Some one was in the darkness straight ahead! Harry was sure of it now. He knew that it could not be The Shadow, lurking there beside the boilers. It must be an unknown foe; if so, the man might have realized Harry’s presence.
Harry crouched and waited. He could play at a slow game as well as the other man. When the time for action came, Harry would be ready — so he thought. Therein was Harry’s mistake — an error that was to shape events in a most unexpected manner.
A click sounded in the darkness. Simultaneously, the glare of a bull’s-eye lantern flooded the boiler room.
Harry Vincent, helpless in the light, could see nothing but the dazzling orb of the lantern, less than a dozen feet in front of him!
A GROWLING voice issued a command. Harry, trapped flat-footed, dropped his gun. He knew that he was covered. An enemy had discovered him; had outwitted him. Harry had blundered directly into the snare!
The lantern swung. The enemy hung it alongside of the boiler, so that it provided sweeping illumination in this room. Then the foeman stepped into the light.
Harry saw the glitter of a big revolver. He looked above, and found himself staring into the sallow face of his captor — Harvey Wendell!
There was malice in the secretary’s features. Wendell’s suspicious-looking countenance wore a look of keen triumph. Harry, bewildered, could not understand how the man had arrived here at this crucial moment.
“Nabbed you, eh?” growled Wendell. “Thought you were too smart for me. Well, you weren’t! What are you here for? Come on — spill it if you know what’s good for you!”
Harry did not immediately reply. He was still wondering how Wendell had managed to learn that he was coming here. He was positive that the man had not put out from the little dock in front of the plantation.
“Come on,” ordered Wendell. “Speak up! What’s the idea of coming down here?”
“Curiosity,” remarked Harry calmly. “I was coming by and thought I’d look over the old derelict—”
“Quit the stall,” interrupted Wendell. “You headed here from up above Saunders Landing. I was watching for you. I knew that you had gone up the river — not down. What was the idea of drifting past the plantation?”
A sudden light dawned upon Harry Vincent. Until now, The Shadow’s agent had regarded Harvey Wendell as a crook; Weston Levis as an honest man. But it was obvious, from Wendell’s words, that the secretary had talked with Levis. Today, on the veranda, Levis had feigned suspicion of Wendell.
Actually, the two must have been in complete accord. Harry had fallen for a pretense!
Wendell grinned as he sensed the thoughts which were in Harry’s mind. Then his expression regained its sternness. Wendell did not intend to let Harry stall.
“What do you know about this place?” queried the secretary. “What do you know about the island over here?”
“All I know,” rejoined Harry, “is that you must be a crook — and a bad one.”
“Me?” sneered Wendell. “A crook? What about yourself, you rat? There’s three men on that island. They’re guys I’m going to get — and you’re in with them.”
There was conviction in Wendell’s tone. Harry felt the tenseness of the situation. Wendell, backed by Levis, and with Hadley in reserve, was evidently playing a lone hand against a trio whom he intended to thwart.
This gave Harry opportunity. If he could convince Wendell that he was not with the band of outlaws, he might be able to stall off trouble for a while.
Harry was thinking of The Shadow. He knew that his own failure might mean difficulty for the hidden master.
“Let’s talk fair, Wendell,” declared Harry. “I’ll tell you why I came here tonight. When I came up the river the other night, I saw a light on the island. I was fool enough to go ashore to find out what it was all about. I saw three men through the window of a house.”
“Yeah?” queried Wendell sourly. “What then?”
“I saw you,” rejoined Harry. “I had left the window. You came up there. You went away. When I came in with the motor boat, you were at the dock.”
“What of it?” demanded Wendell.
“Just this,” replied Harry. “If I happened to be in with those men who you say are crooks, I could have made trouble for you outside of the house. The fact that I saw you there proves that I was looking in on them — just like yourself.”
“Humph!” grunted Wendell. “Maybe you’re right about that — maybe you aren’t. Looks to me like you’re in this game on your own. Well, if that’s the case, it won’t be quite so tough for you. But I’ve still got a hunch that you’re phony, and I’m going to stick right here in case those other birds intend to show up to meet you.”
HARRY said nothing. He wondered what Wendell intended to do. The sallow-faced man was considering the problem also. Harry, expecting no mercy, feared for a moment that Wendell would deliberately shoot him down. Then he realized that the report of a gun would probably be heard on the island. That could cause trouble for Wendell, should the three crooks visit the River Queen with knowledge that a fray had taken place on board.
A sarcastic grin showed on Wendell’s face as the man gained a bright idea. Harry did not view the expression with any pleasure.
“I’ve got the place for you,” growled Harry’s captor. “I’m going to shove you into one of those old staterooms — and I’ll fix you so you’ll make no noise. Remember this: I know you’ve got no business here. I’ll shoot you quick enough if you make trouble. It makes no difference to me if those other birds are your buddies. If I make a noise, I’ll slide out before they show up.”
Wendell’s face gleamed at his own suggestion. Harry became more tense than before. He could see that Wendell was a man of cold action. One false step — Wendell would not fail in his threat. Harry met Wendell’s stare; a second later, he made a new discovery — one that brought him a sense of keen elation.
Harvey Wendell was standing beside the old door on the lower side of the ship. Harry had fancied the bulwark was below water level. It could not be, as Harry now perceived, for that door was sliding open, actuated by a force that was both powerful and silent!
Wendell moved two steps forward. Less than eight feet separated him from Harry. The secretary wore a sallow scowl as he gripped his big revolver. Harry was apparently staring into Wendell’s face; actually, he was watching beyond.
A form of blackness was wedging through from the space at the end of the half-opened door. Free of the barrier, it became a tall figure which seemed to loom like the darkness of the room beyond the gleaming lantern. A living shroud, this black-garbed form hovered above the stocky figure of Harvey Wendell.
Harry could distinguish the folds of a black cloak, the brim of a slouch hat, two burning eyes that shone like blazing orbs. Then, stretching from the weird form, Harry saw a pair of black-gloved hands that reached forward like tentacles of doom.
From the most unexpected place on the ship — an abandoned doorway that seemingly led nowhere — The Shadow had returned!
CHAPTER XV. TABLES TURN
LIKE a man in a trance, Harvey sensed the fantastic situation which now existed in this forgotten spot — the boiler room of a Mississippi derelict.
Face to face with Harvey Wendell, a man who threatened him with a revolver muzzle, Harry could see salvation just beyond.
The Shadow was in a position from which he could strike. Should his mighty hand falter, it would mean death for his agent, Harry Vincent. For Harvey Wendell, if attacked from in back, would surely fire.
As Harry stared, he saw the right hand of The Shadow raise. With a sweeping, silent gesture, it came downward beside Wendell’s shoulder, and pointed to the gun which the man held. The Shadow’s index finger spoke as plainly as though words had been uttered. It commanded Harry to make a desperate move.