Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 270 - Messenger of Death

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MESSENGER OF DEATH
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. THE MIRACLE METAL.
? CHAPTER II. BELATED RESCUE.
? CHAPTER III. THE CHANCE TRAIL.
? CHAPTER IV. DUNSTAN'S SUCCESSOR.
? CHAPTER V. TWISTED FLIGHT.
? CHAPTER VI. MIDNIGHT RENDEZVOUS.
? CHAPTER VII. INTO THE TRAP.
? CHAPTER VIII. THE VANISHING MESSENGER.
? CHAPTER IX. THE TRAIL AHEAD.
? CHAPTER X. A QUESTION OF IDENTITY.
? CHAPTER XI. THE FINAL WORD.
? CHAPTER XII. DEATH'S MOMENT.
? CHAPTER XIII. VENGEANCE POSTPONED.
? CHAPTER XIV. A MISSION FULFILLED.
? CHAPTER XV. A QUESTION OF GUNS.
? CHAPTER XVI. THE SHADOW'S MOVE.
? CHAPTER XVII. DOUBLE TROUBLE.
? CHAPTER XVIII. INVENTORS AGREE.
? CHAPTER XIX. BLADE OF DEATH.
? CHAPTER XX. MURDER RECALLED.
CHAPTER I. THE MIRACLE METAL.
GREGG GARLAND was impatient. He showed it by shifting in his chair, by the frequent flicks he gave
his cigar, as if to dispose of imaginary ashes. But, most of all, Garland registered impatience with his
glower.
When Garland glowered he did it most unpleasantly, in a manner that boded ill for the recipient. But there
was no one present to witness Garland's current displeasure. He was alone in the large, old-fashioned
reception room, directing his ugly glances at the door of the laboratory where Wayne Dunstan was at
work.
As another door opened, Garland came to his feet and turned about.
In the mere act of rising, he wiped away his impatient expression. No longer were his heavy eyebrows
knotted together; his under lip had lost its challenging thrust. Not that Garland was smiling; he never
relaxed that far. Rather, his features simply lost their gross hostility and assumed a show of patience
which Garland did not feel.
Four men were ushered into the reception room. All were business associates of Garland, but none were
of his prepossessing type. These arrivals had timed their visit, expecting Garland to conclude the
transaction with Dunstan before they appeared. It was plain that Garland hadn't done it.
"Sorry, gentlemen," declared Garland in a heavy tone. "For some reason Dunstan has chosen to seclude
himself. I have been cooling my heels here for the past half-hour.
A servant pushed his way through to rap at the laboratory door. The visitors noted that the taps were
quick, with pauses, like a coded signal.
"I offered a million dollars for glazite," continued Garland. "Cash on delivery for the full formula, all
patents and rights. Dunstan asked me to wait here a few minutes and it's been an hour. If anything has
happened to Dunstan-"
Nothing had happened to Dunstan. The lab door opened suddenly and there stood Wayne Dunstan. He
greeted his visitors with a placid smile that befitted his elderly features and thin white hair. His hand
waved a welcome, ending with a gesture for the group to enter the laboratory.
"This is an outrage, Dunstan!" boomed Garland, thrusting himself ahead of the others. "I would say that
you deliberately kept me waiting until my friends arrived!"
"You are quite right, Garland," returned Dunstan, with a dry chuckle. "I did it deliberately. I was tired of
having you come here alone to act as spokesmen for others who were entitled to an equal say.
"Furthermore"-Dunstan's eyes met Garland's challenge-"you made it definite that I must either accept or
reject your offer; that there could be no compromise. I prefer to make terms of my own, to which your
fellow investors may listen."
If the others intended to listen it looked as if they were going to do it with their mouths, which were all
wide open. For Dunstan's laboratory was a place to excite the utmost wonder.
Except for its tiled walls and two stout wooden doors, the room appeared to be composed entirely of
glass. There were glass workbenches, stepladders of the same transparent material, tables that looked
like glass, with drawers of like substance. The lights in the room were set in glass lamps or sockets,
which appeared to be cordless. Most curious of all, the room was heated by a transparent radiator
through which hot water bubbled.
