Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 067 - The Unseen Killer

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THE UNSEEN KILLER

Maxwell Grant

http://www.blackmask.com

? CHAPTER I. PLANS COMPLETED

? CHAPTER II. FROM THE CONFERENCE

? CHAPTER III. THE EXPERIMENT

? CHAPTER IV. CARDONA SPEAKS

? CHAPTER V. THE QUEST BEGINS

? CHAPTER VI. THE PROFESSOR BALKS

? CHAPTER VII. THE KILLER STRIKES

? CHAPTER VIII. AT WARLOCK'S

? CHAPTER IX. DEATH DELIVERED

? CHAPTER X. THE LAW AND THE SHADOW

? CHAPTER XI. THE BLACK BOX

? CHAPTER XII. DEATH FOLLOWS

? CHAPTER XIII. NORGAN SPEAKS

? CHAPTER XIV. THE SQUAWKER

? CHAPTER XV. TWISTED TRAILS

? CHAPTER XVI. TRIP'S ORDERS

? CHAPTER XVII. FORCES CONVERGE

? CHAPTER XVIII. THE SHADOW'S STROKE

? CHAPTER XIX. DEATH RESUMES

? CHAPTER XX. FROM THE SHADOW

? CHAPTER XXI. NEW DEDUCTIONS

? CHAPTER XXII. WEALTH REGAINED

CHAPTER I. PLANS COMPLETED

"THAT'S Trip Burgan -"

"The gambler, eh? He looks like a big shot, all right."

"Looks like one? He is one. Riding easy on the dough he's taken in -"

The comments were audible to "Trip" Burgan as he strolled through the lobby of the Hotel Revano. A

cold smile appeared upon the gambler's lips. The expression changed, however, as Trip entered the

elevator and turned toward the door. Those who could still see him from the lobby observed an

emotionless countenance.

The term "poker-faced" applied to Trip Burgan. His sallow visage was one that maintained a fixed

appearance. Only his eyes were shifty; but Trip had gained the habit of changing his gaze in a natural

fashion that proved deceptive to those who observed it.

The cold smile reappeared when Trip stepped from the elevator at the sixth floor. This showed that the

gambler had not forgotten the comments from the lobby loungers. Those statements were to Trip's liking,

particularly the reference to the fact that he was "riding easy." For Trip, retired from active practice at the

gaming table, had been seeking to establish that very impression.

Arriving at a doorway near the end of a corridor, Trip inserted a key and turned the lock. He stepped

into a thickly furnished living room, just as a thick-set man bounded up from a chair to see who was

entering. A sheepish grin showed on the fellow's thick-lipped face.

"Ought to have known it was you, Trip," remarked the man, apologetically. "Guess I was kind of half

asleep here in the chair. You clicking the key woke me up."

"All right, Chuck," returned Trip, in a brusque tone. "Well, what's doing? Is he here yet?"

"Crofton?"

Trip Burgan's eyes narrowed. His face formed a scowl that made Chuck shift uneasily. The hard-faced

fellow began to stammer apologies for his blunder. Trip cut him short.

"Listen, you mug," spat the gambler. "Forget that name. Understand? You've never heard of Miles

Crofton. He's never been here. Get it?"

"Sure, Trip—but when I'm talking to you -"

"Let me mention the name if anybody does." Trip paused abruptly to fling aside hat, coat and scarf. Then,

reverting to his original question, he snapped: "Well, is he here?"

"Sure," returned "Chuck." "In the next room. I showed him in there about fifteen minutes ago."

"All right. I'm going in to see him. If anybody asks for me, I'm busy."

WITH that admonition, Trip Burgan opened the door to the next room and entered. He closed the

barrier behind him.

Across the room, which was one of the bedrooms of Trip's apartment, a man was standing at the

window, looking toward Broadway, half a block distant. The visitor turned when he heard Trip close the

door.

Miles Crofton formed an odd contrast to Trip Burgan. Both men had expressionless faces; but there the

likeness ended. Where Trip looked the part of a crafty schemer, Crofton had the appearance of a

deliberate thinker.

Though Crofton's countenance betrayed no emotion, his whole bearing was one that would inspire the

confidence of associates. It was not until Trip delivered a slight grin that Crofton relaxed. Even then, his

facial expression did not lose its seriousness.

"Had to give Chuck a call-down," remarked Trip, as he waved his visitor to a chair. "I told him never to

mention your name, not even to me; but he forgot it when I came in. He won't do it again, though."

