The Shadow - Death Turrets Part 11

Lenley would have felt chills, could he have witnessed that scene. The Shadow was away from the range of the leaky pipe, to a spot where he could breathe freely. He still had a few minutes in which to effect his own rescue.

He was at the trapdoor. With one hand, he drew an automatic and thrust it upward. It took all his strength to wedge the gun into the crack, but The Shadow managed it. The halves of the ceiling pried slightly upward. The Shadow pressed his fingers between.

It was then that his strength began to fail. Fingers were numb; they needed rest. Reluctantly, The Shadow took a deep breath; let himself drop to the floor. The gun remained in its wedged position, just as The Shadow wanted it for his next attempt.

Gloves off, The Shadow pressed his fingers, waiting until their strength returned. He had no way of gauging how long it would take the gas to come above his shoulders.

The Shadow could hear the jerky pumps of the motor; he knew that Lenley had set it to increase the flow of fumes. But The Shadow calculated that he had at least five minutes more. He resolved to wait that time.

THAT decision would have pleased Lenley, had the bearded man known of it. The Shadow had miscalculated. He was allowing the proper time for ordinary gasoline fumes to fill a prison of that size. Lenley's synthetic fuel, however, generated carbon monoxide in twice the quant.i.ty produced by ordinary gasoline.

At the precise moment when The Shadow started his rest, he had exactly two minutes more in which to live. Then death would envelop him so swiftly, suddenly that he would have no warning. The heavy carbon monoxide was an unseen monster, creeping up from all about.

That gas could do what hundreds of human enemies had failed to accomplish. It could bring a prompt end to The Shadow's career.

Lenley, leaning above the motor, was holding a watch in his left hand.

His right forefinger marked the dial. The method of this murder appealed to Lenley's scheming mind. Two minutes more-The Shadow would be obliterated, without a trace. A cloaked corpse would lie, forgotten, in the secret prison room.

The Shadow's death would mean the disappearance of Kent Allard. That would mean mystery. Questions, too, but Lenley could answer them. Where was he at the time when Allard was last seen? Here in the laboratory, testing his synthetic fuel.

It was clever, very clever, for Lenley was expected to have his motor ready for a later demonstration. That would satisfy Sheriff Cravlen, when he started a quiz to learn what had become of Allard. His eyes on the watch dial, Lenley did not hear the slight click that sounded behind his back. The noiseof the skipping motor was too great for him to detect other sounds. The crook was thinking of one detail necessary to cover the death of The Shadow, and thereby keep investigation away from the secret counterfeiting lair.

It would be best, decided Lenley, to tighten the exhaust pipe and the casing that surrounded it. That would dispose of the only clue in the laboratory. With only a little more than a minute to go, Lenley reached for the big monkey wrench.

His right hand found only the tabletop beside the motor. Puzzled, Lenley looked for the wrench. It was gone, vanished almost from his grasp.

Lenley, methodical in all he did, knew that he had placed the wrench at that spot. Its absence brought a startled scowl to the counterfeiter's bearded face. Instinctively, Lenley swung clear about from the table.

Looming straight for Lenley's face were a pair of big-gloved hands. One was thrusting for Lenley's throat; the other was lifting the monkey wrench.

Beyond the hands, Lenley saw the face of the man who had entered by the panel from the counterfeiting room. That visage was murderous.

THE horror that gripped Robert Lenley had been duplicated twice before within the walls of Five Towers. Once, when Roderick Talroy had felt that terror; again, when Rufus Fant had quivered with stark fear.

Wildly, Lenley tried to dodge the coming blow. He failed. The murderer's left hand sideswiped the inventor's neck. The right fist descended with the wrench. The blow cracked the side of Lenley's skull. The bearded crook slumped to the floor, senseless.

Too late to save his own life, Lenley unwittingly performed a service for another. The inventor's failure to put up a struggle was a factor that brought aid to The Shadow. The man who provided it was the murderer.

He was unacquainted with the fact that Lenley had trapped The Shadow in a prison cell where death was due within the next half minute.

The killer wanted to insure Lenley's death; for he knew that the inventor had recognized him. Moreover, the elimination of Lenley was part of the murderer's complete scheme. The killer had his own use for the fumes that were pumping through the exhaust pipe of Lenley's motor.

