Atoms of Death

CHAPTER XI THE SHADOW’S VIGIL

ON the following morning, a tall man of distinguished appearance entered a medical building on Fiftieth Street. There was something about this individual that was dimly reminiscent of Lamont Cranston. Perhaps it was the firm mold of his features. It could have been nothing more, for facially, he did not resemble Cranston closely.

Arriving on the third floor, this visitor entered a physician’s office and inquired for Doctor Nordis Baird. The girl at the desk informed him that Doctor Baird was out of town; but that certain of his associates were available.

“Another will not do,” remarked the tall man, almost coldly. “I must see Doctor Baird personally. I am Mr. Arnaud — Henry Arnaud. I telephoned yesterday, stating that I would call today.”

“I am very sorry,” informed the girl, seriously. “It is absolutely impossible to reach Doctor Baird. No one has any idea where he may happen to be.”

“They told me that when I called his apartment house. But they added that I might gain information here.”

“We do not know ourselves, Mr. Arnaud. He left about a week ago, for a complete rest. He may be gone for a period as long as three months. We are to expect him when we see him.”

A smile showed on the lips of Henry Arnaud as the visitor left the office. It was a smile that differed from that of Lamont Cranston. For Arnaud and Cranston were two contrasting personalities, even though both were parts played by The Shadow.

As Henry Arnaud, The Shadow had more leeway in his work. For there was no real Henry Arnaud. The Shadow could let the role suit his own convenience. As a rule, however, he preferred the role of Lamont Cranston.

The Shadow had reverted to the Arnaud role because of his recent experience while playing the part of Cranston. As Arnaud, he was brisker at times. More of a business man than a leisurely gentleman of millions.

At the same time, he possessed well-faked credentials, and could summon influential friends to prove that Henry Arnaud was a man of means and ability. Therefore, the part of Arnaud was eminently suited to The Shadow’s present investigation.

As he reached the street and summoned a cab, The Shadow’s disguised face showed plainly in the daylight. It carried something of the hawkish trace that marked The Shadow’s impersonation of Lamont Cranston. But the features of Henry Arnaud were thicker and heavier. Somehow, also, The Shadow appeared shorter as Arnaud than as Cranston.

HALF an hour after his departure from Doctor Baird’s, The Shadow reached an office building south of Times Square. He took the elevator to the fourteenth floor. There he entered an office that bore the glass-paneled legend:

This suite, numbered 1409, was equipped in modernistic style. The reception room had chromium-plated chairs and settees; an oddly designed rug adorned the floor. It was obvious that Basil Tellert was in business to stay.

The Shadow knew that these signs of affluence were not faked. Basil Tellert was a man who had been in the news. He had been connected with the promotion of certain sporting events and spectacular stage productions.

Moreover, when Tellert dealt with investment promotions, they usually showed themselves sound. The Shadow had this information direct from an investigating agent, Rutledge Mann. Presumably an investment broker, Mann was actually an aid of The Shadow; and he had contacts that frequently proved valuable. This morning, Mann had forwarded a preliminary report that spoke highly of Tellert’s dealings.

The Shadow gave a secretary a card marked with the name of Henry Arnaud. He stated that he was here to see Mr. Tellert. The girl surveyed the visitor; then entered an inner office. A minute later, she reappeared with the announcement that Mr. Tellert was ready to see Mr. Arnaud. The Shadow entered the inner office.

Basil Tellert was a man whose face was a symphony of curves. His florid countenance was well-rounded. His hair line formed a perfect arc; his eyebrows matched the exact curve. His forehead bore three creases identical in appearance, all curving, with exact spacing between.

His lips curved upward in a welcoming smile that looked like a forehead crease inverted. Spreading from each side of his nose were vertical curves that gave his face its final symmetry. Tall, heavy of build, Tellert was an imposing figure.

“Good morning, Mr. Arnaud,” greeted Tellert, in a rich baritone. “Kindly be seated. I would appreciate it if you would begin by stating the nature of your business. That is usual, when I hold interviews.”

“Very well.” The Shadow seated himself and accepted a cigar that Tellert offered. “I have come here, Mr. Tellert, at the advice of a friend who stated that you were promoting a project that might interest me.”

“The friend’s name?”

“Carstairs Townsend. At present in Florida, where I met him last week. Like myself, he is a member of the Merrimac Club.”

“I do not know him.”

