Atoms of Death

CHAPTER V THE MIDNIGHT STROKE

WHEN Professor Baldridge Jark closed the door of the next room, he turned to face two men who were awaiting him. This pair had been listening at the partly opened door. They had heard every word of the interview between Jark and The Shadow.

One man was tall, dark-complected, with bushy eyebrows and bristling hair. His face, though hard, was crafty; his jaw carried an ugly thrust that gave him a challenging expression.

The other, short and sandy-haired, was a fellow whose face had a downward droop. His countenance was pale; his lips held a half-smoked, unlighted cigarette that hung downward like the corners of his mouth.

Though more intelligent than the thugs who acted as the professor’s servants, these fellows likewise had a criminal look. They were strange companions for a man with the scientific standing of Professor Baldridge Jark.

“You heard it all?” cackled the professor. “What did you think of it, Theblaw?”

He addressed the tall man, who shrugged his shoulders. Jark wheeled to the short fellow.

“What is your opinion, Wight?” demanded the professor.

“Digger don’t know what to make of it,” interjected Theblaw, speaking for Wight. “He’s left it for me to figure out. How about it, Digger?”

“Sure thing, Matt,” acknowledged Wight.

“Since that is the case,” decided Jark, “I await your comments, Theblaw.”

Matt Theblaw sat down. This room was as poorly furnished as the other. Its only furniture consisted of three folding chairs. “Digger” Wight took a second seat, lighted his cigarette and tossed the burnt match on the bare floor. Professor Jark seated himself in the last chair.

“Well,” began Matt Theblaw, “it’s a cinch that Duncan called some guy who knew The Shadow. One of Stinger’s men was listening outside of Duncan’s door, at the hotel. He heard Duncan say something about The Shadow. That’s why Stinger called me.”

“Perhaps,” admitted Jark. “At the same time, the man appears adventurous. Does he look like The Shadow, Theblaw?”

It was Digger Wight who guffawed in reply.

“Say, prof,” scoffed the little man, “who do ya think has ever seen The Shadow, anyhow? Do you think he goes aroun’ lettin’ people spot his mug? I’d say he don’t! The Shadow’s a fox, he is!”

“So I have heard,” cackled Jark, dryly. “But tonight — if our prisoner is The Shadow — we have seen the infallible personage enter an awaiting snare.”

Digger looked puzzled by the professor’s references. Matt, however, was quick to get the point.

“I’M glad you brought that up, prof,” he asserted. “I must admit I was sort of on the fence. But The Shadow walking in here don’t quite go.”

“He had that map,” put in Digger. “He seen the way was clear. Duncan had marked it that way.”

“Yes,” admitted Matt, “but The Shadow, whether he talked with Duncan or not, could have guessed that Duncan had scrammed out of this place. That would mean that we knew Duncan was gone.”

“Which we did,” inserted Jark.

“And The Shadow should have figured that we’d trap the side entrance,” continued Matt. “You know what I told you, prof. I said put the extra apparatus on that landing. Have it ready if Duncan or anybody else tried to come back here. We needed time while we were getting the rest of the equipment away.”

Matt paused while Jark nodded. A short silence followed; then the professor spoke.

“Your comments, Theblaw,” said the old man, “make it appear quite evident that we have captured the wrong man. I am convinced that our present prisoner is the real Lamont Cranston.

“He appears to be antagonistic toward The Shadow because The Shadow has caused him trouble. Therefore, it would be to our advantage to deal well with Cranston. Release him, with an apology. I can handle that in a manner which will not excite his suspicion.”

“What’s the good of lettin’ the guy go?” demanded Digger. “Say — he’s worth dough, ain’t he? Why not hold him?”

“Can it!” snapped Matt. “We’re running no snatch racket, Digger. This guy’s a pal of Barth’s. What do you want to do — have the bulls on our trail? The prof’s got the right idea.

“The only thing is, we don’t want to make a mistake. No use in letting this bird go until we’re sure he’s not The Shadow. We can grab the other Cranston, talk to the two of them together, and find the right one that way.”

“Say, Matt,” commended Digger, “That’s a real ticket. Even if the other mug’s The Shadow, we ought to be able to snatch him, knowin’ where he is.”

“The only objection, Theblaw,” inserted the professor, “is this. If our present prisoner is really Lamont Cranston, holding him will cause me to lose his friendship. I would suggest therefore that you lose no time in seeking to capture the other man. Unless—”

“Unless what?” interposed Theblaw.

“Unless you can think of some other test,” proceeded Jark. “Some clever bit of questioning that will settle our problem rapidly. We have too great an opportunity ahead. We must not jeopardize matters by false steps.”