With another gesture that swept the entire room, Dunstan announced:
"This, gentlemen, is glazite, the miracle metal!"
THE visitors moved about the room, inspecting the astonishing items. Going to a corner, Dunstan opened
a glazite tool box and produced a transparent monkey wrench, screwdriver and pliers. Looking about, he
found a glazite sledge hammer and gave its transparent head a hard swing against a window. The sledge
hammer stopped with a clang of metal against metal, the windowpane remaining intact.
"Some have termed glazite metallic glass," declared Dunstan. "Others prefer to call it transparent steel.
Neither of the terms do justice to glazite. As well as being unbreakable, it is harder than glass. It is a
good conductor of electricity, as is evidenced by the lighting system in this room, which is fed by wires
composed of glazite.
"Yet glazite can easily be rendered a nonconductor. Its weight can be reduced to that of aluminum rather
than steel. It can be woven in to fireproof cloth, like that curtain at the entrance to my inner laboratory,
which you will notice has been colored to render it opaque."
Men went over to look at the curtain. The entrance to the inner lab was an archway in the titled wall, with
the curtain hanging from a glazite rod that stretched along the top. The curtain itself, soft textured, was a
sea blue, its color suggesting that the watery glazite had simply deepened itself to a natural shade.
Garland's voice began another boom.
"I have told my associates all this," asserted Garland. "I showed them samples of glazite, which convinced
them that the stuff is worth the price we offer. Apparently, Dunstan, you are trying to impress them with
these exhibits so that they will raise the bid."
For a moment Dunstan's eyes showed an angry flash that would better have suited Garland. Then,
containing himself, Dunstan slowly shook his head.
"I am not thinking of your associates, Garland," said Dunstan solemnly. "I am thinking of my own."
There were glances of astonishment which Garland did not share. He knew about Dunstan's associates
though he hadn't mentioned them to his own backers.
"Glazite has a curious history," explained Dunstan. "One man happened to strike upon a formula that
produced a most peculiar liquid. Another, experimenting with the substance, rendered it transparent. A
third discovered its plastic properties; a fourth that it had tensile strength.
"Working with the combined product, I added the chemical treatment which produced glazite, a miracle
material that possesses every quality of glass or metal, yet which surpasses both. Thus glazite is actually a
five-man invention, the various steps in its development being known only to the individuals who supplied
each portion."
With one exception, Dunstan's listeners were inclined to take him at his word. The exception was
Garland, who took a doubtful attitude. Ignoring Dunstan, Garland turned to his friends and made a blunt
declaration.
"I never mentioned Dunstan's so-called associates," asserted Garland, "because he has constantly refused
to name them. There is no proof that any of them exist-"
"Except my word," inserted Dunstan sharply. "I have also stated why they prefer to remain anonymous. It
is for their own protection."
"But if they do exist," continued Garland, as though Dunstan had not interrupted, "they have left
everything to Dunstan. He is free to make decisions-"
"For the common good of all," interjected Dunstan. "Garland prefers to believe or doubt my statements
as he chooses. I suggest that you let me present my whole case, gentlemen."
There was appeal in Dunstan's tone, so strong that it captivated his listeners. A few moments later,
Dunstan held the floor, while Garland, retired to a corner, was glaring angrily through puffs of cigar
smoke. Not only had Dunstan won the verbal skirmish, he was clinching the victory.
According to Dunstan, a revolutionary creation such as glazite required protection, along with its
inventors. It could not be sold outright, for it was too valuable to the nation at large. In visionary fashion,
Duncan pictured warships made of glazite; airplanes constructed of the same material.
In both cases, visibility of such objects would be almost nil, giving them the prowess of secret weapons.
Therefore the processes used in the manufacture of glazite could be delivered only to the government.
Meanwhile, Dunstan was willing to let private investors manufacture glazite, under proper auspices, if
only to popularize the new material.
"We will supply the finished substance," assured Dunstan, "but only on a royalty basis. We are not
interested in selling outright. If a plant is needed for quantity production, we expect you to furnish it."
The listeners exchanged doubtful glances. Noting the turn of the tide, Garland thrust himself into the
discussion.
