The voice of Squint and Paul Rodney became faintly audible over the whine of wind and the surge of water. "Hug the shore, Paul! Do, you think we can make
it?"
"Hug the shore, hell! Do you want us to pile up like a spilled box of matches on those damned rocks? Keep your head and leave this job to me. In five
minutes we'll hit smooth water and then - we're set!"
Rodney laughed hoarsely. Evidently he had some better scheme in mind than the hopeless task of trying to cross the Sound to the distant Long Island shore.
Squint's frightened yell justified The Shadow's deduction.
"Do you think we can make the cove okay?"
"You bet! Here's the headland now! We're slipping inside the breakwater!"
THE SHADOW could feel an instant change. The craft raced along without that horrible pitching and tossing that had threatened at any moment to capsize
it.
The motor stopped. The speedboat drifted slightly. Then there was a faint,
scraping bump. The Shadow had no idea of what was going on. He could see nothing, hidden by the bow of the boat and the enveloping covering of the water-drenched tarpaulin.
"What'll we do with the boat, Paul?" Squint whispered.
"Sink it, you fool! I'm gonna scuttle it, right now! We can't afford to be
traced to this cove. Out with you - jump!"
The boat heaved as a body jumped from the gunwale. The Shadow knew the craft was a long way from the shore of the cove. Nevertheless, there was no splash when Squint - if it was Squint - jumped.
Then there was another heave of The Shadow's marine prison. The Shadow lay
quietly where he was. Water began to run along his legs. He felt the boat fill rapidly. It began to settle.
Rodney had kept his word. He was scuttling the craft in the middle of the cove.
Still The Shadow remained quiet. He felt the water rise above his chin, his mouth. He tightened his lips, his lungs filled with air, and he waited coolly to go down with the sinking boat.
It happened almost instantly. There was a curious forward lurch, then a sickening plunge backward. The stern with its heavy engine slid below the surface. Water gurgled and roared in The Shadow's ears.
He whipped the tarpaulin away and stroked free of the sinking craft. His head broke the surface in the darkness. He could see a huge birdlike shape on the water and two men scrambling like ants along a broad wing. He knew now why Paul Rodney had been so confident of his ability to cross the Sound.
The thing was a seaplane!
Once more, The Shadow dived. His appearance on the surface had been only a
second's duration. He swam below the shadow of the seaplane; allowed himself to
drift upward between the flat, air-buoyed floats.
He was just in time. The plane's motor began to cough.
It deepened to a sullen roar. Like a darting bird, the seaplane swept in foam along the dark surface of the sheltered cove. It lifted with a swift jounce - then it was aloft, circling higher and higher in the air.
Underneath, clinging desperately to the taut supports that connected the wet pontoons, hung the twisting figure of The Shadow.
He had no time to jam his body into a secure spot. He was hanging straight
downward by only the power of his wrists and clenched hands. His legs described
a jerky arc in the air as he fought to keep himself from falling hundreds of feet to the lashing surface of the gale-torn water.
He managed to draw up one dangling leg and hook it precariously around the
slant of the support. Yet he was still in a dangerous position. He was hanging too far to the left of the center. The weight of his dangling body would become
noticeable to the murderers in the cockpit above him. The starboard wing was dipping. He'd have to move inch by inch toward the center - or have the crooks discover that they were carrying an extra passenger.
The Shadow's sliding right hand moved along the wet wire. It slipped, clutched wildly - closed on empty air!
CHAPTER XI
LUCKY KITTEN
IT seemed as if The Shadow were doomed. The only link between his dangling
body and the strut that joined the floats was the remaining grip of one desperately slipping hand. The sweep of the gale heeled the seaplane far over on a wing-tip.
The Shadow's body jerked dizzily back and forth over empty space. The gale
threatened to tear him loose and send him hurtling downward to death in the foaming water far below.
But the very fury of the gale was The Shadow's salvation. It threw him almost horizontally against the undercarriage, as he clung by one slipping hand
to the cross-support. His legs wound around a knobby strut. He held himself there, breathless, both hands clinging now with a death grip.
He was almost in the exact center of his dangerous hiding place. The tortured plane now roared straight through the windy darkness on an even keel.
The only threat to The Shadow's life was the occasional up and down plunge that
signalized the presence of air pockets. He withstood these sickening jerks, although once or twice it seemed as if his arms might be wrenched out of their sockets.
Both legs were firmly anchored. The Shadow managed to twist so that most of his body was above, and not below, the slippery length of the horizontal strut.
He felt the seaplane's speed slacken after a few minutes more of this nerve-racking skyride, and he stared watchfully ahead. The outline of the Long Island shore was dimly visible, rushing closer and closer with frightful speed.
The engine of the plane ceased its harsh droning. In long sweeping circles the plane descended.
It's goal was a small landlocked harbor that looked like the water entrance to a private estate. Sandy hills swept out from the shore, almost meeting in a narrow inlet. Water boiled and thundered outside the opening, but within the harbor the water was calm except for the flat rollers that raced toward the sandy beach.
The seaplane descended to the surface of this tiny harbor with a beautiful
glide. Evidently, Paul Rodney was a calm and resourceful pilot. He landed with a
smother of spray, swung the nose of the ship expertly around, and taxied toward
a building that proved to be a private marine hangar.
The seaplane drifted closer and closer to its entrance. Squint took a long
leap from the bobbing top of one of the floats and scrambled ashore. A moment later, the huge door of the hangar slid open by concealed machinery. Lights were visible, staining the black water with a glow like yellow daylight.
Rodney himself was furiously busy, working with tools on the wing-tips.
Squint joined him and both wings were folded back into place. The ship was now like a bird with clipped plumage. It was ready to drift through the water entrance of the hangar and be securely lashed to its snug mooring.
THE SHADOW saw only the latter part of these maneuvers. The landing of the
ship on the tiny bay had plunged him completely under water. He held on, his lips grimly closed against the bubbling flow of salt water until he felt the vibration overhead cease and knew that the seaplane had come to a halt.
Then he inverted his submerged body and made a deep surface dive.
The dive took him far away from the black shadow of the plane. When The Shadow's head broke the surface, he was close to a corner of the hangar. He lay
there in the glassy water, his face barely awash.
He didn't move until the heavy door of the hangar clanged shut, hiding from view the squat shape of the seaplane with its folded wings.