Dead Men Live

Chapter XIX — The Man From Outside

The light switched on in the living room of Orlinov's castle. Glade Tremont entered and sat down in a chair. He lighted a cigar and stared thoughtfully at the large box which stood beside the fireplace. The gray-haired lawyer had undergone a metamorphosis during the stay at Glendale. Association with Ivan Orlinov had caused a change. Here, away from his staid office in New York, the attorney had lost his mask of respectability. He looked the scoundrel that he was.

It appeared from Tremont's air that he was expecting the arrival of someone. He had left the door of the room open. His eyes were watching toward the hall. The lawyer glanced at his watch. He rose and began to pace the floor.

Footsteps sounded in the hall. Tremont waited. A figure appeared, and Tremont recognized Doctor Gerald Savette. He waved a welcome to his companion in crime. The rascally physician entered, and the two seated themselves.

"Ah!" exclaimed Savette. "There are my trophies."

He pointed significantly to the box.

"Yes," said Tremont, with an evil smile. "We have kept the box here, awaiting your arrival."

"It might have been wise to open it."

"We discussed that, Orlinov and I. We decided to wait, chiefly because the box is such a strong one. We knew that you would have the keys. The contents are valuable, you know. It would not be wise to damage them by demolishing the box."

"That's true," said Savette. "No use to you until I arrived. I gave the usual death dose — forty-eight hours. There is plenty of time yet. We could wait another night; but I think it would be best to open the box now."

He brought the keys from his pocket; then, as an afterthought, he left the living room and returned with Lamont Cranston's portmanteau.

"This is the missing link," he declared. "Its contents are as vital as those of the box." He laid the suitcase on the floor, and opened it. Tremont drew close to watch the examination of the important articles that the bag contained.

"Where is Orlinov?" asked Savette, as he started to lift some books from the suitcase.

"He is quizzing this man Marsland," answered Tremont. "They are downstairs — below ground — in the wing of the house."

Savette uttered a sharp exclamation as he dropped a book upon the floor. He stood up and faced Tremont, an annoyed look upon his face.

"That's a mistake!" he declared "A bad mistake, Glade! Nothing can be gained. Something may be lost!"

"How?"

"Marsland won't talk. Probably he can't talk. You know enough of The Shadow's ways to realize that. We are only keeping Marsland here because we have not yet gained positive evidence that The Shadow is dead."

"Orlinov has been anxious to test Marsland," declared Tremont. "It occurred to me that he might learn something of value that would enable us to trace The Shadow's lair — to assure ourselves that the dangerous man is really dead."

"The fellow will resist," warned Savette. "Orlinov may carry the torture too far. He will learn nothing, and Marsland may die. Then it would be our ill fortune to find The Shadow alive and active. Our hostage would be gone; and we would have a revengeful enemy."

Tremont laughed.

"Don't worry about Orlinov," he said. "Ivan is a craftsman in torture. He will not overdo it. He handles his victims as a cat plays with a mouse. When he proposed torture for Marsland, I agreed. I wanted to see how he would succeed with such a close-mouthed fellow.

"He tells me that he will work to break the man's endurance. Easily, slowly — then a period of relief that is worse than the torture itself. Orlinov swears he will make Marsland talk. He is going about it by degrees. So there is no cause for alarm. Our precious hostage will not die — at least not tonight."

Savette pondered, then shrugged his shoulders. After all, torture was Orlinov's stock in trade. Savette recalled the efficacy of the bearded Russian's methods.

"If Marsland gives out," added Tremont, "Orlinov will stop for tonight. If he gives in under the strain, Orlinov has promised to let me know immediately. He will come up here when Marsland expresses his willingness to speak. We can both go downstairs to hear the grilling."

"Here's wishing Orlinov luck," declared Savette. "It's good practice for him, after all. We have a new customer who may need treatment" — Savette pointed over his shoulder to the big box — "so if Orlinov experiments with Marsland it may do good rather than harm. I'll take your word for it that he is using discretion."

"Let me see what you have here," said Tremont, pointing to the portmanteau. Forgetting Marsland's situation, Savette again stooped before the suitcase and began to pass various articles to Tremont.

"Look them over," grinned the renegade physician. "This is a gold mine, Glade. A real gold mine. Better than anything we have struck. It gives us all the funds we want.

"I caught Cranston just as he was leaving for parts unknown, to be gone for two years. He is now a dead man who will live — and people will not know it for a while, so long as he signs his checks and sends his written orders for the disposition of his available wealth.

