  They allowed Roger to lock up the laboratory; but he had not been permitted to re-set the rays or other protective devices. That did not concern him overmuch. Roger knew that the safe protection was a separate circuit from those he had cut out when he had unfastened the door on arriving. Besides, he told himself triumphantly, he had recalled the camera fixed in the small decorative panel over the interviewing chair, so arranged that it would photograph a short time exposure of the office and of anyone there. Used to make records of visitors on their arrival with new propositions, as well as a night protection and recorder for the office, it had been operated by Roger, with good presence of mind, when his captors had entered. Whoever came there later would be able to develop the picture he had left recorded. He had not used the continuous mechanism, but his one photograph would reveal him and the Tibetan trio. A taxi, taking them to some unknown district, was further cause for triumph. The taxi, from a nearby stand, had been used before by the laboratory people. Its driver knew him, though he gave no sign. Roger meant to act in such a way that the man, discharging his fare and being paid, would suspect something wrong, return to the laboratory, or consult the police. At a quiet, small hotel, the machine stopped. Roger, with hands clasped behind his back, made gestures; waggling his fingers to attract the taximan’s notice, then touching himself and clenching his fist. “Thanks, feller,” the man took his fare, and added, to show Roger he was “wise,” “That science place brought me a good tip. Guess I better go back and see about more good fares there.” Instead of causing a commotion as they passed the drowsy office clerk, Roger let things stand as they were, and was taken up to a quiet suite where the two guards placidly watched him while the Lama telephoned from another room. After a while, returning, the man ushered in—Grover. “How did you come here?” cried Roger. “So they got you.” “But you shouldn’t——” “I didn’t exactly walk into a trap, Roger. The Chief of Police knows where I came in answer to a note handed me while I was trying to trace Astrovox. If I do not telephone within an hour, somebody will come to see what’s what.” He explained what Roger had not known (after hearing the strange events of the opened door, the screeching table radio and seeing the smoke-filled office). “I stayed to watch Astrovox make spectra-graphs of color bands,” Grover explained, “sending Tip here to be on guard. An excited call seeming to come from him brought me to the house just as a note he got started him to the laboratory. We passed, not knowing. I found your safeguards apparently working, and returned. Potts was trying to reassure the star-gazer who had heard that Voice of Doom. But Tip was frightened also. We sent the astrologer to lie down on Tip’s bed, while we investigated. He came back to us after a few minutes saying he was too much upset to stay there. He thought the Tibetans had involved him in some manner.” Tip, it appeared, had agreed to go along to be sure the man got going and reached home safely. Tip had bidden him wait, in the chemical section, while he went to his own room to get a weapon for safety’s sake. “I suppose he must have heard something or started into the office, Roger. At any rate, suddenly, we heard the shot. I was down those stairs in a bound, and beat Tip by ten feet getting in where the smoke still hung in the air.” “It was strong when I got there.” “But the office was empty. I told Potts to stay, and ran out. A man, strolling, had stopped. I asked if he had seen a man go out and he pointed up the street, and like most of those night-prowlers he tried to avoid the light and hid his face with his hat brim. He was fairly short and stoutish, but it wasn’t Astrovox. I ran, and thought I saw the star-gazer further along; but it was not our man. I suppose Tip, worried, came to look for me. You say the wires were silent.” He was stopped by the arrival of Tip who had been lured, as he had, by a note delivered by a boy; and almost on his heels came Clark and Doctor Ryder, fuming and puzzled and anxious. They were given no time to exchange words. The Lama spoke: “We want the sacred relic, the Eye of Om.” “It is in the Buddha’s head,” Roger said earnestly, “I saw this man put it there.” “He tells the truth,” Clark declared. “To prove it,” Roger hurried on, “the prongs work open when you press the Buddha’s third left finger straight in and then back.” The Lama stared. “And to furthermore prove it and make it inadmissible——” “Incontrovertible, Tip means,” said Grover. “—I went back, later, to take wedges out of the lower lever, after we beat your trick tunnel, and picked up the Imitation that Rog’ tells me Mister Clark throwed away. I carried it as far as Bombay, and figured it wasn’t worth anything anyhow, so I left it in the waste-basket in the hotel room.” The Tibetan lama stared at him sternly. “That was but an imitation. It was the one taken out that I demand, from the boy who must know where it is.” “But—I tell you!” Roger was earnest, “I saw Mister Clark exchange the false one. And he dropped the one taken out into his coat, and when we got out of the tunnel and closed the rock, he threw it away, saying it wasn’t any use. Tip, here, found that!” The lama shook his head. “The Eye of Om is not in its socket!” A sudden thought came to Mr. Clark. With a cry of dismay he told them his startling idea. “It must be that in the excitement, meaning to exchange the imitation for the real—to put back what rightfully belonged there and protect my friend, Doctor Ryder, I must have mixed the gems, and instead of replacing the false one with the real one, I must have put the false one back, and really threw away the true Eye.” “Then—I throwed it away in Bombay.” The lama considered the statement made by Tip. “If any of you speak falsely,” he said, slowly, “you who speak so shall hear the Voice of Doom and shall feel the Wrath of the Hand of Doom.” With that threat he bade them depart. |
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