The Red Menace s-4

by Maxwell Grant

  judgment.

  Harry made one last effort to struggle. The bearded man tightened his grip, and Harry winced with pain.

  Then Crawford leaned forward, and spoke in a low, whispering voice.

  CHAPTER XXII. THE SECRET OF THE TOWER

  "LIE still," hissed the bearded man. "Make no effort to move, or -"

  The threat was implied. Harry lay motionless.

  "Listen," continued Crawford. "Listen carefully, and obey. Do as I tell you, or it will mean your death. Do

  you understand?"

  Harry tried to nod, notwithstanding the fact that one of the bearded man's hands was pressed over his

  face.

  "Go back to your room," came the whispered command. "Go so quietly that none can hear. Leave the

  door ajar. Wait there until I come."

  The instructions were amazing. Was his captor going to release him? This thought came as an unexpected

  hope to Harry Vincent.

  "Do you understand?"

  The huge hand was lifted from Harry's mouth.

  "Yes," whispered Harry, in response.

  "Will you obey my orders if I release you?"

  "Yes," was Harry's reply.

  "Then go."

  Crawford arose, but stood hovering above, ready for immediate action if Harry should change his mind.

  But the mere fact of his release impressed Harry.

  If Crawford was a real enemy, he would not be granting this favor. Harry was free to go to his room. He

  had pledged his word to his captor.

  He moved unsteadily down the stairs that led to safety. Reaching the hall, he gained his usual composure,

  and moved by the closed doors, until he reached his own room. There he left the door ajar.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, Harry awaited the arrival of Crawford.

  THE bearded man appeared some minutes later. He came through the door with the stealthiness of a cat,

  and closed the entrance behind him.

  "Do not raise your voice," he whispered. "Keep absolute silence. Do you know who I am?"

  Harry shook his head.

  "I didn't think you recognized me," said the man with the beard. "So I did not reveal my identity upstairs.

  I was afraid that you might not believe me."

  He leaned forward, and his voice sank to an almost imperceptible whisper, as he announced:

  "I am Vic Marquette."

  "Of the secret service!" gasped Harry.

  "Hush! You remember the time we worked together -"

  "Yes," replied Harry, "but I would never have recognized you."

  "I know it. This beard is a perfect disguise; for it is a real growth. I knew you the minute I saw you, when

  you came to Harvey's Wharf."

  "Why didn't you tell me who you were then?"

  "That's not my policy, Vincent. Those who have been friends once may be enemies later. I wanted to

  know your purpose here."

  "I do not know it, myself," admitted Harry. "I have been told to report what goes on -"

  "To The Shadow, I suppose," interrupted Marquette.

  "Yes," replied Harry. "To The Shadow. I know that there is danger here— that Professor Whitburn is

  involved—but that is all."

  "What have you seen to date?"

  "Nothing that I can explain. Last night—strange shapes appeared above the house. Something arose

  from the lake—like a phantom. To-night, I heard a tapping in the tower—I went up to see what was

  happening there."

  Vic Marquette laughed silently.

  "Vincent," he said, "you would have been dead this minute, if I hadn't been watching you. Perhaps you do

  not know what this place is all about—but I suspect that The Shadow knows more than you.

  "I am going to rely on you. I need your help. The Shadow saved my life once, and nabbed a bunch of

  counterfeiters for me. I believe he is on the square. I'm going to chance it."

  He rose from his chair, and looked at Harry steadily. Then he asked:

  "Those things that you saw last night—in the darkness above the house. Tell me. What did they look

  like?"

  "Ghosts," admitted Harry.

  The secret-service agent chuckled.

  "They were aerial torpedoes," he said. "The results of Professor Whitburn's long experiments."

  "But they shone like phantoms -"

  "Of course. Listen, Vincent. Professor Whitburn has made a remarkable contribution to scientific

  warfare. His aerial torpedoes are under perfect control.

  "Last night, he sent them out from the big machines in the corners of the tower. They were ejected shortly

  after nine o'clock -"

  "That's why the static came in on the radio!" exclaimed Harry.

  "Of course," replied Marquette. "The torpedoes are under electrical control. Then they came back.

  "The little lights were set to twinkle so that they could be observed from the tower. Then, when they were

  near by, they shone, for they are coated with a luminous paint, so we can observe their approach."

  "But what came out of the lake?"

  "I was responsible for that," said Marquette. "The professor believes that he can invent a torpedo which

  may be shot from a submarine, yet which will take to flight when it reaches the surface of the water.

  "There is a torpedo tube beneath the house—in a room deep in the basement. I was there. When I

  received his signal, I shot the torpedo through an under-water cave, out into the lake.

  "It rose, but failed to soar. The professor was watching from the tower."

  THE eerie events of the preceding night were now clear. But Marquette had further explanations.

  "I shall start at the beginning," he said. "Much has happened here. Originally, Professor Whitburn

  believed that he could revolutionize modern warfare by the invention of an aerial torpedo. He interested a

  man named Jonathan Graham."

