The Shadow - The Death Sleep Part 6

"That ain't all. Skeet got talking to one of them men nurses - a trained seal, Skeet called him - and asked him about this drug-store guy, Hoffer. Skeet found out that Lagwood and a couple of other fussy croakers won't have n.o.body else mix their prescriptions except that old timer. All the stuff that Lagwood gets comes from there."

Wolf began to eye the list. He noted that a line had been drawn through one item. He read the abbreviation "Neut-Number 6." He pointed it out to Spud.

"Skeet have anything to say about this?" questioned Wolf.

"Yeah," responded Spud. "Lagwood crossed it off. Told Skeet to tell Hoffer that he wouldn't need no more of it. Not for a while, anyway. Wanted the old boy to tuck it off in some safe place."

"Did Skeet see Hoffer?"

"Yeah. Old wizened guy about eighty years old. Skeet told him about this line that Lagwood crossed off.

Showed him the list."

"What did Hoffer do about it?"

"Dug under a counter and pulled out a gallon jug of some green stuff. When Skeet went out, the old boy was taking it down into the cellar. Going to put it with the cobwebs, I guess." To Spud, the matter was of little consequence. Wolf, however, had another impression. The big shot studied the list; then stared from the window and a smile appeared upon his bloated lips. He picked up the newspaper and began to turn the pages. Spud wondered what was up when he heard Wolf chuckle.

"A couple of dumb clucks, you and Skeet," affirmed the big shot. "Say - what time does Skeet get off duty up there at the hospital?"

"Eight o'clock tonight," answered Spud. "Why? Got something for him to do?"

"You bet I have. It means he chucks that job. Get hold of him and have him do something dumb enough to get fired. Crack up a wheel chair - anything - just so he can fade out in a neat way."

"But then he won't be watching Lagwood?"

"I don't want him to watch Lagwood," Wolf glowered savagely. "He's done enough of that. Look here.

Did you read this statement that the medico made?"

"About sleeping sickness and all that With all them long words, in letters that lay over on one side?"

"That's it."

"I pa.s.sed it up," admitted Spud. "Couldn't figure out that it meant anything."

"It means plenty," growled Wolf. "Here's where Lagwood says he has abandoned the theory of a gas causing this death sleep. Says that he had been working on a vapor treatment, using a neutralizer that he doped out after making blood tests."

"Yeah? What's a neutralizer?"

"It's stuff that would kill the gas fumes if you had it ready. They used neutralizers in gas masks over in France. A gas mask ain't just a bag that you put over your head. It's got a nozzle that you put chemical in; but you've got to have the right stuff."

"You mean that Lagwood may have doped out the stuff we want?"

"You bet I do. For his vapor treatment. But he's quit that. Here it is - this thing that he crossed off the list.

Neut. That's short for neutralizer. There's a gallon of it down in the cellar of that drug store."

"And you've got a lot of funny looking gas masks over in the hideout!"

"Yeah, just waiting for the right stuff to go in them. Listen. Here's Skeet's job. He's got to crack that drug store, see? It's a one man job. n.o.body'll get him if he hits a cellar window. Tell him to find that gallon jug with the green stuff. Bring it to the hideout. Then we're set. That is, if the stuff works."

"You mean that we'll be able to follow in after we heave the gas bombs that we swiped from old Valdan?"

"You guessed it. But we're not going to work it too strong at first. I've got two jobs in mind. Not heavy, but plenty of swag if they're worked right. And after that - well" - Wolf chuckled as he reached for a cigarette - "it's anything, bo, up to the United States Mint."

Spud Claxter sat staring from his chair. His shrewd brain was visioning the possibilities that the big shot had suggested. Wolf Barlan was leering, with his yellowish teeth displayed to their full. Then the big shot's countenance changed. Wolf snarled an order. "Scram," he said to Spud. "Get to Skeet and give him the lay. Then start out and pick that mob you've been talking about. You know the gorillas you want. You've already got an inside crew. But we need some tough mugs for the outside."