“So he told me. But he has a friend whom you know quite well. At least, so Townsend told me. I refer to Talbot Lowberry.”

“Ah, yes, the banker. Mr. Lowberry is now in Europe.”

“Townsend mentioned that fact. He stated also, Mr. Tellert, that you had interested Lowberry in some new electrical marvel — an appliance invented by an eccentric old scientist: Professor Baldridge Jark.”

Tellert’s smile faded. His lips took on a downward curve. Placing his cigar between them, he stared from the window while his left hand drummed the table. Then, suddenly, he faced The Shadow and spoke emphatically.

“I AM glad,” declared Tellert, “that you have referred to Professor Jark as eccentric. The word describes him exactly. I made a mistake, Mr. Arnaud, in attempting to promote the man’s invention. I am afraid that it is going to prove a bad venture. One of the very few with which I have been associated.”

“The invention is not satisfactory?”

“I am afraid not. As yet, I have not informed my clients — such as Mr. Lowberry — because I still hold to the hope that my opinion may be wrong. But I have positively decided against interesting any new investors in the proposition.”

“Frankly put, Mr. Tellert.”

The promoter drew himself up proudly behind his desk. His eyes were straight, his manner was direct.

“I believe in frankness, Mr. Arnaud,” he asserted. “That method of dealing has been responsible for my success. Therefore, I feel that you are entitled to a full explanation of the circumstances involving Professor Jark. It is possible — as I mentioned before — that his idea may be as good as I once thought it was.

“Should such prove to be the case, I should certainly recommend your investing in it. So I consider it good policy to give you a full account of the matter, that you may be able to judge it properly at some future date.”

Tellert pressed a button. A stenographer entered. Tellert called for the Jark files. The girl left and reappeared in less than one minute, bringing a folder of papers and letters. Tellert began to talk again, referring to the data as he spoke.

“Professor Jark,” he stated, “first came to me with news of a new device that he had invented. He termed it the disintegrating ray. Fundamentally, it was an electrical process through which he could reduce the component parts of any solid substance that came within its path.

“Jark, as you doubtless know, is an electrical wizard. He gave me a demonstration with a model of his invention. The bowl-shaped projector which he used did have the quality of melting, or destroying, crude bricks, blocks of cinders, and certain alloys.

“Commercially, the idea had two possibilities. Built on a large scale, it would offer a means of demolishing buildings and other structural objects. It might be used in quarrying, or in other projects. Apparently, it afforded a cheap and efficient method of doing away with certain old and expensive mechanical processes.

“But Jark needed funds to continue with the invention. In its present form, it could not do the work that must be expected of it. The reduction of solid objects was slow; and in most instances, a failure. But the principle was present. It was logical that Jark — given opportunity — could make the device accomplish marvels.”

Tellert made new reference to his papers. He brought out certain letters and laid them to one side. Then he resumed his discussion of the invention itself.

“ANOTHER possibility that Jark presented,” stated Tellert, “was the stepping up of the device to produce what he called an atomic gun. He claimed that with this device he could project a ray several miles, destroying all objects in its path.

“He spoke of the atomic gun as a war weapon. He pictured squadrons of airplanes dematerializing under the withering effect of his machine. He talked of melting battleships. Such outlandish statements worried me. Nevertheless, I was willing to concede that the atomic gun, in modified form, might be a possibility of the future.

“I provided the funds, fifty thousand dollars for experimentation, which I received from interested clients. Jark declared that the amount would be more than ample to perfect the disintegrating ray machine to a point where it would be commercially satisfactory.

“But all the while, Mr. Arnaud, he persisted in his desire to develop an atomic gun. He could not think in sane terms, or let us say” — Tellert smiled — “in sound business terms. The time came when the preliminary funds were almost exhausted. It was then that I received this letter.”

The promoter passed a typewritten sheet to The Shadow. It was signed with a ragged scrawl that represented the signature of Professor Baldridge Jark. While The Shadow was reading the letter, Tellert added a carbon copy of his own reply; then passed over more sheets.

“You see,” explained Tellert, “I write Jark quite frequently, asking for reports on the progress that he was making. It was in reply to one of my usual letters that he again sidetracked mention of the disintegrating ray machine in order to discuss the merits of the atomic gun.

“Apparently — from his inferences — the disintegrating ray had already reached its proper point; but he wanted to drop it. His wonderful gun was a reality; and because it was so amazing, he could deal no longer with private interests. All of his creations must be offered to the government.”