  "Graham is dead," said Harry.

  "What? How?"

  "Suicide, it is said. He fell from his office window."

  "That looks bad," remarked the secret-service man. "When did it happen?"

  After a moment's thought, Harry gave the approximate date.

  "Hm-m-m," said Marquette. "So that's why Stokes lost the newspapers, two days in a row. Whitburn

  may have learned it by letter - but I didn't know about it.

  "But we can discuss that some other time. Let me tell the important story.

  "Graham made Whitburn financially independent. The professor took this place. The secret service

  learned what was going on—in part. I found out the rest.

  "When I obtained a job here, Whitburn had one helper—a man named Blades. Then Stokes came along.

  "Each one of us has different experimental work, and duties to perform. None of us could learn enough

  to be of value.

  "If Whitburn has drawings—which seems likely—he makes them himself, and stows them away

  somewhere.

  "Just as the torpedo was developing well, Blades was killed. A fly-wheel came off a machine which he

  was using in the cellar workshop.

  "I wondered about it at the time. But the coroner called the death accidental. I had tipped off the secret

  service to stop any proceedings; but they never began.

  "Marsh had been hired just before the death of Blades. That left three of us. A number of men applied; a

  fellow named Barrows got the vacant job. He was killed, too. He was working in a room where we keep

  chemicals.

  "He made a mixture that formed a poison gas. It struck me as funny that he made the mistake he did; and

  I couldn't figure why he didn't get out the door in time.

  "Then I had my experience. The old motor boat sank in the mi
ddle of the lake. Started to fill as I got

  away from the point of the island; I didn't see it until it was too late.

  "I had told the professor that I couldn't swim, but didn't mind running the boat. I meant that I was a poor

  swimmer—not that I was totally incapable. I managed to paddle the half mile to shore; the longest swim I

  ever made in my life."

  "Whew!" exclaimed Harry, as Marquette paused. "Looks like some one is out to get all of us. Who's the

  man—Stokes?"

  "Yes."

  "What about Marsh. Has he run into trouble?"

  "Marsh," replied Marquette, "is a different case. I think that Stokes has reached him. I believe that the

  object of these murders is twofold.

  "First, to dispose of those who are not plotting against Whitburn; second, to install substitutes who are

  confederates of Stokes.

  "Marsh may be one of them. If not, Stokes has worked on him, and has gained his cooperation."

  "Then my job was to have been taken by some other person?"

  "That's it, Vincent. But Professor Whitburn preferred your application to that of the man who was to

  work with Stokes. I haven't been able to look at the list of applicants. That's the trouble, here. I can't

  cross the old man.

  "As soon as you arrived, I knew that you had a purpose. I doubted that you were the man Stokes

  wanted. But I was afraid to reveal my hand until I was sure. Stokes must have known that you were

  looking at the tower last night because -"

  "Marsh saw me inspecting it this morning," said Harry.

  "Ah! That explains it. Where did you go to-night?"

  "To meet a man in the village," said Harry. "I wanted to send a report to The—to headquarters."

  "To The Shadow." Marquette supplied the name that had been upon Harry's lips. "Perhaps Stokes

  followed you. He did not come back here."

  "I suspect that he followed me."

  "Whether or not he saw the man you met," said Marquette, "he at least decided that you were playing

  some game of your own. That necessitated immediate action.

  "When I came upstairs to-night, I noticed that the tower door was ajar. So I watched from my own

  room. Stokes sneaked up into the tower. He came down after a while -"

  "He was tapping up there! That's the noise I heard. Trying to attract my attention."

  "I heard nothing in my room; but Stokes went up again, and came down immediately. Five minutes went

  by; then he did it again -"

  "Getting me interested," interposed Harry. "What a sucker I was!"

  "I watched you come out of your room," said Marquette. "I waited a minute or two, thinking that Stokes

  might be observing you. Then I realized his plan. There was no time to lose. I followed you up to the

  tower."

  "But, why did you land on me so suddenly? Couldn't you have spoken to me?"

  "It would have been too late," replied Marquette solemnly.

  "Too late?"

  "Yes. Within a few seconds you would have died as Stokes had planned."

  "How?"

  "By contact with the metal sphere. It is the controller of the aerial torpedoes. There is a switch at the

  bottom. It is usually turned off. That sphere contained a powerful electric current, that would have killed

  you instantly."

  "The switch was on?"

  "It was. I turned it off before I came down."

  "But wouldn't Professor Whitburn have known; wouldn't he have suspected that -"

  "He would have suspected nothing. He would have believed that you had switched on the current

  yourself. You had no right in the tower. You went there on your own responsibility."

  Harry shuddered as he realized the truth of Marquette's words. He had escaped death by the fraction of

  a second.

  The secret-service man moved silently toward the door.

  "Remember," he said. "Silence. Speak of me as Crawford. I rely upon your aid; there are two of us now.

  Two against two."

  The bearded man left the room. Harry still sat upon the edge of the bed, pondering over the strange facts

  which had been revealed to him.

