Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 223 - Crime Under Cover

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CRIME UNDER COVER
by Maxwell Grant
As originally published in "The Shadow Magazine," June 1, 1941.
Crime was in the making in the nation's capital! Could The Shadow stop
plans for death and disaster before it was too late?
CHAPTER I
MENACE IN WASHINGTON
THE throng from the train gate poured into the vast concourse of the
Washington Union Station and melted away, much to the amazement of Jerry
Croft,
and to his annoyance, too. He had counted upon staying with the crowd, thereby
keeping himself unnoticed; but it simply couldn't be done.
This was his first visit to Washington, and he had heard, but forgotten,
that the concourse at the Union Station was large enough to contain an army of
fifty thousand men. At this moment, Jerry felt that he needed about forty-nine
thousand others in order to lose himself as he had planned.
His walk across to the main waiting room seemed like a one-man parade,
and
he felt that all eyes were upon him, until he realized that many of the other
people were too far away to identify him, even if they knew him.
In a way, he was lost, after all, but it didn't occur to him, until
later,
that persons who might have spotted him at the train gate would look as though
they were lost while they trailed him.
The waiting room was large, too, but it was fairly crowded, which was
something of a help. Jerry found his way to the taxicabs, and hailed one just
as someone else took it. He turned around and saw the dark-faced man with the
bulgy forehead step back from sight.
He was an odd-looking chap, as Jerry had noted on the train. Odd, that he
had arrived at the cab rank as soon as Jerry; odder, that he had gone back
into
the waiting room.
Maybe he had forgotten something; perhaps he wanted to send a telegram.
People did send telegrams from Washington, as Jerry could easily prove,
because
he had one in his pocket.
It was the telegram that had come from Professor Urlich Ardlan, and it
was
the thing that had brought Jerry Croft to Washington. Jerry didn't have to
look
at the telegram to remember it; he knew its brief message by heart.
A cab pulled up and Jerry tossed his small but heavy suitcase into it, as
he took another look for the man with the big, dark brow. Not seeing the
fellow, he decided that it was safe to confide in the cab driver, so he told
him to drive to the World Wide Cafe, the meeting place the professor had named
in the telegram.
Why Professor Ardlan, whose chief diet was milk toast, should have picked
a restaurant as a rendezvous, was something rather baffling; but then,
Ardlan's
ways were always curious, and Jerry had learned to expect almost anything from
him.
Some people insisted that Ardlan was crazy, and Jerry had learned not to
dispute them, rather than have himself considered a bit touched, too. In fact,
through association with the professor, Jerry wondered at times whether he was
still wholly sane, particularly when he found himself worrying about men with
big foreheads and thinking they were on his trail.
The cab worked its way to Pennsylvania Avenue, and sight of that broad
boulevard, glittering with light, intrigued Jerry. He was riding away from the
capitol building, but in what direction he hadn't an idea, and when the cab
turned off into a side street and swung along another, its passenger was
totally confused. The cab stopped in front of a prosperous-looking restaurant
that bore the sign:
WORLD WIDE CAFE
This, at least, was Jerry's destination. He alighted from the cab, paid
the zone fare and entered the restaurant, carrying his suitcase. A hat-check
girl wanted to take it, but Jerry shook his head and she smiled.
The girl had seen others like Jerry before. He was reasonably handsome,
and very earnest, as if he had important business to handle, with the answer
to
it in the bag that he carried. He was looking for someone, as such arrivals in
Washington usually did.
Jerry wouldn't have had trouble finding Ardlan, had the professor been in
the restaurant. Professor Ardlan had much the appearance of a shaggy-maned
lion, except that his hair was gray, and, in true leonine fashion, he bellowed
at everyone who approached him, which usually meant the waiters when he dined
in public.
There was no one in the cafe like Ardlan. Jerry was sure, because he knew
that he would have heard the professor, even if he couldn't see him.
So Jerry took a table near a corner from which he could watch the door.
