The Silent Death

CHAPTER XIII. THE VILLAINS MOVE

LARRY RICORDO was seated in the office above Professor Folcroft Urlich’s laboratory. The gang lord was perturbed. Before him lay a copy of the New York Classic. The arrest of Slips Harbeck was mentioned with the account of Joe Cardona’s discovery of a death trap in Gardner Joyce’s office.

The door opened, and Professor Urlich entered. The evil-faced scientist smiled. He had been conducting experiments in the laboratory while Larry Ricordo had remained upstairs.

“Excellent progress,” remarked the professor, “excellent progress, Ricordo. Do not be disgruntled because of last night’s failure. I have evolved a plan for sure success. Do you remember how Alfred Sartain lay face upward upon the desk in his studio—”

“Ready for the end?” interjected Ricordo. “Yes, I remember. But he didn’t cash in his checks. That was when The Shadow dropped in through the skylight. I’ve got plenty to worry about, professor. I’m thinking of what’s coming; not what’s gone.”

The scientist’s brow furrowed. Urlich noticed the newspaper in Ricordo’s hands. He looked quizzically at the gang leader.

“They’ve pinched Slips Harbeck,” announced Ricordo.

“Well?” inquired Urlich.

“That means trouble for me,” asserted the gang leader. “If Slips squawks, the dicks will be on my trail.”

“And then?”

“That will mean The Shadow, too. He’s wise enough to find out anything that they learn at headquarters.”

Professor Urlich shrugged his shoulders. The gesture annoyed Larry Ricordo.

“That’s not all,” added Ricordo. “I called Grewson — the guy we’ve got watching Jocelyn. He tells me the old man is all upset.”

“Over what?”

“Over this stuff in the newspapers. I know why, too. Jocelyn heard me mention Slips Harbeck as my chief gunner. The old gent had cold feet all along — now he’s probably getting worse.”

PROFESSOR URLICH pondered. A cunning gleam showed in his wicked eyes.

“Just what did Grewson say?” he inquired.

“He said that Jocelyn has been ill,” responded Ricordo. “Sick in bed— doctor coming in and giving him prescriptions. Grewson is taking care of him. Grewson was glad I called. He don’t know what it’s all about, but he’s got a hunch that Jocelyn has something on his mind.”

“He has,” commented Urlich dryly.

“Sure he has!” blurted Ricordo. “He’s got us on his mind! Look here, professor. Jocelyn was in on our first deal, and it flivved. Since then, he’s been laying low. He’s wise enough to know that we must be mixed up in these new jobs.”

“Proceed, Ricordo,” mused Urlich, with a smile. “You are becoming analytical. It is an excellent sign.”

“Well,” continued Ricordo, “the way I figure it is that old Jocelyn may be thinking we’ve ditched him. That sort of lets him out, doesn’t it? With all this hokum in the papers, he’s getting worried. He’s liable to do something about it, isn’t he?”

“What, for instance?”

“He’s liable to squeal.”

“Certainly. That is why we have placed Grewson with him. I am pleased to learn that you called Grewson, Ricordo. It shows intelligence on your part.”

“Suppose Jocelyn does squeal?” insisted the gang leader. “What good is Grewson then? I tell you, professor, I’m worried.”

Professor Urlich closed his eyes. A meditative smile appeared upon his ugly lips.

“Ricordo,” he said thoughtfully, “I do not suppose that you are familiar with the game of chess. The pieces on the board are like tiny human beings. The object is to checkmate the opponent. In doing so, one frequently finds it wise to sacrifice a major piece.

“So far, we have dealt chiefly with pawns. The opening game is ended. We have passed the period of conventional tactics. My early attempts at a checkmate failed. The time has come for more startling strategy.”

Larry Ricordo gaped. He wondered if the scientist had lost his mind. Then he saw the professor’s eyes open and the brilliance of their gleam reassured the gangster.

“Tell me” — Urlich’s tone was firm — “what led the police to Slips Harbeck? How did they learn of the trap I had you place in Joyce’s office? The underworld is your ground, Ricordo. Slips Harbeck is your man. Give me your theory.”

Ricordo’s puffy lips spread in evil satisfaction. This was his turn to analyze. Professor Urlich was asking his opinion. The gang leader was pleased, especially as he was sure he had the answer.

“There must have been two guys listening in at Red Mike’s,” asserted Ricordo. “One was Cliff Marsland, The Shadow’s stool. The other must have been Joe Cardona’s stool. That’s why Cardona grabbed Slips and went to Joyce’s office himself. I know the way those dicks work.”

“An agent of The Shadow,” laughed Urlich, “and an agent of the police. What do you suppose those two will do now, Ricordo?”

“They’ll hang around Red Mike’s,” returned the gang leader promptly. “For a while, anyway. They’ll be looking for a new guy to watch — some one instead of Slips Harbeck.”

“Excellent,” remarked the fiendish scientist. “We shall give them some one else.”

“You mean another guy like Slips?”

“One better than Slips.”

“Who?”

“Yourself!”

RICORDO leaped up from his chair. His eyes were wild. He began an incoherent protest. Professor Urlich smiled and waved the gang leader back.

“Hear me out, Ricordo,” said Urlich. “I am planning a perfect thrust. I must rely upon you.”