Crofton nodded.

"Well," queried Trip, "what's doing up at the professor's? Everything set?"

"For to-night."

"Yeah?" exclaimed Trip, when he heard Crofton's matter-of-fact statement. "Say! That's the ticket! I

didn't think he was going to pull the stunt until next week. What made him set it ahead?"

"Findlay Warlock came in to see him."

"Still singing his hard-luck song?" questioned Trip. "How he's counting on the prof to come through with

the new invention?"

"Yes," replied Crofton. "Warlock talked while I was working in the lab. Professor Lessep told him that

the new apparatus was ready. Warlock persuaded him immediately to make the test to-night."

As Crofton paused, his stolidness impressed Trip with the idea that something might be wrong.

Poker-faced, the gambler studied his visitor; then questioned:

"Don't you like the idea? Aren't you set for it?"

"I'm ready," replied Crofton seriously. "It was something Warlock said that bothers me. Just before he

left, he told Professor Lessep that he's invited the police commissioner."

"Great!" exclaimed Trip. "Say—that's going to spread the thing wide! Plenty of publicity -"

"Perhaps too much," interposed Crofton.

"How come?" questioned Trip.

"To begin with," replied Crofton, "the commissioner may be suspicious of the whole experiment. After it

goes through—supposing there's no hitch—he may start an investigation of my past."

"What if he does? What'll he find out? War hero—soldier of fortune— stunt flier -"

"That part's all right. But he may learn that I was a pal of Rouser Tukin."

"How? You kept in the clear when Rouser pulled that bank job. A couple of cops got killed, but Rouser

was bumped in the fight. He's not around to talk."

"They're still looking for some of the mob."

"But they haven't found them. Anyway, who's going to blab your name? Nobody's got anything on you."

"You never can tell what some stool pigeon has heard. Listen, Trip: I don't want this thing to stir up too

much hullabaloo right at the start."

"It won't." Trip seemed positive. "But you're wise to look at it that way, Crofton. You'll have to lay low in

a hurry. But that's all set. The hide-out's ready. Steer there as soon as you leave the prof's."

"The hide-out," repeated Crofton. He indulged in a slight chuckle. "It seems funny, calling it a hide-out.

It's necessary, though. All right"—he shrugged his shoulders—"we can take a chance on the

commissioner. Maybe he won't make any trouble up at Lessep's."

"He's a dumb egg," assured Trip. "The old commissioner, Ralph Weston, might mean something. But this

guy Wainwright Barth—well, maybe he's as cuckoo as Professor Lessep. He won't get wind of

anything."

"He might trace you, Trip -"

"How?"

"Through Professor Lessep."

TRIP BURGAN arose and stalked over by the window. The fading afternoon light revealed an ugly twist

to his lips as the gambler faced Miles Crofton.

"The old prof won't blab," asserted Trip. "It would queer him if he did. I slipped him dough when he

needed it. If it wasn't for that, this new invention would be listed as a flop along with the others.

"What's more, I've been playing a steady game. I picked this hotel because it wasn't too cheap nor too

ritzy. Just the place where a guy like myself would stop if he had retired. Nobody's got anything on me.

"I fixed it so you got in with the prof as his assistant. But what if he says so? I'll deny it; he'll have no

proof to back it up. He'd only put himself in trouble.

"But that's not all. After you fade out, I'm going to keep away from where you are. Chuck Galla fixed the

hideout. He'll have his own men planted there after you move into the joint to-night. If the bulls begin to

quiz me, Chuck will keep away from here and I'll play dumb.

"If the prof begins to weaken, we'll find out about it soon enough. There'll be a way to handle him. You're

not seeing me any more; and I'm not seeing you"—Trip paused to deliver a slight grin—"in fact, nobody's

seeing you. It looks to me like we're all set."

"We are." Crofton rose as he spoke. "I just wanted to sound you out, Trip. I've been studying Professor

Lessep at close range. I feel sure that he won't crimp the game. As you say, it would queer him worse

than any one else.

"But I wanted to make sure that you weren't overconfident. It may sound funny for me to say that, after

the risks I've taken to grab off coin. But I've always studied consequences and given them their full value,

even when everything looks like a set-up. That's why I'm still alive.

"The weak link lies between you and Professor Lessep. There's always a weak link. My policy is to look

for it. I wanted to be sure you saw it. You've seen it and you'll be ready for it. That settles the matter.

