“That will be my occupation to-morrow,” decided Harry. “Mr. Levis has promised me the use of his motor boat. I appreciate the favor, for it will enable me to cover this territory very effectively.”
Harvey Wendell went out of the room in order to go over the day’s account sheets. Hadley came in, chatted a few minutes, and went upstairs. Weston Levis, laughingly remarking that he was classed as an invalid, decided that his bedtime had arrived.
“Finish your cigar, Vincent,” he said. “You know where your room is located.”
“I’ll be turning in very shortly,” replied Harry. “That trip up the Mississippi made me sleepy.”
After Levis had gone, Harry strolled to the veranda. He finished his cigar while he stared down the river toward the isle of doubt. When he turned toward the screen door of the plantation house, Harry was momentarily startled to see a man standing within the transparent barrier. It was Harvey Wendell.
“Turning in?” queried the secretary.
“Yes,” answered Harry.
Wendell pushed the door open.
“I’ll be hitting the hay myself,” he said, “after I get the correspondence done.” He pointed across the hall to a small room where Harry saw a desk, filing cabinet, and portable typewriter. Wendell strolled to the door of the room. A smile appeared upon his sallow face as he bade the visitor good night.
HARRY VINCENT’S room was at the back of the second floor. A short cleared space, then woods — that was all Harry could see from the window.
After retiring, Harry began to wonder further about the part that Harvey Wendell might be playing.
Cautiously, The Shadow’s agent tiptoed from his room and reached the head of the stairs.
He could barely hear the intermittent tapping of the typewriter. The noise ceased; then began again.
Harry continued to listen. The typing ended. Harry heard the door of the little office open.
Peering from a corner of the stairs, he saw Harvey Wendell come from the downstairs room. The man paused in the hallway and stared toward the steps. Harry kept out of sight.
The screen door clicked slightly. Again peering, Harry saw the secretary go out to the veranda. The screen closed. Harry waited. Had Wendell remained upon the porch, or was he going elsewhere?
A hall window opened at the front of the house. Harry stole in that direction. He glanced from the second-floor window. At first he saw nothing but the dim glow of moonlight. Then his eyes were attracted by a moving object.
Harvey Wendell was moving across the clearing. The man had nearly reached the opposite side when Harry saw him. As The Shadow’s agent watched, he observed Wendell enter the clump of woods.
The secretary did not reappear.
Listening, Harry fancied that he detected the sound of rattling oarlocks. Silence followed. Minutes dragged. Harry Vincent returned to his room.
The Shadow’s agent was now convinced that Harvey Wendell was playing some secret role. In all probability, neither old Levis nor Hadley suspected it. That would make Harry’s task all the easier.
Harry Vincent had become acquainted with the people at the old plantation.
From now on, he could begin his investigations of the isle of doubt. But the island, alone, would not be Harry’s only object.
The Shadow’s agent was determined to keep a secret watch upon the actions of Harvey Wendell.
Perhaps, through them, he could discover a clew to cross motives which had entered this field of hidden crime.
Not for one moment, however, did Harry forget the need for caution. His part was that of secret investigator. He was merely the aid who prepared the way for the coming of the one who could solve the mystery that enshrouded these spots along the Mississippi.
With the advent of The Shadow, the schemes of skulking crooks would soon be learned, and the hidden motives of Wendell would also be discovered.
These were convictions in Harry Vincent’s mind as the young man returned to his darkened room, and sat in silence, wondering how soon Wendell, the prowler, would return.
CHAPTER VIII. ON THE ISLAND
LATE the next afternoon, Harry Vincent stepped from a rickety pier into the little motor boat which he had tied there a few hours before. He pushed the craft into the stream, and headed outward toward the vast flow of the Mississippi. The motor boat began its chugging progress up the river.
Harry’s plans were working well. The pier which he had just left was several miles below the old Saunders Landing. Harry had traveled a considerable distance — with calculated effect.
At a railroad station a mile back from the river, he had found a telegraph office. He had sent a communication to New York. It told of Harry’s temporary residence at Levis’ plantation, and mentioned the distance above the island which Harry suspected to be the isle of doubt.
Weston Levis was not expecting Harry back until late. Hence, The Shadow’s agent did not hurry his boat as he forced it against the heavy Mississippi current. Twilight was approaching, and Harry was timing his progress in anticipation of darkness.
Twinkling lights had appeared at spaces along the river banks when Harry Vincent sighted the black hulk of the island. The River Queen was barely visible off the shore. Harry softened the tone of the motor, and by the time he had neared the island, his boat was scarcely more than a gliding speck lost upon the darkened surface of the river.
Harry shut off the motor entirely. He took an oar and used it as a paddle, edging the boat forward in the still water just below the isle. He was out of the current; the little craft responded to Harry’s muffled strokes.
Smoothly, Harry docked the motor boat beside an overhanging bank. He tied the mooring rope to a sapling, and stepped ashore. A few minutes later, he was lost in the cover of the woods.
Darkness was thick; nevertheless, Harry managed to make stealthy and effective progress. He guided his steps just within the fringe of trees. Slight light from the space above the river enabled him to pick his way along the shore.
This island was not wide. Harry intended to circle it, keeping close watch toward the interior. He hoped that he would be able to spy anything unusual that might lie in the center of the isle.
It was not long before he made a lucky discovery. Harry’s footsteps crunched upon a flattened gravelly patch of earth. Harry had stumbled upon the remains of a forgotten path which led in from the shore of the island.
Harry followed the path. It ended in a thicket.
Carefully pushing his way through the brush, Harry found himself close beside the wall of a deserted house. This was a lucky discovery. If men were hiding upon the island, they might be using the building for their headquarters. If, instead, they preferred the woods, the house could serve as Harry’s place of outlook.
CREEPING along the wall, Harry turned to the rear of the house which jutted back into the woods.
After a few paces, he stopped short. A tiny glimmer of light was coming from a rear window.
On hands and knees, Harry reached a spot below the window. A patch of light was visible here. Harry slowly raised his head and peered through a crack between two boards which blocked the window.
Three men were seated in the room; two upon the floor, one on an old bench which constituted the sole article of furniture in the kitchen of the abandoned house. The oil lantern which provided illumination was resting upon the bench beside the man who was seated there.
As Harry Vincent stared, he recognized every one of the roughly clad trio. The man on the bench was Possum Quill. On the floor was Lefty Hotz; beside him, the visitor who had come to the room at the Hotel Slater. This was the man whom The Shadow had identified as Zach Telvin, the escaped convict.