The Unseen Killer

CHAPTER V. THE QUEST BEGINS

IT was midnight. The lights were on in Commissioner Barth’s office. The high official was holding council.

Present was a select group that had accompanied him from Professor Melrose Lessep’s laboratory.

Barth had chosen this spot for a consultation with Joe Cardona. He had insisted that his friend Lamont Cranston come along. Findlay Warlock, as the patron of Professor Lessep, had also been invited.

Warlock, in turn, had requested the presence of Marryat Darring.

“The facts of the case,” summarized Barth, as he sat importantly behind his mahogany desk, “are these. A man — one Miles Crofton — is at large. He has disappeared completely from human sight. Professor Melrose Lessep, the person responsible for this disappearance, attributes it to a process that he has termed ‘devisualization.’

“Our repeated search has given more and more substantiation to the professor’s claim. His cabinet, his laboratory, his office and his bolted doors have added mute testimony to his assertion. Four of us were witnesses to Crofton’s disappearance. Two of us — myself and Warlock — have admitted that devisualization must be the answer to Crofton’s departure.

“You, Cranston, have simply reserved opinion. For the present, we may regard your view as neutral. As for you, Darring, you hold to the belief that the whole affair was a hoax. Yet you have not produced any evidence to support your claim.”

“None,” interposed Darring, testily, “except that of common sense. You can’t make a man vanish, unless there’s a trick to it. I’ve got to see something more tangible.”

“We are dealing with a scientific matter,” asserted Barth, reprovingly. “The professor’s theory of devisualization has merit. Many facts, scientific ones, have been discovered that are quite as incredible as this one.

“However, we can resume this portion of the discussion later. What concerns us as much as Crofton’s disappearance is the matter of Crofton himself. Cardona, let us hear your exact statement once again, in reference to Miles Crofton.”

“Well,” declared Cardona, gruffly, “I’m only following a tip, as I said before. We’ve been looking for the crew that worked with Rouser Tukin. Hadn’t been able to trace any until to-night.

“Down at headquarters I got a phone call from a stool pigeon. Fellow that’s been A-1 reliable, the little I’ve used him. Just had a couple of minutes to put me wise to something, he said. So I listened.

“His story was that Miles Crofton was in with Rouser. What’s more, he swore that Crofton was the fellow who killed one of the policemen. Didn’t say where he got the dope, this stoolie didn’t, but he promised more next time he got in touch with me. But he told me where Crofton was. Said the guy was working for an inventor named Melrose Lessep. What’s more, the stoolie said the commissioner was going to be up at Lessep’s to-night.”

“Your man was remarkably well informed,” observed Barth, dryly. “You yourself did not know where to reach me, at first.”

“That only proves the stoolie knew his stuff,” returned Cardona. “I called the Cobalt Club; they told me where you were. So I called you, commissioner. Getting no reply, I started up, leaving Markham to keep calling you.”

“We know the rest,” declared Barth. “Therefore, we are safe in saying that a killer, an unseen killer, is at large. We can not hold Professor Lessep culpable. There is no way in which he could have known of his assistant’s past.

“But we must begin at once!” Barth thumped his fist upon the desk. “We must spare no effort in tracing this dangerous man. That is why I gave a full statement to the newspapers. The Unseen Killer is at large. It is up to you. Cardona, to find him.”

“You can’t track a man you can’t see,” objected Joe. “It’s easy enough to get pictures of Crofton, but what good will they be? If this wild stuff is on the level — if the guy’s lost to sight — how are you going to grab him?”

“That must be determined,” replied Barth, sagely.

Cardona waited for a further statement. None was forthcoming. The commissioner had propounded an unanswerable riddle.

A THIN smile showed upon the lips of Lamont Cranston. It was unobserved by the others.

“Where are you going to start?” quizzed Cardona. Then, answering his own question: “The professor looks like the best bet to me. If it wasn’t for him, we’d have Crofton right now. The way I figure it, commissioner, the professor is responsible.”

“Professor Lessep has committed no crime,” objected Barth. “His experiment was scientifically conducted.”

“If one can regard a hoax as a scientific experiment,” put in Darring. “I should think that the law could deal with the perpetrator of a hoax.”

“The professor has proven his sincerity,” declared Warlock, hotly. “This attempt to damage his reputation is unfair. It is not his fault that Crofton took criminal advantage of his invention.”

