The Unseen Killer

CHAPTER VII. THE KILLER STRIKES

COMMISSIONER WAINWRIGHT BARTH became dramatic as soon as the three men had entered the laboratory. He closed the door and bolted it. Turning to Cranston, he beckoned. Then he led the way to the motor which Professor Lessep had attached to the glass cabinet.

“Strange things have occurred here, Cranston,” explained Barth. “An important connecting lever has been stolen from this motor. Apparently the theft took place after five o’clock this afternoon.”

The commissioner paused as he saw Cranston nod. The new arrival was examining the bolt from which the lever had been removed.

“Professor Lessep had a photograph of the complete motor,” resumed Barth. “If you wish to see it—”

“That is not necessary,” came Cranston’s quiet interruption. “I noted this motor very carefully last night. I recall the appearance of the part that is missing.”

Professor Lessep blinked as he heard this statement.

Silently, Cranston turned away and looked at the second motor. One by one, he picked up loose cords that were plugged to it.

“Some of these have been changed also,” he remarked. “See, professor? The ones with the special plugs are no longer here.”

“The special plugs?” inquired Lessep. “You must be mistaken, Mr. Cranston. There were no special plugs. Those are merely for making electrical connection. They have no other purpose.”

“Two of them were different from the others,” returned Cranston. “One which connected to the cabinet; the other to the floor socket.”

“I never knew it,” declared the professor. “All were standard cords and plugs. Of course, such items of electrical equipment differ in certain details.”

“These had unusually long contact points.” Cranston’s tone was methodical. “I noticed them, particularly, after they were detached last night.”

“But they are unimportant—”

“The professor is right,” put in Barth. “Perhaps some of these cords were moved about; but no important parts are missing, Cranston. What we must find is that lever. Aid the professor, gentlemen, while he resumes the search. I want Mr. Cranston to see the note that was left in the office.”

Lamont Cranston’s keen eyes watched the professor’s nod. Lessep started about the laboratory, with Cardona following him. Darring shrugged his shoulders; then joined in the search. Warlock appeared from the door of the little office. Seeing what the others were about, he entered into the hunt.

“Come into the office, Cranston,” suggested Barth. “I want you to see exactly where the note was found. Here — read it for yourself.”

They entered the office. Only the ceiling light was on. Barth approached the desk, clicked on the hanging lamp and pointed to the spot where the note had been.

Cranston nodded. He finished his examination of the note; then began to open the desk drawers.

“Nothing of importance in there,” said Barth. “Just carbon copies of letters — a box of electric light bulbs—”

He stopped as he saw Cranston pick out a yellow sheet of paper. It was a carbon copy of some letter sent by the professor. Barth watched Cranston compare the yellow sheet with the note that had come from the Unseen Killer.

“Agate type,” was Cranston’s comment. “Not well lined. An old-style machine, evidently purchased second hand at a bargain price. Odd, commissioner, how some of these letters correspond—”

Pausing abruptly, Cranston turned to the little table that bore the covered typewriter. He whisked away the cloth covering and smiled slightly, as he stooped forward. Then he motioned Barth toward the machine.

“Notice anything, commissioner?”

“Nothing in particular—”

“The ribbon?”

Barth adjusted his pince-nez.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “Two-colored — half red and half blue. Not uncommon for—”

He looked up to see Cranston’s smile; then noted the Killer’s message, that Cranston was holding toward him. The red signature, in its capital letters, was directly before the commissioner’s eyes. Barth uttered an exclamation.

“Examine the ribbon more closely,” came Cranston’s suggestion. “Particularly the red portion.”

Another exclamation from the commissioner. Barth, close to the typewriter, noted blue letter-marks — capitals — imprinted on the red half of the ribbon.

“What do those letters spell?” queried Cranston, still holding his thin smile.

“The Unseen Killer!” cried the commissioner.

“WHEN the red portion of the ribbon is seldom used,” reminded Cranston, “the keys invariably leave blue marks when they first strike it.”

The others had arrived. Barth’s shout had been heard in the lab. As they crowded up, four together, the commissioner turned and pointed to the typewriter.

“Mr. Cranston has made a discovery,” declared Barth. “The threatening letter was typed on your machine, professor. Here, in this office!”

Lessep shook. He bent forward as the commissioner pointed out the marks on the ribbon. For a moment, the professor seemed worried and speechless. Then, gathering himself together, he spoke.

“This proves that Crofton has been here,” declared the old man, solemnly. “Here, with his own unseen hands, he typed his warning. Even while we were first gathered in my laboratory, he could have prepared his terrible message.”

“Hardly,” came Cranston’s quiet objection.

“Why not?” queried Barth.

“The note,” explained Cranston, “was typed by some one who was alone in this office. Had any other person been present, the clicking of the keys would have been heard.”

“Correct,” agreed Barth. He made a calculation. “Then the message must have been typed between five o’clock and seven thirty, while the professor was out to dinner.”