The lights of the laboratory showed only the murderer's back as the gloved invader crouched beside the wall. Clamping the monkey wrench to the exhaust, the murderer gave a powerful tug. The loosened casing ripped away and the detached pipe came with it. Twisted upward, the end of the pipe puffed its fumes into the killer's face.

Turning his head away, the murderer gave a gruff laugh. He planked the monkey wrench on the table beside the motor. He looked at Lenley's face, flat on the floor, turned toward the deadly fumes. It wouldn't take long for that gas to finish Lenley.

The murderer's job was done.

While the motor throbbed its message of doom, the killer turned to the rear panel. He found the catch; pressed it clumsily with his gloved fingers.

With the panel opened, he stepped through to the darkness of Lenley's counterfeiting room. The panel slithered shut, m.u.f.fling the noise of the motor. There was a shuffling sound in the darkness as the killer went through the far panel that led to the honeycombed pa.s.sages in the walls of Five Towers.

AGAIN, brutal death had struck within the mansion of doom. New murder would bring a challenge to the law. Robert Lenley, though a crook in his own right, was not the killer who had slain Roderick Talroy and Rufus Fant.

The actual murderer had proven the inventor's innocence by doing away with Lenley.

With that stroke, the killer supposed that he had disposed of the last man who blocked the path to the completion of his crimes. He thought that he had come upon the inventor in the midst of an experiment with the synthetic fuel. Nothing in Lenley's actions had told the killer that the bearded crookwas engaged in murder on his own.

A past master at the art of murder had slain a man who was on the verge of making his first kill. The murderer, in dealing new death, had put an end to Lenley's effort to take the life of The Shadow. Lenley, like Roderick and Fant, would never arise to accuse the man whose face he had seen in that moment of final terror.

But there was one who would return, from a hidden cell where death had seemed a certainty. The Shadow, when he left the pit of doom, would bring more than accusation of the murderer.

The Shadow's return would carry vengeance for the deaths of innocent men. He, alone, was sure of the ident.i.ty of the man who had murdered Roderick and Fant. The Shadow would be the first to learn that Lenley had died at the hands of the same killer.

Lenley's death would also be avenged, even though the crooked inventor had sought The Shadow's life. In dealing with a murderer, The Shadow would add Lenley's name to the list of victims. The death of Lenley would surely be one kill that the murderer would regret.

However much the murderer had regarded Lenley as an obstacle to his plans, he would find The Shadow a more formidable blocker. The Shadow, alone, could crack the murderer's game.

The killer's own deed had made that climax possible!

CHAPTER XVII.

THE SHADOW WAITS.

LENLEY had been unaware of the killer's approach; the murderer, in turn, had known nothing of The Shadow's imprisonment in the death pit. Similarly, The Shadow had gained no knowledge of the s.h.i.+fted circ.u.mstances above. His first inkling came when he again essayed the task of reaching the trapdoor.

The Shadow waited the full time that he had calculated, then clutched his way up the slippery wall. As he gripped the grating with his fingers, he noticed that there was no hiss of fumes from the detached exhaust pipe.

The motor was still throbbing beyond the wall of the laboratory; therefore, The Shadow supposed that Lenley had himself cut off the escaping gas.

That could prove to be a bad mistake on Lenley's part. It made The Shadow think that he would have another chance to deal with the criminal inventor.

This time, The Shadow was able to handle the trapdoor before his fingers gave out. Through sustained effort, he forced his hands through the wedged opening and jammed one arm clear to the elbow. Holding that grip, he hunted for the catch that held the floor in place.

The Shadow found it-a boltlike fastening connected with a wire. It was fixed to prevent the floor from bulging downward; The Shadow had taken advantage of an opposite slack to work the trap slightly upward from below.

The present situation was one that called for utmost care. Release of the bolt would make the floor drop downward. A bad fall would sprawl The Shadow in the bottom of the pit, where the gas layer was still thick.

That was why The Shadow probed well with his arm before releasing the bolt. His hand gripped a solid section of floor. He was ready.

Coolly, The Shadow regained his dangling automatic, which was barely wedged between the spread sectors of the trap. He slid it beneath his cloak with his free hand. That same hand found the bolt and released it.

