Maxwell Grant
The Golden Grotto
CHAPTER I
THE GOLD SHIP
“CLICK — click — click — click—”
Clyde Burke’s ears were alert as they caught the coded rattling. His hand, resting unseen within the book that he was reading, jotted down the dots and dashes that his ears were hearing.
Without moving his head, Clyde turned his eyes across the smoking room of the steamship Patagonia, and detected the source of the message. A poker player, his back toward Burke, was idly lifting and dropping a stack of chips that rested on the table beside him. Clyde could see the up-and-down motion of the man’s fingers.
“Click — click — click — click — click—”
Clyde’s hand was still busy, but his gaze was moving to other sections of the room. Somewhere, he knew, a man was receiving the message which the other was sending.
Clyde’s stealthy glances were rewarded. Two men, seated opposite each other on the side of the smoking room nearest the door, were rising as with one accord. One swallowed a half-finished drink; then the two strolled from the smoking room.
The clicking had ceased. Casually, Clyde Burke closed his book, tucked it under his arm, and arose from his chair. He paused to light a cigarette; then walked leisurely across the room, and stepped through the door that led to the deck.
THE Patagonia was driving steadily through a placid sea. Only the easy, even rise of the slow swell imparted other motion to the steamship. Although an old vessel, and of comparatively light tonnage beside more modern liners, the Patagonia was making excellent headway on this last night at sea.
The coolness of the sea air was sufficient excuse for Clyde Burke to lean against the rail and slowly turn his gaze toward the bow of the ship.
Had the two men who had left still been walking along the stretch of deck, Clyde would easily have spotted them. As it was, the observer saw that the deck was clear. There was only one inference. The men had entered the opening to the stairway that led to the deck below.
Clyde Burke drew away from the rail and took the course that he knew the others must have traveled. He reached the stairway and descended. He stopped at the door of the main saloon, and watched the dance that was in progress. He saw no sign of the two who had gone ahead.
Wending his way along a corridor, Clyde reached the door of his stateroom. He entered and closed the door behind him. Seating himself at a small table, Clyde opened the book which he carried, and transcribed the coded dots and dashes to a sheet of paper.
The message was undecipherable. The man who had sent it had evidently been using a code known only to himself and to those who were meant to receive it.
Clyde Burke arose, a serious expression upon his face. He flipped his cigarette through the open porthole; then walked quietly to the door and listened cautiously. Satisfied that no one was in the corridor outside, Clyde returned to the table and began to make penciled notations.
Ostensibly, Clyde Burke was a freelance journalist who had found it profitable to act as a newspaper correspondent in England and France. His presence on this boat appeared of no special significance. A young man, quiet in demeanor, and watchful rather than loquacious, Clyde had the ability to render himself inconspicuous.
Privately, however, Clyde Burke followed an occupation quite different than that which he openly professed. His voyage as a passenger on the Patagonia, now bound from Southampton to New York, was not being made in the interests of journalism.
In fact, Clyde was particularly anxious not to encounter unusual news items during the journey. For Clyde Burke was acting as an agent for The Shadow!
A few weeks ago, Clyde recalled, he had been in London, picking up news suitable for cable dispatches. Then shortly before the Patagonia had sailed from Southampton, Clyde had received a special order from The Shadow to embark as a regular passenger upon this particular boat.
There had been no question about the purpose of his mission. Reaching in his pocket, Clyde drew forth the important item that concerned it. This was a newspaper clipping, which read:
GOLD SHIPMENT FOR UNITED STATES
A shipment of gold said to exceed $2,000,000 in value has been scheduled for transport on the S. S. Patagonia. Detailed information has been withheld, but it is assumed in financial circles that the shipment involves a transfer of private funds. With the prevailing rates of exchange adverse to shipment of gold from England to the United States, this constitutes the first considerable transfer that has occurred within the past twelve months.
The printed paragraph was filled with meaning for Clyde Burke. As a newspaperman, he knew that a gold shipment of approximately two millions would not ordinarily be mentioned on the front page of a New York newspaper. Under present conditions, however, such a transaction became news.
Moreover, it was not usual to announce a shipment of precious metal so far in advance of the sailing date. This clipping had come to Clyde, in London, several days before the Patagonia had been due to sail.
Private funds — so the dispatch stated. There, again, lay an unusual factor. Such gold would not go through the regular precautionary measures adopted with specie that represented transactions between governments of large financial interests.
In brief, this dispatch was more than a simple news item. It was an open announcement to the world at large that a valuable sum in gold would be on the high seas at a certain date, accessible to any and all who might possess the nerve and ingenuity to seize it!
IN his dual occupation as newspaperman and agent for The Shadow, Clyde Burke had learned much regarding the boldness of international crooks. He knew that the criminal rings of New York, London, and Paris overlapped whenever occasion demanded. This dispatch should never have been made public. It was virtually a challenge to the skill of crookdom!
The steamship company, like the newspapers, had overlooked the possible results that might occur from the unwise dispatch.
Gold shipments had been transported before. An ocean liner, it would seem, must be the safest possible place for gold to be — so far as theft was concerned. But in this instance, the transfer was a set-up — should any one devise a means to take advantage of it.
Gold on the high seas — the shippers unworrying, the authorities out of the picture. After all, there was safety in the fact that it would require a supercrook to plan a way to seize the millions. The chances were a hundred to one that no attempt would be made to gain the gold; but where others were content to play with the ninety-nine chances, there was one man who chose the hundredth.
The Shadow!
He was the mysterious being of darkness who fought crime with an iron hand — the master mind who called the turn before the schemes of fiends could reach their culmination.
A lone avenger whose very identity was a mystery, The Shadow saw the signs of approaching evil with unerring foresight.
Through his agents — trusted men who, themselves, were ignorant of The Shadow’s actual personality — this master of detection felt the pulse throbs of lawlessness, and maintained a constant vigil against impending crime.
As The Shadow’s secret agent, Clyde Burke was now watching doings on this ship, ready to send an urgent message, should he see the slightest chance of trouble on the Patagonia.
So far, Clyde had carefully obeyed instructions. He had looked for suspicious characters, paying particular attention to any traces of collusion existing between passengers upon the liner.
Until tonight, Clyde had encountered nothing during the uneventful voyage; but his instructions from The Shadow had warned him to be particularly alert as the ship neared the coast of the United States.