He fired. It was a hopeless effort. The Shadow's automatic barked. Orlinov's one good wrist was crippled. Now The Shadow, like a living monster, approached the cringing Russian. Yet Orlinov, despite his fear, was grinning defiantly, his white teeth glittering through the blackened clump of hair that formed his beard.
"You haff come too late!" snarled the Russian. "You haff not stopped me. I haff released the gas. The dead men who haff liffed now liff no longer!"
A dangling cord told what Orlinov had done. The Shadow laughed softly. This was the threat; the way whereby all prisoners in those little rooms could be disposed of in emergency. So Orlinov had planned. With no more thought of his helpless enemy, The Shadow reached beneath his cloak and drew forth a key. He inserted it in a door and turned the lock. He went to a second door; then a third and a fourth. Orlinov watched him bewildered.
Then, one by one, four men came forth, each from a different room. Austin Bellamy, a worn, haggard old man, stared speechless, wondering what this freedom meant.
Clark Murdock, keen and shrewd-eyed, stared at The Shadow; then glared toward Orlinov. Professor Pierre Rachaud, a quiet, bearded Frenchman, appeared perplexed. Matt Hartley, a stalwart, middle-aged man, stood with arms akimbo, a look of complete surprise upon his firm-set face. The Shadow spoke.
"You are the dead," he announced. "The dead who lived to do the bidding of this fiend and two other monsters who now lie dead below."
The voice of The Shadow was a weird, creepy whisper, that seemed unreal. It was as though the walls of that strange corridor had spoken, with the man in black a mere figure in their midst. Although those words meant freedom to the men who heard them, none could repress a shudder at the eerie voice.
"That cord" — the muzzle of The Shadow's right-hand gun indicated the dangling rope — "was drawn by Orlinov. It would have released a poison gas to kill you all. Last night, however" — The Shadow's eyes burned toward Orlinov — "I detached the infernal mechanism." Orlinov snarled in helpless fury. The Shadow stood above him, the suppressed sound of taunting mirth coming from his invisible lips.
Suddenly, the mocking figure became motionless and erect. Shots were echoing from the floor below. Turning, The Shadow swept away, his cloak swishing audibly as he moved rapidly toward the stairs. A second later, he was gone, leaving four stupefied men glaring at the crippled fiend who was sitting on the floor.
Then came a wild, high-pitched cry. Austin Bellamy, who for years had suffered at the hands of Orlinov, leaped forward in maddened fury. His clawing hands tore at the Russian's beard. His long, bony fingers dug into Orlinov's throat.