"Suppose something happened to you, Dunstan," argued Garland. "How would we contact these other
inventors who are guarding their individual formulae so closely?"
"The next man in line would become my successor," replied Dunstan. "As head of the group he would
declare himself in due course. Such is our agreement."
Garland's heavy lips assumed a scoffing expression. Observing it, Dunstan showed his first trace of
worry. It was plain enough that Dunstan was anxious to promote glazite, even though he refused to sell it
outright. Something was needed to win back the investors, so Dunstan took an immediate step.
ENTERING the inner laboratory, Dunstan returned with a steel pan resembling an ice-cube tray from an
electric refrigerator. He asked his visitors to give him some small coins, after noting the dates. If they
preferred, they could supply him with finger rings or cuff links.
As men produced the items, Dunstan told them to drop them in the tray. Uncorking a bottle, he filled the
tray with a colorless liquid that resembled glycerin in consistency.
"Glazite in liquid form," explained Dunstan. "I shall retire to my private laboratory and apply the final
chemical process. In ten minutes this pan will contain solid glazite. Embedded in the transparent metal will
be these tokens that you have given me, as proof of the rapidity with which glazite can be formed!"
Turning, Dunstan strode beneath the tiled arch. There he turned and drew the sea-blue curtain which
hung from the rod within the doorway. Having thus secured himself from observation, Dunstan was ready
to proceed with his remarkable experiment.
In the outer laboratory, Garland watched the faces of the men about him. They were strained, tense,
whereas Garland's lips wore a half smile. He admired showmanship that Dunstan had displayed, but
Garland was not paying the inventor a compliment. Rather, Garland was pleased by Dunstan's eagerness
to prove the merits of glazite.
"Don't worry about Dunstan," undertoned Garland. "He will come to terms. Should he refuse, we shall
make public our million-dollar offer. Those other inventors will hear of it and out-vote Dunstan four to
one. I have dealt with enough inventors to know that cash is their main motive.
"Dunstan's case is merely a rare exception. Moreover, he is the least important of the five. His process is
merely the finishing touch, based on the separate discoveries of other men. Should the rest get together
and exchange their formulae, they would know enough about the combined product to duplicate anything
that Dunstan can do."
Though modulated, Garland's tone was strong enough to carry past the drawn curtain where Dunstan
was at work. Perhaps Garland intended it that way. He was a man of crafty practice, whose purposes
were difficult to predict, though Garland regarded himself as quite a prophet.
There was one point, however, that the listeners were going to remember. Garland's mention of the future
did not include specific facts that were to occur within the next ten minutes.
Had Gregg Garland emphasized that particular period, he would have marked himself as a man of crime
as well as foresight!
CHAPTER II. BELATED RESCUE.
AT the moment when Wayne Dunstan was entering his inner laboratory, a large automobile was swinging
a corner into the street that led to the inventor's house. As combined residence and laboratory, Dunstan
had chosen an old brownstone mansion in a secluded section of Manhattan, hence he could be easily
reached by the new visitors who were on their way to see him.
This happened to be the official car belonging to Police Commissioner Ralph Weston, the central man of
its three passengers. On the commissioner's left was his ace crime hunter, Inspector Joe Cardona. On his
right was a supercargo named Lamont Cranston.
When Commissioner Weston fared forth on unusual missions, he liked to invite his friend Cranston along.
Of late, Cranston had not been accepting such invitations when crime was involved. Weston had gained
the idea that his friend was becoming bored with criminal cases, but there the commissioner was wrong.
He usually was, when he attempted to analyze Cranston's preferences or lack of them.
Cranston was not only interested in hunting down crime; he was a past master of the art. He preferred to
let the police conduct investigations their own way, so that he could be on the job ahead of them. In
resorting to such speedy tactics, Cranston dropped his customary pose: that of a bored and leisurely club
man. He became another self, a being cloaked in black, known to friend and foe only as a weird master
of the night: The Shadow!
As Cranston, The Shadow could afford to be indulgent toward Weston, since the commissioner supplied
him with many worth-while leads to cases that The Shadow could personally crack. Tonight, however,
Cranston was putting up with a great deal from his friend. So far, Weston had said very little regarding
the trip that they were taking, hoping thus to whet Cranston's interest.
