Dead Men Live

Chapter XVII — The Plan Works

At nine o'clock the next evening Doctor Savette again arrived at Lamont Cranston's home — exactly twenty-four hours after his first visit to the millionaire's mansion.

He noted, as he came up the drive, that only a single light was burning in the house.

Savette chuckled. He thought of a wire that he had dispatched last night to Glendale.

The physician was forced to ring the bell twice before the door was opened. It was Lamont Cranston who answered. The millionaire smiled wanly.

"I am everything tonight," he said. "I am taking the place of Richards. I was upstairs in the den when you rang. Have you arranged for a truck?"

"It will be here in half an hour."

"Good. I want to leave about ten."

The men went upstairs. They entered the den. Cranston puffed as he noted that the room was warm.

"Take off your coat, doctor," he said. "I am going to put you to work." Savette complied with the suggestion. Cranston removed his own coat. In vests and shirt sleeves, they walked about, looking at the various objects. Savette pointed out different rugs and skins. He also selected a few other objects.

Together, the men piled the articles into the big box, which stood just within the door.

Cranston peered into the interior as Savette was arranging it.

"It looks like a padded cell," he said with a laugh. "Have you had any experience with them, doctor?" Savette chuckled and grunted an incoherent reply in response. Cranston's hand was resting on the chair where the physician's coat lay. He happened to bring it into the light.

The gleam of metal showed momentarily; then Cranston's hand dropped.

Doctor Savette turned from the box. He looked about the room with the air of a connoisseur; then stroked his chin, reflectively.

"I think that will do," he observed "My room is very small. I certainly appreciate your kindness, Mr. Cranston."

"Don't mention it," said the millionaire.

"Now we are ready," declared the physician, putting on his coat. Lamont Cranston also donned his outer garment.

"I must get my portmanteau," said Cranston.

He walked across the hallway and disappeared for a moment. He came back, lugging a heavy suitcase which he set down with a thump.

"All ready," he announced. "Let us close the big box; then we can see if the truckmen are here." The millionaire stooped before the box Savette looked at the man's face in the light.

Cranston was comparatively young, but his face seemed rather old. It was almost masklike, the physician noted, as though his features were formed from an artificial mold — a smooth surface over a visage beneath.

The physician's hands were in his coat pockets. They moved restlessly; then paused as Cranston stepped away from the box and turned toward him.

"Sure you do not want to take more?" questioned the millionaire. "This box will hold a great deal—"

"It is rather well filled," said Savette.

"Listen!" Cranston held up his hand for silence. "Can that be the truck you ordered?"

"I expect so," said Savette. "I left word for it to pull up outside and wait."

"Perhaps you had better make sure," said Cranston. "Wait — I can go downstairs." He turned toward the door of the den, but Savette stopped him.

"We might as well close the box first," he said. "Do you have the keys for the padlocks?"

Cranston fumbled in his pockets.

"Here they are." He brought out a bunch of keys and tossed them to the physician. "I shall try them to make sure."

He unlocked each of the closed padlocks. Then, as an afterthought, he walked about the box, thumping it heavily.

"Excellent," he said. "No chance of breakage, no matter how roughly it may be handled."

Savette was coming closer, as though to assist in the examination of the box. Cranston again turned away and went out into the hall. He kicked his portmanteau with his foot.

"That's all packed," he said. "We are ready to go. I just want to make sure that I have everything." He came back after a few moments' inspection in another room. Reaching the den, he picked up a light taboret that stood near the box. It had a deep top, and its octagonal interior was large enough to contain a considerable quantity of articles.

"Are you sure you don't want this?" quizzed Cranston. "It would fit nicely in the box. No chance of its breaking. With the way those sides are padded, I could take a trip in the box myself, without minding it."

"Well," said Savette thoughtfully, "I might take it — no, I don't believe so." Cranston placed the taboret beside the box. Again, Savette moved closer. Once more, Cranston turned away. His eyes were steady as he stared at the physician.

"What is the matter, doctor?" he questioned. "You appear to be a trifle pale. Are you feeling faint? I know — it is the stuffiness of this room. Come — let us go downstairs and see if the truck is there. The fresh air will do you good."