“He mentions here,” remarked The Shadow, “that he would insist that the investors be reimbursed.”

“Yes,” agreed Tellert, “but how? Only one way would be possible: through a government appropriation. And when? No one could tell. Furthermore, my clients did not invest with the understanding that they would simply be reimbursed.

“The agreement with Jark — I have it here — was a fair one. If the disintegrating ray should gain its required intensity, it would become the property of a corporation in which the investors and the professor would have interest.

“I replied with an indignant letter,” asserted the promoter. “I told Jark what I thought. Perhaps I put it strong, Mr. Arnaud, but I believe that I read correctly between the lines of Jark’s own letter. The progress that he claimed sounded doubtful. It looked as though he had decided to try some dodge. His reply stated that he was overworked; that he intended to go away on a vacation.”

Tellert indicated Jark’s last letter with a nudge of his thumb. Then, leaning forward on his desk, he spoke in troubled tone.

“I FELT that I had been harsh with the old man,” he declared. “His letter indicated that his opinion might be changing. I thought that he was coming to his senses. I felt sure that he would write me later, at least to tell me when he expected to leave New York.

“No further letter came. Yesterday afternoon — that was about a week after he wrote me — I telephoned the professor, only to find that the service had been disconnected. I sent a messenger to his home. I received the amazing report that the house was deserted.

“I could not believe it at first. I went there myself, to make sure. The house was open; I entered and found it practically barren. Without a word to me Professor Jark had flown, carrying thousands of dollars worth of equipment, all of which had been provided through the investors who had shown trust in me.”

Tellert sank back in his chair. He drew a silk handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his florid brow. It was plain that the promoter saw himself in a most embarrassing dilemma; one that would be difficult to explain to the men who had invested in Professor Jark’s invention.

The Shadow arose. He passed the papers back to Tellert. Everything that the promoter had said; all this data from the files, bore testimony to Bruce Duncan’s statements regarding Professor Jark’s strange behavior.

“Would it be possible,” he asked, in the monotone of Arnaud, “that Professor Jark could have decided to conduct his future experiments in some other place? Where he could not be found? So that he would experience no interference from you?”

“I thought of that,” responded Tellert, also rising. “But there is one factor in the way. The matter of money. Jark has very few remaining funds.”

“Could he have acquired some elsewhere?”

Tellert looked startled.

“By George!” he ejaculated. “That might be it! Do you know, I was thinking that the old codger had merely worked a mild swindle; or that he had run away, seeking to cover failure. But it might be that he is playing a double game.

“This is serious, Mr. Arnaud.” Tellert sobered. “May I ask that you keep this interview as a matter of confidence? Really, my position is most embarrassing. I have been hoping only that Jark would soon return. Now I am beginning to doubt him altogether.”

“I shall mention this to no one,” assured The Shadow, steadily. “Only one matter still puzzles me, however. What do you intend to do about Jark’s disappearance?”

“I can only wait,” answered Tellert, mopping his forehead. “Wait — for a few weeks — maybe for a month. Then, if I have heard nothing from Professor Jark, I shall be forced to place the matter in the hands of the proper authorities.

“But to brand Professor Jark as a swindler will be a drastic step. One, I assure you, that will prove damaging to my own reputation. For my clients have always placed great store by my opinions. I must certainly wait, for a month at least, before proclaiming publicly that I have been a dupe.”

Tellert managed to smile hopefully after this statement; but it was evident that new apprehensions troubled him. He shook hands with his visitor as he accompanied him through the outer office.

The skyscraper which housed Tellert’s suite of offices was known as the Lambreth Building. Outside that towering edifice, The Shadow strolled away toward Times Square; then increased his pace to a brisk walk. The figure of Henry Arnaud mingled with the crowd.

LATER, a light clicked in The Shadow’s sanctum. Although it was daytime in Manhattan, this secluded room was black save for that one spot where blue light glowed upon The Shadow’s table. Hands came beneath the glow. Upon a sheet of paper, The Shadow wrote the single word:

A sibilant laugh. The word and the mirth summed The Shadow’s findings. He had seen the one point of contact through which Professor Jark and the men with him could be reached.

Bruce Duncan’s story was valuable. The Shadow knew of Matt Theblaw and Digger Wight. The former was a smart ex-racketeer who had long been latent. The latter had done time for safe-cracking, and had not recently been seen in New York.