"All right, commissioner," spoke Cranston in a calm tone. "Your riddle baffles me. You say that a man
phoned you asking for a revolver permit; but instead of granting it you intend to lend him your own gun.
What is the answer; has suicide secretly been legalized?"
Weston's crisp laugh showed that he was really pleased. Turning to Cardona, the commissioner said:
"Give him the details, inspector."
"They don't amount to much," gruffed Cardona in a deprecatory tone. "Some guy just wants us to test a
new kind of bulletproof glass, that's all."
"You will pardon me, inspector," returned Weston testily, "but Wayne Dunstan happened to define glazite
not as a bulletproof glass, but as a transparent metal."
"If it's metal," argued Cardona, "it ought to be bulletproof anyway, so what's the good of testing it?"
Either Weston couldn't answer that argument or thought it beneath his notice. Ignoring Cardona, the
commissioner emphasized further facts to Cranston. He explained that this evening Dunstan was
demonstrating glazite for a group of buyers headed by Gregg Garland; that, as a final test, Dunstan
wanted to prove that the miracle metal was impervious to gunfire.
MENTION of Garland's name brought a sharp glance from Cranston's usually calm eyes. To Cranston,
Garland symbolized all that was ruthless in the world of finance. It was Garland's habit to pile fortune
upon fortune, by acquiring and promoting every invention on which he could lay his hands.
Invariably, Garland let other investors share such good things, claiming that large-scale operations were
necessary. Somehow they always became so large that they couldn't be handled and the companies went
broke to have their assets sold at a song.
How much Garland managed to write off to himself was always the big question. He had never been
convicted as a swindler, even though he often profited through organizing his ill-fated enterprises wherein
others took the burden. Indeed, even the astute Mr. Cranston, whose mind was actually The Shadow's,
was disinclined to term Garland an outright crook.
Through all Garland's checkered operations there ran a definite thread of logic; namely, that Garland was
playing for an opportunity that would actually go beyond his own vast ideas of financial expansion. Any
profit that Garland made from flopping enterprises might be just enough to write off his own losses. Then
he could promptly gamble on something else that might exceed his enormous expectations.
This new substance called glazite might be the very proposition upon which Garland was really ready to
stake everything!
Such was Cranston's opinion as the commissioner's car pulled up in front of Dunstan's. The old
brownstone house looked gloomy as a morgue except for lights that showed through drawn curtains in a
rear extension of the second floor. Alighting from the car, Cranston noted that an alleyway ran past the
rear wing, but Weston turned toward the front door instead.
"Dunstan said to ring the front bell," explained Weston. "If the servant doesn't answer we can try the side
door. Those lights in the rear wing are Dunstan's laboratory."
"It must look like a nut joint," put in Cardona. "Especially if he's made up a lot of those glass hats he
talked about."
"Glazite helmets," explained Weston. "You see, Cranston, when I told Dunstan that I'd oblige him by
making the bulletproof tests personally, he began to talk about equipping the police with special headgear
made of glazite.
"He said they'd be particularly suited to air-raid duty, because the wearers could look up through the rims
of the helmets and still be protected. If the police found them satisfactory, the army would certainly want
them for combat helmets. There would be millions ordered because steel helmets would become
obsolete-"
Weston broke off as the door opened, revealing the bowing servant who was to show them to Dunstan's
laboratory. The group crossed the main hallway to the stairs leading up to the second floor. Cranston's
lips framed a smile that he still wore when they walked through the reception room.
In Cranston's opinion, Dunstan was quite as good a promoter as Garland, considering how the inventor
had roused Weston's interest. Certainly those two, Dunstan and Garland, would go far if they worked
together. The question was: would they work together? Considering that Garland was finding Dunstan his
own mental match, Cranston doubted that they would.
Something would surely happen to break relations between such a pair, particularly if Dunstan proved as
honest as Garland was known to be ruthless. Trouble was due; of that, Cranston was certain. What The
Shadow didn't divine was how soon that trouble would happen.
