Immediately visible to the watchers a mile away, the effect of this strange happening became known to those on the Patagonia a minute or two later.
It came as a startling surprise to Clyde Burke, one of the few passengers who was awake. Lounging in the smoking room, watching the card game that was still in progress, Clyde heard the sudden clang of bells and the jolt in the liner’s easy speed that heralded the fact that something was amiss.
Restraining his eagerness, Clyde watched the men at the table. He saw them glance at one another in feigned consternation; then, with one accord, they pushed their chips aside and started for the deck.
Clyde followed.
MEN were dashing along the deck toward the stern of the ship. Clyde could see the whirl of smoke pouring from that direction. His first belief was that the ship had taken fire; that the crew of the Patagonia was faced with the greatest danger that can be encountered at sea.
Then, as the deck was cleared of running seamen, Clyde noticed that the men from the smoking room were heading in the opposite direction. In a flash, he realized what had happened.
The ship was not on fire — although the crew believed it to be. Some persons — confederates of those in the smoking room — had loosed smoke bombs at the stern of the ship. They had produced the perfect effect of smoldering flames coming suddenly to life. The semblance of a terrific holocaust had brought all hands to aid.
Four men were rushing forward to the part of the ship that the crew had deserted — their goal the purser’s office on the deck below! There, protected in a vault, were the millions in gold!
Seeing the invaders turn into a companionway, Clyde followed and ran beyond the spot where they had left the deck. He knew that they were going down the inner stairway, so he chose the outer steps that led from deck to deck. A minute later, he found himself outside the companionway on the deck below. There, crouching by the rail, Clyde stared inward.
The four invaders had reached the purser’s office. Clyde could see them accosting the man in uniform. The ship’s officer was suddenly thrust aside, and the men plunged into the office. At the same moment, other faces appeared at the opposite companionway.
Fully a dozen men were engaged in the attack. Those who had loosed the smoke bombs had hurried forward and waited in hiding until most of the crew had scurried past toward the stern.
A pistol shot sounded within the purser’s office. Other shots fired. The uniformed man came tumbling headlong and sprawled motionless upon the floor. His sudden attempt to resist the invaders had brought him death.
Where was The Shadow?
Clyde Burke had been confident that in some way his chief would have acted to thwart this scheme. Clyde’s appointed task had been to warn; then to await The Shadow’s bidding. In desperation, Clyde turned his gaze across the rail, and a sudden exultation swept over him.
Speeding noiselessly toward the side of the ship was a long, sharp-prowed motor boat that seemed like a monster of the deep. It was swinging to the side of the Patagonia, its lowlying deck scarcely visible in the dark water.
Leaning over the rail, Clyde signaled with his arms. He was sure that rescuers had come. He fancied that he saw an answering wave from the dark cockpit of the boat as it drew alongside the liner.
Then Clyde turned as he heard footsteps behind him. A dark-faced man rushed through the companionway and sprang to the rail, ten feet away. So intent was this arrival that he did not notice Clyde Burke’s presence. Watching, Clyde saw the man signal to the boat below. He heard a shrill whistle and an answering response from beneath.
THE man turned away from the rail and saw Clyde Burke standing by. In that instant, Clyde knew the truth. The motor boat below had not brought The Shadow. Instead, it was manned by men who were in league with those who had attacked the purser’s office!
Those in the motor boat had taken Clyde for a friend; the man on the deck, however, recognized him as an enemy. A revolver gleamed as the swarthy man leaped forward.
Clyde, however, was already in action. In his pocket was an automatic; but it was too late to reach for the pistol. Instead, Clyde leaped forward and swung a staggering punch to his opponent’s face.
The man went down sidewise from the blow, and Clyde fell upon him. He wrested the revolver from his enemy’s grasp, hurled the man along the deck, and made a mad dash toward the companionway that led to the purser’s office.
Boom!
The sullen sound of a muffled explosion made the deck tremble. Men burst forth from the companionway. They had blown the vault in the purser’s office.
Clyde Burke stopped short, face to face with half a dozen ruffians. The nearest raised a revolver, but Clyde fired before the man could shoot. The enemy went down, and Clyde, knowing that he could not stand against the others, made a mad scramble along the deck, reaching the safety of a stateroom door just as avenging shots swept the deck behind him.
Had these opponents made a mass attack, they could have overpowered Clyde in his temporary entrenchment. Instead, they remained at the companionway, firing pot shots. Along the deck came members of the crew, brought hither by the sound of the explosion in the purser’s office.
Revolver shots burst forth. Those defending the doorway were forced back into safety. The armed crew swept on. Clyde, accepted as an ally, joined them. They reached the entrance from which the enemy had withdrawn.
The scene was deserted; except at the head of the stairway, where three determined men opened a devastating fire that dropped half a dozen in the rescuing crew.
For a moment, Clyde Burke thought that the men of the Patagonia had arrived in time to thwart the attempt on the gold. But as the men at the head of the stairs fled downward, and the crew members reached the door of the purser’s office, the empty interior of the blown vault told the true story of the daring crime!
“The gold! The gold!” cried Clyde, turning to the men beside him. “They’re carrying it below! To the boat—”
His revelation came to a sudden end. Clyde’s words had been heard by the men withdrawing down the stairs. A daring sniper came suddenly into view and fired. Clyde toppled as a bullet struck his shoulder.
The man who had fired was pressing the trigger for a more certain shot to end the life of the informer; but the one shot was his last. Half a dozen of the crew responded to his bold attack. The man fell, riddled by bullets, and rolled down the stairway.
Men were bending over Clyde Burke. Others were pursuing the enemy who had retreated down the stairway. Clyde was gasping, trying to explain what he knew. He realized that he, alone, had seen the approach of the motor boat along the side.
“They — they’ve got the gold,” blurted Clyde. “Down — down through the ship — little boat — at the side—”
With an effort, he staggered to his feet and broke toward the doorway to the deck. The other men hurried after him. Clyde fell against the rail, and pointed downward with his uninjured arm. Below lay the little boat, now clearly outlined. White faces were staring upward from the cockpit.
BEFORE Clyde’s companions could act, they saw a sheet of metal swing outward from the side of the Patagonia. A coal hatch had been opened from within. A long, flat sack swung out, and hands came up to receive it.
A gold sack!
A horde of ruffians had carried the gold below, while their companions had blocked the rear. Members of the crew had been bribed to aid them. The gold was going out through this opening into the waiting speed boat!
The men beside Clyde began to fire. Their scattered shots ended quickly. Clyde fell back with them as the rattle of a machine gun sounded from the motor boat below. With quick staccato, bullets drilled the side of the rail where the crew had been.