Spud lost no time. He was rising as he nodded his understanding. He turned toward the door and was halfway there before Wolf stopped him.

"Don't get too c.o.c.ky," reminded the big shot. "Remember, this stuff is more important than those gas bombs. With that formula the boys swiped out of Valdan's place, I can get more bombs made up after we've used the supply. But this neutralizer stuff is precious.

"It ought to work on account of a smart croaker like Lagwood figuring it out. But don't forget, those masks will have to be loaded each time. Remember, the bottle's made out of gla.s.s, and a clumsy guy can spill stuff when he's pouring.

"Those masks don't take much and a gallon will be plenty if we don't waste it. But if it runs out, we can't go around to the Talleyrand Hospital and send in our cards to Lagwood. We can't say 'h.e.l.lo, doc. Got any more of that green neutralizer? We used up all we swiped.' Do you get me, Spud?"

"I get you," nodded the lieutenant.

"Well," added Wolf, "tell Skeet it'll be curtains for him if he busts the bottle. I've had guys put on the spot for a lot less."

SPUD departed promptly after the final admonition. Wolf Barlan remained leering by the window. Then, with a chuckle, he reached for the telephone. The big shot was ready to proceed with crime.

Spud Claxter was the head of the strong-arm crew. But Wolf had other a.s.sociates upon whom he depended. The big shot was wary when it came to mixing his affairs. He had already picked places for crime. He had been waiting only for the opportunity.

Confident, Wolf dialed a number. He chuckled as he heard the bell ring across the wire. This call was his first step. He was pa.s.sing the news where it would be well received. He knew that this first recipient would be pleased to learn that Doctor Lagwood's neutralizing preparation would be gained tonight by men of crime.

CHAPTER IX. AIDS OF THE SHADOW.

SHORTLY before eight o'clock that evening, a young man of marked professional appearance made his exit from the portals of the Talleyrand Hospital. As he was descending the stone steps, he encountered an elderly man coming upward. The arrival paused and thrust out his hand to the young man.

"Rupert Sayre!" exclaimed the old man. "What are you doing in this bailiwick? Don't tell me that you have joined the staff of the Talleyrand Hospital!"

"h.e.l.lo, Doctor Derry," responded the younger man. "I haven't seen you since the year I graduated from medical school. No, I'm not on the Talleyrand staff. Just happened to drop in to see Freddy Lawson."

"A fine physician, that young man," nodded Doctor Derry. "I believe that Lawson will become the finest dermatologist that we have ever had in this inst.i.tution. Well, well, Rupert. It is a pleasure to see you. Still engaged in general practice."

"Yes, sir." The two men parted. Rupert Sayre walked along the street to an obscure spot and entered the driver's side of a parked coupe. A low voice spoke from the darkness: "Did you learn anything, Doc?"

"Yes," replied Sayre. "I don't know how important it is, Vincent; but it may be exactly what you are looking for. I had a long talk with Lawson; he spent an hour showing me around the place."

"You saw the death sleep patients?"

"Yes. I did not meet Doctor Lagwood, however. But I remembered your request - to catch the details of any unusual incident. I learned of one that has reference to a new attendant."

"What was it?"

"A fellow named Charles Dowther - at least that was the name he gave for himself - was given a job only a few days ago. It appears that several attendants were discharged for drunkenness quite recently. This man managed to gain employment without giving details of previous experience. Being short-handed, the inst.i.tution was ready to take on almost anyone who applied."

"I see."

"Dowther was put to work moving wheel chairs and running errands. He worked on the floor where Doctor Lagwood's laboratory is located and I believe that he must have been in a position to observe what was going on there. Well, Dowther held his job fine until this afternoon."

"What happened then?"

