Stirred by the same breeze, the surface of Lake Calada was rolling wavelets in toward Claremont's shore, slowing the progress of the canoe.
Harry and his two companions had agreed to hug the shore very closely, and it was difficult, considering the choppy water, which frequently threatened to beach their craft too soon.
Carradon grumbled about it, claiming that they might be too late to trap Scorpio, but Rundon reassured him. The professor couldn't approach Claremont's by daylight; therefore, at best, he would still be on his way.
In Rundon's opinion, the waves helped matters. They would be an excuse for Cranston to keep the sheriff's boats well off Claremont's shore.
Beaching the canoe near Claremont's dock, the three men moved along the tree-shrouded frontage, guiding themselves by the starlight that had replaced the afterglow above the mountains.
Satisfied that no other boats had been here, they spread, working their way up toward the bungalow well back on the gently rising slope.
The building looked very small from the water because of the wide woods surrounding it, but its sprawling shape enlarged at close range. Evidently, Claremont had built on a larger scale than most persons supposed; but none of his neighbors had ever visited him, to find out what his residence was like.
Converging near a porch that jutted from the bungalow front, the three men held low conversation.
Rundon pointed toward the lake, black through the wavering trees, to little lights that dotted the waters.
"The sheriff's boats," he undertoned. "Cranston's keeping them well out."
There were echoes of a spurting motor from the flotilla. One batch of lights headed down the lake; soon, another followed. Rundon chuckled softly.
"He's giving them the runaround, too," he said. "A good stunt, having them anchor off this shore as if by chance. If Scorpio sees those lights, he won't suspect trouble. They're thinning out very neatly."
ACTUALLY, The Shadow was keeping the boats on the move, much to the mystification of Sheriff Kirk, who wondered what was in Cranston's mind. The sheriff had a lot to be puzzled about, because he wasn't in one of the motorboats at all.
With Cranston, the sheriff was floating in a very curious craft, that bobbed like a coracle upon the black waves. The thing was big and round, like an enormous automobile tire, and its bottom was nothing but a thin layer of rubber.
The Shadow had inflated this rubber boat with a pump attached to a motor. He and the sheriff had left the few remaining boats in the anchored flotilla and were floating in toward Claremont's wharf. The sheriff noted that Cranston was guiding the craft with a short paddle.
He noted, too, that the sides of the rubbery nest were quilted, but did not realize that they consisted of compartments. In those secret pockets were the guise that The Shadow favored-black cloak, hat, and gloves, that could render him invisible when he reached the shore.
They reached the dock. The rubber coracle made no sounds as it grazed. The only noise was the soft whispering of the tree boughs, high above. Then the sheriff undertoned:
"Say! This is Claremont's dock. The old boy showed up today. He's kind of fussy about people using it."
"In that case," came Cranston's calm suggestion, "we can go ashore."
The sheriff went ashore, and was scratching his head when Cranston joined him.
"Claremont wouldn't like this, either."
"Is he likely to be strolling around, sheriff?"
"Not him," returned Kirk. "Fresh air poisons that old fossil. He'll be in his bungalow, maybe with a fire lighted."
"If the bungalow is up the slope," decided The Shadow, in Cranston's deliberate fashion, "it would be just the place from which we could properly watch the boats."
"But if Claremont hears us-"
"You can tell him why we're here. As sheriff, you have the necessary authority. But if we ascend carefully, without lights, Claremont will neither see nor hear us."
The sheriff hadn't been informed of Claremont's threat against visitors this night. He merely considered Claremont to be an old crab, who would listen to reason after having his say. With Cranston, who was carefully muffling a flashlight in something that hung across his arm, the sheriff moved toward the bungalow.
Halfway there, the sheriff stopped short and gripped Cranston's arm, but not the one that held the cloak.
"Hear that?" he whispered.
The Shadow heard it-a distant clang, that ended with a slight rattle. He pretended not to know the cause; so the sheriff explained it.
"There's a picket fence along the property line. Somebody's climbing over it, Cranston!"
Ready to throw aside caution, the sheriff pulled gun and flashlight. The Shadow stayed him, undertoning a warning in the sheriff's ear.
"It would be better to approach the bungalow," advised The Shadow. "I have heard that Percy Claremont is expecting a visitor this evening."
"A visitor?" came the sheriff's echoed whisper. "Who could it be?"
The time for subterfuge was past. In the midst of that strange, whispery darkness The Shadow spoke two words, that told the sheriff all he needed. Enough to spur the sheriff to any action that Cranston might suggest.
The Shadow's calm words were:
"Professor Scorpio!"
CHAPTER XIX. DEATH'S TRAIL.
THE three men at the cabin had heard the slight clang from the fence. Rundon, always ingenious, was the first to suggest a plan that would suit the situation.
"We've got to cover all doors," he told the others. "Whichever of us sees Scorpio enter must inform the others. He'll probably come out the way he's going in."
Creeping upon the porch, Rundon tried the front door and whispered down to the others:
"It's locked, but maybe Scorpio has a key. I'll stick here, while you pick other places."
At the side, Harry and Carradon found another door. It was locked, but Carradon covered it, while Harry went on to the rear. Finding a back door, The Shadow's agent tried it, discovered that it was locked, too.
Dropping back, Harry waited. Judging the distance to the side fence, he decided that Scorpio would reach the bungalow very soon.
Then, from within the house, Harry heard slight creaks. He decided that they must mean Claremont, for he was sure that the wealthy recluse was at home, even though the venturers had seen no lights.
The creaks traveled eerily, almost like one of Scorpio's spooks. Harry thought he heard them from two separate quarters.
Maybe it was his imagination. It had been proven that persons who saw two lake monsters had seen the same one twice, but had been fooled by its speed. There was argument, too, about the time of Barcla's capture; deputies claimed that they had spotted the bobbing ghost near one side of Grendale's house, while the rest had been spying Barcla at the other side.
But there was no mistake about the creaks. Momentarily, Harry heard both sets at once; knew that two men must be in the house. There was a fourth door, probably, or a convenient window through which Scorpio had crept. The professor was meeting Percy Claremont.
Edging off, Harry decided to find the entrance place and report back to Rundon and Carradon. Before he had gone a dozen steps, the indoor creaks were ended. Other tokens replaced them. Things that came with fearful suddenness.
A light gleamed through a shaded window. There was a sudden cackle, in Claremont's high-pitched voice. Scuffling sounds, followed by the hard thwack of a club, that must be Claremont's walking stick.
Then, a triumphant shout in a voice that Harry knew too welclass="underline" the tone of Professor Scorpio!
Hard upon that shout came two reports from a revolver, splitting sounds, that seemed to quiver the atmosphere. Before he could get to a door, Harry heard the smash of another barrier; then a terrific clatter, as an entire window was ripped from its frame.