Theblaw paced across the room. At last he wheeled to Jark and made a definite assertion.

“LET’S think about Duncan for a moment,” he declared. “We know he got away from Stinger’s crew. That much is sure.”

“On this guy Cranston’s say-so?” demanded Digger.

“Certainly,” retorted Matt. “If we’ve really got The Shadow, we know he’s seen Duncan. If he isn’t The Shadow — if he’s Cranston — he’s given us a straight story. All right, supposing we’ve really got Cranston. That leaves Duncan in the clear, don’t it?”

Matt had swung to the professor. Jark nodded.

“So we can figure,” continued Matt, “that Duncan’s passed the word to The Shadow. And if I know The Shadow right, he won’t be waiting until next week to come here.”

“So what?” put in Digger.

“The longer we wait, the better,” asserted Digger. “There’s the test you want, prof. Hold our prisoner for twenty-four hours. No — that’s too long. Twelve hours are enough. If The Shadow is coming, he’ll be here any time.”

“And if he don’t come?” asked Digger.

“It’ll mean that we’ve already got The Shadow,” sneered Matt. “All we’ve got to do is wait. Sit up with this prisoner of yours, prof. Keep him awake talking boloney about your inventions. And if nothing’s hit before daylight, We’ll give him the bump. We’ll know then that he’s The Shadow.”

Another pause. Professor Jark was nodding as he rubbed his chin. Matt decided to drive his argument home.

“Anybody’s liable to be dumb,” said the tall crook. “Even The Shadow. Maybe he’s pulled a boner and that’s how we got him. What I’ve said still goes. If we’ve got the real Cranston, The Shadow will show up. If he does, I’ll bet it won’t be by the side door.”

“Why not?” queried Jark.

“Because he’d figure it was trapped by this time,” replied Theblaw. “If this prisoner is the real Cranston, the best argument he’s got is one he hasn’t mentioned. The fact that he came in the side door. The Shadow wouldn’t have been likely to have tried it.”

“Unless he was takin’ a long shot,” inserted Digger.

“Or crossing the dope,” agreed Matt. “After all, you can’t tell just what The Shadow’s likely to spring. But my guess would be that he’d hit the front.”

“Why?”

“On account of the hall being clear. If Duncan’s tipped him, The Shadow would know that the wiring don’t begin until the foot of the stairs. Anyway, that’s beside the point. If we haven’t got The Shadow, we’ll know it when he comes here.

“The only thing we can do is plan what to do if he does come. He can’t get by those stairs. Nobody can. So he’ll have to beat it, and not knowing we’ve Cranston, he’ll go back to New Jersey.”

“And we’ll snatch him there?” queried Digger.

“Sure thing,” agreed Matt. “Understand, of course, this is all figuring that The Shadow’s still due. If he comes and goes, we’ll know where he’s gone then—”

“And then,” interposed Jark, dryly, “you will perpetrate a deliberate kidnapping. A mistake, Theblaw. A bad mistake. We have done too much already, seizing Lamont Cranston. We must cause no more furor.”

FOR a moment, Theblaw fumed. He glared angrily at the professor, who met his gaze steadily. Then the dark-browed crook laughed. His mirth was an admission that the professor had spoken wisely.

“It won’t be a snatch, prof,” assured Theblaw. “I’m glad you brought it up. It’ll work different, and I’ll tell you why. We can drop the real Cranston, if we have to grab the phony. Both at the same time, see?”

From a hallway outside the room, came the jangle of a muffled bell. It was ringing in steady fashion.

“The front alarm!” exclaimed the professor.

“That’s it!” acknowledged Theblaw, grimly. “Stay here with the prof, Digger. I’m moving out to shove those other gorillas on the job. It’s The Shadow!”

With that, the tall crook darted for a door. The barrier opened just as he reached it. A dark-faced mobster thrust his visage into the doorway. Theblaw motioned the fellow back into the hall.

Then Theblaw shouldered through and closed the door behind him. Digger grinned as he turned to the professor. Old Jark was staring toward the door, half puzzled, half expectant.

“Matt called it, didn’t he, prof?” chuckled Digger. “Said maybe The Shadow was still comin’; that if he was, he’d be due. Take it easy, prof. There’s nothin’ to worry about. Matt an’ them gorillas will take care of him, if he don’t get a hot shot from the stairs.”

Professor Jark nodded, smiling. With an expression of relief, the old man resumed his chair. Like Digger Wight, he was content to await the outcome of Matt Theblaw’s impending battle.