"On account of Electro Oceanic?"

"Yes."

"I don't understand -"

"I shall explain." Bewkel's interruption was eager. "When that company was first organized, we all bought heavily of the first stock issued because the wave motors offered enormous possibilities. Then came delay. Slow, unaccountable delay."

"Due to new experiments."

"Yes. But Perry Harton, general manager of Electro Oceanic, seemed dilatory in gaining results. The presence of the president was required. Bigelow Zorman went to South Sh.o.r.eview to take charge in person."

"I know. He found that the existing wave motors were impracticable. They did not produce sufficient power to make them a success commercially."

"Zorman was conservative." Bewkel spoke emphatically. "That is why I did not rely upon his opinions. I sent an investigator of my own to look into affairs at the Electro Oceanic plant. His name was Dustin Cruett."

Felix Tressler caught no significance in the name which Maurice Bewkel uttered. The visitor looked surprised; then spoke again.

"Of course," he said apologetically, "it was only a small item in today's newspaper. I am not surprised that you did not notice it."

"Something about Electro Oceanic?"

"No. The story of Dustin Cruett's death."

"You mean" - Tressler's tone was incredulous - "that your investigator never returned -"

"He did return!" exclaimed Bewkel. "He came to New York. He telephoned my home. He was on his way there with important news when he collapsed and fell dead near Times Square!" "An amazing occurrence!"

"Not amazing." Bewkel was serious. "Tressler, it looks to me like foul play. I am convinced that Dustin Cruett was murdered!"

AN expression of incredulity appeared upon Felix Tressler's heavy brow. Maurice Bewkel noticed it. He leaned forward in his chair to impress his next words upon his host.

"Suppose, Tressler," he said, "that certain large interests should have learned of improvements in the Electro Oceanic wave motor. They would be anxious, would they not, to see our company fail?"

"They would."

"Very well. Their first step, then, would be to r.e.t.a.r.d the development of the improved wave motor. That failing, they would attempt to keep news of improvements from such option holders as you, myself and Rightwood. That is why I sent Dustin Cruett to investigate."

"But why could you not rely on Bigelow Zorman? He has gone to South Sh.o.r.eview. He is one upon whom we can depend. In fact, I expect to hear from him almost any day now."

"I have confidence in Zorman," a.s.sured Bewkel. "Like yourself, I am expecting word from him. I feared, however, that if a plot were afoot, Zorman would experience difficulty in learning all that has taken place.

That is why I sent Cruett - and Cruett is mysteriously dead!"

"Large interests," remarked Tressler, with a shake of his heavy head, "would not deal in murder -"

"But they would stoop to espionage!" interposed Bewkel. "They would employ skulking spies in an emergency - and men of the spy caliber might murder!"

Tressler considered this with a doubtful expression. His face showed worriment; but not conviction.

"Tressler," warned Bewkel soberly, "I have said nothing to the police regarding the fact that Dustin Cruett was secretly in my employ. Such a statement would be poor policy. I am wary. In Cruett's death, I see a hidden purpose - an effort to keep his verbal information from my ears. Tomorrow, I must see Logan Mungren, the promoter from whom we purchased Electro Oceanic stock, regarding my option for fifteen hundred new shares at one hundred dollars a share."

"One hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

"Yes. I must exercise the option at par - or let it drop."

"Bewkel," observed Tressler, as he arose and stood with folded arms, "this stock is risky. You and I, like Rightwood, each purchased five hundred shares - an expenditure of fifty thousand dollars apiece. Our stock has dropped to a value of only five thousand - ten cents on the dollar.

"I advised both of you to buy that original stock. I showed my good faith by making a purchase of my own. But I tell you, Bewkel, that I do not intend to exercise my option on one hundred and fifty thousand dollars' worth of new shares until I am convinced that a new wave motor has been developed."

"Granted," stated Bewkel. "Your situation, Tressler, is better than mine. My option comes due within a few days; Rightwood's option follows - then yours. That is why it was urgent that I should learn of Electro Oceanic affairs. I cannot afford to wait for a report from the president, Bigelow Zorman."

Felix Tressler nodded his understanding. "CRUETT'S sudden death," admitted Bewkel, "would ordinarily discourage me. I have failed to receive his important report. Should I exercise my option, I shall be doing so purely on speculation."

"Which is unwise," cautioned Tressler. "I should advise you, Bewkel, to let the option pa.s.s. Were I in your position, I should do so."

"I know it," affirmed Bewkel. "I expected such advice. Nevertheless, Tressler, I am tempted to purchase my portion of that new stock issue. I came to tell you of my probable decision, that you might have the opportunity to investigate for yourself."

Bewkel was rising as he spoke. He glanced at his watch; then extended his hand.

"I must leave," he declared. "Tomorrow, I am going to see Logan Mungren, to discuss the matter of the option with him."

"Your decision, then, is not final?"

"Practically so. I cannot say until after I have talked with Mungren."

