"Very unlikely," he said. "For a posthypnotic command to be strongly effective, it should be concentrated. If you had found Jenkins standing rigid in Kelthorn's office, he might be held responsiblefor the murder. But as it was, Jenkins went about his business and later discovered the body himself."

"Then perhaps he wasn't hypnotized at all."

Smiling at Weston's comment, Fontaine gestured to some report sheets lying on the table. They contained Jenkins' testimony of the night before.

"Jenkins spoke of eyes," reminded Fontaine, "and also admitted a time lapse in his recollections. Those facts are indicative of a hypnotic condition. Just why Jenkins was hypnotized, I can't quite say"-stroking his Van d.y.k.e, the psychologist narrowed his sharp eyes - "but I am sure it did not concern an act of violence. That would either have led to a rude awakening or a cataleptic condition after the deed, such as Jenkins becoming rigid or immobile."

In his speech, Fontaine's voice carried a strong tone of authority that impressed Weston and brought a studied gaze from Cranston. Though Weston admitted himself at sea where hypnotism was concerned, he had at least been witness to one post-hypnotic deed; an important witness, at that. Weston's sudden nod showed that he was recalling events in this very room, when Inspector Cardona had gone through with an imitation murder, but had recoiled from the realistic version when given a stiletto.

"You are probably right, doctor," said Weston. "But again, if those eyes really hypnotized Jenkins, what was the purpose?"

"To produce a hallucination," replied Fontaine, promptly. "Jenkins apparently talked like a man who had undergone such an experience."

"You mean he was seeing things?" demanded Weston. "That couldn't be. He didn't see anything imaginary. On the contrary, he found Kelthorn's body."

Settling back in his chair, Fontaine glanced at Cranston and in that gaze seemed to recognize that here was a man who would understand subtle points that might take considerable explaining to Weston.

Momentarily, the psychologist hesitated; then, as though Cranston's interest had committed him, Fontaine proceeded.

"There are two types of hallucinations," Fontaine specified. "Positive and negative. In the positive type, the subject imagines that he sees something which does not exist. In the negative type, he imagines that he does not see something that is really there."

Cranston gave a slight nod to show that he understood; not noticing it, Weston gave a half laugh at Fontaine's statement.

"You must be joking, doctor," Weston said. "I've heard of people seeing things, but people not seeing things is something difficult to credit."

"On the contrary," stated Fontaine, "a negative hallucination is much more plausible than a positive one, though, as a rule, it is more difficult to induce. A real object can often escape a person's notice; but to see something that does not exist"-Fontaine shrugged-"well, judge for yourself, commissioner, as to which is the more remarkable."

"I get your point," conceded Weston, "and yet I don't. Why should people have either type of hallucination? What kind of power does a hypnotist gain over his subject?"

"None, to be exact," replied Fontaine. "Actually, it is a matter of self-hypnosis. Any man can delude himself into believing ridiculous things, or committing outrageous acts. As for hallucinations, they are common with demented patients. All that a hypnotist does is encourage a person into one of those mentalstates. From then on, the subject obeys the hypnotist's suggestions."

"That still doesn't explain hallucinations, doctor."

"I'll give you another example, commissioner. You've observed patients who were suffering from brain concussions, haven't you?"

Weston nodded.

"Very well," continued Fontaine. "Such patients report all sorts of curious sights, such as people climbing ladders without any ladder being there. Sometimes they observe heads and shoulders, apparently floating in air. We can carry this theme still further, by discussing the optical illusions witnessed by alcoholics or dope addicts. With them, hallucinations become more the rule than the exception."

"Then you mean," queried Weston, "that a hypnotist puts his subject in such a state of mind?"

"He induces what could be termed an equivalent," returned Fontaine. "That about sums it up."

Unable to credit all this, Weston turned to Cranston for corroboration.

"You've been to Tibet, Cranston," reminded Weston, "and it's supposed to be a place where amazing things happen. What is your opinion regarding these matters?"

"Dr. Fontaine has merely scratched the surface," stated Cranston, calmly. "I agree with all that he has said, and more. In Tibet the masters spend years practicing self-hypnosis, so that they can recognize the full effect that can be produced upon others."

"As what, for instance?"

"You probably won't believe me, commissioner," declared Cranston, "but it is possible for a man to will himself into a state of imaginary invisibility which can be transcribed upon the minds of others so they will not see him."