He
put the suitcase on another chair, where it was within easy reach. Containing,
as it did, a collection of chemical formulas, mostly pertaining to gases, the
bag was of importance to Jerry, especially as the formulas represented his own
research of more than six months.
PEOPLE were coming into the restaurant, but Ardlan was not among them.
Jerry wondered if he really had remembered the telegram correctly. He pulled
it
from his pocket, and found that he was right. It said to come to Washington on
the express that arrived at six thirty-five, and to meet Ardlan at the World
Wide Cafe.
So Jerry put the telegram away and studied the menu, deciding to get a
head start on his dinner before the professor showed up for milk toast.
Men were seating themselves at the next table, and Jerry could overhear
their conversation. It wasn't in English, but Jerry had traveled around enough
to know smatterings of other languages to the point of identifying them.
This happened to be one that he couldn't class, though it had snatches of
familiarity. (Note: Unknown to Jerry Croft at this time, the language being
spoken in the cafe is Esperanto. Jerry will learn the meaning of this
restaurant conversation later in the story. Throughout the story; if the text
itself does not make the meaning of the Esperanto clear, when it is spoken, a
footnote will give the translation to the reader. For further information
about
Esperanto, please turn to the end of this story.) At least, the men spoke
plainly, so that their pronunciation was recognizable.
"Mi sekvis lin el la stacio," said one. "Li estas la viro."
"Bonega," spoke another. "Ni observos lin."
Jerry looked toward the speakers and stared. One of the four was the man
who had been on the train, there was no mistake about it. Viewing the fellow
in
profile, Jerry saw the big forehead and its bulge; as for the man's
complexion,
it was definitely dark, though the cafe was well lighted.
The others were speaking, and Jerry couldn't catch the odd words in the
babble. Fortunately, at that moment a waiter approached their table. They
silenced, without noticing Jerry, but even the sudden quiet was curious. They
weren't worried about the waiter hearing them; they wanted to hear what he had
to say, and it was in their own language!
"Oni audos vin," the waiter confided. "Se iu komprenas, gi estus malbona.
There were nods from the rest. With wary looks, they began to point out
items on the menu, that the waiter jotted down while he nodded. By then, Jerry
was behaving warily, too, but from the corner of his eye he was checking on
the
bulge-headed man's comrades.
They looked foreign, but of what nationalities, Jerry could not guess,
except that they varied. The waiter, obviously a member of their group, looked
more American than the rest, but his inset face, tawny in shade, marked him as
a probable unknown quantity.
Sliding his hand in his coat pocket, Jerry found a little notebook and
rested it on his knee. He had a stubby pencil handy, too, and he decided to
jot
down what he heard next, particularly if the bulge-browed man spoke it.
The fellow was the one who did speak, just after the waiter had finished
taking the orders. He motioned to the waiter and said slowly, importantly:
"Alportu al mi ion florbrasiketo."
The waiter nodded, and repeated:
"Florbrasiketo. Mi memoros."
Pocketing the order list, he became a typical waiter as he strolled away,
and Jerry, writing the words as well as he could remember them, was definitely
sure of one: florbrasiketo. He regarded it as the most important thing that he
had caught from the conversation.
Apparently, by mutual consent, the four men were saying little; when they
did, they spoke more rapidly and kept their voices lowered; so that neither
Jerry, nor any others close by, could overhear them, but their tones indicated
that they were still using the peculiar language that they preferred.
A different waiter took Jerry's order, and while he ate, Jerry kept
watching for the professor and speculating about the tribe at the neighboring
table. It might be just a coincidence that the bulgy-browed man had come to
the
World Wide Cafe, and not a remarkable one at that, since the name of the place
indicated that it was cosmopolitan.
Nevertheless, Jerry didn't like it, particularly when Professor Ardlan
did
not appear.
ARDLAN was somewhere in Washington; he had come to the capital to sell
the
government a wonderful idea that he considered to be of military value, and
the
fact that Ardlan was staying in Washington indicated that he was getting
somewhere with it.
He had left Jerry with enough work to keep him busy indefinitely,
instructing him to stay at it until further word arrived. The further word had
been the telegram.