"Call me after that," suggested Tressler. "Not tomorrow, but the day after. Whenever you have actually made the purchase. At the same time, remember my advice: Electro Oceanic is extremely risky, and I regret that I was partly responsible for your original purchase. In fact, Bewkel, I have really felt that I should take some of your original stock off your hands. The loss should be mine -"

"Not a bit of it!" Bewkel clapped Tressler on the shoulder. "You have always been over-conservative, Tressler. I think that this stock will pull through - and I feel that I am going to risk it."

Maurice Bewkel was walking toward the door as he spoke. Neither he nor Felix Tressler noted that the barrier was slightly ajar. It closed just before Bewkel had a chance to notice it.

On the other side of the portal, Wilton Byres, the sly-faced secretary, drew suddenly away from the door, He was the one who had opened it. He had been eavesdropping. He gained another doorway just as Tressler and Bewkel appeared from the room where they had been talking.

AS Tressler and his visitor moved toward the patio, the secretary appeared quite suddenly, as though he had heard their approach, and was coming to see if he were needed.

"Never mind, Byres," said Tressler, as he saw the young man. "I shall conduct Mr. Bewkel to the elevator. You will not be needed."

A frown appeared upon the secretary's crafty face as Byres watched the two men make their way through the patio. With a slinking stride, the young man headed toward the open roof. He pa.s.sed doors that were open and doors that were closed. Reaching the roof, he went toward the parapet and stood gazing out above the city.

Atop a building, Byres eyed a huge electric light: one which shone with white-cl.u.s.tered corners and thin white lines between them. The young man stared steadily in that direction; then turned and moved back across the roof.

When Felix Tressler reappeared, Byres was gathering up some gla.s.ses that were on a table. The heavy-built millionaire seated himself in his big chair and lighted a cigar as Byres carried the gla.s.ses into the apartment.

It was later when Wilton Byres again appeared upon the roof. Behind Tressler's back, the secretary oncemore edged toward the parapet where, between potted shrubs, he could view the electric sign.

Lights of doom! They were unchanging tonight. Their color remained white, with no token of a signal. Yet the cunning look that appeared upon the face of Wilton Byres showed that the secretary was antic.i.p.ating the time when changing lights would glimmer.

Tonight, Wilton Byres had heard Felix Tressler and Maurice Bewkel hold their private discussion. He had listened in on talk of Dustin Cruett's death. Like waiting men in the streets below, Wilton Byres knew the purpose of those lights of doom.

The circle of death was quiet tonight. Later - perhaps upon the morrow - it would act. That was the time which Wilton Byres awaited!

CHAPTER V. THE SHADOW PREPARES.

WEIRD light flickered in a strange room. Its rays revealed walls of polished black. They also showed a polished table and items of equipment, all of the same ebony hue. Standing in the room was a tall, grotesque figure, which moved like a phantom shade against the shiny background.

This was The Shadow's laboratory.

A windowless room where the light of day never penetrated, this was the spot where the mysterious master conducted experiments essential to his work of battling crime.

Standing before the laboratory table, The Shadow picked up a test tube in his gloved left hand. In his right, he held the sheaf of paper matches which he had taken from Inspector Klein's desk. With a deft movement of his fingers, The Shadow snapped one match from the pack.

He held the match above a tiny burner. Directly over that, he gripped the test tube. Slowly, the right hand lowered. Coming nearer to the flame, the match suddenly ignited.

Up went The Shadow's hands. They moved away from the burner, but all the while, the fingers of the right thrust the tip of the burning match up into the protecting interior of the inverted test tube which the left hand held.

The flame of the match was greenish. A snap of The Shadow's fingers extinguished it. Greenish smoke curled up into the test tube. As it disintegrated, the smoke formed a greenish coating about the interior of the tube.

The match dropped to the table. The right hand brought up a rubber cork and plugged it into the test tube. The left hand placed the tube, right side up, into a little stand.

Keen eyes studied the tube. Then, with great care, The Shadow removed the rubber plug. One hand produced a bottle of a reddish liquid and poured a quant.i.ty into the test tube. The liquid trickled down the sides, washing the sediment of green that had formed there.

The Shadow moved the stand above the burner. Hot flame licked the bottom of the test tube. Gradually, the reddish liquid began to bubble; then to boil. A slight vapor arose as The Shadow drew away.

The green coating had disappeared from the inside of the tube. It had mingled with the reddish liquid.

Now, with the heat test in operation, another change was manifested. The color of the liquid faded.

Neither red nor green remained.

A grim laugh came from The Shadow's hidden lips. This chemical test was significant. It proved the truthof suspicions which The Shadow had held. It solved the secret of Dustin Cruett's death.

The match heads in the packet which Cruett had used were formed with a deadly poison as an essential content. An a.r.s.enic compound, these match heads had led Cruett to his doom.

THE fact that the prepared matches were hard to light had added to the chances of Cruett's rapid death.