“Only if the Unseen Killer typed it,” put in Darring.

“What do you mean?” inquired Barth.

“He means,” came Cranston’s steady response, “that you are accepting the note on the value of its typewritten signature. Mr. Darring, apparently, still holds to his opinion that Crofton’s disappearance was a hoax.”

“I do,” declared Darring abruptly. “We came here for a second experiment. Professor Lessep has avoided it. In my opinion, this devisualization stuff is still hypothetical. Anybody could have typed that note. Whoever did type it could have been seen, as well as heard.”

“I was here from one until five,” declared Lessep solemnly. “I saw no one in the laboratory during those hours.”

“And you returned at seven thirty.”

“Yes. With Mr. Warlock.”

“And after that?” queried Barth, swinging to Warlock’s way of reasoning.

“The two of us were here,” affirmed Lessep, “until eight o’clock. Then I went out to admit you, commissioner. I left Mr. Warlock here alone.”

“For about five minutes,” interjected Warlock. “I was in the laboratory all that while. I heard no sounds of typing.”

“This business is serious,” announced Barth, glaring about the group. “Here is new evidence that can not be minimized. If this should be a hoax” — he paused to nod approvingly toward Darring — “I intend to treat it as an actual crime.

“Let us forget Miles Crofton for the moment. You were here, professor, four hours this afternoon. You could have typed that note. You could also have removed the parts from the machine.”

Lessep began a protest. Barth silenced him with a fierce gesture. The commissioner then turned to Warlock.

“You were here also!” thundered Barth. “Alone, for five minutes. A short time yet sufficient to have done the work. Jove! This talk of an unseen man is maddening me. I intend to deal with those who are visible. Who else was in here alone?”

“I was,” replied Darring, calmly. “While we were searching for the lost lever—”

“That was after the message was found,” interrupted Barth. “After the lever was stolen. I mean before we discovered this note.

“Who else was here beside you two?” He glared at Lessep; then at Warlock. “Who else could have been in here?”

“Miles Crofton,” replied Darring.

“MILES CROFTON?” spluttered Barth, in total surprise. “But — but you, Darring, you were the one who termed it all a hoax. You claim that Crofton could not have become unseen—”

“I still hold my claim,” responded Darring. “But do not forget, commissioner, that there was an interval between five o’clock and seven thirty, while neither the professor nor Warlock happened to be here.

“Neither you nor I could have been here during that period, for you met me at my office at five and we dined together. But Crofton could have come here. Not unseen, but visibly. Or he could have sent some one. Any one who had a duplicate key.”

“That’s right,” admitted Barth. He mopped his forehead with a silk handkerchief. “This whole case is maddening. It brings us in circles, back to where we started. I don’t know where it will end, unless—”

“Unless,” completed Darring, in his skeptical tone, “the professor gives us proof that his devisualization is fact, not fancy. Just how long, professor” — he wheeled to Lessep — “would it require for you to replace that missing lever?”

“Some time,” responded Lessep, in a troubled tone. “It is a vital portion of the mechanism.”

“How vital? Just what is the mechanical principle involved?”

“That is my secret,” pleaded Lessep.

Darring looked hopelessly at Barth. The commissioner towered in indignation. He waved his hand toward the laboratory.

“Come, Lessep!” he ordered the professor. “This is no time for secrets. I shall guarantee protection to your invention. But unless you are willing to cooperate, I shall order your arrest.”

THEY entered the laboratory, and formed a group about the first motor. Lessep reluctantly began to point out mechanical features of the device. His words became incoherent. Barth became brusque.

Lessep pleaded.

“I am afraid,” he declared. “Crofton is a menace.”

“Proceed with your explanation,” insisted Barth.

“It is useless,” crackled Lessep. “So much depends upon the missing part. You would have to see it.”

“We have seen the photographs,” remarked Darring.

“Yes, professor,” urged Warlock, suddenly. “Bring the photographs. Let us see them. They will do to illustrate the use of the connecting lever.”

Lessep rubbed his chin. At last he nodded. Turning from the group he entered the little office. Ceiling light and desk lamp had been extinguished. The professor turned on the ceiling light; then closed the door behind him.

Lamont Cranston was examining the tall glass cabinet. He had noted that its sides were attached by clamps midway on each edge. As he unfastened clamps at the sides, the rear wall pivoted on its upper and lower fastenings; then swung back into place at Cranston’s touch.

“I really believe,” Barth was saying solemnly, “that the professor’s fears are justified. Accept my apologies, Warlock, for accusing you the way I did. Actually I was not accusing; I was merely speculating. I wanted to find some solution other than the obvious.”

“The obvious?” inquired Darring.

“Yes, the obvious,” stated Barth. “For here the incredible happens to be the obvious. It sounds impossible to think that a man could be surrounded by an atmospheric condition that renders him invisible. Yet analysis tells me that Miles Crofton is actually devisualized.