Their statement, to Bruce Duncan, that they had come from Tellert, had obviously been made to deceive the young man. Bruce’s observation and his eavesdropping proved clearly that Professor Jark could have contacted with these criminals outside his home; and given them a cue for introducing themselves when they met his secretary.

It was definite that the crooks had agreed with Jark to lull Bruce into thinking that all was well. Despite the presence of mobsters from that time on, Bruce might have fallen for the game had he not overheard the last portion of Jark’s conference with Theblaw and Wight.

Half an hour, Bruce had said. Those thirty minutes of early discussion must have been important. Had Bruce overheard that portion of the conference, he might have learned facts that would give The Shadow a definite trace to the present whereabouts of Jark and the professor’s new associates.

As it was, Bruce had been lucky to get away. Crooks must have planned to take him with them to wherever they were establishing new headquarters. Once he had managed to leave the house on Delavar Street, the plotters had decided that his death was necessary.

At present, Bruce Duncan was safe. From him, The Shadow had learned all that could be gained. Two new leads had arisen. The Shadow had followed both. Doctor Nordis Baird was supposedly on vacation. The Shadow knew that the specialist must have been abducted.

Baird was necessary to Jark. Hence the physician must be at the new headquarters. But Baird’s own penchant for keeping his vacation plans unknown even to his associates meant that it would be impossible to pick up the physician’s trail.

By interviewing Tellert, The Shadow had learned the promoter’s side of the story. At present, Tellert was latent. He did not intend to do anything about Professor Jark’s disappearance for a month at least. Nevertheless, Tellert’s future actions might have some important bearing on the activities of Professor Baldridge Jark.

THE SHADOW inscribed brief coded notes. One to Rutledge Mann; the other to Harry Vincent, for delivery through the investment broker. To these agents he was deputing the task of cautiously watching Basil Tellert, for the definite reason that crooks might also be keeping close check on the promoter.

Jark — Baird — Tellert — not one gave present promise. In that trio, The Shadow saw how one man had been duped and a second kidnapped to serve the wiles of a master plotter. The Shadow, in his own meeting with Professor Jark, had gained an inkling of the old man’s cunning.

He had divined how capable Jark was at playing a double game; how craftily Jark could cover up his real purposes. Talking with the supposed Lamont Cranston, Jark had made himself out to be a friendly individual who had merely taken drastic measures against trespassers.

Yet all the while, crooks had been listening in on Jark’s shrewd palaver. Neatly, the professor had avoided all mention of his disintegrating ray, that device which both Bruce Duncan and Basil Tellert had sketchily described.

Crime. Therein lay The Shadow’s contact. The change of Professor Jark’s abode indicated that plans were ready. The collaboration of Matt Theblaw and Digger Wight showed that quick-acting crooks were on the job, ready to use Jark’s invention to the limit.

Bruce Duncan had escaped. Although Jark, Theblaw and Wight thought that Bruce knew less than he did, they must realize, nevertheless, that the missing secretary could eventually cause trouble.

Crooks were holding Doctor Nordis Baird. There, again, would be difficulty in the future, when Baird’s associates realized that his prolonged absence meant abduction. Another point. Basil Tellert, within the next few weeks, would be forced to proclaim that Professor Baldridge Jark was a swindler.

Finally, The Shadow himself had entered the game. Captured, he had bluffed the foe. But crooks would know that he would not rest until he had carved deeper into their hidden game.

Crime, therefore, would be immediate. The stage was set for it. Quick, swift thrusts, with rapid clean-up, could be the only course. Matt Theblaw and Digger Wight were backed by a brainy master who would certainly order these lieutenants to lose no time.

Crime would strike in Manhattan. That was another logical deduction. Matt and Digger knew this terrain and their contacts here. New York offered the richest opportunities, with the greatest number of varied striking points.

Crime would be covered. Workers like Stinger Lacey would be used to trick the police into thinking that ordinary criminals were pulling routine jobs. That was The Shadow’s final deduction. It marked the course that he intended to follow at once.

Earphones came from the wall. Burbank’s voice came over the wire. In whispered tones, The Shadow issued instructions. Orders to Cliff and Hawkeye. Through these agents in the underworld, The Shadow saw means of counteracting the strokes of evil that soon would be due.