THE thing was instantaneous. As the servant bowed the new arrivals into the laboratory, before the
newcomers could begin to appraise their surroundings, all eyes were riveted upon the curtain beneath the
tiled arch leading to the inner lab.
A wild face appeared there, accompanied by hands that were clawing at the sea-blue drape, ripping it
from the glazite rod above. The face was Dunstan's, demoniac against a hellish background of green
flame and purplish smoke that came from a crucible standing on a glazite table behind him.
Something had gone wrong with Dunstan's experiment. The emulsion had ignited and was filling the inner
lab with sulphurous fumes. More than that, those hideous green flames were threatening to set off other
chemicals with which the inner lab was stocked!
A few feet more and Dunstan would have reached safety. Instead, he brought up suddenly, just past the
ripped curtain. He clawed about wildly in midair, as though some invisible monster had seized him and
was holding him in its unseen clutch.
It was Garland who bawled for someone to aid the stricken inventor. Two men sprang forward, reaching
the archway side by side. There, less than half an inch from Dunstan, both jolted and came bouncing
back, landing half stunned and totally astonished.
Some time after Dunstan had entered the inner lab, an invisible barrier of glazite had slid across the
archway on the near side of the curtain. It was blocking off Dunstan's outlet from the room where he now
was trapped!
The existence of such a barrier sped home to two minds: those of Lamont Cranston and Joe Cardona.
Singularly, it was the police inspector who took the most direct method. Dustan sagged beyond the
archway, sinking into the cloud of purple smoke that was swirling against the unseen barrier. Cardona
drew a revolver and blasted shots above the inventor's head, hoping to crack an opening.
All Cardona did was supply the bullet test.
The barrier wasn't glass; it was glazite, and the stuff lived up to Dunstan's claims. Cardona's slugs
mushroomed against the transparent metal and fell like harmless pellets!
Dunstan was trying to get to his feet. He was flapping his hand feebly along the tiled wall within the arch,
trying to find the switch that controlled the barrier from the inside. Apparently he clicked it, but nothing
happened, because when Dunstan reeled into the archway he jounced right back again.
By that time, Cranston had completed quick preliminaries toward reaching Dunstan. While Cardona was
firing the useless shots, Cranston, already conceding that the invisible barrier must be bulletproof, was
gathering the items needed for more efficient attack. One object was the glazite stepladder; the other, the
sledge hammer of the same material.
Reaching the arch, Cranston planted the ladder up to the top. Cardona stood in profound amazement as
he saw the commissioner's friend swing what seemed to be a most fragile instrument: a sledge hammer
with both head and handle that resembled glass. The results, however, proved the strength of glazite.
What Cranston sledged was the tiled partition above the archway. Though stout, the tiles gave like dried
putty, cracking further under every stroke. A human engine of destruction, Cranston seemed a mighty
piston, battering things apart in a titanic effort at rapid rescue.
The partition gave and through the gap swirled masses of the purple smoke. Another stroke widened the
hole and the gush of fumes increased. Cranston was taking their fury. The smoke almost enveloped him,
but, in so doing, he was relieving Dunstan from the fumes.
Another crash and the space above the arch was wide enough for Cranston's head and shoulders.
Pitching the sledge hammer through, he prepared to follow with a dive that would enable him to join
Dunstan and work from the inside. The purplish cloud was completely engulfing Cranston; how he stood
it, coughing men could not understand.
They did know that in two seconds more, Cranston would be through those devastating fumes, down to
the floor level where Dunstan lay free from the murderous vapor that his rescuer had released.
What no one took into account were the green flames that still formed a licking back drop deep in the
inner laboratory. At the very moment when Cranston began his daring lunge, the green tongues gave a
rapid leap that reached a beaker standing on a higher shelf.
There was a yellow liquid in the beaker. With one touch of the flame it was gone, with a mighty puff that
enveloped the doomed laboratory. With the hollow explosion came a great crash. Tiled walls, glazite
shelves and all their contents tumbled to the floor of the inner room.
