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of suspended animation, during which the jewel rests and revitalizes itself.”
    Suspended animation! Good God! How long would it last? Vane thought frantically, Will l come back to life at the bottom of the river, with rocks tied to my ankles? How long—
    Rough hands lifted him. He was wrapped in sacking and carried. Downstairs, by the feel of the jolting motion. Then he lay motionless, till he heard the sound of a car’s motor starting.
    â€œHead for the river,” a low voice commanded.
    Traffic sounds came to him. Someone muttered, “Hurry up. There’s a police car next to us—”
    And a siren began to scream ominously.
    What was happening? Vane cursed silently, furiously. If he could only move! But no, he could merely lie helpless as the roar of the motor mounted louder and louder and the car jolted more uncomfortably.
    â€œThey’re catching up…”
    â€œThrow the stiff out,” somebody suggested. “Under their wheels. That’ll stop ‘em. If we don’t—”
    A door-latch clicked. Vane felt himself moving. He fell heavily, rolled over and over, and lay still.
    Brakes screeched. Footsteps pounded on the pavement. The gunny-sacking was stripped from Vane’s face.
    Staring up glassily, he saw a uniformed officer bending over him, dim against a star-sprinkled night sky.
    â€œIt’s Vane!” the man gasped. “The escaped con!”
    He turned, shouting. “Keep on after those mugs. Radio headquarters to send a car out. Tell ‘em I got Vane—and he’s dead!”

Chapter 4 
    The Road to Life
    Vane lay on an operating table, a sheet over his naked body, and stared blankly at a bare white ceiling. He could not move. He could not tell the coroner or the medical examiner that he was alive, that an autopsy would be murder, that he had agonizingly felt the cut of a scalpel into his arm, though no blood flowed from the pale-lipped wound.
    The coroner, his face partly hidden under a gauze mask, came forward, holding a probe. He bent over Vane and delicately felt around the edges of the jewel on the lawyer’s forehead.
    â€œFunny,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ve never seen anything like it. By rights it ought to have killed the man—it goes right through the bone. Maybe it did kill him. I can’t find any surface wounds on the body.”
    A deeper voice growled, “Too damn bad the murderers got away. I know Pasqual did this, but I can’t pin a thing on him.”
    Vane realized that Chief of Police Lankershim was speaking.
    â€œAnd there’s something funny about this whole thing, Doc,” the official went on. “When Vane walked into my office an hour or two ago—well, I told you what happened, didn’t I?”
    The coroner’s gray eyebrows drew together. Level dark eyes scrutinized the jewel on Vane’s forehead as the medico nodded.
    â€œAbout Stohm? Yes. He confessed, didn’t he?”
    Lankershim expelled his breath with an angry sound. “He started to—answered every question I asked him. But he was so bruised up I sent him to the hospital for first and. And—now he’s dead.”
    â€œDead?”
    â€œPoisoned. I don’t know how. I’m checking up on the trustees and the internes. One of ‘em tied up with Pasqual, I know, and he managed to kill Stohm before the man could sign a confession. And now Vane—”
    Lankershim came into the lawyer’s range of vision. The hard, seamed face was very tired.
    â€œI feel sorry for the kid. Maybe he was framed, maybe he wasn’t. The cards were stacked against him, anyhow. And now he’s cooling on a slab—” The chief’s lips tightened. “Go ahead and find out what killed him, Doc. If I can pin this on Pasqual, so help me, I’ll send him to the chair.”
    A scalpel gleamed in the bright white glare. Vane felt a wave of hopeless sickness. His body