by Van Powell
Chapter 35 THE STALKING TERROR
Roger left the laboratory. He located Grover. His recital amazed andstunned his cousin.
"Astrovox unconscious still. Ryder hovering in the balance. Toby in acell." Grover summed up. "Two attempts to reach you--and why? Can't youthink, Roger?"
"I've mauled my brain, but I just don't see what I seem to be expectedto know."
"And the missing jewel," groaned Grover. "Where is it?"
"I haven't seen it since Clark put it in his pocket, in the temple,Grover."
His cousin considered the matter as they took lunch in a quiet corner ofan uptown restaurant.
"You lock up securely and make certain that the devices all work."Grover said, as they separated, "I shan't have to stay with the old man,because it isn't expected that he will regain his wits for at leastseveral days. I must go to the museum. Business has to go on. Then Iwill have a talk with Potts. We have given him what the French call a'white card'--a clean slate. But--I want to question him. He might havepicked up the real gem. He could have realized what a find it was. Hemay not have discarded it. And while I hate to suspect him--"
"But he wasn't there, today, when Doctor Ryder--"
"How do you know?"
Roger was silent. Like Grover he hated the idea; but Potts had beenfree, supposedly resting. He might have been around. If anybody couldknow ways to get in--oh, it was not thinkable, though!
Much more Roger preferred to mistrust the electricians, or thebio-chemist.
On his way back he stopped at home to get the record carrying the "fire"and crackles. He would need a fresh record for that night.
With his package he returned to the laboratory. Everything was quiet,there. The men, in their activities, were sober but busy. Zendt greetedRoger.
"How is Astrovox?"
Roger told him. It was suspicious, the young cousin decided, that Zendtwas so anxious. Less so, it seemed, about Doctor Ryder. He made noinquiry, though Roger, coming in, had called up the hospital to learnthat the man was out of danger due to the prompt action of the interneat the laboratory. He must be quiet, for ten days or, at least, for aweek, Roger had been told.
"Astrovox," he told Zendt, "is unable to say anything, and they don'texpect anything else for days."
That, he hoped, would "spike" any intentions the man might have to harmthe old astrologer. Not wishing to say more he hurried to the dark-room,quickly put the waiting films in a time-and-temperature regulated bathand went out of the place for the eighteen minutes that would elapseduring development. He busied himself clearing out the waitingrequisitions for minor needs from the stockroom, tested the glass usedby the doctor with no result, and then put the films in hypo. forfifteen minutes, staying in the open rooms during fixing period andwashing afterward. He was not going to be caught in that dark-room, withGrover and Potts away and some stalking menace quite possibly stillabroad.
His list was still in the file, he made certain. He had thought that itmight have been taken; but he realized that whatever was on the paperwas also in his head, and that was why he was endangered.
When it came close to closing time he helped clear away used trays andother chemical apparatus, washing-up. He gathered up all films and gotready for the next day's work. The developed and printed film he left onthe drying drums, not caring to stay long in the dark-room.
When, close to the office at all times, he was certain that the staffwas absolutely out of the building, he began a careful and thorough, buthurried series of operations.
His decision to stay there all night, discussed with Grover, had finallybeen agreed to by his older cousin.
At home, there was no way to avert the trick used before. The fuse boxcould not be guarded unless they hired a Falcon patrolman.
That the laboratory was more impregnable had been proved the nightbefore by the effort used to enter. The fire, set off probably by a polecarrying a light, inserted from above the telescope, had been assurancethat even the skylight was considered too risky by whoever had wanted toenter. That one had set the fire, hoping that firemen would have brokenin, giving him--not her unless the stenographer was suspectable--achance to run in with them.
What _they_ could want (or what _he_ could want), Roger did not seemable to decide. Not the laboratory's secrets. When the false gem hadbeen sought in the safe, nothing else had been disturbed.
Roger, determined to stay all night in the laboratory, made hispreparations with thoroughness and care in spite of his speed.
The old microphones set at doors, windows and other probable entrances,he tested. The cameras he took out of circuit. They would not need torecord, because no one must get in to be snapped.
From the upper room he resurrected the old shadow-box with its panel oflights, connecting them into circuits so that the least disturbance byany microphone, even a vibration of its sensitive diaphragm by slightsounds, would cut a relay and light the right lamp.
The connections of the magnetic plates he traced, to be sure no one hadcut a cable. Where they all came together at the transformer Rogertransferred the connection from the 180-volt step-up to the next higheroutput. Anyone touching any plate must receive a 300-volt charge. Hewould not risk anyone getting away, granting that such a one got pastthe bolts he wired fast, as he did with window catches.
The fuse-box bothered him. If an intruder could in any way get in andpull out fuses, perhaps all his precautions to hold them would befutile.
Presently a solution of that difficulty came to his trained mind.
With the fuses left in place, he disconnected the cables that fed theprotective devices, wearing heavy rubber gloves and with rubbers on hisfeet.
Taking that set of flexible cables back behind the furnace and to themain box of the electric company input, he risked later censure fortampering with their property by breaking their seal on the box,throwing off the big, main switch, and connecting-in his cables to themain line just within the input lines. He closed the box, sealed it withthe switch again in the "on" blades, and knew that any outsider must beignorant of his precaution. The fuses could be pulled, the wires at theswitch-boxes could be cut, and still his plates and microphones would beactively charged, potent and effective.
Roger, effectively sealed in, he felt, sat down with the supper he hadordered in, saving milk and sandwiches for later, and ate with a feelingthat he was safe.
Half way through the meal, with an inspiration, he took a charged wirefrom the main-line up to the telescope still poked up out of theskylight. He had climbed up. If anyone started to climb down--what ashock that telescope would give.
Contentedly he closed his meal with a big cream-puff.
Soon after that darkness came. Roger, unwilling to discover his presenceby lighting a light, sat comfortably in Grover's "thinking den," and puthis thoughts to work on the problem of that list of sounds.
If he had only guessed it, his very elaborate precautions had beenoverdone by just one protective effort.
Night chased the western glow away and brought stars to look down upon avery quiet, apparently deserted building.
Roger, restless after an hour of fruitless thinking, wandered at slowpace toward the upper floor, planning to start there on an inspectionroute that would kill time and give new assurance.
He had not completely mounted the stairs when he heard a sharp, almostexplosive crackle. His eyes were dazzled by a flash as if it had begunto storm and lightning had flashed. He stood, transfixed. The flashdied, and to his amazement he heard a queer sound as if splintered glasswere dropping, tinkling and scattering; and yet it was a muffled sort ofclinking noise.
He summoned his best courage and with shaking limbs crept on up to thesecond story. There, looking around half-fearfully, he was more amazedthan ever. In the gloom, objects he knew well by location loomed withoutany apparent change. The telescope pushed its long barrel upward, thetable and chairs, cabinets and cages, seemed as before.
He threw on a switch for light.
None came!
He stood there, baffled. Had the power-house cut off their "juice" orhad a dynamo cut out for the time? No. There had been that detonationand flash. A torpedo such as he had made? No--more like the spark fromtheir high-tension transformer jumping a gap.
As he stood there, something below him went over with a crash!