Chemicals spurted everywhere, bringing a muggy smoke that enveloped everything in sight beyond the
arch. Dunstan was gone from view. So was Cranston, in a horrendous cloud that writhed like a horde of
jinn expanding from their bottles and mingling within confines too small to hold them.
Swift though Cranston's rescue attempt had been, it was too late. Like Dustan, the victim, Cranston, the
rescuer, seemed doomed amid that chemical hell.
Whether this was accident or crime, it seemingly would stand as the event that permanently ended the
career of a master of adventure called The Shadow!
CHAPTER III. THE CHANCE TRAIL.
DRIVEN back by the acid fumes, the witnesses to the final disaster had retreated to the reception room
by the time the brownish smoke cleared. Gregg Garland was wheezing to his companions, urging them to
make a new attempt at a rescue that now seemed useless. Commissioner Weston was blinking his eyes
as he pointed helplessly toward the glazite barrier, where he thought that Cranston lay with Dunstan.
It was Joe Cardona who saw differently, but the ace inspector wasn't pleased. Through the glazite panel,
Cardona saw only Dunstan, lying amid a pile of debris, under the light of rising flames that were beginning
to sparkle with many hues.
Cardona's first impression was that Cranston had been obliterated by the explosion. The only trace of
him was the glazite ladder, which had fallen to the floor and was lying in front of the arch. Then, chancing
to look upward, Cardona saw something that inspired him with hope.
Met by the blast, Cranston hadn't continued his lunge into the room of doom. He was hanging over the
archway, sprawled at a crazy angle, his evening clothes torn ragged. In short, Cranston was wedged in
the very opening that he had smashed with the colorless sledge hammer.
On second thought, Cardona decided that Cranston's plight was all the worse. Up where he was,
Cranston must have taken the full gush of the vicious, murderous fumes that had choked and blinded men
who were more distant. It seemed impossible that he could have survived the ordeal.
Even when guised as Cranston, The Shadow had a habit of accomplishing the impossible. While
Cardona stared, Cranston stirred in very agile fashion.
His first act was to claw his way through the gap above the arch, something that totally puzzled Cardona,
since the space was already open. Then Joe observed that Cranston had encountered an actual
obstruction.
Hurled by the blast, a glazite shelf had struck the gap and jammed there. Its outward angle gave it the
property of a funnel and Cranston was below the rim on the near side. The pour of ugly fumes had gone
over and above him, leaving Cranston in better shape than any of the witnesses!
This dawned on Cardona when he heard the sheet of glazite clatter under Cranston's hard shoves. Next,
Cranston was continuing his course, through the gap and down to Dunstan's aid, though by this time the
inventor was in the throes of final agony. Flames darted at Cranston as he dropped, whereupon Cardona
snatched a glazite fire extinguisher from the wall of the outer laboratory. Without bothering to use the
ladder, Joe tossed the extinguisher up through the gap, shouting that it was on the way.
Hearing the call, Cranston caught the object when it arrived and made short work of the flames. After
that he turned to learn what was left of Dunstan.
Reaching Dunstan was still a problem. Shelves, tables of glazite were among the debris that covered him
and the stuff was tougher than steel. Glazite simply wouldn't twist, but it had a pronounced tendency to
jam. The chunks of the unbreakable material were wedged in a puzzle pattern as difficult to crack as it
was to trace.
To get at Dunstan better, Cranston pulled the ripped curtain completely aside. With the action, a curious
thing occurred. Dunstan's form rolled into the outer laboratory, followed by clanks from the debris of
glazite.
Cranston's pulling of the curtain had released the unseen barrier that originally trapped Dunstan within the
fatal room!
MEN reached Dunstan while Cranston was clambering over the wreckage. It was Weston who spoke to
the dying inventor, while Garland was lifting Dunstan's head. Cardona was also close at hand to hear the
words that Dunstan coughed.
"Find Youstaf-" As he pronounced the name, Dunstan choked; then with a valiant effort tried to continue.
"Youstaf-"
That was all. With a spasm, Dunstan slumped dead.
Who Youstaf was, whether murderer or friend, Dunstan could not, did not specify. It was Garland who
voiced an opinion for the dead man.