Instantly, the trapdoor gave under pressure of The Shadow's leaning weight. If he had still relied upon his former hold, he would have taken the plunge.

The one hand on the solid floor edge saved him. It was slipping as The Shadow's body swayed, but his other fist came through and added its grip. With all the strength that his arms possessed, The Shadow pulled himself upward.The trapdoor helped him when he balanced himself in just the right position. Its tendency was to close upward, once pressure was off it.

The sections of the trapdoor were like tapering walls. They gave unequally, when The Shadow's body was between them, according to the side s.h.i.+fts of his shoulders; his weight was supported by the grip he had upon the solid floor. Hence the trapdoor's closing tendency provided enough friction to offset the slip of The Shadow's hands.

Hoisting his chin above the floor edge, The Shadow spread his elbows and retained a position as though staring into the darkness of Lenley's printing room.

Doubling his knees upward, The Shadow felt the trapdoor rise. It took just enough weight to relieve the deadening strain upon his arms. Long seconds pa.s.sed as the cloaked prisoner regained his strength.

THE SHADOW lashed himself upward and forward with a t.i.tanic heave. As his elbows hoisted, his feet kicked downward. The trapdoor gave, but that did not matter. The Shadow had the impetus he needed, with the footwork providing the extra ounces.

With a half roll, The Shadow flattened upon the solid floor. As he lay there, drawing a long breath, the trapdoor came up in place. An automatic sliding of the bolt was the only signal that The Shadow wanted. Gratefully, he let shoulders and legs sag back to the trap that had become a solid floor.

The air of Lenley's counterfeiting lair seemed clear, compared with the fume-filled atmosphere of the pit. While he rested, The Shadow drew an automatic and held it ready. The motor was still snorting in the laboratory.

At any minute, The Shadow still supposed, Lenley might come through the panel.

Since that did not occur, The Shadow resolved upon a prompt investigation. Coming to his feet, he found the panel. As he slid it open, he poked his automatic through.

As his nostrils breathed the sickening odor of gas, The Shadow's eyes saw Lenley. The bearded man lay below the sputtering motor, which was missing so badly that a few more coughs might halt it. Sight of the monkey wrench and the broken pipe instantly told The Shadow that Lenley had met with foul play.

A mirthless laugh toned from The Shadow's lips. Lenley, the intended murderer, was already dead. He had lain too long in those poisonous fumes. The Shadow could picture exactly how the crook had died. A practiced murderer had disposed of him, and The Shadow knew why.

In fact, The Shadow had foreseen that Lenley's life was in danger. He had proven his deduction when he found the counterfeiting den.

OF all persons in Five Towers, Lenley was the one most anxious to avoid trouble. The Shadow had sensed that from the start. For Lenley, Five Towers was the ideal spot to run his counterfeiting racket. The less attention directed to the place, the better.

It was inconceivable that either Roderick Talroy or Rufus Fant could have pried into Lenley's secret during their brief stay in this old house. If Lucille Merrith had learned anything of Lenley's crooked game, she would have announced it.

Lenley, therefore, was the last person who could have desired murders of the sort that had occurred; the last, also, who would ever have attempted to take Lucille's life.

True, Lenley had tried to dispose of The Shadow, but he had attempted it in a secret place, through a snare.

Circ.u.mstances eliminated Lenley as the killer. The violent death of the inventor made it a case that every one could now recognize. When Sheriff Cravlen arrived at nine o'clock, he would no longer be confronted by the problem of two suspects. There would be only one toward whom the sheriff could possibly point an accusing finger.

That man was George Brendaw.

True, the evidence against George would be circ.u.mstantial. No one hadseen him murder Roderick or Fant; nor had there been witnesses to Lenley's death. But the motive-that of vengeance-was the sort that would fit circ.u.mstantial evidence.

The murder of Lenley, the worst possible stroke for a man in George's position, would be explainable as soon as hidden facts were revealed. A man thirsting for revenge would stop at nothing. He would be crazed enough to dispose of any one who might be able to betray him. Lenley had been capable of s.h.i.+fting a heavy burden upon George. All that had restrained Lenley had been his own difficult position.

