Shadow 270 - Messenger of Death 08-01-43, The by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant [Grant, Maxwell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Street and Smith
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XI

THE FINAL WORD

A TRIUMPHANT gleam upon his withered face, Benn spoke to Thornleigh as the chauffeur rose from the floor. All the while, Benn was keeping Dash covered with the crook’s own gun.

“Two impostors, Thornleigh!” gloated Benn. “I have captured them both! The more dangerous one is locked in the safe. I have the gun belonging to the other, which renders him quite as helpless.”

Passing the gun to Thornleigh so that the chauffeur could keep Dash covered, Benn continued to show high glee. Picking up his cane, the old inventor hobbled around The Shadow’s prison, looking into it from all angles, making grimaces at the captive who looked like Chet Ferris.

How long this would last, The Shadow could not tell. He had an idea that his predicament would become worse unless he soon gained his release. Since glazite was indestructible, there was no way of cracking through the confining walls themselves. The Shadow tried to reason with old Benn.

They conducted a pantomime through the glazite barriers, but The Shadow’s gestures were to no avail. Apparently Benn had hoped some day to trap an intruder in this contrivance and he was making the most of his triumph.

When The Shadow wagged the envelope with the red seal and nudged toward the door of the safe, Benn only laughed and shook his head. Next, The Shadow opened his brief case, which he had carried into the safe with him. He dropped Benn’s envelope into one of the regular compartments, along with the formula that Channey had given him.

Benn’s mirthful convulsions increased. What good were such formulas to a prisoner? When The Shadow exhibited Channey’s envelope, he wrote the name “Channey” across it and held it against the glazite front. Benn merely laughed the more, for this convinced him that he had sprung the trap on the more troublesome of the two impostors who were posing as Chet Ferris.

Of what good were those stolen formulas to a prisoner?

Such seemed to be the burden of Benn’s grimaces, whereupon The Shadow decided to throw a scare into the old inventor. Taking both envelopes from his pocket, he produced a cigarette lighter, as though he intended to burn his prize.

Benn’s head shook a warning, but with it he retained his smile. Picking up a desk clock, he ran his finger around the dial; then used his hands to indicate a cube. Following that, Benn raised one hand to his throat and gave long gasps.

His theme was this:

The Shadow would have about an hour to live before the air in the tight-shut safe was exhausted. Shaking his head again, Benn nudged his thumb at the cigarette lighter. He was reminding The Shadow that its flame, plus the burning of the envelopes, would use up a considerable amount of precious oxygen. Moving his finger back around the clock, Benn estimated that the process would cut at least twenty minutes from the prisoner’s remaining hour of life.

So The Shadow replaced the envelopes in the brief case and settled back to take things easy.

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