"Youstaf must be the next man in line," declared Garland. "The second of the five inventors that Dunstan
told us about. He's the head man on the glazite proposition, now that Dunstan is dead. Sounds like a
Turk, or some such nationality.
"And if you ask me"-Garland was looking to his friends for corroboration-"I'd say this fellow Youstaf
framed the death trap for Dunstan. You ought to find him, commissioner, and question him right away.
Maybe he's trying to take over a million-dollar proposition because that's what glazite is worth!"
There were times when Weston was quick on the uptake and this was one of them. Coldly, he asked
Garland how he knew that this was a death trap. For a moment Garland hesitated, then argued that the
circumstances justified such a definition.
By then, Cranston was proving it. Examining the archway, Cranston was finding evidence that might have
baffled investigators other than The Shadow; at least, few would have discovered it so soon.
The glazite barrier operated electrically from the wall switch in the inner laboratory. Obviously, Dunstan
used it to isolate himself in his private workshop. Someone had disconnected the wire and attached it to
the curtain.
Thus Dunstan's act of drawing the curtain had made the barrier slide silently across the arched doorway.
He'd wanted it closed, for he had pressed the switch afterward; he hadn't known that the invisible panel
was already in place.
When Dunstan's experiment went wrong, due to some inflammable substance that an enemy had added
to the emulsion, he tore the curtain instead of hauling it wide. First he'd forgotten the barrier, then he'd
remembered it, but when he pushed the switch it did no good.
This would have been very simple to discover had the wiring been of a normal pattern. But all of
Dunstan's wiring, including its insulation, depended upon types of glazite, all absolutely invisible. Thus not
a trace of the work could be seen!
Cranston's discovery was the result of sheer logic. Applying it, he traced the wire's course by sense of
touch and explained the arrangement to Weston. By then Cardona had rounded up Dunstan's servant,
who answered to the name of Jennings. Horrified by his master's death, Jennings could just about answer
the questions that were put to him.
It developed that Dunstan often received visitors that Jennings did not meet, doubtless the four inventors
who shared the secret of glazite. They always came through the side door, straight to the lab, through an
entrance that Jennings pointed out. This door was latched on the inside, as Dunstan always kept it. When
Dunstan had last received such a visitor, Jennings did not know.
When Weston asked sharply if Garland ever used the private door, Jennings shook his head. The servant
said that Garland always came by the front way. On this particular evening, Dunstan had kept him waiting
in the reception room.
Taking that statement as a complete vindication, Garland swelled importantly and assured Weston that
he, more than any other man, was anxious to uncover the real killer. Though admitting that Dunstan was
not ready to sell the rights to glazite, Garland argued that the deal was still under discussion. Gradually,
Garland's friends backed the statement, which left the commissioner where he had been at the start.
"There's one thing certain," decided Weston. "We must find this man Youstaf. His very name marks him
as an eccentric inventor, the kind that might be crazy enough to go in for murder. Now if anyone can
think of any way to help-"
The right way came of its own accord in the form of a sudden interruption. A telephone bell was ringing
from the reception room. Jennings made a start to answer it, then hesitated. Cardona gave the servant a
prompt shove.
"Answer it," ordered the inspector. "Find out who it is and tell us."
JENNINGS went to the reception room, Cardona with him. Crowding after the inspector, Weston and
Garland blocked off Cranston, but he was close at hand when Jennings answered the call. But though the
servant did his part well, it didn't work out.
After a few words, Jennings turned, keeping his hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone.
"It must be one of the other inventors," said Jennings. "He won't tell me who he is. If I insist, he'll certainly
suspect something."
"I'll talk to him," decided Cardona. "I'll tell him I'm one of the investors; that Dunstan is busy."
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MESSENGEROFDEATHMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.THEMIRACLEMETAL.?CHAPTERII.BELATEDRESCUE.?CHAPTERIII.THECHANCETRAIL.?CHAPTERIV.DUNSTAN'SSUCCESSOR.?CHAPTERV.TWISTEDFLIGHT.?CHAPTERVI.MIDNIGHTRENDEZVOUS.?CHAPTERVII.INTOTHETRAP.?CHAPTERVIII.THEVANISHIN...

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