But with his departure, Lamont Cranston had also ended his identity for the time. The driver of the swift sedan that was swinging along beside the Mississippi was no longer a man who called himself Lamont Cranston.
Instead, that car was piloted by a mysterious being — a personage who was completely shrouded by the interior darkness of the front seat. Invisible hands clutched the wheel; those hands were incased in thin black gloves.
A pair of sharp eyes burned as they watched the turning road ahead. Those eyes alone marked the presence of the living being who was driving forth to a mysterious quest. The Shadow had dropped his assumed identity. His cloak upon his shoulders, his slouch hat upon his head — these garments had come from the little bag which the porter had brought downstairs.
The garb of The Shadow! Like a mantle of darkness, those black accouterments had transformed this personage into a mystic creature of the night. The Shadow, master of deduction, was riding onward to the spot where adventure lured.
Summoned by his agent’s messages, assured that lurking crime was soon to break, The Shadow had winged westward from New York, and on his way had not only made certain observations, but had recorded the scene upon the Mississippi.
Viewing the island itself, studying the photographs which he had taken, The Shadow had seen the situation which he was now to face. Simply and effectively, he had gained information which others had failed to obtain.
Three crooks on the isle of doubt; Harvey Wendell, investigating from the old plantation; Harry Vincent on watch, awaiting the arrival of The Shadow. These were the elements of the situation which The Shadow was prepared to meet.
With it all, The Shadow possessed a strange, unanticipated advantage. From the air, The Shadow had seen. The results of his findings would soon be put to the test.
For when The Shadow sees, The Shadow knows!
CHAPTER XI. BEFORE DAWN
THE big sedan came to a stop. A foggy drizzle had arisen; its heaviness above the road indicated the proximity of the Mississippi. Yet the mist-blanketed headlights showed a dirt road that led from the main highway toward the direction of the river.
A soft laugh came from unseen lips. This was evidently a spot for which The Shadow had been watching.
The driver of the sedan twisted the wheel, and the big car moved slowly along the dirt road.
The course of the byway twisted slightly to the left. It ran through thick woods until it came to a small, stump-filled clearing. On the right, visible between the trees; was a thick mass of fog — a phenomenon which indicated the Mississippi.
Picking a spot between trees on the land side of the clearing, The Shadow drove his car directly into the forest. The wheels rose as they slowly passed over large stones; the radiator and fenders plowed through bushes that snapped back like whipcords. The car came to a stop, completely hidden among the thick foliage. The door opened. Something jostled as an object was removed from the back seat.
The clearing was a spot of Stygian blackness when an invisible figure picked its way between the stumps.
Fog and night were no detriments to The Shadow. The master’s goal was the brink of the river. He gained it and deposited a large, soft burden upon the sloping bank.
This place which The Shadow had chosen was a spot which had been partly cleared to serve as a landing, then had been abandoned. It had shown on the aerial photograph. It could not be seen from the river, yet it was only a quarter mile below the blackened island which was now invisible in the thick fog.
A tiny flashlight glimmered. The eyes of The Shadow gazed upon the long canvas roll. This was the object that The Shadow had carried from the sedan. Black-gloved hands set to work in the darkness. At intervals, the light shone as a guide to the next step.
These intermittent flickers revealed The Shadows actions. The end of the bag came open. Out from it slid a round-shaped object that appeared to be a rubber mat with an outer edge that resembled nothing more than a flattened inner tube.
A small compressed-air tank came into momentary view. The light went out, and a hissing sound marked the passage of air into a receiving valve. When the flashlight’s rays reappeared, the circled margin of the rubber mat had become a tightly inflated wall. The light gleamed upon the canvas bag; the tank slid out of sight, and a blackened hand produced a stubby, wide-bladed paddle.
The glare showed toward the river bank. The air-walled contrivance slipped into the stream. Out went the light, as a form stepped into the peculiar craft. The paddle swished in the water. A slight rippling sound continued.
Enshrouded by fog and darkness, The Shadow was venturing forth upon the broad Mississippi, traveling in a collapsible rubber boat which he had inflated for this purpose.
THE river, here, was placid. The blanketing mist seemed to have a lulling effect, as The Shadow propelled his special boat upstream. The current was almost negligible, for the boat was nearing the protecting shelter of the isle of doubt.
Away from the shore, the little craft was as lost as if it had been in the center of a wide sea. Not a semblance of a river bank was visible. There were no marks by which The Shadow could guide his course; yet the steady strokes kept on, as though controlled by well-designed purpose.
Stroke after stroke, The Shadow had paddled far enough to gain the lower end of the island; still, there was no sign of bog and reeds.
There could be but one answer. The Shadow had kept an uncannily accurate course close to the main bank. He was wide of the splotchy marsh which projected from the isle.
The circular boat began to spin. It swung to the right. Paddle strokes were inaudible. The blade never left the water; its return motion was an edgeways action. The boat seemed to glide of its own volition, making its uncanny way through the water.
Then came scraping sounds; the scratching of reeds after a cross-river course. The boat was in shallow water, its flat bottom skimming the oozing mud beneath.
Like a giant specter of darkness, a huge bulk loomed in the fog. The tiny boat came to a whirling stop; a sure hand caught a broken timber. The Shadow, picking his way with incredible precision, had reached the wreck of the River Queen!
Shortly afterward, the tiny rays of the flashlight manifested themselves. The glow was no larger than a silver dollar. The guarded gleam was pointed downward. It showed upon the rotting deck of the derelict.
Within a hundred yards of the isle of doubt, The Shadow was beginning a tour of exploration.
Why had he chosen the boat instead of the island? Did The Shadow intend to use this derelict as his headquarters, before he looked in upon the crooks who were stationed on the isle of doubt? Or was there some secret purpose in The Shadow’s visit here?
Only The Shadow knew the answer.
The glimmer of the flashlight — ever guarded — came at infrequent intervals. It moved with the unexpected changes of a firefly’s course, twinkling here, then there, as its owner made his progress along the decks.
At last the light vanished. When it shone again, the rays were less guarded. The Shadow had entered the interior of the ship.
The gleams of the flashlight showed deserted cabins, they revealed the interior of a large, empty hold.
They came at last to a room that was filled with large contrivances of rusted metal — the boiler room of the River Queen.
The flashlight swept in all directions. The lower floor of the boiler room showed murky water. The list of the old ship was apparent. Standing upon a flat platform at the lower side, The Shadow scanned the inner wall of the ship. The light fell upon a battered doorway that denoted an exit to the submerged lower deck of the River Queen.