Dead Men Live

Chapter XXII — The Shadow Speaks

The echoes of a sinister, whispered laugh died away. The Shadow, master in the lair of villains, made a downward motion with his automatics.

Understanding, Glade Tremont lowered his hand and reluctantly dropped the weapon which he held. Gerald Savette lowered his hand also, but did not release the hypodermic syringe.

The Shadow's burning eyes glared at the men whom he had trapped. They were helpless, and they knew it. The Shadow had them at his mercy. What did he intend to do?

"Pick up the pistol, Sharrock," said The Shadow in a low, strange whisper. The tall man nodded. He was trying to recover his wits. Mechanically, he obtained the gun which Tremont had dropped on the floor. He stood between the two men whom The Shadow dominated.

"You thought me dead," whispered The Shadow.

He laughed as he addressed these words to Tremont and Savette. The strange emphasis on each uttered syllable made the villains tremble. Men without mercy, they expected none now.

The Shadow was a superman. The fact that he still lived made him more amazing, in their minds, than before.

"You thought me dead," repeated The Shadow. "But I live — as you have learned. I know your schemes in full. I knew your ways of plotting. Money. You needed it, Savette. You were looking for a victim. You found Lamont Cranston."

The Shadow paused, and Savette understood. The echoed mockery of another laugh came as a hateful sound to his ears. The Shadow spoke again.

"What little of your work I did not know," resumed The Shadow, "I have learned tonight. I shall tell you of your crimes, that you may know why I propose grave consequences.

"Austin Bellamy was your first victim. Lawyer betrayed his client; physician, his patient. Your death serum, Savette, worked then for the first time. You spirited Bellamy from your sanitarium, a few years ago. Then came the fire — in which another body was recognized by you as Bellamy's.

"With wealth gained through your pact with Sharrock, you two placed Orlinov in this castle. You became brain thieves. Professor Pierre Rachaud was your first victim. He never sailed on the Albania when it left New York, cruise bound.

"You had trapped him before that. He was on his way here in a box. You posed as Rachaud. All that went overboard were clothes and false whiskers — through the porthole of your cabin. Then smug Doctor Savette was merely a passenger for the rest of the trip"

Savette looked at Tremont as The Shadow paused. The man in black had spoken the truth. He had detected the method behind Savette's game.

"Clark Murdock was the next," resumed The Shadow. "I was at his house that night when you seized him and left the body of a dead man in his place. I heard Murdock speak to his servant about the box.

"At that time, I suspected that someone might have designs on Murdock's life, but I did not believe that danger was due to strike so soon. You were clever then, Savette.

"You, Tremont, have told me how you snared Matt Hartley. You would never have succeeded, had you not trapped Marsland, my man here. From then on, you thought you had me helpless. There was no way whereby I could strike. So you thought. Yet there was a way."

The Shadow's laugh was mocking as it crept softly through the room and reverberated eerily from every corner.

"Lamont Cranston was the way," announced The Shadow. "Lamont Cranston, because he was The Shadow. This box was waiting for you, Savette. You came to Cranston's home with your faithful hypodermic. You did not see Cranston place another in the pocket of your coat, and take yours in its stead.

"You did not choose to take the taboret. So Cranston used it, after you had gone to summon the truckmen. He opened the hinge of this box. From the hollow taboret he took certain articles which he required. In the box, Lamont Cranston became — The Shadow!"

A realization dawned on Savette. He remembered how light the taboret had seemed, when he had lifted it after pushing it before. No wonder. It had contained the weapons and the garb that were a part of The Shadow — articles which Lamont Cranston had chosen to carry with him on his journey.

"Tonight," continued The Shadow, "you shall know the death that you imposed upon others. The death from which men awake. Within this building dead men live. They will be released tonight; you shall remain.

"That syringe which you hold, Doctor Savette, will do nicely for Glade Tremont. I shall let you make the injection. I have another in my pocket. You will receive an injection from my hand. When you awake, you two, affairs will be different here. Ivan Orlinov and his horde will be gone. I shall settle with them." The Shadow pronounced these words with amazing calmness.

He spoke as though the conquering of a crowd of gunmen was simple in accomplishment.

Savette tried to sneer. Tremont was pale. He remembered his awakening after the battle on the dock. The Shadow had fought then to protect himself. Tonight, he would have the advantage of a surprise attack.

"We shall delay no longer," gibed The Shadow. "Go, Savette. Use that hypodermic which you hold. Tremont is to be your subject. Go!"

Mechanically, the physician approached Glade Tremont. He dared not disobey The Shadow. The tables were turned, and Savette knew well that The Shadow would not hesitate to start his battle here by first shooting him and Tremont.

Grim retribution! These monsters were to taste that state of oblivion which they had forced upon others. They were to experience that which they had termed temporary death.

No alternative offering, Gerald Savette wrenched away Tremont's coat and tore off the lawyer's sleeve. He was treating his accomplice as he had treated Harold Sharrock, who now stood pale and tense, watching this strange turn of events.

Glade Tremont offered no resistance. Like Savette, he was a beaten man. Neither one could stand against The Shadow. Even glowering looks were gone. Hopelessness had replaced animosity. The fiends were demonstrating their cowardice.

The Shadow had spoken. His captives were forced to obey. Savette raised the hypodermic. Tremont quailed. The Shadow spoke again.

"Proceed."

That single word sounded like the knell of doom. There was no escape. Savette prepared to make the injection. Then, suddenly, he stood still, and his eyes regained their shrewdness. For a moment. They had looked beyond Harold Sharrock, toward the door of this secluded living room. Quickly, Savette dropped his eyes toward Tremont's arm. He appeared to be busy with the hypodermic. But in that moment, he had betrayed himself.

The Shadow's quick eyes darted toward the door. There, a wicket had opened. And, noiselessly, a panel had dropped.

Peering through the hole in the door was the fierce, bearded face of Ivan Orlinov!

Something gleamed beside that blackened countenance. Orlinov was bringing the muzzle of a revolver into play, turning it toward the figure of The Shadow!

The game had been discovered. Orlinov, coming to conduct his confederates to the torture chamber below, had been wary. He had heard the sound of voices. He had decided to look in to learn what had transpired since the arrival of Doctor Savette.

Now he was preparing to slay The Shadow. He had arrived in the nick of time to save his companions from the sentence that The Shadow had imposed upon them!