Harry must leap for the revolver which was in Wendell’s hand! For an instant, Harry wondered; then, his senses coming back, he prepared to obey The Shadow’s surprising order. Looking squarely into Wendell’s eyes, Harry uttered a protest.
“Say” — his voice was pleading — “you aren’t going to shove me into one of those cabins—”
“Either that,” interrupted Wendell, “or I’m going to load you with lead. Take your choice.”
The hand of The Shadow was creeping close beside Harvey Wendell’s arm. It was inches only from the revolver which the sallow-faced man held.
“All right,” grumbled Harry. “You say take my choice. I’ll take it!” With that final statement, Harry Vincent sprang forward. His move was a swift one, but a single shot could frustrate a one-in-a-hundred chance. Had he acted alone, Harry Vincent would have been doomed. But The Shadow was there in his agent’s behalf.
Harry’s spring — Wendell’s firing of the gun; between those actions, The Shadow did his part. His fingers, like living things of blackness, gripped the revolver which Wendell held. Like a blotting shaft of ink, the hand of The Shadow covered the glimmering weapon and twisted it with a viselike clutch.
The gun snapped from Wendell’s gripping hand. It shot across the floor past Harry Vincent. Wendell’s fist, close to his body, came open and was empty. His faltering forefinger trembled in space.
Before the man had a chance to understand it, Harry Vincent was upon him. Wendell threw up his arms to ward off Harry’s grasp. The two men clinched, and Wendell staggered backward under the force of Harry’s attack.
THE SHADOW was no longer there. Swift as the onslaught had been, The Shadow had stepped away more rapidly. Somewhere in the darkness beyond the boiler, his eyes were watching the fray. He had evened the turn for his agent. He was leaving the rest to Harry Vincent.
The young man knew it. Once tonight, he had failed. This time, he was determined to show his ability in combat. Harry was unarmed; so was Harvey Wendell. It was a man-to-man fight, with the odds even.
As the two twisted back and forth, just within the glare of the swinging electric lantern, Harry wrested free. As Wendell leaped forward to a new clinch, Harry struck. Wendell’s ferocious snarl ended in a click as his teeth came together.
Harry had landed a jab on Wendell’s jaw. The secretary came at him with a right, which Harry Vincent countered with a perfect punch that slipped in under Wendell’s guard. The sallow secretary went down like a rag doll, his collapsed form sprawled out on the catwalk.
Harry had delivered a knock-out.
Harry Vincent looked at the motionless body, then turned and walked along the catwalk. He picked up Wendell’s gun and pocketed it, then found his automatic. As he turned back toward Harvey Wendell, Harry was in a quandary.
What should he do now?
The answer came — a sinister whisper from the companionway at the front of the boiler room.
“Question the man.” The Shadow’s words came with the strange precision of unspoken thoughts. “Learn all that he knows. Await instructions. Here.”
Harry nodded, even though he could not see the invisible speaker. He realized that The Shadow had passed around the boiler room to reach this exit. He knew that the black-clad master did not want his hand to be revealed — for the time at least. It was up to Harry to act — with The Shadow standing within hearing distance, an unseen watcher.
Harry looked at Wendell. The secretary was stirring. He raised himself groggily, and placed his hand to his jaw. Then, staring into the range of light, he saw Harry Vincent.
FOR a moment, Wendell appeared angry; then he grinned feebly, and rubbed his jaw ruefully.
“Well,” he acknowledged, with a growl, “you’ve landed me. I hope your story is straight — that you’re working on your own. If you’re in with these other crooks, I’m done — that’s all.”
“Why speak of other crooks?” queried Harry. “Is that an acknowledgment of your own calling?”
Wendell stared in a bewildered fashion. His grin disappeared as he studied Harry Vincent.
“I don’t get you,” he said sullenly.
“Why stall?” questioned Harry. “You know what I mean. I’ve had your number from the start. When I looked in on those fellows on the island, I heard them talking about some swag they were after. They said that there might be somebody as phony as they were, trying to get in ahead of them. Then I saw you — and I knew who the other fellow was.
“I thought you were playing a lone hand. I didn’t know that old Levis was working with you — but that’s the way it appears now. He was using you as a cover up; or else you’ve flim-flammed him very neatly. The other crooks went to the island; you preferred the plantation.”
“Say” — Wendell was sitting on the floor as he spoke — “I begin to wise up now. I heard those crooks talk, too. I was looking for some snake in the grass. You don’t look like a crook, and you don’t talk like one.”
“But you look like one,” returned Harry, “and you talk like one — and your actions give the same indication.”
Wendell chuckled. “Listen, Vincent,” he said. “I’d have believed you were on the level if you’d been able to show me credentials. How about giving me the same break?”
“In what way?”
“Well — I’ve got my papers on me. You probably thought I was phony because I don’t look like a secretary. Well, I’m not one, although I’ve been acting in that capacity. I’m a State investigator, appointed by the banking commission.”
Harry stared.
“I can prove it,” insisted Wendell. “Then, if you’re crooked, you can give me the works. But I’m staking it all on my belief that you’re really on the level.”
“Bring out the papers,” ordered Harry.
Wendell thrust his hand into his inside pocket. Harry was unperturbed. He did not think that Wendell carried another weapon; even if the man were armed, it would not matter. The Shadow, silent spectator of this scene, was in readiness for any emergency. With The Shadow behind him, Harry knew that ordinary precautions were unnecessary.
“Here you are,” declared Wendell, thrusting forth the documents which he had promised.
WARILY, Harry stepped forward and took the papers with his left hand. He stepped back and examined them close by the front hatchway of the boiler room, at the same time eyeing Wendell at intervals.
The credentials were unquestionably genuine. One bore Wendell’s photograph, with a seal impressed upon it. The man’s signature was also present. The papers announced Wendell as an agent of the commonwealth. The man had the power to make arrests.
As Harry stood with his shoulder turned toward the opening that led from the boiler room, he sensed that eyes other than his own were upon the papers. The Shadow, obscured in darkness, was noting the information which his agent had gained.
A soft whisper sounded in Harry’s ear. The command of The Shadow, to his agent, was not heard by Harvey Wendell. That order, however, was of great importance to the man whom Harry Vincent had overpowered. The Shadow’s whisper was more convincing to Harry than were the certificates which Wendell had extended.
“Work with him,” came The Shadow’s tone.
In response, Harry stepped forward and tended the papers back to Harvey Wendell. From his pocket, Harry produced the State investigator’s revolver and gave it to Wendell also. Rising from the floor, Wendell extended his hand and received Harry Vincent’s clasp.