  CHAPTER XXIII. THE REDS MEET

  THE next afternoon, Claude Fellows received a report from Bruce Duncan. He did not read it; he

  inclosed it in another envelope and sent it to the office on Twenty-third Street.

  Early in the evening, Duncan's report came beneath the glare of the shaded light, and the fire opal

  gleamed like the eye of a monster while the slender hands held the written page.

  The information which Harry Vincent had forwarded through Bruce Duncan was not highly illuminating.

  Had the message been sent a few hours later, it might have included the amazing revelations made by Vic

  Marquette. As it was, Harry Vincent's impressions were of ghosts— not aerial torpedoes.

  But in his report, Duncan had included his own experience—how he had recognized the dead body of

  Berchik. A hand that held a pencil underscored this passage.

  Then the light was extinguished. Silence reigned in the darkened room. The presence that had inhabited

  the place was gone. The Shadow had left on some new mission.

  An hour later, the watching sedan was parked across the street from Prince Zuvor's residence. One of

  the men stepped from the car, and walked up toward the corner of the avenue. A taxi chanced to come

  along the street; the man hailed it, and gave his destination.

  He left the cab later, walked a block, and took a second cab. This cab was immediately followed by the

  one which the rider had deserted.

  The pursuing vehicle kept well behind, but the driver did not lose his trail. When the leading cab stopped

  in the middle of a dark block, the second cab also stopped.

  The passenger in the first cab walked a few paces; then suddenly turned into a passage between two

  warehouses. Still, the second cab remained, inconspicuous on the street.

  Another person arrived and took the same path between the buildings.

  The driver of the waiting cab alighted and stepped into the back of his vehicle. One might have seen him

  go in, he was scarcely visible when he came out. The only evidence of his departure was a blot that

  appeared momentarily beside the cab.

  Another person entered the space between the warehouses. This man walked cautiously through the

  shadowless darkness.

  Occasionally he looked behind him; but he saw nothing. How could he observe anything in a place where

  shadows were invisible?

  The man entered a basement door. As the dim light from the room cast its rays upon the ground outside

  the door, a blotch appeared there.

  But it was unnoticed. The door was closed.

  OTHERS arrived for the meeting, feeling their way through the darkness of the basement. After all had

  gone in, the door that led to the little room opened gently, and a tall, shadowy form slipped into the

  antechamber.

  It crossed the room, and listened at the door of the meeting room. It remained there—motionless.

  After some minutes, the door to the meeting room was opened, and a hooded man stepped into the

  antechamber.

  He was too late to detect the presence that was standing there; for when the knob of the door had

  turned, the strange, waiting figure moved away, and became a heavy shadow in the opposite corner of

  the room.

  Prokop—masked beyond recognition—was the man who had entered. One by one he summoned his

  agents and dismissed them. This was a rapid procedure, until he came to Agent M.
>
  Prokop talked with this man, in the outer room.

  "You are still watching Zuvor?" he questioned.

  "Yes," replied the agent. "Some one visited him a few nights ago."

  "Did you follow the stranger when he left?"

  "Yes; but he eluded us."

  "You were negligent," exclaimed Prokop angrily.

  "The man must have been the devil, himself," was the agent's reply. "We kept on his trail; but somehow,

  he slipped away while we were watching."

  "Do not let it happen again," said Prokop.

  The agent left. Prokop muttered half aloud.

  "That will count against Zuvor," he said. "Perhaps now we may strike."

  He called for Agent K. In a minute, Fritz Bloch, Zuvor's German servant, was standing before Prokop.

  "A visitor came to Zuvor's house?" questioned the leader of the agents.

  "Yes," replied Fritz, in his thick tones. "His name was Lamont Cranston."

  "Who is he?"

  "A wealthy man."

  "Why did he visit Zuvor?"

  "To talk about Russia. He is to come again."

  "How did he leave?"

  "By the front door."

  "Did Zuvor offer to conduct him to safety?" There was a sarcastic note to Prokop's voice.

  "Yes," said Fritz, "but he refused. Zuvor told him that enemies were waiting outside. But he refused to

  listen."

  "Watch for him in the future," advised Prokop.

  WHEN Fritz had gone, Prokop called for Agent C. This fellow was a quiet-faced man, who looked

  steadily at the hooded form of his chief.

  "You have come from the island?" questioned Prokop.

  "Yes," replied the agent. "I spoke with Agent E this morning.

  "Good! What progress is he making?"

  "He has been unable to find the plans. He has hopes; but asks you to be patient. He has fraternized with

  the man named Marsh. He has gained his support."

  "What of the other?"

  "Crawford is a danger. Agent E has sought to remove him; but without success. Two have been

  eliminated: Blades and Barrows. Crawford remains; also the new man, Vincent."

  "What has been done in his case?"

  "Our agent planned to remove him last night. The method was a good one, yet it failed, he says."

  "He should not fail."

  "He cannot always be successful. Remember that his plots are subtle. He cannot betray himself. He told