Death Sleep

CHAPTER XX STRANGE QUARTERS

CLIFF MARSLAND awakened. He sat up and rubbed his forehead in a dazed fashion. He felt dopey as he looked about. He was in strange surroundings: A room, lighted by a single dull lamp. Windows, below ground, barred with heavy gratings.

Cliff was on a small cot. In the same room were others. He made out the faces of Skeet and the three crooks who had been in the underground hideout. It was then that Cliff began to realize what had happened.

Spud must have engineered the removal of the victims. He had decided that Cliff was one of those overcome by the gas fumes. Cliff grinned. He owed thanks to the injection with which The Shadow had provided him. Moreover, he had recovered in advance of the others.

Though still half groggy, Cliff managed to make a time calculation. It was night; at least twenty-four hours had elapsed since the affair in the hideout. That was it. He had been snowed under for one day. These others would not waken until tomorrow night. Cliff would have plenty of opportunity to escape before they aroused and testified against him.

Cliff arose from his cot. Fully dressed, he moved groggily toward the single door of the room. He tried the barrier and found it locked. He rattled the knob; gaining no result, he returned and sat down on the edge of his cot. He began to study the rigid poses of the men whom he had gassed.

A key turned in the lock. Someone had heard Cliff’s rattle at the door. A solemn-faced young man entered. Cliff stared at him. The man was wearing a white coat. He looked like a physician. He approached and studied Cliff. Since the man did not speak, Cliff took that task upon himself.

“Where am I?” he questioned.

“Never mind,” was the response. “How do you feel?”

“Dopey,” admitted Cliff.

“Weak, also?”

“Yes.”

“Lie down a while. I’ll take care of you later. Don’t worry. You’re all right.”

Cliff caught a glint of suspicion in the man’s eye. He watched the whitecoated visitor turn and go out of the room. The man apparently left the door unlocked. Roused to sudden action, Cliff followed.

Beyond the door, he found a short, stone-walled passage. There was another door ahead. Cliff approached and listened. He could hear a voice on the other side, but he could not make out the words. Phrases were short and interrupted. Then the discourse ended. Cliff heard footsteps moving away; then came the sound of a closing door.

CAUTIOUSLY, Cliff opened his own door and moved through. He found himself in what appeared to be an office. This room also had barred windows. Cliff moved to the opposite door and found that it was locked. He looked around the room. He spied a telephone.

That was why the man had been talking. Making a report — to someone else — a report that might have concerned Cliff. The Shadow’s agent was momentarily dizzy. He steadied; then headed for the table in order to use the telephone himself. He stopped as he heard footsteps from beyond the far door. A key grated in the lock. Cliff dived out through the portal by which he had entered. He closed the door behind him.

With effort, Cliff tiptoed back into the room where the cots were located. He dropped on his own bunk. He was just in time. The door opened and the solemn-faced man reappeared. He came to take a look at Cliff and the others. Without comment, the man departed. This time he locked the door.

Cliff scented danger. He had a hunch that his position was precarious. He felt in his pocket. His revolver was gone. He frisked the rigid forms of the silent crooks. Their pockets, too, were weaponless. Finally, Cliff decided that rest would be advisable. Drowsily, he dropped back upon his cot. Escape still dominated his mind; but it was hopeless for the present.

WHILE Cliff was thus concerned with his strange surroundings, a different episode was taking place in the apartment of Wolf Barlan. There, the big shot had just completed a telephone call. He was hanging up the receiver when the door opened and Spud Claxter appeared.

“I got the stuff, Wolf,” informed the mobleader. “Out of Hoffer’s cellar. Took it to the hideout. We’re all set again. It won’t be no trick to line up that new crew.”

“How soon can you get them?” inquired Wolf.

“Inside an hour,” responded Spud.

“Listen” — Wolf’s tone was serious — “we’re moving out. Get that? Moving out. There’s been dirty work. We’re taking no chances from now on.”

“Dirty work? Who by?”

“This fellow Marsland. There’s something phony about him.”

“He was knocked out with the others.”

“Yeah? Well, he’s waked up ahead of them. You know what that means?”

“That he didn’t get the gas?”

“That’s it. Nobody’s recovered in less than forty-eight hours before this. Here’s a guy that’s back on his feet inside of twenty-four. What’s more, he’s dopey.”

“Shouldn’t he be?”