"He let a wheel chair get away from him coming down a flight of stairs. First of all, he had no right with it there; he should have taken it down by elevator. As luck had it, the wheel chair bounced across the hallway and bowled over a plaster statue of Hermes - a life-sized object. To make matters worse, the statue fell upon a gla.s.s case that contained an architect's model of the hospital building and smashed that beyond repair."

"Was Dowther discharged?"

"No. That is the odd part about it. Since the matter appeared to be an accident, he was severely reprimanded for not obeying rules regarding wheel chairs in the elevator. But he apparently thought that he would be dismissed, for he returned late after going out to supper. He arrived only twenty minutes ago and he was creating a great scene. That was how Lawson happened to tell me all about him."

"What was the matter with him?"

"Drunk. He came in through the attendants' entrance and began to argue with everyone in sight. 'Fire me will you? Who's going to fire me? I'll resign.' That was the burden of his theme. So they were firing him when I left."

"You mean he was still putting up an argument?"

"Yes. Refusing to take the pay that they were giving him. Said they could keep the money and buy another statue of a guy with wings on his derby hat."

"It must have been funny, Doc."

"It was, Vincent. Particularly because the man was faking intoxication." "You are sure?"

"Positively," affirmed Sayre. "But I was the only person who detected it. Vincent, that fellow wanted to be fired" - the doctor paused to catch his companion's arm - "watch there! By that lighted entrance. Here comes the chap now."

A HUNCHED figure was staggering from the side of the hospital. In one hand the man held several dollar bills; in the other, he waved a derby hat. He paused to turn back toward the entrance, where attendants were watching his departure. Then, with a final gesture of contempt, the man staggered to the street.

He pa.s.sed the parked coupe, muttering to himself and balking in his gait. He stopped suddenly; turned about and looked back. Satisfied that no one was still watching him, he steadied suddenly and laughed.

He moved off into the darkness, shuffling out of sight.

"I told you that he was faking, Vincent -"

"So long Doc. I'm following him. Thanks."

Sayre's companion opened the door and stepped to the sidewalk. Sayre waited until he had pa.s.sed from view; then started the motor and drove off in his coupe.

To Doctor Rupert Sayre this episode had been both unusual and important. He had come to the Talleyrand Hospital in response to a telephone request from a friend named Lamont Cranston. On the way, Sayre had stopped at the Metrolite Hotel to bring along a man named Harry Vincent. This had been in accord with Cranston's request.

Once - it seemed long ago - Rupert Sayre had been saved from death by a mysterious personage cloaked in black. He had never guessed the exact ident.i.ty of that being; but he connected his mysterious benefactor with a friend whom he had gained at the same period: Lamont Cranston.

Ever since then, the young physician had been ready to conform to any course that Cranston might suggest. He had served this important friend more than once. Thus Doctor Rupert Sayre had become an aid of The Shadow.

HARRY VINCENT, trailing the attendant dismissed from the Talleyrand Hospital, was a young man who had played a much more active part in The Shadow's enterprises. Harry had been a.s.signed to the task of watching events at the Talleyrand Hospital. Handicapped, he had reported his difficulties to Burbank. His meeting with Rupert Sayre had been the answer.

As Harry moved easily but rapidly along the streets not far from the hospital, he realized that he was trailing a product of the underworld. This was a correct a.s.sumption; for Harry was in pursuit of none other than "Skeet" Wurrick. This underling of crime had used the name of Dowther when he had gained the job at the Talleyrand Hospital.

It had required two offenses for Skeet to be fired. His smas.h.i.+ng of the statue had been deliberate. Skeet had made it look like an accident. Reprimanded but not dismissed, he had feigned drunkenness in order to carry out Spud Claxter's orders. Skeet was now bound for the little drug store that bore the name of Hoffer's Pharmacy.

Skeet made a s.h.i.+fty detour that brought him to the entrance of a blind alley. He ducked out of sight.