Each puff at a fading flame had brought more poison into the man's system. A frequent lighter of cigarettes, Cruett had sealed his own doom.

Murder!

The Shadow knew the truth. More than that, he realized that he was dealing with some insidious master of crime. Dustin Cruett, from the time that he arrived at the Hotel Zenith, must have been under the observation of murderous men who knew how to act as well as to watch.

The purpose? The finding of that was The Shadow's next task. The work lay elsewhere than in the laboratory.

The Shadow's tall form moved toward what appeared to be a solid wall of black. The lights went out as a gloved hand pressed against the wall. A slight puff of air marked the silent opening of a hidden portal.

The Shadow had left the laboratory.

ANOTHER darkened room where blackness rested with eerie stillness. A click sounded amid enshrouding gloom. A blue light flickered above a polished table. Hands, no longer gloved, appeared beneath the shaded rays.

A sparkling gem glimmered from a long white finger - The Shadow's girasol - a priceless fire-opal which was The Shadow's only token of ident.i.ty.

Here, in his sanctum, The Shadow proceeded to open envelopes. His long-fingered hands were like living creatures detached from the arms. The eyes of The Shadow, staring from darkness beyond the sphere of light, were studying the contents of the envelope.

These were reports from The Shadow's agents. Beginning with the information which Joe Cardona had obtained, The Shadow had followed with further investigation. Through Clyde Burke, a newspaper man secretly in his service; through Rutledge Mann, investment broker who held employment with him, The Shadow was learning more concerning Dustin Cruett's past.

The report sheets showed specifically that Dustin Cruett had not only been a promoter of certain successful stocks. At one time, the dead man had conducted a bureau which investigated various securities. Dustin Cruett had also worked on occasions for individuals and concerns, gaining valuable information regarding their investments.

Coincident with this report were further facts from Rutledge Mann. These were in the form of a list which gave the names of certain stocks not handled by the exchange. Attached memoranda gave details regarding these securities.

One by one, The Shadow checked the list. His marking finger eliminated certain names. The list narrowed. At last it came to a single concern: the Electro Oceanic Corporation.

The Shadow's fingers clipped the memorandum which Rutledge Mann had prepared concerning this company. The eyes of The Shadow read: Electro Oceanic Corporation: Location of plant; South Sh.o.r.eview, Virginia. Purpose: Development of wave motors for power production.

Capital Stock: 2,500 shares. $100 per share. Total issue; $250,000. Present value, $10 per share. New issue of 5,000 shares, value $500,000, is expected.

Remarks: Trading in this stock reached a standstill until the low mark of $10 per share was reached. Sales have been made recently at that figure. Small stockholders have been selling before further drop occurs.

Original stock issue sold through Acme Securities Company.

President of concern: Logan Mungren. Rating of Acme Securities Company is high, but concern has handled speculative investments on occasion.

Mann's report read, The Shadow removed the various papers from the table. His hands produced a folded sheet. Spread out, this proved to be a large-scale map of Manhattan.

Upon one spot - the location of the Hotel Zenith - The Shadow inserted a pin with a white head. Upon another - the place where Dustin Cruett had collapsed - a pin with a black top.

The s.p.a.ce between these spots included the course which Dustin Cruett must have traveled on his short journey to doom. The distance was not far. There was but one probable course which Cruett might have followed.

That gained, The Shadow removed the pins and folded the map. His hands produced paper and pen. In ink of vivid blue, he inscribed a note in coded words. As the ink dried, the white hands folded the paper and placed it in an envelope. With another pen, The Shadow addressed the missive to Rutledge Mann, Badger Building, New York City.

Rutledge Mann would understand that code. More than that, the message would be lost as soon as he had read it. The Shadow's ink had a faculty for disappearing shortly after it came in contact with the air.

THE SHADOW'S instructions were specific. Rutledge Mann, upon the morrow, would call up Harry Vincent, an active agent who served The Shadow. He would give Harry instructions to go to South Sh.o.r.eview, there to learn the status of the plant operated by the Electro Oceanic Corporation.

Piecing information, The Shadow had divined the purpose of Dustin Cruett's arrival in New York. The dead man had come to Manhattan following an investigation of some sort. Cruett's business had centered about stocks and the companies which they represented.

In all the list, the Electro Oceanic Corporation was the only one which had a plant located in a vicinity directly reached through Washington. Dustin Cruett had come from Washington. He had been murdered after his arrival in New York.

What had Dustin Cruett learned? Was his information the reason why he had been marked for death?

These were questions that The Shadow wanted to be answered. He had taken a direct step to that end. The hands disappeared from the table. The bluish light clicked off. Amid somber darkness, a low laugh rose from whispered tone to eerie crescendo. Quivering echoes responded; then died.

The Shadow had departed from his sanctum. His own work lay within the confines of Manhattan. His study would concern that route which Dustin Cruett had followed from the Hotel Zenith to the spot where he had met his doom.