The commissioner won't worry me."

Crofton strolled toward the door that led to the living room. Trip followed. He stopped his visitor with a

low-voiced question. This time it was Trip who expressed concern.

"You're sure the apparatus will work?" he questioned. "The old prof won't get excited and bungle it?"

"Not a chance," returned Crofton. "We tested it after Warlock left to-day. Lessep has it timed to the

exact second. I've taken your word for it that the prof will keep mum. You can take mine that he won't

slip when he works his experiment."

"There'll be no worry after to-night," assured Trip. "Listen, Crofton. In a pinch, you can blow in on the

old prof. End the whole game before he makes up his mind to blab. Let him know that he's got plenty to

lose -"

Crofton was nodding as he opened the door. Trip broke off so that Chuck would not hear the finish of

the sentence. Solemnly, the ex-gambler shook hands with his visitor. Then Trip opened the door, peered

into the hall and gave Crofton the signal to stroll forth.

AS soon as he had closed the door Trip Burgan turned to Chuck Galla. Trip made no effort to suppress

the enthusiasm that he felt. His hard lips widened; he showed an elation that amazed his underling.

"Give the gang the tip, Chuck," ordered Trip. "We're going to cover the hide-out, beginning with

to-night."

"You mean Croft -"

Trip laughed as Chuck caught himself before completing Crofton's name.

"Crofton's the guy," informed Trip. "He's going in there. But nobody's going to see him go in; and

nobody's going to see him when he comes out. That's why I told you to fix the hide-out the way I

described it.

"We're in the big dough, Chuck. You'll get plenty by the time we're through. The best of it is that we can

sit back while Crofton's doing the work. All we've got to do is cover up. Make it easy for him."

Chuck looked puzzled.

"Can't figure it, eh?" chuckled Trip. "Well, you haven't heard anything yet. We're playing the old

professor for a sap, to begin with. If the thing works—well, after to-night, it will be a cinch. Crofton

bringing in the gravy -"

"But the bulls -"

"They'll never find him." Again a chuckle from Trip as he spoke. "They can't find him. Nobody can find

him after to-night."

"Give me the low-down, Trip."

"All right. Listen."

Chuck sat down, still puzzled. Trip began to speak in a steady, convincing tone. As Chuck listened, his

eyes began to blink. He looked at Trip, wondering if the gambler had gone insane.

But Trip's persuasive voice belied all madness. In spite of himself, Chuck began to be convinced. Doubt

became bewilderment. In turn, bewilderment changed to amazement. But with amazement came belief.

Nodding mechanically, Chuck was sitting upright in his chair when Trip completed his statements and his

orders. The gambler's hand clamped upon the underling's shoulder. Chuck arose; Trip moved him

toward the door.

"You've got it now," declared Trip, steadily. "So keep it in your noodle, where it belongs. You're in on

something big, Chuck. Get going. Fix things at the hide-out."

With an effort, Chuck snapped out of his trance. He left and took an elevator to the lobby. Dusk had

settled when Chuck Galla came out into the street. The lieutenant started away at a steady pace.

But as he walked along, Chuck mumbled to himself. He was repeating words that he had heard from

Trip. Chuck was strengthening his conviction that the impossible could be true.

For from Trip Burgan, Chuck Galla had learned the details of new plans for crime. He had heard a plot

that had seemed incredible; a scheme that all the power of the law could not combat.

CHAPTER II. FROM THE CONFERENCE

A GROUP of men was gathered about a long conference table. Situated in an office high in a Manhattan

skyscraper, they commanded a complete view of the Times Square district. Dusk had settled over the

metropolis. Blinking signs flashed their intermittent glow into the ruddy sky above the city. But the sight

meant nothing to these men. They were concerned with the misfortunes of the Centralized Power

Corporation.

At one end of the long table was a solemn-faced, gray-haired man. Benign of countenance, he held an

attitude of friendship. Glumness, however, was imprinted upon his features. He could not shake off the

pall of gloom that had captured him. This was Findlay Warlock, president of the corporation.

Stockholders—represented by men seated on both sides of the table - had once looked to Warlock as

master of their fortunes. But that had been before the advent of disaster. Warlock, no longer a leader,

had been supplanted by the man who now sat at the other end of the conference table. This was Marryat

Darring, recently appointed as executive secretary.