“Professor Lessep knows it. That is why he fears. He realizes that Crofton — an unseen killer — could strike him down with some invisible weapon.”

“You are right, commissioner,” spoke Warlock. “I knew that you would return to your first impression. It is the only sound explanation.”

“Tommyrot!” ejaculated Darring. “Where is the proof? Lessep could furnish it by repeating his experiment. He has failed to do so. He removed that lever. He wrote that note.

“If Crofton is in the picture — as an unseen killer — why doesn’t he strike? Why should a man in his position fail to follow up a threat? If Crofton—”

Darring never ended the sentence. From beyond the door of Lessep’s study came the sudden muffled boom of an explosion. The laboratory caught the jar. The glass cabinet rattled. Those in the large room almost lost their footing.

WAINWRIGHT BARTH leaped to the door of the office and wrenched it open. With others close behind him, the commissioner was confronted by an outpouring of smoke that came from the corner by the filing cabinet.

Barth staggered back. Then, as the fumes were clearing, he led the way into the office. Lessening smoke enabled the commissioner to see Lessep’s body, prone upon the floor. The filing cabinet was wrecked; the hanging lamp above it was shattered.

Lamont Cranston reached the professor’s body ahead of the commissioner. His keen eyes saw that Melrose Lessep was dead. Barth, also realizing the professor’s fate, turned to stare about the room.

Darring had entered behind Cranston. Now Cardona and Warlock were coming in from the laboratory.

“The Unseen Killer!” cried Barth. “He has caused this. He was here — in this room—”

He looked toward the door, diagonally opposite the demolished filing cabinet. It offered the logical spot from which a person could have projected a bomb or a grenade without danger to himself. Wildly, Barth sprang to that spot, to find nothingness. He headed into the laboratory. Warlock, Darring and Cardona were close behind him.

Staring, the commissioner saw the door that led to the rear hall. It was unbolted and open. Barth pointed, excitedly. Cardona spoke.

“I opened the door, commissioner,” said Joe. “In case there would be fumes from the office.”

“You paved the way for Crofton’s escape!” exclaimed Barth. “Had you kept the door bolted—”

“All our lives might have been jeopardized,” put in Warlock. “He could have slain us as he killed the professor.”

Back in the office, the tall form of Lamont Cranston stood above the body of Professor Lessep. There was no smile upon the firm, straight lips. Keen eyes stared — the eyes of The Shadow.

The shattered front of the filing cabinet had resulted in chunks of wood upon the floor. Beside these were slivers of glass from the wrecked lamp. The Shadow looked upward.

Turning, he moved quickly to the desk in the other corner. The lamp was illuminated there, still swaying slightly from the concussion that had caused the professor’s death. Rapidly, The Shadow opened a drawer. He saw the box of light bulbs; four in all.

One appeared to be burnt out. The Shadow removed it and closed the drawer. Resuming the slow motion of Lamont Cranston, he strolled into the laboratory to join the commissioner and the others.

“Close the door to the office,” ordered Barth, turning to Cardona. “No one is to enter there from now on. I shall take charge of the investigation. With Cardona’s aid. The rest of you are witnesses.”

HOURS later, The Shadow entered his sanctum. A click; the blue light glimmered. A hand arose and turned the bulb in its socket. The light went out. Motion followed in the darkness. Then, suddenly, light reappeared.

It was not from the bluish incandescent. The Shadow had screwed in the frosted bulb that he had brought from Professor Lessep’s office. That bulb was not burned out. Though it had been in long use, it was still serviceable.

The Shadow’s hand remained motionless beneath the bulb. Then fingers unscrewed the frosted object.

Again the blue incandescent came back in place. The white bulb lay in view upon the table.

Keen eyes studied this souvenir that The Shadow had brought from the scene of crime. The left hand raised the bulb and held it. Then the right hand rose upward toward the lamp. Slowly, the fingers turned the bluish incandescent; then paused.

A final twist. The blue light went out. It came on again, as the fingers reversed their twist.

Off — on — off — on. The light glowed for a dozen seconds. Then a pressure of the switch extinguished it.

A soft laugh in the darkness. Then a swish. Weird, solemn echoes to hover in the gloom. For there was strange understanding in The Shadow’s tone. The Shadow had gained a clue to crime.

Yet facts remained unexplained. The Shadow could see reasons for the death of Professor Lessep. He needed new links to complete the chain that would lead to a discovery of the motive. Reports from agents — received to-night from Burbank — had brought no word concerning the whereabouts of Miles Crofton.

The Shadow had gained theories; yet they conflicted. Those suppositions concerned the purposes of an unseen killer. Death had struck, almost in The Shadow’s presence; nevertheless, it had left much to be explained.

Faced by one of the strangest situations that he had ever encountered, The Shadow was forced to wait.

But in waiting, he would be preparing — ready to balk the next stroke of doom.