Jerry had enough money with him to stay at a hotel, but that wouldn't
help
to find Ardlan. The professor was absent-minded at times, but there were
others
with him, and one in particular, Trennick, wouldn't let him forget an
important
appointment. In fact, Trennick had probably sent the telegram for the
professor,
unless -
The thing rang home while Jerry was looking at the man with the bulgy
forehead. Could it be that the telegram itself was a hoax? That someone in the
queer-looking outfit had sent it, signing the professor's name, and that the
man with the big brow had been assigned to pick up Jerry's trail along the
way?
Professor Ardlan often had ideas that people were following him, but
could
never furnish proof. In Jerry's case, it was different. He couldn't say that
the
man had followed him to the cafe, but the fellow had come to the same place,
which amounted to the same thing, and perhaps more. It might even mean that he
had known where Jerry intended to go.
There was a way to find out. Jerry's waiter had left the check, and it
came to an even sum, allowing for the tip. His hat and suitcase close at hand,
Jerry reached for them under cover of the table.
He noted that the man with the bulgy head was busy over a plate of
broccoli and figured it a time for opportune departure. Before any of them
realized it, Jerry had his hat and bag and was on his way.
There was a cab outside, and stepping right into it, Jerry looked back.
He
saw the waiter - the one who talked the odd language - gesticulating to the
men
at the table, and they were coming to their feet, not bothering about their
checks, which the waiter, as one of their crowd, could pay for them.
Men didn't bolt from the middle of a meal unless there was a fire, or
they
had chosen to go after someone who had left too soon.
In this case, the early bird was Jerry. He didn't intend to waste his
advantage hunting for worms. He was in the cab, his suitcase with him, when he
heard the driver say:
"Where to?"
"Next corner," responded Jerry. "Turn left, then I'll give you the
address. I'm in a hurry."
Hurry or no hurry, the cab was just turning the corner when Jerry saw the
quartet tear from the World Wide Cafe and pile into a speedy-looking sedan
that
had pulled up to receive them. Then Jerry's cab was around the corner and the
driver was asking:
"Where next?"
"Straight ahead," snapped Jerry, "and go like blazes!"
"But this takes us into the Potomac -"
"Then turn off wherever you can, but keep going. Look into the mirror;
you'll see that somebody is after us."
The driver looked into the mirror and caught a glimpse of Jerry, as well
as the car behind. Jerry struck him as all right, whereas the pursuing car
didn't. The cabby needed no further urge.
He took the straightaway at his fastest clip, swerved finally into a
drive
that followed the river's curve. The other car did the same, and when Jerry
looked back, he not only saw that it had gained, but had the sinking
impression
that still another pursuing car was coming along with it.
Grimly, Jerry Croft set himself to meet the unknown future, confident
that
when the critical moment arrived, all would not be quiet along the Potomac!
CHAPTER II
BATTLE BY DARK
THE cab took a sudden swerve, ripped its way between two Japanese cherry
trees, hooked another, skewed about, and wound up within a biscuit's toss of
the river bank. Two doors shot open at once - one on the left front, the other
at the right rear. The front door emitted the cabby, the rear one disgorged
Jerry and his bag.
Staying on the road and stopping farther on, the pursuing sedan let loose
its four-man quota. They saw Jerry and came after him, spreading out as they
wrenched past the cherry branches.
Jerry tried to chuck the suitcase into the Potomac River, but it was
heavier than a biscuit and wouldn't carry that far. He went after it, trying
to
kick it ahead of him. Failing he ducked around the front of the cab, hoping
that
he could scout up the cabby and enlist his aid in going after the four men, if
they obtained the suitcase.
They didn't bother about the bag. They wanted to get Jerry, instead. Two
rounded the front of the cab, as he had; the other pair cut in from the rear.
Jerry saw the second car of the pursuit line, as it nosed in through the
cherry-tree wreckage that the cab had caused. He'd only be cut off if he kept
in that direction. Desperately, Jerry turned, and made his predicament
immediate.
