“Incredible!” gasped Sayre.
“That was not the end,” said Barratini in a weary tone. “More operations followed. Always the same procedure. Each subject appeared in person, bearing my payment, to summon me to a new task. I was afraid to disobey. I feared Veldon’s enmity. Now, Sayre, I have reached a terrible dilemma.”
“Has Veldon made new demands?”
“No, but I have come to a fearful realization.” Barratini paused. He picked up a newspaper. “I have read of two strange deaths. An electrical experimenter named Clussig has been murdered. A chemist named Dustin died mysteriously. Can these deaths be the work of Eric Veldon?”
“Possibly,” admitted Rupert Sayre. “From what you have told me, the man must possess fiendish traits.”
“He is a fiend,” asserted Barratini. “I must learn the location of his hiding place. Sayre, I am counting on you to help me—”
Barratini’s low whisper died on his lips. The black-haired physician stared at his companion with bulging eyes. Rupert Sayre heard the cause of Barratini’s alarm. Someone was knocking at the door. Raps were coming in steady, rhythmic beats.
“It is the summons!” whispered Barratini. “Another victim has come to Eric Veldon’s abode. Help me, Sayre! Help me!”
CHAPTER XII. A TRAP CLOSES
THERE was a pause in the rapping at the door. Then came heavy thuds, repeated with a stern, impatient stroke. Joseph Barratini turned to Rupert Sayre. The older man’s face was aghast.
“Answer it!” whispered Sayre. “Answer it — after I have hidden.”
Springing to his feet, the young physician moved hurriedly toward a door at the side of the living room.
Doctor Barratini, trembling, gripped his arms and followed.
“What shall I do?” he questioned hopelessly.
“Go with him,” ordered Sayre. “My car is out front. I shall follow. After you have returned we can discuss what to do.”
A look of elation appeared upon Barratini’s face. He clasped Sayre’s hand; then turned toward the door where the heavy rapping was continuing its ceaseless beat.
“Just a moment!” called Barratini. “Just a moment, outside there!”
Reaching the door, Barratini paused long enough to see that Rupert Sayre was out of sight. The black-haired surgeon opened the door and stepped back.
A thin, cadaverous man stalked into the room. With swinging hand, he closed the door behind him and approached Barratini with an ugly, steady gaze.
Rupert Sayre, eyeing the situation through the crevice of the side door, was horrified by the ghastly scene. To the young physician, this exceeded the description which Barratini had given him.
The arrival was unquestionably the final criminal upon whom the famous surgeon had operated. There was recognition in Barratini’s eye, and Sayre could see him shrinking away from the corpselike visitor.
This creature was a monster — and Barratini might well be the one who had created him. Fear and remorse were registered upon the eminent surgeon’s face, and Sayre could see his body tremble. For a moment, the young doctor was ready to spring forth and grapple with the hideous visitor; then, like an automatic figure, the man stopped, and his threatening gestures ended. Drawing a hand from his pocket, he thrust an envelope toward Doctor Barratini.
The surgeon received the envelope. He faltered as he opened it. Crisp bank notes came forth in Barratini’s hands. The physician sidled across the room and inserted the money in a table drawer. The cadaverous man stalked slowly after him. Barratini turned to face this vigilant automaton who was dogging his footsteps.
“Come!”
The ugly creature uttered the summons in a harsh voice. His hand again moved toward his pocket. Sayre could see that whatever the brain-riddled criminal had lost in initiative, he had gained in purpose, under the direction of Eric Veldon, the fiend who had sent him here.
Joseph Barratini smiled weakly. He bowed as he picked up his hat from a chair. Accompanied by the summoner, he walked deliberately from the apartment. At the door, however, he paused, to throw a desperate glance toward the door where Rupert Sayre was hidden.
As soon as the outer door had closed behind Joseph Barratini and the corpselike man, Rupert Sayre sprang from his hiding place. The young physician realized the need for caution. He knew that this transformed man who accompanied Doctor Barratini was evidently under definite instructions. It would be wise not to excite suspicion. The monster might be dangerous, if he saw any one coming to interfere with Barratini’s departure.
The corridor was empty when Sayre reached it. The moving dial above an elevator door showed that Barratini and his conductor were descending. Sayre rang the bell. Another elevator stopped a few moments later. Sayre reached the lobby just in time to see Barratini and the mechanical man passing through the revolving door. The young physician hurried on their trail, carefully keeping them within sight.
On the sidewalk, Sayre saw the automaton usher Barratini into a large limousine. The door closed. The man climbed to the driver’s seat. Sayre hurried across the street, and gained his coupe. The limousine was moving as he started the motor. Sayre took up the chase.
The limousine threaded a devious route. Obviously the driver had instructions to totally bewilder the passenger’s sense of direction. The strange pursuit reached an avenue. Traveling in the rear Sayre followed a course toward upper Manhattan. Time and again, the limousine stopped before a traffic light.
Policemen were available; yet Sayre dared not call them. He remembered his promise to Barratini.
The young physician realised, as he drove along, that Eric Veldon must indeed be a dangerous man with whom to deal. It was probably that he wanted Barratini to perform another operation. If so, it would be best to let this adventure reach its natural conclusion. The more that Sayre could learn, the better could he aid Barratini to bring Veldon to justice.
The young physician did not approve of Barratini’s forced operations; nevertheless, he respected the eminent international surgeon, and did not feel himself qualified to offer criticism. He had promised to aid Barratini as a friend. He intended to do so.
Furthermore, Sayre could appreciate the mental condition of Doctor Joseph Barratini. He fancied that a ride in that darkened limousine, piloted by a cadaverous chauffeur who had been resurrected from a life of crime, could be anything but cheerful. Thoughts of the gruesome monster who had summoned the old physician made Rupert Sayre shudder.
THE whole chase seemed mechanical, an incredible occurrence in the midst of teeming Manhattan. Sayre found himself staring straight ahead as he kept his gaze steadily upon the moving limousine. It was with an effort that he managed to turn his head to note the part of Manhattan that he was traveling. The strange chase had just reached the upper end of Central Park.
On through a maze of streets. The limousine was again following an eccentric course. At last, it swerved into a side street and ran past a row of old, dilapidated houses. Sayre slowed the speed of his coupe. He eased the car along until the limousine had turned a corner.
Reaching the corner, Sayre noted that the limousine had stopped a short way up the block. With a quick twist of the wheel, the young physician kept straight ahead. He brought his car to a quick stop, and prepared to reverse it. Then another thought struck him.
Was this the end of the trail? Barratini had said something about a deserted house. The surgeon had mentioned a spot probably on Long Island. Perhaps he had been mistaken.
Sayre decided to investigate. He turned off the ignition switch, and extinguished the lights on his coupe.
Pocketing the key, he left the car and approached the corner. He could still see the tail light of the limousine.