Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 109 by Maxwel l Grant

Author:Maxwel,l Grant
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf

CHAPTER XV. WORD FROM WITHIN

ASIDE from gaining an advantage place between the barriers of his cell, The Shadow had hoped that word of his imprisonment would reach Jericho. It did; and by a very direct route. Bronden had come upstairs to report immediately after his inspection of The Shadow's cell.

Tallam gave the order that The Shadow was to receive no food for the present. After Bronden had gone, Tallam began to discuss his decision with Barfield. Standing as close to the living room door as he could,

Jericho overheard their conversation.

“His early recovery is not surprising,” asserted Tallam. “This room has a large cubic area. The vapor did not completely saturate it. I calculated that the effects might pass in about twenty-four hours.

“Logical enough,” agreed Barfield, “but since he has recovered, why not feed him? You know how it has worked with the others. The better we treat them for a while, the more they fear another gas treatment.”

Tallam shook his head.

“This prisoner is a different case,” he declared. “Soft treatment will not lessen The Shadow's resistance.

He needs another stretch of inactivity. We shall give it to him.”

Tallam opened a small cabinet beside his desk. Inside were knobs, each marked with a number. They corresponded to the cells that held the prisoners. Tallam chose the one that represented The Shadow's cell. He turned the knob.

“Five minutes will suffice,” declared Tallam, tersely. “The cell is filling with gas, enough to render him powerless for twelve hours longer.”

“Unless,” warned Barfield, “he manages to somehow plug the pipes.”

“Impossible,” explained Tallam. “The openings are high on the walls and in the ceiling. They can scarcely be detected, and they are out of reach. Furthermore”—he chuckled as he pointed to a dial above the buttons—“this indicator marks the flow of gas. Any obstruction would produce a zero registration on the dial.”

Confident in his tone, Tallam sat back and watched the indicator; he timed the period by a small clock on his desk. When five minutes had passed, Tallam announced:

“That settles The Shadow for the next twelve hours. There is no possible way in which he could have escaped the charge of gas. Remember, Roger, the vapor will persist until the doors are opened. If our prisoner attempted to hold his breath, he merely postponed the outcome.”

Tallam turned off the knob. The dial dropped to zero. Barfield looked pleased; he liked Tallam's precise methods. The keeping of the prisoners and their treatment was Tallam's task. Barfield served as field general of the Golden Masks.

“Cell five.” Tallam spoke musingly, then turned another knob. “That is where we have Gilden Cleatland, the Texas millionaire. He is supposed to be on a yacht cruise; instead, he is enjoying our hospitality.”

“You are giving him another dose of gas?” inquired Barfield. “I thought we intended to talk to him to-morrow?”

“We shall,” promised Tallam, “but he has experienced too long a recovery. Twelve hours more of helplessness will convince him that it would be wise to forget those oil options.”

“And let us bag the million dollars that they will bring.

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