“To be, in turn, isolated by a new activity of the river,” smiled Levis. “The Mississippi is a stern master, Mr. Vincent. Nevertheless, your plan has merit. But why centralize on Saunders Landing? There are other spots along the river that have the same potential.”
“I should like to locate them,” remarked Harry.
“I can aid you,” returned Levis. “Remain here a while, if you wish. I have a motor boat which you can use. Short trips up and down the river may enable you to find the type of land which you consider.”
“Excellent!” exclaimed Harry. “I thank you for your invitation, Mr. Levis. I do not wish to impose upon you, however—”
“You will not be doing so,” interposed the old gentleman. “On the contrary, Mr. Vincent, I shall be pleased to enjoy your company. That is the one thing I lack — companionship. Wendell, my secretary, is a methodical sort of fellow, who seems to be overburdened with the many loose threads of my business interests. Hadley is engaged in putting the plantation into shape. I am alone a great deal of the time.”
“Do you have many men upon the plantation?”
“Yes, but in the daytime, only. They are working under Hadley’s direction. Later, we shall house them on the premises. Eventually, Mr. Vincent, I may be living the life of an old-time planter.”
“Interesting,” observed Harry.
The conversation continued. Weston Levis talked of his business career, while Harry Vincent stared occasionally down the river toward the spot where the tilted wreck of the River Queen showed beside the isle of doubt.
All the while, Harry was engaged in speculation. Levis had remarked that Harry’s visit here was an odd one. The statement was merited. Having given a satisfactory answer, Harry was now considering the old man’s presence. Perhaps there was a special reason why Levis, too, had chosen this isolated spot.
One statement might furnish the clew. Levis, according to his own declaration, had not chosen this plantation for retirement. His secretary, Harvey Wendell, had been responsible for the acquisition of the estate. Had Wendell had a purpose in picking this lone spot?
Harry realized that he must meet the secretary soon. Therefore, he sought to establish himself as completely as possible with Weston Levis, in anticipation of Wendell’s arrival.
Their beverages finished, Levis offered to show Harry the plantation. The two men strolled out to the veranda. Levis spied Harry’s grip where Hadley had placed it beside a pillar. The old man ordered a servant to take the bag to a guest room. It was evident that Levis had been sincere in his statement.
HADLEY joined the two men as they strolled toward another clearing. Afternoon was waning, and the quiet lull of the Mississippi seemed to pervade the atmosphere. Weston Levis, courteous and benign, had accepted Harry Vincent as a friend. Hadley, too, expressed a genial attitude.
Harry realized that he had fallen into luck. He saw the motor boat as he neared the cove with his companions, and knew that with this craft at his disposal, he would have every advantage in covering the river district. Weston Levis, a retired business man, and Hadley, a hard-working overseer, would never suspect that Harry was here for a purpose other than the one he had represented.
As chance had it, Weston Levis pointed out the wreck of the old steamship down the river. Harry Vincent remarked that he had seen the River Queen when traveling up the Mississippi.
“The boat has been there for many years,” said Levis. “I remember the old packet when she first went aground. I have often traveled the Mississippi by steamboat.”
A clanging bell announced the dinner hour. Harry Vincent accompanied Weston Levis into the house.
They had scarcely seated themselves before a figure appeared in the doorway. Looking up, Harry caught the stare of a stocky, dark-haired man whose face was firm and challenging.
“Ah! Wendell!” exclaimed Levis pleasantly. “I want you to meet Mr. Vincent — a real-estate man from New York. He intends to stay with us a while.”
Harry had risen from the table. Wendell advanced and thrust out a hand. Harry returned a powerful, viselike grip. Harvey Wendell took a chair and joined the others at their meal. Weston Levis chatted for a short time, then seemed to weary. Wendell took up the conversation.
“So real estate is your business?” he inquired of Harry. “Well, without disappointing you, I’ll tell you that you’ve picked a bad section.”
There was challenge in the man’s words; challenge in his tone; challenge in his very attitude. All the ease that Harry had gained now changed to cool caution. There was something in Wendell’s manner that evidenced doubt as to the authenticity of Harry’s claims.
“Lots of queer ideas about the Mississippi,” continued Wendell, “but I never heard of a real-estate promoter figuring this location worth while.”
Harry knew that the man was baiting him. He realized, also, that Wendell was a type of individual too shrewd to serve merely as a secretary to a retired business man.
A glance toward Weston Levis convinced Harry that the old man was completely used to Wendell’s brusque manner. Harry could now see a hidden motive in the secretary’s action of urging Levis to purchase this plantation.
Was there a connection between Harvey Wendell and the island down the river? Harry could not guess.
It was possible, he thought, that Wendell was an adventurer who had gained a foot-hold in the management of Weston Levis’ affairs, and simply resented the appearance of any one who might suspect what he was doing. That would account for Wendell’s urging Levis to come to this secluded spot.
At the same time, the proximity of the island which Harry believed was the goal of three crooks, might be more than mere coincidence. According to the word that Harry had received from The Shadow, Zach Telvin, an escaped convict, was leading Possum Quill and Lefty Hotz to that isle. Could Wendell be a secret pal of Zach’s?
Speculation — that was all. In The Shadow’s service, Harry had learned to deal with facts, not fancies. He ceased his meandering and concentrated upon Harvey Wendell. The secretary was bringing up the subject of real estate.
Weston Levis owned property in the East. Wendell had classified the old man’s deeds and titles; he referred to them now as he conversed with Harry. Under apparent desire to learn of property values, Wendell was sounding out the visitor’s knowledge of real estate.
Harry Vincent suspected the ruse. He handled the situation well. It was Harry’s business to play parts.
His knowledge of real estate was genuine; in fact, Harry had credentials in his grip, should they be required. He answered every question that Wendell put forward. Nevertheless, the secretary’s suspicion still remained in evidence.
AFTER dinner, the three men went into the large front room. They sat in mild light, smoking cigars. Harry Vincent, facing toward the window, could see the moon-bathed Mississippi, with the isle of doubt a blackened outline upon its surface. The wreck of the River Queen was also visible, like a tiny satellite beside a larger orb.
Casually, Harry discussed his plans for the morrow. He was the one who put the questions now. He asked about properties along the river. Weston Levis called upon his secretary to answer.
“You found this plantation, Wendell,” remarked the old man. “Tell Mr. Vincent about some of the other places in this vicinity.”
“Nothing much to talk about,” returned Wendell gruffly. “There are other old plantations — but they’re all tumble-down. The best way to find them is to cruise along the river bank, and look for old landings. Every landing means houses inshore.”