Savette was nerving himself for a quick action. This last suggestion interfered with his plans. He gave a sudden gasp, and began to stagger. Cranston turned to him in consternation.

"Let me help you, doctor—"

He held out his arms as Savette staggered against him. With his right hand, the physician clutched Cranston's shoulder. His left hand, unseen by the millionaire, crept stealthily from his pocket. Upward it moved, along Cranston's steadying arm.

A tiny metal object gleamed in the physician's hand. With a quick motion, he steadied himself and drove the point of a hypodermic needle into Lamont Cranston's right arm.

The millionaire uttered a sudden exclamation. His face took on a startled expression as Savette staggered away.

Then the millionaire saw the fiendish gleam that was spreading over the physician's face.

He came toward Savette, with an unexpected fury. His hands went for the physician's throat. The evil man had unmasked himself too soon.

Cranston's fingers caught the villain's neck. A ring pressed hard against Savette's throat.

Then the sudden hold began to weaken. Savette shoved Cranston away; the millionaire staggered backward, toppled, and fell, his shoulder striking the front edge of the box.

There he lay, helpless, without motion. Savette, his teeth together, and his fists clenched, stood above the prostrate body and spat low, furious oaths.

He was recalling statements that Cranston had made last night and tonight. He uttered them now, with evil satisfaction. He cared not that the unconscious man could not hear.

"Going away for a long trip, eh?" snarled Savette. "May never come back. Dangers strike anywhere here, as likely as in the jungle. Fill the box, eh? With a taboret — packed so it can't break. You wouldn't mind taking a trip in it yourself.

"Well you can." Savette's voice became a hideous chuckle. "Yes, take a trip. You are dead, Cranston. Dead. For forty-eight hours, so far as I am concerned. But to the world, you will be dead forever. Dead — when I choose to say the word. Dead men sometimes live — for a time. You are one who will live, until your usefulness is ended!"

Savette examined the hypodermic. Satisfied that he had given his victim the full charge, he dropped the syringe back in his pocket. Stooping, he tumbled the millionaire's body into the box. The form seemed stiff and inert as the fiend huddled it among the padding rugs. Savette stood back and surveyed his handiwork. He closed the door of the box and applied the three heavy padlocks. He pushed the taboret a little to one side. Then he turned to the hall. He went downstairs, carrying Cranston's portmanteau with him.

Out on the porch, the physician gave a low whistle. Two men came from a truck parked in the darkness. Savette gave them a terse order.

"Upstairs," he said. "Bring down the big box from the lighted room." While the men were on the way, Savette placed the portmanteau in his car. He waited until the men brought out the large box and placed it on the truck. He waved his hand as a signal, and the truckmen drove away.

Doctor Savette went back into the house. He walked up to the den, and laughed as he looked at the taboret. It was a valuable article, but not so valuable as the one that he had taken in its place. He picked up the taboret and set it in a corner. The top flopped open. Savette noted that the interior was empty. He turned out the light in the den. He extinguished other lights on the same floor. He did the same when he reached the downstairs hall. He closed the big front door, latching it behind him. Richards would be here in the morning. He would find nothing out of order. All of the furniture had been removed; only the few articles that were in the den remained for the valet to clear away. When Doctor Savette reached his home in New York, he carried Lamont Cranston's portmanteau upstairs with him. He opened the suitcase eagerly. He went through its contents with excited fingers. Here were the articles he wanted! Checkbooks, lists, and other objects of importance. Savette found gold and negotiable notes to the value of two thousand dollars. But he pushed these valuables aside in contempt. What were such trifles? This suitcase would be the means of making millions!

Money! He would have it now. The firm of Savette and Tremont, with their Russian partner, Orlinov, would teem with sure success. Lamont Cranston's wealth would be the basis of many millions more!

Curbing his criminal emotions, Savette closed the portmanteau and placed it in a corner.

He began to consider a milder subject, the simple matter of a short vacation. Savette leaned back in satisfaction as he rested in his easy-chair.

He, too, would go to Glendale. There, Lamont Cranston, under the subtle treatment of Ivan Orlinov, would be induced to disgorge his wealth, at the bidding of his captors!