"You mean literally to cloud men's minds?"

"A good way of putting it. Compared to such experiments, the efforts of American hypnotists, as just described by Dr. Fontaine, are rudimentary."

A skeptical smile curled beneath Weston's mustache, then dwindled. In this setting, of all places, Weston could scarcely be a doubter. He was remembering Cardona's actions of the night before here in the grill room of the Cobalt Club. That, however, brought up the subject of Professor Eric Bogardus.

"About this chap Bogardus"-Weston turned to Fontaine. "I understand, doctor, that you have cla.s.sed him as a fake?"

"Not precisely," returned Fontaine. "I denounced him as a fraud."

"A fake or a fraud, what's the difference?"

"There is no doubt that Bogardus can and does demonstrate some actual feats of hypnotism," explained Fontaine. "His test with Inspector Cardona proves that his work is sometimes genuine. But he uses trickery throughout his performances and makes false claims regarding hypnotism in general. I would suggest that after dinner, we go to his show, since he is giving one tonight. I can then explain the difference between the genuine and the fraudulent." "A good idea," agreed Weston. "Inspector Cardona is going to be there and he is bringing Jenkins, the watchman." Turning to Cranston, Weston added, "How about it, Cranston, will you meet us there?"

Cranston nodded that he would. Then, as Weston turned to chat with Fontaine, Cranston rose and strolled from the grill room. Purely by coincidence, the distance of Cranston's walk was timed to Weston's query and the answer it produced.

"One thing more, Fontaine," Weston was asking. "How long does a hypnotic state last?"

"It depends on the hypnotist," was Fontaine's reply, "or how strongly he implants an impression. Also, when or how he awakens his subject."

"Hear that, Cranston?" Weston wheeled in his chair. "Perhaps Cardona had awakened before you gave him the stiletto -"

Stopping short, Weston blinked when he saw that Cranston was no longer there. Then, with a baffled expression, the commissioner swung again to Dr. Fontaine.

"You don't think," asked Weston, in an awed tone, "that Cranston could have learned the invisibility act in Tibet? Or it couldn't be"- the commissioner's eyes narrowed-"that you've been trying some hypnotism yourself and using me as a subject?"

Smiling, Dr. Fontaine shook his head.

"You weren't watching when Cranston left," explained Fontaine. "Therefore, you created a false notion in your own mind. If you'd been hypnotized, commissioner, you might have still believed that you saw Cranston; then he would have vanished when you blinked."

Commissioner Weston sat back, hardly willing to test out a plate of soup that a waiter brought and set before him. Weston was beginning to think that anything might be a hypnotic illusion. Also, a new thought was growing in his mind. It concerned a certain personage whose existence Weston had sometimes doubted, but now seemed very real, along with the power that he was reputed to have.

The commissioner was thinking in terms of The Shadow, the master crime hunter, whose ability to arrive from nowhere and disappear into darkness had often seemed too uncanny to warrant belief.

Perhaps after all there was something to those stories about The Shadow!

CHAPTER V. ENTER THE PROFESSOR.

AN early crowd was gathered in the lobby of the upstairs hall where Professor Eric Bogardus held his hypnotic demonstrations. It wasn't much of a crowd, but, for that matter, it wasn't much of a hall.

However, considering that only a few dozen people were standing around, it seemed quite unlikely that the place would be strained to its capacity.

Clyde Burke was among the early arrivals. The Cla.s.sic had ordered him to stay on the Kelthorn case, and since it had a hypnotism angle, Clyde had decided to look into the subject by attending one of Bogardus' performances. Besides, Clyde had a definite hunch that Inspector Cardona would be at the hypnotic demonstration to see if Bogardus could give others a treatment resembling the one that Cardona himself had received.

Nor was Clyde disappointed. Not only was Joe Cardona in the lobby; he had brought Jenkins along with him. As Clyde moved over to join them, he saw Cardona motion toward a huge lobby frame that contained a portrait of Professor Bogardus. Blown up to giant size, the picture threw heavy accent on theeyes. Noticing Clyde, Cardona spoke to the reporter in an undertone.

"Jenkins was talking so much about seeing eyes," said Joe, "that I figured he ought to study the professor's. I remember them all right, from the jolt Bogardus gave me. They wound up looking as big as they do in that picture."