Four men were upon him, a pair from each direction, and they were
swinging
things that gleamed: guns. His hands up to ward off the blows, Jerry felt a
surge of overwhelming blackness that struck like an avalanche. He went down
beneath it, sensing blows that he thought must come from slugging guns, only
to
realize that feet were kicking him.
Feet that went jouncing away in one direction, toward the river, as if
one
pair of attackers had driven back the others.
Staring from propped-up elbows, with his hands clapped to his head, Jerry
thought that the four were fighting among themselves - which seemed incredible
for the moment, but faded into simplicity at what he realized next.
They weren't fighting each other; they were battling blackness! Slugging
wildly, guns were meeting others that Jerry could not see, but could hear by
their clicks.
It was a shadowy struggle with an invisible foe, so far as Jerry could
view it, until the swirl of battle carried the melee into the glare of the
cab's headlights.
There, with invisibility denied him, the fighter who had taken on the
odds
declared himself, with a laugh that carried weirdly out across the river. It
was
a laugh of challenge, defiant in its mockery, threatening ill to the
opposition,
regardless of their number. Amid the swirl, Jerry saw the figure of the lone,
intrepid fighter.
He was The Shadow!
Cloaked in black, a slouch hat upon his head, this terror to men of evil
was sledging with a pair of automatics that were as large as bludgeons. His
gloved fists were using their weapons with such advantage, that he was bashing
down opposing guns and beating away warding hands.
Jerry had never seen The Shadow; in fact, did not identify him at the
moment. He saw a being in black, a superhuman warrior, which was enough. He
knew that The Shadow must have come from the second car; that he had been upon
the trail of the pursuers themselves.
Those men who babbled in a strange tongue were not profiting by The
Shadow's arrival, and recognizing it, they dropped their silent struggle.
Scattering like debris tossed by a tornado, they came about to blaze with
their guns; they were in darkness, and they were shooting back at the light
that fronted the cab, hoping that wild aim would clip their foe.
But The Shadow was no longer a target; he, too, had gone into darkness.
Only Jerry glimpsed the long plunge that he thought, at first, had carried The
Shadow over the river's brink.
FROM the water's edge, guns spoke. Their stabs told that The Shadow was
not submerged; he was using the low entrenchments afforded by the bank to
knife
back his replies to futile shots.
Yelps from near the taxicab indicated that The Shadow was scoring hits.
Jerry heard one man stagger past him, while the others ran. Rising, he tried
to
grab at least one fugitive, but all were past him, heading toward the road.
Again, The Shadow's laugh; this time, its trailing tone carried a warning
that Jerry didn't understand at first. Another man was joining Jerry - the
cabby, who had regained his nerve, now that he was with the hounds instead of
the hares.
Somewhere behind them was The Shadow; confident of his support, Jerry
thought that this pursuit was what The Shadow wanted.
He found out differently when he and the cabby overtook the four men. Two
were helping the staggering fellow, while the third, who happened to be the
bulge-headed man, was carrying one arm rather limp, as though from a deep
flesh
wound. It was he who turned to brandish a revolver at Jerry and the cabby - at
sight of which, they dived apart.
Instantly, The Shadow's gun spoke anew from somewhere in the background.
Then did Jerry understand the folly of his own pursuit; the reason for The
Shadow's warning. Not only Jerry, but the cabby, too, had blocked off The
Shadow's fire. Otherwise, the cloaked marksman would have halted the four
fugitives, to the final man, by means of his long-range fire. By now, it was
too late.
Two of the men, unscathed, had put their stumbling companion into the
car;
the driver was starting it away when Jerry saw the fourth fugitive, the man
with
the big forehead, spring into the front seat.
The Shadow tongued a few shots after them, and they jabbed back, but his
purpose was merely to draw their fire away from Jerry and the cabby, who were
much closer to danger than The Shadow - if he could be regarded as in danger
at
all.