In contrast to Warlock, Darring was a man of rugged vigor. Black-haired, keen-eyed, dynamic in every

action, the executive secretary was tracing the events that had led to the crash of Centralized Power.

Stockholders listened while he spoke; their nods showed their unanimous approval of Darring's findings.

"Centralized Power," the black-haired man was saying, "was an ill-advised project. Its very inception

predicted its ultimate failure. The company planned the building of a huge dam in a district where there

was no concentration of population.

"Mr. Warlock, as president, advised the step in the belief that the region would expand once the power

project had been completed. We all agree that Mr. Warlock is a man of vision. In this instance, however,

he was a man of too much vision.

"He looked ahead to the establishment of industries; to the growth of cities—all produced by the magic

of power development. Instead of following the old rule of producing a supply to fill a demand, he

adopted the policy of believing that a demand would arise as a result of the supply."

Darring paused; he looked about at the approving nods which continued. Even Warlock had joined in the

approbation. The president was admitting the truth of the statements which the executive secretary had

made.

"Despite those mistakes," resumed Darring, in a modulated tone, "Centralized Power might have

achieved its organizer's hopes. It is not my province, gentlemen, to make too severe a criticism. I say that

the project was ill-advised. I do not state, however, that it was impossible of attainment, so far as the

basic idea was concerned.

"The real mistake came when Mr. Warlock, convinced that his dreams would become realities, advised

the purchase of land that was offered at outrageous prices. He also bought out the options and rights of

smaller concerns that had gained claims upon that territory.

"Then, as the colossal blunder, he permitted the award of contracts that were set at war-time figures. In

brief, he allowed the expenditure of several million dollars that could very well have been saved. Am I

correct, Mr. Warlock?"

"You are," responded the gray-haired president, in a wheezy voice. "I must state, however, that the

estimates proved that these extravagances would be repaid eventually -"

BURSTS of indignation came from stockholders. Warlock slumped pitifully in his chair. Accusing voices

sounded in his ears. It was Darring who silenced them with a powerful rap upon the end of the table.

"One moment, gentlemen!" roared Darring. "This is no time for spitefulness. Accept Mr. Warlock's

statement at its true value. He admits extravagances, but"—Darring's tone eased as his eyes moved about

the silenced group—"he also states a fact when he declares that the heavy expenditures would have been

absorbed by the completion of the project.

"In a nut-shell, gentlemen, Mr. Warlock is free from condemnation. His were errors of omission, not of

commission. He believed—he still believes— that his expenditures would have been justified. We can not

take issue on that point."

Warlock smiled gratefully as he heard these statements. Antagonism faded as the stockholders were

swung by Darring's persuasion. Though their faces remained glum, they gradually began to coincide with

Darring's assertions.

"The real failure of Centralized Power," resumed the executive secretary, "lies in the matter of riparian

rights. As I said a moment ago, Mr. Warlock's error was one of omission. He neglected to obtain full

information on a subject that was vital to the success of Centralized Power.

"A few months ago, certain directors of this company became alarmed by the high expenditures that Mr.

Warlock had instituted. They urged my appointment to the position of executive secretary. I went into all

matters in detail I must say, gentlemen, that Mr. Warlock spared no effort to aid me in my investigation,

even though it was a reflection upon his handling of the company management."

Warlock nodded approvingly. Stockholders, toned down by Darring, looked sympathetically toward the

president. They recalled that Warlock, himself, was a heavy stockholder in the company. He, too, was

losing a fortune.

"Thanks to Mr. Warlock's cooperation," declared Darring, "I was able to make a thorough study of

matters as they stood. Aided by my experience as receiver for certain defunct power companies, I went

deeply into the entire affair. In fact, I started from the beginning. I wanted to learn about the water supply

that the great Centralized dam was to hold.

"Every one else—Mr. Warlock included—had taken the riparian rights for granted. I took nothing for

granted. Almost at the start of my survey, I uncovered the astounding fact that all the streams from which

Centralized Power expected to store up water were controlled by other interests.

"There we had it. A huge dam, half built. Contracts calling for equipment. New property options to be

exercised. All for a project that was doomed to failure because the one needed element, water, was not

obtainable. There was but one course to take. Empowered as executive secretary, I suspended further

construction of the dam.

"Since then, I have been actively engaged in my investigation. I find that we are confronted by an absolute

dilemma. We must either abandon our entire enterprise, calling it a complete loss, or we must buy out all

the companies that hold riparian rights. That would mean a cost that could never be absorbed."