They waited until Jenkins finished his survey of the blown-up photograph. The watchman turned toward them with a slow shake of his head.

"I can't say 'yes,' " testified Jenkins, "still I wouldn't want to say 'no.' All I remember in the alley was eyes, without a face to go with them."

"Forget the face," suggested Cardona. "Just took at the eyes. Its easy with a big picture like that."

"Sort of different, though," said Jenkins. "When they were looking out of the dark, the eyes sort of glowed. They didn't get big, neither; they just stayed sharp."

"Better wait until you see Bogardus work," decided Cardona. "Then you may be able to decide. So stick around, Jenkins."

Clyde, by then, was standing in front of the picture, getting a close look at the mighty Bogardus eyes.

"Sharp eyes," spoke Clyde, half-aloud. "Eyes that glowed. But they grew bigger... bigger... bigger -"

"What's that?" Cardona's voice came suddenly from Clyde's elbow. "Talking about eyes? You'd think that you, too, had been hypnotized, Burke."

Turning Clyde gave a sheepish laugh.

"Guess I was imagining I was Jenkins," he said. "But it's funny, inspector. After watching you at the Cobalt Club and listening to Jenkins talk in Kelthorn's office, my mind has become sort of dazed. What I meant by bigger and bigger, though, were the lights of your car when you picked me up last night. They seemed to grow right out of a haze."

Cardona gave Clyde a blunt stare; then put a query in a confiding tone: "Do I look goofy to you, Burke?"

"Why, no, inspector."

"That's good. I don't feel goofy, so I'm sure the effect of Bogardus' treatment must have worn off last night. But other people have begun to look funny, particularly around here."

"You mean Jenkins?" asked Clyde. "Or do you mean me?"

"Jenkins more than you, Burke," returned Cardona, frankly. "But I'm thinking of the other customers, too.

Glance around and tell me, do they have that zombie look to you?"

Studying some of the early arrivals, Clyde began to appreciate what Cardona meant. They were, indeed, a queer lot, these patrons of the Bogardus show who had arrived early at the hall. One in particular caught Clyde's attention. He was a tall chap, a full head taller than Clyde, which put him a few inches over six feet. He was slightly on the handsome side, but his face had a haggard, worried look and he was pushing his fingers back through his disheveled hair as he paced about aimlessly.

Cardona saw Clyde watch the man in question. "There's a sample for you," said Joe. "That guy looks like a candidate for one of the walking dead."

"He still shows some signs of life," returned Clyde. "I'll try and find out who he is."

Moving over, Clyde blocked the pacing man and was met with a hollow-eyed stare. Clyde gave a prompt nod.

"Haven't we met before?" asked Clyde. "My name is Burke, but I don't remember yours."

"I don't remember." Speaking mechanically, the young man drew a card from his pocket. "I mean I don't remember where we met." He glanced at the card and Clyde noticed that it was one of the invitations that Bogardus sent out as admission tickets to his demonstrations. "My name is Chester Hudson."

Noting the card more closely, Clyde saw it bore the name that the young man gave. Then: "I'm looking for somebody"-Hudson pushed his fingers through his hair again-"or something. You'll excuse me."

The doors were opening and an usher was directing people to a cloak room. His eyes brightening as though he'd gained a sudden inspiration, Hudson headed that way. Turning to find Cardona, Clyde saw the inspector greeting Commissioner Weston and a bearded man who could only be Dr. Gerald Fontaine. Moving over, Clyde joined them and was introduced to the noted psychologist.

A curious thought struck Clyde. Commissioner Weston was looking about in the same puzzled manner as Chester Hudson. Before Clyde could speculate as to the cause, Weston's worried expression relaxed.

Lamont Cranston had just entered the lobby with an attractive brunette named Margo Lane. Though Clyde didn't know it, Weston's relief was the result of Cranston's arrival. The commissioner was now a.s.sured that his friend was something more substantial than a hallucination.

As the group started into the hall, Cardona turned to look for Jenkins and beckoned Clyde along. Thus they happened to miss some slight confusion at the cloak room, where Hudson was arguing over the matter of a hat. He didn't want to check a hat; he wanted to claim one. Not having a check to prove his claim, Hudson wasn't getting anywhere until the check-girl found a gray hat without a check that had fallen down behind the counter. She gave it to Hudson, who went out to the lobby, brushing off the hat, pa.s.sing Fontaine, Weston and Cranston, who were waiting their turns at the hat-check booth.

