Traymer returned shortly. He and Cranston left, accompanied by the professor. They separated from the old man when they reached the street. Traymer took Cranston to his coupe. Fifteen minutes later, they were at Traymer’s apartment.
The society man expressed annoyance because his servant was not there. He stated that the fellow was stupid and inefficient; that this display of unreliability would mean his dismissal. Traymer placed Cranston’s bag in a bedroom; then stated that he would mix a drink for his guest. Leaving Cranston in the living room, Traymer went into the kitchen of the apartment.
Cranston was reclining comfortably in a chair when Traymer left. A few minutes passed; then Cranston arose softly and went toward the kitchen. His sharp eyes, peering through the crack of a half-opened door, saw what Traymer was doing.
The society man had taken a small box from a shelf, and was emptying a quantity of powder into one of the drinks that he had mixed. Cranston smiled as he saw the shape of the box, and the color of the powder.
Maurice Traymer was planning to drug his guest!
Returning softly to the living room, Cranston drew a tube from his pocket and opened it to reveal several tiny vials within a padded interior. He carefully selected one that contained a greenish liquid. He replaced the others and pocketed the tube.
The tiny green vial was girded with a metal ring which had a hook attached. By means of this device, Cranston affixed the vial to the ring on the third finger of his left hand, turning it so that the little bottle was concealed within his palm.
When Maurice Traymer entered with two glasses, and set one beside Cranston, the only object that showed on Cranston’s hand was the glittering gem that shone on the third finger.
LAMONT CRANSTON raised the glass to his lips. He sipped a portion of the contents. He replaced the glass with his left hand. Maurice Traymer was watching him narrowly.
Cranston’s hand drew away and paused momentarily above the glass, its back toward Traymer. At that moment, Cranston’s thumb moved into the palm of his hand, and pressed the side of the vial. The tiny cork dropped back as on a hinge, and the green liquid poured downward into the glass.
At the same time, Cranston made a gesture with his right hand, and momentarily directed Traymer’s attention in the opposite direction. Scarcely had the liquid left the vial, before the left hand was again lifting the glass toward Cranston’s lips. This time the millionaire did not desist until he had swallowed the entire drink that Traymer had prepared.
By clever subterfuge, Lamont Cranston had counteracted the drug which Traymer had used. The green liquid was a counteragent.
Not for one second had Traymer suspected Cranston’s action. He still watched expectantly; and when Cranston’s eyes began to close, Traymer could no longer repress an exultant smile.
“I am becoming very tired,” complained Cranston sleepily. “My head seems a little weak. Think I’ll lie down, Traymer — if you don’t object to my leaving—”
“Certainly not,” responded Traymer.
Cranston went into the bedroom. He removed his coat and vest. He pulled away his collar and tie, and managed to kick off his shoes. The effort was too much. He sprawled upon the bed, without bothering to extinguish the light.
Traymer looked at him from the doorway, and the society man’s face assumed a gloating expression. Pressing the light switch, Traymer gently closed the door of the little room, and went to the telephone in the living room.
It required only a minute for the society man to get the number that he had called. With his eyes upon Cranston’s door, Traymer spoke in a low tone.
“All ready, Norbin,” he said. “He’s out for an hour, anyway. The dope worked quickly tonight. Get up right away… How long?… Yes, fifteen minutes will be great… I’m stepping outside for an hour… The door will be unlocked… Down the fire escape from my apartment. Bring enough men to do it smooth… Say — I felt weak when I found we’d have to do another job tonight. Thought the yacht cruise would end the game… But this one job is easy… I’ve fixed it perfectly.”
Maurice Traymer hung up the receiver. He went back and softly opened Cranston’s door. He could see the millionaire silent on the bed. Closing the door, Traymer extinguished all the lights except a dim corner lamp in the living room. Then he left the apartment.
Five minutes went by. The door of the inner room opened softly. Lamont Cranston was no longer feigning sleep. By the dim light of the living room, his form was visible as his white shirt stooped above an opened suitcase on the floor. Then the trace of whiteness disappeared. The tall, stooped form became a shapeless mass that had no visible substance.
Ten minutes after Traymer’s departure, a figure came from the door of the little room. A tall, spectral phantom, it seemed more unreal than human. A soft laugh came from lips that were hidden beneath the broad brim of a dark slouch hat. A black cloak swished as the figure moved; rustling, the cloak opened momentarily to reveal a crimson lining; then it resumed its inky blackness.
No longer was Lamont Cranston an easy prey for those who sought his capture. The little room was empty — the man upon the bed was gone.
Lamont Cranston had become The Shadow!
CHAPTER XV
FIENDS ARE FOILED
MAURICE TRAYMER’S apartment was admirably situated for a surreptitious invasion. Its entrance was on a short corridor that led to the fire tower. Ordinarily, the door to the tower could be opened only from the inside. Traymer had altered the situation, however, by wedging it a trifle ajar.
This cleared the pathway for the coming gangsters, and as the bottom of the fire tower opened on an obscure courtyard, the crew that had been summoned found no difficulty in approaching their objective.
Beef Norbin’s plan of action was simple. A gang of men, dispatched upstairs, were to drag forth the unconscious victim, bring him down the fire tower, and make a getaway in a waiting automobile. That was an obvious way of working, and Beef usually chose the most direct course as the one most effective.
In lieu of ingenuity, Beef boasted efficiency. He always used enough men for a job — and since the episode on Long Island, he was glad that he followed such a practice.
It was Beef’s theory that two or three mobsters could be quite as conspicuous as a dozen; therefore, Beef always saw safety in the greater number. Since his encounter with The Shadow, the gang leader was more convinced than ever that a large force meant sure results.
Thus the man who poked his head in through the door of the fire tower was not a lone mobster; he was simply the forerunner of an invading horde. Seeing the way clear, he signaled to others to follow.
When the first of the crowd — a tough, pasty-faced ruffian of the underworld — had reached the door of Traymer’s apartment, a crew of four was at his heels. Others lurked on the landing of the fire tower. Still more were in the yard beneath.
The first of the gangsters drew a revolver from his pocket. The others copied his action. Slowly, the leading man turned the knob of the door, and opened the barrier that furtive fiends might creep into the silent apartment. One by one, the four began to file through, each stooping and treading cautiously.
The first of the line was halfway across the living room when he stopped short as he heard an unexpected sound. A low, shuddering whisper seemed to emerge from a curtain near the window. The other invaders stopped.
The curtain, its lowest edge drooping near an armchair, began to rustle, indicating that some one was behind it. Once more the creepy laugh was heard.
The first gangster trembled. Then, in sudden fright, he raised his revolver and fired — once — twice — into the curtain.