THE truth of Darring's statements seemed obvious. Haggard-faced, the stockholders looked from one to

another and shook their heads.

There was only one who seemed unperturbed by the situation. This was a tall, silent personage who was

seated midway at the table. Turning toward Darring, he spoke.

"Let me introduce myself," he said, in a quiet tone. "My name is Lamont Cranston. I have but recently

returned from abroad, to find that my broker had purchased shares of Centralized Power securities.

Though my holdings are not proportionately large, I am as interested as any one present regarding the

ultimate fate of this corporation. What do you propose, Mr. Darring, as the best solution?"

Darring faced the speaker. He observed a keen, chiseled countenance that was almost masklike in

appearance. An aquiline nose, steady, burning eyes— these were the predominating features of Lamont

Cranston's visage. Marryat Darring recognized that he was dealing with a person of importance. He

spoke frankly.

"There is no exact solution," admitted the executive secretary. "But of the two courses that I have

mentioned, I should suggest the first. A petition for bankruptcy would be our method to abandon the

enterprise."

"No! No!" exclaimed Warlock, coming to his feet. "We must raise more money, gentlemen! Enough to

buy out the other interests -"

"And to burden ourselves," put in Darring, "with expenditures that would certainly result in even greater

loss."

Warlock subsided. Cranston again took up the matter with Darring.

"The newspaper reports," stated Cranston, "mention the names of three promoters who profited heavily

through the formation of the Centralized Power Corporation. Suppose, Mr. Darring, you give us a

statement of their present status."

"I shall," responded Darring. "The three men in question are Nathaniel Hildon, Peters Amboy and

Wallace Norgan. They are the ones who sold property to Mr. Warlock. They also turned over the stock

of the subsidiary companies that Centralized Power absorbed. They had options on many contracts.

"Unquestionably, those three have profited heavily through Centralized Power. By suspending operations,

I have stopped their gain. If we go into bankruptcy, our remaining funds will be required to make them

further payments.

"If we continue, we will require more money to meet the debts that Hildon, Amboy and Norgan have

saddled on us. Such payments will have to be made before we can begin to buy out the companies that

hold riparian rights. All that means further loss."

As Darring paused, Warlock arose. The gray-haired president was trembling with suppressed anger. His

wrath, however, was not directed toward Darring. Warlock's fury had been fanned by the mention of the

three promoters.

"They were swindlers!" cried Warlock. "The three of them. Hildon, Amboy and Norgan! Those parasites

have fattened themselves with the funds that we have invested in Centralized Power!"

"But you met their demands," reminded Darring.

"I met them in good faith," declared Warlock. "Despite their exorbitant terms, I believed that we could

make our project pay. It is this question of riparian rights that has ruined us; and I am convinced that

those scoundrels are in back of it. Another scheme to bleed us!"

"Yet you advise our continuance?" questioned Darring.

"Only if we can first bring those rogues to justice," returned Warlock. "Make them disgorge their

ill-gotten millions. Regain the funds that are rightfully our own -"

"ONE moment," interposed Darring, with a wave that curbed Warlock. Then, to the stockholders:

"Gentlemen, if we could prove these accusations against Hildon, Amboy and Norgan, our case might be

different. But it is impossible to show actual conspiracy on their part.

"I have visited them, with Mr. Warlock. All have denied any knowledge in this matter of riparian rights.

All of their sales and contracts were legal. None of them involved the matter of water supply. Moreover,

they take the stand that if the president of Centralized Power knew nothing about the situation that

existed, why should they be expected to have such knowledge?

"I argued with them from another angle. That of exorbitant charges on property, options and contracts.

There, again, I was balked by the previous actions of our president. Hildon—Amboy—Norgan—all

three pointed out that Mr. Warlock had invested in turbine motors that had proven worthless. Hence his

payments to them—for actual property and materials delivered—were not out of keeping with his system

of management.

"No, gentlemen, the most that I can hope to do is to induce Hildon, Amboy and Norgan to waive certain

claims which they still hold upon our company. That, at least, would benefit the stockholders. But I can

not accomplish such a result while Mr. Warlock insists upon denouncing them as scoundrels."

A momentary silence. Then a stockholder made a motion that Marryat Darring be empowered to treat

with the three promoters on the matter of waiving the existing claims. The motion was seconded and

carried. Then came a motion for adjournment. It passed; the meeting ended. Warlock approached

Darring.