"We can take it slowly and wisely. Time it with the progress of our experiments here. Then, when we are through with the others, we will be through with Cranston, too. He will go out with the rest."

"How will you cover his death?"

"Cover it? By letters that he himself writes. I shall go abroad, Glade. Word will come back that Cranston is in Africa, going to a dangerous region of the jungle. It will be easy to plant the evidence — especially with Cranston's own letters. He will not come back — that is all. I'm glad I waited for this. It is the best and safest proposition that we have yet encountered."

"Six months at the most," said Tremont thoughtfully.

"Ah!" exclaimed Savette. "You have made new progress here?"

"All that can be desired," declared the lawyer. "The television work is actually done. Something new may develop in it — but it has already exceeded our expectation. The energy device will require more time to get it to the point we want. It is a sure proposition, however. A little trouble with the air inventions. That will be ironed out."

Doctor Savette stood up. His face gleamed; he laughed harshly. Silently, he began to display the articles that he had stolen from Cranston. Checkbooks, with balances marked in them. Account books, carefully prepared in detail. Each item brought a grunt of satisfaction from Glade Tremont.

"I know that lawyer, Bartram," he said. "A soft egg, if ever there was one. He looks like a human jellyfish. There will be easy ways to work this, Gerald.

"Suppose an unknown inventor shows up in New York — a man with an idea in television, for instance. Taking up work that another dropped — through death. Bartram is then instructed to give this chap money—"

"A good tie-up," interjected Savette, as the lawyer paused. "That will all come later. It is just a case of playing a perfect game. The cards are in our hands. Everything has been smooth here. It will continue to be—"

There was a thump at the door. Savette dropped the loose articles back into the portmanteau. He nodded to Tremont.

"Come in," called the lawyer.

Biff Towley entered. The gang leader was hardly recognizable. A broad strip of adhesive plaster was across the bridge of his nose. His forehead and his cheeks were puffed and blackish.

Towley's physiognomy was not a handsome one at best. When The Shadow had bashed it with the revolver he had changed the contour of the vile countenance. Biff Towley had good reason to remember that gunfight on the Long Island swimming pier.

Savette stared curiously at the gang leader. He had known of Towley's plight, and it would be his work to remake the shattered features after Biff's face had mended somewhat.

"What is it?" questioned Tremont.

"Just nabbed a bozo out front," declared Biff.

Tremont looked at Savette. Both men had the same thought. The Shadow! Could it be possible that the man still lived? Or was this some agent who was taking up his work?

"Bring him in," ordered Tremont.

Biff went away. Savette looked at Tremont with apprehensive eye.

"Maybe it is just some prowler," declared the lawyer. "We have put on strict guard. We are taking no chances now."

"It's not a good idea to bring the fellow in, then," said Savette. "If he is just someone from the vicinity, he may talk—"

"Don't worry about that," replied Tremont. "No one has a right trespassing on this property. If this man appears to know nothing, I shall simply reprimand him for entering the grounds. Orlinov has done that to trespassers frequently."

The door opened, and a man entered. Biff Towley was right behind him. The gang leader was playing the part of a grounds keeper on the estate. Savette could see that he was holding a revolver in readiness.

"Here he is, sir," declared Towley. "I thought I had better bring him in here, Mr. Tremont, because I found this on him."

He tossed a small automatic into a chair beside the lawyer. Tremont picked up the gun and examined it. He calmly released the safety lock. Thus armed with a loaded pistol, he was in readiness, although his action appeared to be perfectly normal.

The man whom Biff Towley had brought in was standing with bowed head. His pose did not make him appear formidable. Tremont uttered a terse order, bidding Towley to leave. The gang leader retired, leaving his prisoner under Tremont's guard.

"Well?" he questioned harshly.

The man raised his head. Simultaneously, gasps of astonishment came from both Tremont and Savette. Then the gray-haired lawyer chuckled, and the physician joined with a raspy laugh.

"Harold Sharrock!" said the lawyer, in a sarcastic tone. "Just the man we have wanted. Walked right in to see us. Excellent!"

Sharrock, tall and weak-chinned, stared in a stupefied manner as he faced his captors. He seemed to be making an effort to be bold, without succeeding.

Glade Tremont's chuckle trailed into a dwindling laugh that boded no good for this unexpected visitor. Harold Sharrock had come from the outside. What was his purpose here?

That he would presently explain. Glade Tremont's grim gaze showed that he intended to make Sharrock talk.