“Yes.” The statement came from Meldon Fallow. The inventor had risen from his chair. “Tonight, gentlemen, I was offered five million dollars for my invention. I gave a flat refusal.”
“The offer came from Frederick Thorne?” questioned Herbert Whilton, in a sharp, crackly tone.
“Yes,” responded Fallow.
An ugly challenge showed on Whilton’s smiling lips. The old philanthropist turned to Bryce Towson.
“What would be your answer to Thorne’s offer?” questioned Whilton.
“An absolute refusal,” returned Towson.
“And yours?” Whilton spoke to Dyke.
“The same,” stated Dyke. “Refusal.”
“My answer would be identical,” crackled Whilton. “You see, Fallow, we are all in accord. My wealth cannot equal Thorne’s; but the few millions that I possess will always be used for the benefit of mankind — not for exploitation.
“Since the offer came to you, Fallow, after the legal formation of this committee, our vote was necessary. Your dissent automatically rejected the offer; but I know that you will be pleased to know that the rejection was unanimous.”
“There may be other offers,” stated Fallow, in a worried tone. “Thorpe may try again — perhaps by proxy—”
“And a new rejection will be made,” rumbled Dyke.
“My vote will always be refusal,” declared Towson, quietly.
Whilton nodded in agreement. Fallow sat down, his owlish face reflecting satisfaction. Whilton awaited new remarks. There were none. The elderly philanthropist stated that adjournment was in order.
THE committeemen arose and Lamont Cranston followed. Only Shelburne remained seated. He was making complete notes of the brief meeting. Cranston’s keen eyes watched the stoopshouldered man; then, as Bryce Towson opened a door at the side of the consulting room, Cranston turned to follow the others.
They arrived in a room which evidently adjoined a laboratory. Set upon a platform was a huge motor.
Above it were two glass tanks. One contained a greenish liquid; the other a purplish fluid.
“This is the motor, Cranston,” explained Whilton. “Those tanks contain the component parts of the explosive agent. They are kept separate until they flow into the chambers of the motor.”
“To avoid danger,” put in Fallow. “The present fuel is F-M 5. My newer fuel, Q-M 1, is superior. It eliminates overstrain upon the motor.”
The inventor pressed a starter. The motor coughed; then began a rhythmic purr. Huge cylinders were at work. The observers watched the liquids tremble in their tanks.
“You may watch it for an hour,” asserted Fallow, “yet you will see no appreciable lessening of those liquids. With either fluid — F-M 5 or Q-M 1—I could drive an airplane around the world in a non-stop flight!
“Yet the tanks would be no larger than those required to fuel an airplane with gasoline for a journey of a few hundred miles!
“Moreover” — the inventor’s eyes were gleaming — “the tremendous power of F-M 5 will make possible speed beyond all dreams. I have literally concentrated a force like that of dynamite — have harnessed it, in safety — to produce the greatest power that mankind could ever wish!”
HALF an hour later, Bryce Towson’s guests passed through the conference room. They were making their departure. Shelburne was no longer there. Lamont Cranston noted the man’s absence.
“I shall notify all of you,” stated Herbert Whilton, “when it is time for another conference. I think that some time early in the coming week would be most suitable.”
“Do you have my new address?” questioned Meldon Fallow. “I am moving tomorrow — that is, selling my furniture and taking a furnished apartment —”
“You mentioned it at our last meeting,” interposed Whilton. “Shelburne made a note of your new address. I shall notify you there.”
Herbert Whilton and Lamont Cranston departed. They reached the seclusion of the side street, in front of Bryce Towson’s home. A large but antiquated structure, Towson’s residence loomed like a mammoth relic of old Manhattan. It was a building of nineteenth century pattern that the consulting engineer had converted to serve as laboratory and office as well as residence.
Whilton and Cranston entered the philanthropist’s limousine. As they rode downtown, the old man remarked pleasantly concerning their short visit to Towson’s.
“A wonderful thing,” was Whilton’s comment. “A committee formed of men who are willing to forego millions to benefit humanity. We are enthusiasts — all four of us.”
“Who was the fifth man?” questioned Cranston. “Shelburne, I believe you called him?”
“Simply a secretary,” explained Whilton. “We hired him to attend our conferences and to keep our records. He has access to the conference room, which Towson has now reserved for the exclusive use of our committee.”
The limousine reached the Cobalt Club. Lamont Cranston said good-night to Herbert Whilton and alighted. But the calm-faced explorer did not enter the club. He waited until the limousine had rolled away; then he strolled into the darkness.
A soft laugh sounded in whispered tones. It came from the lips of Lamont Cranston. It was the same laugh that had shuddered, earlier this night, through the paneled office of Frederick Thorne.
Lamont Cranston — or the person who played his part — was The Shadow. Through acquaintanceship with Herbert Whilton, he had attended the conference of the four men who owned full rights in Meldon Fallow’s invention.
This explained the situation. Cranston had heard the story of the supermotor and its amazing fuel. As The Shadow, he had picked up the trail of Meldon Fallow, the inventor. He had witnessed events at Thorne’s; then, again as Cranston, he had observed the other camp.
He had picked Shelburne as the hidden link between Frederick Thorne and the men whose invention Thorne was determined to obtain.
SHORTLY afterward, a light clicked in a darkened room. White hands appeared beneath bluish rays. A glimmering gem — a rare fire opal called a girasol — appeared upon a finger of the left hand.
The hands of The Shadow! They were busy, as they handled clippings upon the polished surface of a table. Newspaper items referred to unsolved crime in San Francisco — mysterious murders in the city on the Pacific Coast.
The Shadow placed the clippings in an envelope. His hand inscribed a coded message; then sealed it.
This was to go to a New York agent. It would carry instructions that must be followed during The Shadow’s absence.
Crime called. The Shadow had work to do, three thousand miles away. While he was gone, trusted operatives could keep tabs on the doings of Frederick Thorne and his spy, Shelburne. The Shadow, however, did not expect present trouble from that quarter.
The Shadow had learned that further time would elapse before Meldon Fallow’s completed inventions would be put to practical use. Intrigue — cross-purposes — menace — these were factors that as yet seemed latent. Further investigation could wait until the next meeting of the committee.
So The Shadow thought. As proof of it, one hour later, a big monoplane took off from the Newark airport. Westward bound, the ship was beginning the first hop of a swift cross-country journey.
The Shadow was on his way to deal with crime in San Francisco. From his study of newspaper reports, he believed that he could pick the men responsible for murder. Like an avenger from the skies, he was traveling to deal surprise and destruction to men of evil.
Yet, while The Shadow was westward bound, crime was striking in New York. Already, the cunning measures loosed by a master of evil were threatening the fate of Meldon Fallow’s invention.