"That syringe which you hold, Doctor Savette, will do nicely for Glade Tremont. I shall let you make the injection. I have another in my pocket. You will receive an injection from my hand. When you awake, you two, affairs will be different here. Ivan Orlinov and his horde will be gone. I shall settle with them." The Shadow pronounced these words with amazing calmness.
He spoke as though the conquering of a crowd of gunmen was simple in accomplishment.
Savette tried to sneer. Tremont was pale. He remembered his awakening after the battle on the dock. The Shadow had fought then to protect himself. Tonight, he would have the advantage of a surprise attack.
"We shall delay no longer," gibed The Shadow. "Go, Savette. Use that hypodermic which you hold. Tremont is to be your subject. Go!"
Mechanically, the physician approached Glade Tremont. He dared not disobey The Shadow. The tables were turned, and Savette knew well that The Shadow would not hesitate to start his battle here by first shooting him and Tremont.
Grim retribution! These monsters were to taste that state of oblivion which they had forced upon others. They were to experience that which they had termed temporary death.
No alternative offering, Gerald Savette wrenched away Tremont's coat and tore off the lawyer's sleeve. He was treating his accomplice as he had treated Harold Sharrock, who now stood pale and tense, watching this strange turn of events.
Glade Tremont offered no resistance. Like Savette, he was a beaten man. Neither one could stand against The Shadow. Even glowering looks were gone. Hopelessness had replaced animosity. The fiends were demonstrating their cowardice.
The Shadow had spoken. His captives were forced to obey. Savette raised the hypodermic. Tremont quailed. The Shadow spoke again.
"Proceed."