Intervening trees helped render futile the last exchange of shots, but
Jerry was alarmed by the sudden way The Shadow's gunfire halted - until he
heard sirens wail and saw motorcycles whirl in from a broad, curving driveway.
Police had heard the gunfire, and by allowing the escaping opposition the
privilege of the last few wasted shots, The Shadow had dispatched the law
along
their trail.
The cabby was hurrying back to the cab, and Jerry decided to do the same,
on the chance of meeting the mysterious fighter who had so ably rescued him.
Finding The Shadow in the dark would be impossible, but Jerry hoped that his
new friend might declare himself.
On the way to the cab, however, Jerry remembered the suitcase. He knew
that the men who talked the strange tongue hadn't taken it, so it logically
belonged at the place where Jerry had last kicked it.
Finding the place was the trouble. The cabby had turned off the
headlights, in order not to attract any police who might come trailing after
the first squad, so Jerry decided to ask him to put them on again. He reached
the cab in the darkness; the driver heard him, and said:
"Hop in."
"The suitcase," began Jerry. "I had it with me -"
"It's here in the cab."
The suitcase was in the cab, and Jerry eagerly opened it, while the cab
was backing around and nosing for the opening between the trees. The lights
were on again, and Jerry saw that The Shadow's car was gone.
As swiftly as he had arrived, the mysterious fighter had departed,
hoping,
perhaps, that he could pick up the racing motorcycles, to find the fugitive
car
that was trying to outrun the police.
Jerry's formulas were just as he had packed them. The driver was taking
to
the curved drive, and Jerry saw that it skirted a roundish landlocked
reservoir
- the Tidal Basin, jutting in from the Potomac.
"Guess they kind of had us worried," piped the cabby, from the front
seat.
"You're a cool guy, though. I could tell that when you handed me the bag and
told me to put it here in the cab."
"When I told you -"
"Yeah. Or, maybe" - the cabby paused, to peek at Jerry in the mirror -
"or
maybe you were still kind of groggy."
"I guess I was," acknowledged Jerry. "I don't exactly remember giving you
the suitcase."
"I guessed maybe you didn't."
THE cab was swinging into a meshwork of streets where laid-out squares,
simple in themselves, were rendered mazelike by the angular crossings of
intervening avenues. The cabby knew his way around, for he performed twists
that kept carrying the cab along one general direction, but why he was heading
that way, Jerry couldn't understand.
Jerry was about to put a question, when a sudden idea struck him. Instead
of asking the cabby where they were going, he expressed the query in another
way.
"You know where you're going, don't you?"
"To the address you gave me," returned the cabby. "That is, if you
remember telling it to me, the same time you passed me the suitcase."
"I remember that part," assured Jerry. "I just wanted to make sure you
got
it straight."
For all that Jerry knew, their destination might be in Timbuktu, not
Washington, but at least he understood the answer to the riddle, as well as
the
puzzle of the suitcase.
It must have been the cloaked rescuer who had handed the cabby the bag
and
given him the address in a tone which could have been Jerry's. Up to that
time,
any tone could have been Jerry's, so far as the cabby was concerned, for their
only previous conversation had been an excited one outside the World Wide
Cafe.
Maybe the cabby was catching the discrepancy, now that Jerry was talking
normally. Maybe not, but in either case it didn't matter. They were bound
somewhere, at The Shadow's order, and Jerry Croft was willing to trust the
mysterious friend whose fade-out had been as remarkable as his battle.
The cab swung into one of Washington's many secluded streets, where old
houses stood half hidden behind rows of shade trees. The cabby poked along
looking for the number that he wanted. Finally halting in front of the oddest
house of all, he asked:
"Is this the place?"
"It looks like it," Jerry vouchsafed. "I guess you heard me right."
He paid off the cab driver; went to the door of the forbidding house,
wondering suddenly whether he might be walking into another trap. The cab was
lingering, as if through its driver's curiosity, and Jerry was remembering
that
he had only the cabby's say-so regarding the address given by the man he
thought
was his passenger.