Lenley knew all about the secret pa.s.sages that had served in the surprise murders. Once he could prove his own innocence, Lenley might have sprung that news. He had held off because of his counterfeiting work. But he would prefer to take a rap for that crookery, rather than be charged with murder. With all his mock friendliness toward George, Lenley had secretly branded the young man as the killer. He took it for granted, therefore, that George had uncovered the counterfeiting plant and knew that Lenley would be afraid to squeal. That was why Lenley had felt himself immune from a murderer's attack.

Lenley had guessed wrong.

That was something that The Shadow had no cause to regret.

THERE was another angle, however, to Lenley's death. It represented a thrust that would bring an end to a murderer's activity. Only a short while remained before this case would crack wide open. That meant the revival of a former menace.

Lucille Merrith was again in danger. Last night, The Shadow had thwarted the death thrust against Lucille. Since then, he had made it almost impossible for the girl to suffer harm. All the while, however, The Shadow had known that a later thrust would come. It could wait, as long as the law remained doubtful regarding the ident.i.ty of the murderer.

But with Lenley out; with George the only suspect, Lucille's position was precarious. Her death was essential to the complete scheme of vengeance.

Lucille, at present, was under the protection of deputies who were vigilant. But they did not know the full depth of crime. Only The Shadow's presence could insure Lucille's complete safety.

That was why The Shadow took the shortest route to reach the living room. He moved rapidly through the pa.s.sage that led to the spiral stairs of the kitchen well. He ascended and listened at the panel. Hearing no sound, he opened the wall and stepped into the little alcove.

There, The Shadow waited. t.i.tus had come back into the kitchen. The servant emptied the coffee percolator and the teapot. He placed a kettle on the stove to boil more hot water.

Refreshments would be required later, when the sheriff arrived, for George Brendaw insisted upon playing the part of host, despite the suspicion that was resting upon him.

t.i.tus remained only a few minutes in the kitchen. As soon as the servant had gone, The Shadow stepped from the alcove. He opened the cupboard; whipped off his black cloak and rolled it up.

There were dishes on the lower shelves, along with bags of coffee and a small can of tea-b.a.l.l.s. A higher shelf was out of reach and almost empty. The Shadow, taller than t.i.tus, was able to stretch just high enough to flip his folded garments on the upper shelf, where the bundle rolled out of sight.

Again, The Shadow was Kent Allard. In that guise, he came out into the hall and approached the living room.

LUCILLE and her aunt were seated by the fireplace, with two deputies still on watch. t.i.tus was standing stolidly in the corner, in case his services were needed.

Lucille gave a relieved smile when she saw Allard. She asked if all was well outside."Quite all right," a.s.sured Allard, in his calm tone. "None of the outside men reported any suspicious occurrences."

"But you were gone a long while, Mr. Allard-"

"Because the deputies are posted off by the woods. The sheriff's idea-and a good one. Prowlers would have to come through the woods to approach the house."

Lucille nodded. Her gaze told her thoughts. The girl was convinced that danger lay within Five Towers-not outside. She was glad that Allard had returned.

Allard's gaze roamed the room; his expression seemed to show mild surprise because George and Lenley were absent. Lucille expected him to inquire where they were, when George appeared suddenly from the hallway. He was carrying some papers in his hand.

"h.e.l.lo, Allard!" he greeted. As he spoke, George's lips forced a smile.

"Guess I'd better report to you, just as a formality. I've been in the trophy room, digging up all the papers that the sheriff wanted. Correspondence with lawyers, you know, regarding my inheritance."

George tossed the papers on the table; then remembered something.

"That's right!" he exclaimed. "You were out when the sheriff called on the telephone. He told me to have the papers all in order, and he asked me to remind Lenley that there would be an official test of the synthetic fuel."

Allard's gaze indicated that this was news to him. His tone was casual when he asked: "So Lenley went down to the laboratory?"

"He was already there," replied George. "While I was looking upstairs for him, t.i.tus went to the cellar and found him there."

That ended the subject. George took a chair beside Lucille and glanced at the clock. The time was ten minutes of nine.

"The sheriff ought to be here soon," remarked George, coolly. "He had to drive somewhere to get the coroner; then back to the courthouse for the prosecutor. They're all coming up here together."

George turned to Lucille. He smiled, as he added: "That will mean more questions. For all of us."

"I don't mind," returned Lucille, seriously. "I only hope that they can solve those terrible murders."