“We are back to the same point,” decided Barth, in an irritable tone. “Unless we can come to a definite agreement on this matter, we will arrive nowhere. I am willing to bring pressure upon Professor Lessep, provided that it can be done in a reasonable manner.”

“No pressure is necessary,” insisted Warlock. “Professor Lessep was quite willing for people to witness his experiment. He even set it in advance of the date originally scheduled. He offered no objection to making his demonstration under rigid conditions.”

“I have it!” exclaimed Darring, suddenly. “We can settle this matter very easily. Why not have the professor repeat the experiment?”

Cranston’s smile remained immobile. The suggestion had come at last. Darring had struck upon the obvious solution, the logical way to learn whether or not the devisualization system would stand a thorough test.

“Excellent!” said the commissioner. “That, at least, would establish one point, namely: whether or not your cry of ‘hoax’ is a fair one, Darring. But it offers a danger, besides.”

“What is that?”

“The possibility of putting a second person into the realm of the invisible. One is bad enough.”

Joe Cardona nodded at the commissioner’s statement. The detective added an opinion of his own.

“I’m supposed to track one fellow that I can’t see,” he declared. “Why double the odds against me?”

“My suggestion,” remarked Darring, “could produce the opposite effect. If devisualization is a genuine process, it can be used to advantage.”

“How so?” inquired Barth.

“By choosing the proper person,” replied Darring. “Detective Cardona, for instance. Why not dispatch him into the invisible?”

“Jove!” exclaimed Barth. “You’ve struck it, Darring. The effect would be tremendous!”

“It wouldn’t help me trace Crofton,” objected Cardona, in an uneasy tone.

“But it would give you a marvelous advantage,” argued Barth, with enthusiasm. “Furthermore, it would settle all this controversy. Of course, Cardona, I shall not insist that you take on this task—”

“I’M game,” interrupted Joe, “but it sort of gives me the creeps. It don’t sound real. I’ll take a chance on it, though, if the professor will stand for the deal.”

“I think I can persuade him to do so,” put in Warlock, a bit troubled. “He might object; but I think that he would listen to my arguments. I have sponsored this invention, in a sense. Let me communicate with Professor Lessep in the morning.”

“Very well,” agreed Barth. “A request from you, Warlock, would be better than an order from me. For a beginning, at least. Arrange for an experiment tomorrow night, with Cardona as the subject. If you fail, I shall handle the matter.”

“This experiment business works both ways, don’t it?” queried Cardona. “I mean the professor can bring a man back to sight, just like he can put him away?”

“So he claims,” stated Barth. “That was precisely what he intended to do with Miles Crofton; but the fellow made an escape in the midst of the experiment.”

“Have no qualms,” assured Warlock. “The professor is thoroughly reliable. I feel sure that you will encounter no danger when you visit his laboratory tomorrow night.”

“Agreed,” added Darring, mildly sarcastic. “You won’t have much to worry about, Cardona.”

“Why not?” questioned the detective, seeing significance in Darring’s tone.

“Because,” predicted Darring, “the professor will have some excuse for postponing the experiment. The thing is a hoax, I tell you. He will not dare to repeat it except with some person of his own choosing.”

Warlock began to protest. The commissioner interrupted him. He wanted no further controversy.

Blinking in owlish fashion, Barth delivered his decision in the matter.

“All will be settled tomorrow night,” he declared. “We shall rely upon Mr. Warlock to persuade Professor Lessep to undertake the new experiment, using Cardona in the test. If Warlock fails, I shall threaten Lessep with arrest unless he proceeds.

“We shall all be present to witness the result. Then we can fairly judge the circumstances. We can decide whether Mr. Warlock’s faith in the professor is justified; or whether Mr. Darring’s skepticism is correctly founded.

“Personally, I incline toward Warlock’s belief. You, Cranston” — Barth turned to his silent friend — “appear to be somewhat in accord with Darring. That balances the committee. With Cardona as the chosen subject for the new experiment, we have every advantage. Let us adjourn until tomorrow.”

ONE hour after the meeting had ended in the commissioner’s office, a sharp click sounded in a blackened room. A bluish light threw shaded rays upon a table in the corner. Long, white hands appeared upon a polished surface. The Shadow was in his sanctum.

A soft laugh from hidden lips. Producing pen and paper, the hands began to work. While the left steadied the sheet beneath the light, the right began to draw a floor plan of Professor Lessep’s laboratory.