Harry Vincent, coming from the corner that Skeet had just turned, was deceived by the ruse. The Shadow's agent kept along the block. Skeet had not suspected that someone was following him. At the end of the alley, he found a bas.e.m.e.nt window at the back of the pharmacy. He pried it loose, slid his wiry body into the opening and found himself in Hoffer's cellar. Skeet inspected with a flashlight.

Luck favored the gangster. He found the door of a closet, opened it, and spotted the gallon bottle on a shelf. Skeet recognized the greenish liquid and examined the label. Extinguis.h.i.+ng his flashlight, he grabbed the prize that he sought and made his way back to the window. Three minutes later, he sneaked from the blind alley and hastened across the street.

It was then that Harry Vincent spotted him. The Shadow's agent was returning from the opposite direction. He caught sight of Skeet's s.h.i.+fty form pa.s.sing beneath an isolated street lamp. He saw the bottle that the fellow was carrying. Then Skeet reached the corner.

Harry pursued, swiftly, but with caution. He reached the corner and spied Skeet nearly a block away, just about to turn another corner. Harry hurried forward. He was too late. He reached the corner just in time to see a car shoot away from halfway down the block.

The Shadow's agent was chagrined at his failure. There was only one course left to him. That was a report to Burbank. Harry walked along until he found a cigar store near a corner. He put in a call to the contact man, made his report, and received orders to return to the Metrolite Hotel.

WHILE Harry Vincent was encountering this failure, another agent of The Shadow was at work within the confines of the underworld. Seated at a table in a dive called the Black s.h.i.+p, a st.u.r.dy chap with a chiseled countenance was listening to the boastful talk of a husky mobster sitting opposite.

The firm-faced man was Cliff Marsland, The Shadow's agent in the underworld. Cliff had gained a name for himself in the badlands. It commanded the respect of tough gorillas. The fellow opposite him - Luke Gonrey - was the type of gangster whom Cliff could make talk freely.

"I'm sayin' nothin' to n.o.body," Luke was confiding, in a low growl. "But that don't mean you, Cliff. You're somebody. I know when an' how to keep mum; but I know the few gazebos it don't hurt n.o.body to talk to - an' you're one of 'em."

Cliff shrugged his shoulders. A bottle was beside him; he shoved it across the table and watched Luke fill his gla.s.s. Cliff knew that something was in the wind. He had been watching for gorillas who were spending money. He had spotted Luke, begun a chat with the fellow and let Luke do the talking.

"I got a good break, Cliff," a.s.serted Luke. "That's why I'm tellin' you about it. Real dough in it. Got some mazuma slipped to me in advance. That means there's more comin'."

"It generally does," observed Cliff. "Sometimes it means a catch."

"Not this trip," retorted Luke. "I'll tell you why. The guy that slipped me the cash" - he leaned across the table and reduced his voice to a whisper - "was Spud Claxter."

"Thought he was out of town," responded Cliff.

"Spud?" chuckled Luke. "Guess again. This wad of dough" - he exhibited a bankroll - "means that Spud's in the city. An' this green ain't all fins an' sawbucks, neither. Say, Cliff - I'm goin' to wise up Spud. He ought to have you in the outfit."

"Yeah? What's the game, Luke?"

Luke grinned. "Might as well spill it," he decided. "Spud's givin' me half a grand. Two centuries in advance - that's the wad I just showed you. Well - Spud picked me because I know how to use a smokewagon. No Boy Scouts in his crew. No argument about the dough. He coughed up what I asked for."

"Not bad."

"You bet it ain't. Say - there's plenty of gazebos would b.u.mp off their whole family for half a grand. But that ain't the point. What I'm drivin' at is this. If Spud wanted me, he'll want you. Savvy?"

"For half a grand?"

"Naw. That's where I was dumb. Thought I was shootin' high, but found I was low. Say - Spud won't find no better guy with a rod than you. I'm goin' to tell him that. Savvy?"

"And what then?"

"You'll get a bid from Spud. Hold out for a grand. He'll come through. Then" - Luke's tone was wary - "you an' me make a divvy."