“No. That gas don’t leave a guy groggy. They come out of it just as fine as when they went under. That is” — Wolf chuckled — “most of them do.”

“Who didn’t?”

“Bud Jardell didn’t. He croaked up at the hospital. I got the tip from the inside man. But let’s get back to Marsland. I’ve got a hunch he’s been working for The Shadow.”

“Marsland? A guy with his rep?”

“That’s just it,” decided Wolf. “It’s a cinch that if The Shadow picked birds to help him, he wouldn’t use guys like police stoolies. He’d use a fellow like Marsland, wouldn’t he?

“Well, there’s one way to find out. That’s to get to Marsland and make him talk. That’s what I’m going to do. I’m through with this place. We’re taking it on the lam. Heading for London later.”

“Then you don’t want the new mob?” inquired Spud.

“Get the mob,” ordered Wolf. “Listen. I’m going to the place where Marsland is. I won’t be the only one there. We’re going to make him talk. Meanwhile, you line up the mob.

“Take the crew to the hideout. Fix them up with masks and bring the gas bombs. You, like the rest of them. Bring all the pineapples. You carry the swag. Come and join up with me.”

“But if The Shadow trails us—”

“How’s he going to trail you if he was using Marsland to get his dope? We’ve got Marsland, haven’t we?”

“That’s right.”

“Have the masks ready, just in case something funny happens. There’s no telling about The Shadow — and the way things are hitting, the bulls are liable to horn in on the game, too. That’s why I want the crew to be ready with the pineapples.”

“I get you.”

“All right. Scram.”

Spud left. Wolf put in a hurried phone call, scowling as he made short, disgruntled statements. That completed, the big shot moved about, packed a bag and left the apartment.

MEANWHILE, a trim coupe came to a stop near Hoffer’s Pharmacy. The Shadow had abandoned his limousine. He had sent Stanley back to New Jersey. Swiftly, The Shadow entered the blind alley and made his way into Hoffer’s cellar. His light glimmered on the shelf of the closet. The bottle of neutralizer was gone. A grim laugh whispered from The Shadow’s lips.

The Shadow moved from the cellar. He regained the coupe and drove eastward. The next token of his mysterious presence came when Joe Cardona, slouching in a corridor of the Talleyrand Hospital, received a summons from an attendant.

“Someone on the wire, sir,” was the information. “Detective headquarters, they said.”

Joe followed the attendant. He picked up the hanging receiver of the telephone and growled a hello. He expected to hear the response of some dick at headquarters. Instead, he caught the tones of a sinister voice. For a moment, Cardona stiffened like a victim of the death sleep. He knew that whispered tone. The voice of The Shadow!

Steady, hissing words came over the wire. Cardona still stood dumfounded. At last he found his voice, after The Shadow’s speech had ended.

“I get it…” Cardona was gasping. “Right away… Here, yes. About the death of Huring…”

The line was dead. The Shadow’s tip had been given. Cardona hung up and sprang out into the corridor. He hurried at first, then slowed his pace as he reached Doctor Lagwood’s experimental room. He found Jennings there.

“Hello,” growled the detective. “Say, where’s Doctor Lagwood? I thought he was still about.”

“He has left for the sanitarium,” replied Jennings. “All of the other patients have recovered. He required rest so he left as soon as possible. Is there anything that I can do?”

“No,” responded Cardona. “You’ll be here, won’t you, if I come back to make another quiz?”

“On duty until nine in the morning,” responded the interne. “You’re sure there’s nothing—”

“Nothing at all,” interposed Joe. “I’m going down to headquarters. Just wanted to say so long to the Doc before I left. I probably won’t be back until the morning” — Joe was eyeing Jennings while the interne poured a liquid into a test tube — “and I can wait to see Doc until after he comes back here.”

Cardona sauntered from the room. He descended in an elevator. He hurried from the hospital and put in a telephone call. He ordered a squad of men to cover the Talleyrand Hospital, another to meet him for a different mission.

A grim smile had formed upon Cardona’s lips. He had forgotten the unfortunate death of the man called James Huring, who had been the inside crook at Rufus Galder’s. The Shadow had supplied information that would offset the testimony that Huring had never given.

Thanks to The Shadow, the ace detective was on the trail of the big shot; and in his quest for the supermind of crime he had hopes of capturing the lesser lights as well.