Blue-inked lines faded. Such was the way with The Shadow’s writing. Then came carefully written words; and all the while, traces of the soft, mocking laugh. The Shadow was reviewing the bizarre events that had taken place in the professor’s lab.

The Shadow could see the real reason behind the episode at the professor’s, so far as Lessep himself was concerned. The old inventor’s reputation had been none too high. He had needed an astounding success to restore faith in his genius. He had scored the result that he required.

A living being banished out into the unknown! What a triumph for Lessep! Hoax or reality — either had achieved the same result. Lessep had paved the way to tremendous publicity. That, as The Shadow saw it, was the professor’s game.

“Miles Crofton.”

The Shadow’s hand inscribed the name of Lessep’s assistant. Here was another factor. At the outset of the experiment, Crofton had figured purely as the subject whom Lessep had chosen. The Shadow, present in the guise of Lamont Cranston, had seen no reason to interfere with the professor’s game.

Joe Cardona’s arrival had been the startling factor. The detective’s accusation of Miles Crofton had changed bewilderment into consideration. Yet this fact fitted into the scheme of things. Miles Crofton — wanted for murder— there was a tie-up that would bring Professor Lessep’s experiment into front-page headlines.

It transformed Miles Crofton from a prank-player into a menace. Instead of being a missing assistant, the man had become an unseen killer. The bigger the news, the better from the professor’s standpoint.

Viewed from that aspect, Cardona’s tip from the unnamed stool pigeon looked like more than a coincidence. But The Shadow had passed from his consideration of Professor Lessep’s peculiar interests.

He was studying the part played by Miles Crofton.

It was quite conceivable that the assistant would have agreed to work with the professor. Crofton’s startling disappearance had added a touch of real drama to the events in the lab. But would Crofton have agreed to go forth branded as a murderer?

The Shadow’s laugh was a negative answer. No matter what Crofton’s present situation might be, the charges against him were dangerous. The cry of “murderer” had made him a hunted man. Cardona’s timely-gained tip might prove a boomerang to the missing assistant.

Coincidence? A double cross by the professor? The action of some new player in the game? These were questions that concerned The Shadow. They brought a new laugh from his lips; a burst of sardonic mirth that was creepy in its tone. They told of a definite purpose.

HANDS stretched across the table. Earphones clattered from the wall. A tiny bulb glittered from the blackness, telling of telephonic connection. Then came a quiet voice:

“Burbank speaking.”

“Instructions to all agents” whispered The Shadow.

The weird voice continued through the sanctum, hissing its sibilant tones, while Burbank, The Shadow’s contact man, listened at the other end of the wire. The Shadow’s tones ended. From the receivers came Burbank’s final response:

“Instructions received.”

Earphones slid back. The bulb went out. A click; the bluish light was extinguished. Amid the darkness of the sanctum came an eerie laugh that died with lingering echoes. The Shadow had departed. But while the law was lingering, he had taken up a quest.

Miles Crofton was the man The Shadow wanted. Agents of The Shadow would locate him. Visible or invisible, Lessep’s assistant would be found; for The Shadow had seen possibilities that had escaped the law.

Whatever Miles Crofton’s present state of being, the man would need a hideout. A visible man, hunted by the police, would have to stay out of sight. An unseen crook would have to maintain a secret headquarters.

“You can’t track a man you can’t see—”

Such had been Cardona’s verdict. All had accepted it, with the exception of The Shadow. He knew that Cardona had made a misstatement. Laughing softly in the seclusion of his sanctum, The Shadow had pictured the difficulties of an unseen killer. Troubles quite as great as those that would surround a visible criminal.

Food, shelter, security — Miles Crofton needed them. Whatever his game, he had probably prearranged those necessities. There must be other men who would aid him. Through them, Crofton could be traced.

Agents of The Shadow would filter forth through the reaches of the underworld, seeking trace of a hideout.

Keen had been The Shadow’s finding. Yet his parting laugh, satirical in its mirth, had revealed a trace of levity. Although he had instituted a search for Miles Crofton, The Shadow had seen no need for haste.

As yet, he considered menace lacking.

Seldom did The Shadow err in judgment. Even now, his calculation was wrong only so far as time was concerned. In starting the man hunt, The Shadow had sensed possibilities of crime at some future time.

Crofton, goaded by the fact that he was wanted as a murderer; might eventually prove dangerous.

Yet the menace was immediate. Already crime was planned. It would strike with a suddenness that would prove startling even to The Shadow. For the threat of an unseen killer was backed by the machinations of an evil brain.