"You were right," said Warlock to the secretary. "I have been tactless in my dealing with those three.

You know as well as I that they are thieves; but you have sense enough not to mention it."

"Exactly!" replied Darring, with a smile.

"But their reference to Lessep was uncalled for," resumed Warlock. "I made an appropriation for his

turbines, I admit. But the money was for experimental purposes. Had the turbines proven practical -"

"Unfortunately," interrupted Darring, "Professor Lessep has a bad record so far as his inventions are

concerned. He, more than the promoters, can be said to have swindled you. I saw those turbines,

Warlock. They were hopeless. You have made a great mistake, Warlock, in giving credit to the ideas of

an eccentric inventor like Melrose Lessep."

"You are wrong, Darring. Gentlemen"—Warlock turned to the departing stockholders—"I call you to

witness! Would it restore some of your faith in me if I proved that Professor Lessep is a capable

inventor?"

"Yes," came a reluctant response.

"Very well," announced Warlock. "To-night, at his laboratory, Professor Lessep intends to perform an

experiment in the devisualization of solids. I intend to witness it. I feel that Mr. Darring and others should

be present."

"It does not concern the corporation," objected Darring. "I told you that long ago, Warlock, when you

first mentioned this new invention of Lessep's. Devisualization of solids has nothing to do with turbines."

"But Lessep's success to-night can justify my belief in his inventive genius. It will prove that I was not

unreasonable in spending money on his turbines."

"What do you think, gentlemen?"

Darring's question brought nods from the stockholders. They seemed to agree that Warlock needed

vindication. Darring turned to the president.

"In response to your request," he said, "I shall attend to-night's experiment. I would suggest, also, that

two of the stockholders be present in addition to myself. Two—or more -"

One man volunteered. The others, however, pleaded previous engagements. It was then that Lamont

Cranston stepped forward, just as Findlay Warlock was making another remark.

"The police commissioner will be there," Warlock was saying. "I have invited him in the belief that

Lessep's experiment may be of use in crime solution. If any one else -"

"I shall be present," came Cranston's quiet interruption.

The impromptu meeting adjourned. Stockholders went their separate ways. Warlock and Darring

departed together, intending to have dinner; then to go to Lessep's. They invited Cranston; but he

declined, stating that he would meet them at the laboratory.

ON the street, Lamont Cranston hailed a taxi. He ordered the driver to take him to the exclusive Cobalt

Club. As the cab rolled along, Cranston leaned back in the cushions of the rear seat and laughed softly

through immobile lips.

A strange whisper, that repressed mirth! Yet it told a story of its own. It revealed the true identity of this

personage who wore the masklike countenance of Lamont Cranston; it marked a secret purpose— a

design of The Shadow!

For this was not the real Lamont Cranston. The actual man who held stock in Centralized Power was still

abroad. Guised as Cranston, The Shadow had attended the stockholder's meeting to gain first-hand

information of the swindle that he knew must lie behind the corporation's failure.

As Cranston, he had heard something that interested him as The Shadow. Professor Lessep's

experiment—one that involved crime solution—was a project that might concern The Shadow in the

future.

Police Commissioner Wainwright Barth dined nightly at the Cobalt Club. Barth was a friend of

Cranston's. He would be pleased to learn that Cranston had returned from abroad; glad to know that his

friend was also invited to the affair at Lessep's. They would go there together, once they had met at the

Cobalt Club.

Wainwright Barth considered The Shadow to be a myth. That was the occasion for The Shadow's laugh.

For to-night, the police commissioner would have the honor of accompanying The Shadow—in

person—to an event that promised unusual developments.

Yet even The Shadow, at this moment, did not suspect the strange doings that lay in store. Chance was

leading him to a happening that was destined to have amazing consequences. The Shadow was

approaching the beginning of a trail that would bring astounding crime!

CHAPTER III. THE EXPERIMENT

"HERE we are, Cranston."

The commissioner's car had pulled up in front of an old, moldy-looking house on the upper East Side.

Brick-fronted, with white steps cracked above a grimy sidewalk, the place did not seem fitting as the

abode of a prominent scientist.

Wainwright Barth stared askance as he viewed the grimy windows, where dull light trickled through

crimped shades. The commissioner was a man who considered wealth important; and this first sight of

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Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 067 - The Unseen Killer

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