Maybe the fellow was in the game and had taken Jerry to the river side so
the pursuers could box him. With The Shadow gone, the cabby could have faked
his yarn, and this very house might be the headquarters of the
strange-speaking
men who fled The Shadow's wrath!
If so, the cabby would give the alarm if Jerry welshed at entering the
house. If not, he'd at least wonder. The door latch was clicking, and Jerry
faced the barrier with tightened fist, hoping that he'd meet The Shadow, or
someone who served him, rather than the bulge-headed man, or a similar enemy.
He met neither. Half stepping across the threshold, Jerry continued on a
pace, staring in real surprise. His hand came up, its fist unclenched, to
receive the clasp of a shaggy-haired man who greeted him with a pleased and
booming laugh.
Jerry Croft had kept his appointment in Washington - or, rather, The
Shadow had arranged that he should keep it. The man who was greeting Jerry was
none other than his singular employer, Professor Urlich Ardlan!
CHAPTER III
THE GREAT INVENTION
INSTEAD of clearing the mystery, the meeting with Ardlan only deepened it
for Jerry, though he was gradually to gain glimmers which he could recognize
as
facts.
Once the door was closed, Ardlan's laugh took on a triumphant tone, for
the benefit of two men standing by. Jerry recognized one, a pale, dry-faced
man
with deep eyes and long chin, who happened to be Trennick, Ardlan's trusted
servant. The other was heavier set, dark-complexioned, and mustached. He gave
Jerry a close scrutiny while being introduced to him.
Professor Ardlan introduced the darkish man as Vic Marquette, from the
Federal Bureau of Investigation.
"You see?" queried Ardlan, turning from Trennick to Marquette, "I did
send
the telegram, as I thought, because Croft is here!"
Marquette nodded, while Trennick gave a worried stare. It was Marquette
who spoke to Jerry.
"Did anyone follow you here from the Union Station?"
The query was blunt, and it seemed a criticism of Professor Ardlan.
Marquette seemed to want a direct answer, so Jerry gave one which was truthful
enough.
He simply said: "No."
Satisfied with the reply, Marquette shrugged and turned away from Jerry,
who decided, therewith, to withhold further details unless specifically
questioned.
"It's still too bad you named this address in a telegram," said Marquette
to the professor. "Nobody is supposed to know you're here. You should have let
me contact Croft for you."
"Exactly what I told Professor Ardlan," put in Trennick, "and I was sure,
sir" - this was to the professor - "that you didn't send the telegram -"
Another shrug from Marquette indicated that he considered the matter
closed. But it wasn't so to Jerry. He was quite convinced that Ardlan hadn't
sent the telegram, not only because of the professor's penchant toward
absent-mindedness, but because the telegram in Jerry's own pocket did not
match
the one described. It had told Jerry to come to the World Wide Cafe, not to
this
obscure address.
There was only one answer: someone else had probably wired Jerry; perhaps
the bulge-browed man, which would mean that he or some of his associates spoke
English, as well as their peculiar, unidentified language. They had brought
Jerry to the World Wide Cafe to waylay him before he reached this address.
It was possible that they did not even know where Professor Ardlan was.
How did that bring in The Shadow?
Jerry pondered his own mental question and came to the conclusion that
The
Shadow was someone who had been watching the group of curious linguists, and
seeing them go after Jerry, had taken a hand to stop them.
But only The Shadow could have given the cabby this address, which meant
that The Shadow knew much about Professor Ardlan, as well as where the
scientist was located.
Those were things that Jerry ought to have told Vic Marquette. There was
a
reason why he didn't. It was because Marquette happened to speak first.
"I'M glad you're here, Croft," said the Fed. "According to Professor
Ardlan, you're the one man he trusts -"
"I trust Trennick, too," insisted Ardlan, clapping his hand on the
servant's shoulder. "But each man to his duty. Croft is my assistant in
scientific matters, while Trennick attends to my personal affairs."
"Getting to the point, Croft," continued Marquette, "I'm here to make
sure
that the professor's invention is quite safe. He insists that it is, because
Trennick is on watch. But I have no proof" - his tone was emphatic - "that
there is an invention in this house!"