“But suppose that Cardona has made Slips squawk?” protested the gang lord. “Maybe he hasn’t done it yet; maybe he will, though.”

“That does not matter,” declared the scientist. “In fact, it is essential that you should make it apparent that you are Slips Harbeck’s successor. You must play the part that Slips has played. You are the one who will lure The Shadow to certain doom.”

“Yeah? And suppose the police—”

“Let me question you once more, Ricordo. You speak of underlings whom you call stool pigeons: one belonging to The Shadow; the other to the police. You know that one is named Cliff Marsland. Do you think that you could recognize the other?”

“Sure. I could spot him if I was looking for him.”

“Since there is no evidence that Cardona has learned that you are Slips Harbeck’s chief, do you suppose that he would have detectives in the vicinity of the place called Red Mike’s?”

“No. Cardona would keep them away. He’d be waiting for some guy that looked suspicious. He’d leave that to the stool. If I showed up there, and the stool spotted me, Cardona would hear about it. My next trip to Red Mike’s would be just too bad for me.”

“Excellent,” expressed the professor. “We can assume that The Shadow, too, will utilize the same system.”

“Sure,” agreed Ricordo. “He can’t know that Slips Harbeck tipped us off about Cliff Marsland.”

“Very, very good,” smiled Urlich. “My scheme will be to your liking, Ricordo. We are dealing with the underworld. There, violence is useful. How quickly could you assemble a squad of gunmen, Ricordo?”

“A mob of gorillas?” Ricordo laughed coarsely. “I can get them quick. No trouble in that, professor.”

“Excellent. Obtain such men. Take them with you to Red Mike’s. Play the part of Slips Harbeck’s successor. Simply call a false phone number and repeat certain information.”

“And the mob?”

“Your men will serve two purposes. First, to eliminate the police spy, so that he cannot carry information back to headquarters. Second—”

“To get Cliff Marsland!”

“To capture him; not to kill him. They must not touch him until after he has communicated with The Shadow and informed his master of your plans.”

“But if The Shadow gets on my trail” — Ricordo’s voice was doubtful — “I’ll be in a jam, professor!”

“The Shadow will not follow you,” announced Urlich. “He will find much to occupy him at the destination which you name. There will be work there for The Shadow. Work, with unexpected consequences. If my new plan prevails, the career of The Shadow will be terminated.”

“What’ll I do? Scram?”

“You will return here. If your men capture Cliff Marsland, they will carry him to a designated point. There you will meet them, dismiss them, and bring Marsland here alone!”

“I get you, professor. We’ll make him squawk!”

“If necessary, yes. Only if The Shadow, through some freak of chance, should escape our snare. Then, and then alone, Marsland will prove useful. Otherwise, I shall eliminate him in my laboratory.”

PROFESSOR URLICH arose. He beckoned to Larry Ricordo and conducted the gang lord down the spiral stairway to the laboratory. Urlich led the way to a table in the corner. He pointed to two bottles of liquid: one green, the other red.

Into a test tube, the scientist poured a few drops of each liquid. The mixture became colorless. Urlich held the tube in the light. Ricordo watched. A few minutes passed. The colorless liquid began to effervesce. Bubbles appeared upon its surface. The scientist smiled as he raised a warning hand.

In a low voice, he began to explain the purpose of the experiment. With his free hand, he pointed to dead rats and mice that lay upon the table. Larry Ricordo listened in astonishment.

Professor Urlich droned on in the voice of a lecturer. He spoke of the past: of Thomas Joselyn’s connection with the first scheme of murder; of failures and why they had occurred. He spoke of The Shadow; and finally of silent death.

As the bubbling liquid ceased its action, Professor Urlich smiled and tossed the test tube in a sink. The breaking glass tinkled ominously.

“As I have destroyed that tube,” remarked the scientist quietly, “so can I destroy the lives of those who block my path. I have told you the perfect plan, Ricordo. Go — and do your part.”

LARRY RICORDO descended the spiral stairway to the floor below. As he walked around the circular passage, the gang leader shuddered at the clanking of his footsteps upon the metal floor. He was thinking of the terrible machine that lay within the circular wall.

Death was Professor Urlich’s motto. Death to all who blocked his path. Larry Ricordo, in his evil heart, dreaded the man whose will he now was serving. He realized that at this very moment, he was walking within a zone where death could strike at Folcroft Urlich’s bidding.

Even now, Ricordo realized, a signal light must be gleaming upon the glittering machine within the inner pit. That light was caused by Ricordo’s treading on the metal plates. A swing of the switch — the gang leader shuddered again.

He did not feel at ease until he had passed the outer door, and passed the range of the metal-floored portico. Beyond the zones of death, Larry Ricordo stepped into his sedan. Late afternoon had come. It was time to head Manhattanward.

Death! Silent death! It lurked in Professor Folcroft Urlich’s strange, circular abode. Death would strike The Shadow, should even he venture thither. Doom would be the welcome to any intruder who passed within those sinister portals.

The Shadow! Larry Ricordo sneered as he started the sedan. The time would never come when The Shadow would visit this menacing spot. The master of darkness would learn the taste of death without ever discovering the hand that dealt it.

Stowed within the pockets of his coat, Larry Ricordo was carrying the bottles of red and green liquid.

The gang leader knew their potency. Death to The Shadow — silent death!

Larry Ricordo was setting forth to arrange the trail to doom!