This represented the center point of the old steamboat — the spot where the derelict was most firmly implanted, according to the photograph that The Shadow had so carefully studied. The water that had flooded the lower portion of the boiler room had not trickled through this route, although the old door was by no means watertight. The leakage had come from broken timbers beneath.
The narrow deck beyond that door was unquestionably buried in the mud that had formed about the lower side of the old ship. There was a similar opening on the other side of the boiler room; following the raised floor, The Shadow reached that point, and opened a broken barrier. The flashlight glimmered through the heavy fog; the rays showed mucky, reed-filled water several feet below.
THIS was an outlet from the boiler room. Did the door on the lower side still afford a means of exit? To learn that seemed to be The Shadow’s purpose.
The flashlight shone at short intervals as the weird investigator retraced his steps. The light went out; wood creaked as the door gave way beneath The Shadow’s strong pressure. The flashlight glimmered, clicked off, and a soft laugh whispered through the boiler room. After that, deep silence reigned.
The ship seemed deserted. Long minutes passed; at last, a sign of The Shadow’s presence was once more manifested. Creaking boards, the flicker of the flashlight; then a stealthy form ascended from the boiler room. The Shadow picked his way through darkness, and reached the spot where he had moored his boat to the side of the mud-bound ship.
Once more, The Shadow was on the surface of the Mississippi. The little rubber boat slid away from the side of the River Queen. For a hundred yards, the course was directly toward the mainland; then, in the clear water of the cut-off, the boat spun and resumed an upstream progress. It passed the head of the island.
There, The Shadow paused. His keen ears caught a faint sound. While the little boat drifted downstream, the guarded noise came closer. The rubber boat was no more than a floating circle upon the surface of the broad river; the form of The Shadow was so motionless that it seemed like a portion of the tiny craft.
The noise that The Shadow had heard was the creaking of a pair of oarlocks. A splashing followed; then a rowboat passed within ten feet of the invisible craft in which The Shadow floated. The man at the oars was breathing heavily. His boat passed on, headed upstream. The Shadow made no motion. His drift continued, after the rower’s noise had ceased far above.
The rubber boat floated into the shelter of the rugged rocks that marked the head of the island. Here, after gripping a branch that projected from the shore, The Shadow disembarked. Through a carpeting of rain-soaked grass, he glided, invisible, toward the center of the island.
With amazing ability to find his way through darkness, The Shadow reached the abandoned house. He arrived at the front door of the building, softly crossed the threshold and caught the gleam of a light from a rear room on the ground floor. There were no doors in the building; those had evidently been removed.
From the darkness of a side room, The Shadow gained an angled view into the kitchen. The oil lamp was visible upon the bench, its light showing the rest of the room.
THE three crooks were awake. Zach Telvin was standing by the wall; Possum Quill and Lefty Hotz were half lying upon mattresses. The Shadow, completely obscured by darkness, caught the words that Zach was uttering.
“I’m getting leery of this place,” declared the convict. “I’m ready to admit that maybe you’re right, Possum. I heard somebody plowing around out back — I’m sure of it. That’s why I took a look out there.”
“Any footprints?” questioned Possum.
“No,” returned Zach. “The grass is packed, and there’s no mud. But I followed over to the shore, and I thought I heard a noise like a guy rowing along the river.”
“Maybe some hick was paddlin’ home,” put in Lefty.
“This late?” queried Possum. “In all that fog? Guess again, Lefty. Not a chance. Well, Zach, you brought us here. I was leery from the start. What do you want to do now? Scram?”
“Not me,” retorted Zach. “I say get busy — that’s all. Maybe somebody’s spying on us — maybe he’s after the same swag we want. The best bet is to get him when he shows up again — that’s all.”
“You heard the boat rowing up the river,” remarked Possum. “If the fellow in it had been here, he was going away when you heard him. Remember the time the motor boat went by at night? I figured it was bound to the old plantation on this side of the landin’. Maybe the same fellow was in that boat.”
The crooks pondered. Lefty Hotz was the first to make a suggestion — one that was promptly rejected.
“Let’s lay for the guy,” growled the big gangster. “Let him come ashore again — then gang him.”
“Nothing doing,” declared Possum. “We want to know who he is, first. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t be on this island.”
“There’s good reason why I shouldn’t be anywhere,” interposed Zach. “I’m not far from where I made the jail break. Don’t forget that, Possum.”
“I’m not forgetting it,” said Possum. “It means you’ve got to lay low, that’s all. It also puts the kibosh on Lefty’s idea of starting trouble before we know what we’re about. Say” — Possum paused to look at Zach — “you don’t think that this fellow in the rowboat could have been prowling around that old wreck, do you?”
“No,” returned Zach. “I figured he slid away from the island here. That boat’s a tough place to get to, anyway. Remember the trouble we had when we went out there just when it was getting dark? Wading through that swamp — say, if we hadn’t used those boards we took with us, we’d have been in a nice mess.”
“Don’t forget the snakes,” growled Lefty. “Those what-you-call-‘ems—”
“Water moccasins,” remarked Zach. “They’re bad. Lucky one of us didn’t get bit.”
“I’m still figuring on the boat,” declared Possum. “It wouldn’t be so hard to get to the wreck from the other side. We’ve still got that skiff that we hid in the woods. We could get out to the old steamer by rowing over to the mainland, and coming in to it.”
“What for?” queried Zach. “The guy didn’t go there—”
“Maybe not,” interposed Possum, “but the chances are he will, if we play the game right. To-morrow night, we’ll take to the woods.”
“Then what?”
“The guy will come here, and he’ll find us gone. He’ll figure we’re still somewhere on the island. He’ll be likely to come the night after that — or maybe in the daytime.”
“Then where’ll we be?”
“On the steamboat. We’ll be the ones to watch the island. Turn the tables on the smart gazabo.”
“Suppose he heads for the boat—”
“Great. We’ll be ready for him there. That’s just the spot I’d like to get him.”
POSSUM’S plan was a vague one; nevertheless, it offered real possibilities. The crooks knew that they were being watched; it was wise to take some method of retaliation.
Had there been a serious objector, Possum’s plan might have been questioned, but circumstances made both his companions agree to follow his leadership.
Lefty Hotz was Possum’s henchman. The big gangster had always followed the guidance of the smart crook. Zach Telvin, alarmed because of his status as a convicted criminal, was ready to fall in line with any scheme that might make some trouble for the unknown visitor.
“Unless that guy is just some hick who wants to stick his nose into trouble,” declared Possum Quill, “you can bet that he is another smooth worker who was close to Birch Bizzup. I don’t mind a guy like that being around. It only proves that you’ve given us a real tip about this place, Zach. But we’re not making friends with anybody.