"I've shown you the room!" boomed Ardlan. "Down in the cellar, where I
keep my Neutralizer -"
"But how do I know what's in the place?" demanded Marquette. "Maybe
you're
keeping a hippopotamus downstairs, or maybe nothing at all! I've asked
Trennick;
he doesn't know. He's seen the outside of your strong room, like I have, but
not
the inside."
Jerry smiled.
"The professor does have an apparatus that he terms the Neutralizer," he
declared. "I have seen it, Mr. Marquette, and can assure you of its
existence."
"Seeing is believing," reminded Marquette.
Turning to the professor, Jerry suggested that he show the Neutralizer to
Marquette. At first, Ardlan was loath to agree, but at last he gave the nod
and
they went down to the cellar, with Trennick following. They came to a steel
door
which had a combination lock, like a safe. Ardlan crowded himself in front of
the combination, so that not even Jerry could watch him operate it. When the
professor opened the door, Jerry noted that the metal was only a sheeting,
that
the door it covered was of wood.
Marquette started to enter, but Ardlan held him back. He insisted that
neither Vic nor Trennick step across the threshold; but he allowed Jerry that
privilege.
In the strong room, resting on a table, was the strangest contrivance
that
it had ever been Marquette's lot to see. Trennick, too, stared open-mouthed,
for
he had never been privileged to look at the Neutralizer before. Jerry,
however,
had seen the thing often.
Its center was a squarish box, not unlike that of a radio cabinet, except
that it had a greater variety of knobs and dials, at least two dozen of them.
The front was about four feet square, though the cabinet was less than that in
depth. A row of lights, of different colors, ran along the top of the cabinet,
and there were two diamonds of bulbs - red, yellow, green and blue - at each
side.
Even more curious were the devices that topped the cabinet. They looked
like small megaphones turned upside down, and they were drilled with holes.
Each was capped with a glass bell, and in each crystal dome was a tiny fan,
aimed downward. A chromium-plated bar ran along the tops of these bells,
serving as a support for the axis of each fan.
The cabinet itself was flanked with cylindrical tanks about the size and
appearance of small fire extinguishers, except that they were made of glass.
Each contained a liquid, and the colors varied, from jet-black, through green
and amber, to a smoky-white. These upright tanks, which formed two columns of
four each, had pipes that led into the cabinet.
PRESSING a switch, Professor Ardlan caused the lights to glow; those
along
the top flickered, but the diamond groups remained constant. Another click,
and
the fans began to whir in the glass bells, producing a sucking sound from
within the inverted funnels. Ardlan tapped the odd-shaped stacks that topped
the cabinet.
"The Identifiers," he explained. "They sort gases and classify them,
automatically. The lights will then register."
Marquette rubbed his chin; Ardlan noted it. He stepped toward an
old-fashioned gas jet in the corner of the windowless room; then shook his
head.
"Not necessary," he said. "It would be too much trouble as a mere
demonstration. Just step over, Jerry, and breathe close to the Identifiers. I
am not sure which is the proper one, but we shall soon see.
Jerry complied. He was breathing against the third funnel in the row of
eight, when the flicker of the lights stopped. Two colors remained along the
top: yellow and blue.
"Carbon dioxide," said Ardlan. "Watch."
He manipulated a switch at the left, until only yellow and blue shone
from
the diamond at that side. Going to the right, he repeated the process. When he
turned a central knob, two vents popped open, one in the middle of each
摘要：

CRIMEUNDERCOVERbyMaxwellGrantAsoriginallypublishedin"TheShadowMagazine,"June1,1941.Crimewasinthemakinginthenation'scapital!CouldTheShadowstopplansfordeathanddisasterbeforeitwastoolate?CHAPTERIMENACEINWASHINGTONTHEthrongfromthetraingatepouredintothevastconcourseoftheWashingtonUnionStationandmeltedawa...

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Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 223 - Crime Under Cover.pdf

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