyes caused The Shadow to stop.
Without hesitation, the black-cloaked watcher began another intonation of the alphabet. Jocelyn, stiff as a corpse, still heard and watched with glaring eyes. His effort, this time came upon the letter “R.”
The third recital by The Shadow ended with the letter “L.” Once again, The Shadow noted Thomas Jocelyn’s supreme effort to aid in the gaining of the name.
“A” — The Shadow’s whisper came slowly — “B — C—”
A noise sounded from the front door of the apartment. Some one was pounding there. The Shadow did not stir. His voice kept on its low drone:
“—D — E—F—”
Men were crashing at the barrier. The Shadow watched Jocelyn’s eyes with steady, focused gaze. His voice recited the letter “I.” The sign came from Jocelyn.
“A — B—C —” The Shadow stopped on the third letter. He had gained another signal. Pandemonium was breaking from without. The door was yielding to crashing blows. With total disregard for the attack, The Shadow began a new series of letters.
“H.” As The Shadow named that letter, Jocelyn’s eyes glimmered with dying frenzy. The Shadow stood with folded arms, oblivious to the fact that voices were sounding through the half-broken outer door.
“Urlich,” announced The Shadow.
Jocelyn’s intake of breath paused. The financier emitted a tremendous gasp. His eyes were fixed in a hypnotic stare. The man was at the verge of death; but the mention of that name gave him a last burst of strength.
“Urlich,” repeated The Shadow. “I know his name. I shall meet him soon!”
The outer door came down with a terrific, loud smash. Hoarse shouts resounded as men tumbled into the apartment. The commanding voice of Joe Cardona sounded above them.
“Hold it, men! Hold it! There may be some one in that inner room!”
The Shadow’s eyes were still upon Thomas Jocelyn. The dying financier no longer moved. His whole form was rigid, as though petrified by the final effort of hatred. A hissing sound sizzled through those drawn lips. The face now dead, was ghastly.
Thomas Jocelyn’s prolonged strain had brought a sudden end to his sighing death. No longer did he exhale fumes that menaced all who might approach. The venomous potion’s power was exhausted.
The Shadow’s cloak swished, and its spreading folds revealed a crimson lining. With swift stride The Shadow was turning toward a door at the end of the room. He reached it while the detectives were approaching from the outer room.
The door closed behind The Shadow’s departing form. Moving through the darkness of a smaller room, The Shadow gained a window that opened into a courtyard. A few moments later, a weird, phantom form was moving slowly down the wall of the building.