It was then that a singular occurrence took place in the lobby. Finding Jenkins, Cardona turned about and saw Hudson pacing up and down. With a gesture, Cardona said to Clyde Burke: "There's the fellow we were talking about. Did you find out who he is?"

Thinking the question was addressed to him, Jenkins stared across the lobby and asked blankly: "What fellow? I don't see anybody."

"The tall fellow," snapped Cardona. "Walking back and forth right there in front of you. Don't you see him there, brushing off his hat?"

"You're kidding me, inspector?"

At Jenkins's query, Cardona swung to Clyde. Angrily, Joe demanded: "You see him, don't you, Burke? Right there, brushing off his hat?"

"I see the man I talked with," said Clyde, "but he hasn't any hat. His name is Chester Hudson, only youmust be looking at someone else."

"Not unless I'm cross-eyed," snapped Cardona, "which I'm not. Maybe you could use an eye-test, Burke. You're looking right at the man I mean."

Clyde was doing just that, but his eyes had gained a peculiar stare which Cardona didn't notice, being more interested in the puzzled expression that dominated Clyde's face. In a way, Clyde's gaze had become too intent; he was studying Hudson's features, measuring the man's height with upward and downward glances. In the process, Clyde's eyes skipped past the hat that Hudson was holding, ignoring it completely. Always, Clyde paused when his gaze reached the man's dark, wavy hair, and then it was that Clyde looked the most puzzled.

"He isn't wearing the hat," Cardona told Clyde. "He's holding it. Say"- Joe eyed Clyde suspiciously-"what is this, some gag you cooked up with the fellow? Maybe he's working with Professor Bogardus and you're playing along, just to kid me. I've had enough of that stuff, Burke. I'll see what this fellow Hudson has to say about it."

With that, Cardona strode forward to accost the tall young man, while Clyde, with a helpless shrug, turned to Jenkins.

"Do you see any hat?"

Jenkins shook his head.

"I don't see anybody," Jenkins replied, "except Inspector Cardona. I'm beginning to wonder what's wrong with him, the way he's standing there, sort of talking to himself."

Anyone except Clyde Burke would have forgotten other matters at that moment in order to a.n.a.lyze Jenkins. Staring directly at Cardona and Hudson, Jenkins appeared to be looking right through them. It was odd, considering that distant stare, that he should mention that he saw one but not the other. But Clyde was in no mood to study Jenkins. He was almost willing to take what Jenkins said in preference to Cardona's argument about the hat. Hudson hadn't been holding any hat that Clyde could see, and by a peculiar application of false logic, it was easier for Clyde to believe that Hudson wasn't there at all, rather than accept the matter of the hat.

Yet it couldn't be that Hudson, even though hatless, was a figment of Clyde's imagination. Through the reporter's mind surged a turmoil that carried him back into a vague darkness, out of which he could recall only a pair of sharply glowing eyes. His own eyes half closed, Clyde was trying to remember what that scene concerned, but the result was a mental void, the daydream equivalent of a nightmare. Clapping his hand to the back of his neck, Clyde pulled his senses to the present, looked steadily at Jenkins and demanded: "You don't see anybody talking to Cardona?"

"Certainly not." Jenkins, too, had become relaxed and his laugh sounded human. "Here's the inspector now, so you can ask him. One thing, though"- raising his hand, Jenkins whispered to Clyde behind it - "whatever he tells us, just pretend to believe him. I think he's trying to trick both of us. Maybe he thinks we haven't told him all we know about last night."

Of course, Jenkins was referring to his own testimony regarding Kelthorn's death. Realizing he might still be under suspicion, Jenkins was including Clyde in the matter because he wanted an ally. Nevertheless, Clyde nodded, for he, too, was experiencing a vague form of mental misery that needed company. Last night, for reasons that Clyde could not explain, was a time that Clyde preferred not to be questionedabout.

Turning at Jenkins's gesture, Clyde saw that the watchman was right in one particular. Cardona was approaching them and he was coming alone. The man who called himself Hudson wasn't anywhere in sight, and Clyde was beginning to hope the fellow didn't exist, when Cardona presented testimony to the contrary.

"Here's your friend's calling card," Cardona told Clyde bluntly. "He gave me one when I asked for it.