CHAPTER VIII. ABOARD AND ASHORE
FAINT streaks of clouded dawn had touched the ocean’s sky. Battle had long since ended aboard the tramp steamer Zouave. Sprawled bodes lay upon the forward deck; beyond them, the hulking shape of The Shadow’s autogiro.
Captain Jason Hilder stood at the wheel, looking downward from the bridge. He was a rough man, calloused in his ways; but this morning, Hilder’s face was grim. The skipper felt that tragedy had stalked the Zouave; and he knew that the fault was his own.
A mysterious fighter had dropped aboard to wage combat with crooks. Crew members had aided at Hilder’s word; criminals had been driven below and hunted until all were annihilated. Full reports had come to the bridge.
But nothing had been heard from the real victor — that cloaked battler who had come by autogiro. He, too, had followed the fray when it went below; a man had sprung from the autogiro to join him. Both had taken up the chase of Rigger Luxley’s evil cohorts; neither had returned.
Hilder wondered. Two of his crew had been killed: three had been wounded; two were missing. Reports had accounted for all of them. But the cloaked fighter had faded ghostlike, as weirdly as he had arrived.
A complete search of the ship would be the only way to solve the mystery.
As he pondered, the captain gained the sudden impression that someone had come beside him. Turning from the wheel, he stared at a calm-faced stranger who had entered without a sound.
The arrival was attired in a well-fitting suit of black. His countenance was the most extraordinary one that Hilder had ever seen. It seemed masklike, with features chiseled as firmly as the profile of a statue.
Instantly, the captain realized that this must be the battler of the night before. Shifting to the wheel, Hilder stared uneasily toward the bow.
He felt qualms of conscience, even before the stranger spoke. When words did come, they were in a level monotone that told the captain that his guilt was known.
“MEN of crime,” came the accusing words, “were aboard this ship with your knowledge. You were paid to take them as members of your crew. The sum that you accepted was five thousand dollars.”
Hilder thrust a hand to his belt. He pulled out a thick wad of currency and tremblingly thrust the money toward his accuser. Huskily, the captain spoke.
“I took the money,” he admitted. “I made the deal through a fellow called Sailor Martz. It was Rigger Luxley who came aboard. But I didn’t know their game; that didn’t come out until too late. I don’t want the money that they paid me.”
“You will keep it,” stated The Shadow, “to be divided evenly between the families of the two loyal men who died in last night’s battle.”
“All right.” Hilder nodded eagerly. “I’ll do more than that! I have money of my own. I want to make amends for my mistake.”
“Then state exactly,” prompted The Shadow, “what occurred on board after you cleared New York. Tell why you shipped the criminals at all.”
“They wanted to get away from New York,” blurted Hilder. “That was what Martz told me; and I believed him. He said the police had nothing on them; but the town was too hot for them. Or likely to be. I was wrong—”
“Yet Martz made no statement of crime on sea?”
“Absolutely none! It was Rigger who brought that up, after we had cleared. He told me to lie to; near the path of the Steamship Doranic.”
“State his purpose.”
“He was to pick up a man thrown overboard from the liner. An Englishman named Eric Delka, from Scotland Yard. Rigger had a pal on the Doranic. He mentioned the crook’s name. It was Jed Barthue.”
“Continue.”
“Rigger had brought more men than I expected. He held control of my ship. I had to follow his instructions. He picked up Delka, about a half hour before you came aboard. Maybe longer than that — pretty near an hour, I reckon.”
The Shadow made no comment. Hilder stared straight ahead and continued his story.
“Delka was a prisoner in a cabin,” stated the captain. “Rigger wanted to question him; to find out how much he knew about Jed Barthue. But Rigger wanted me to do the dirty work; to question Delka and to threaten him.”
“Two men were bringing Delka up to the bridge. I was up against it; only thing I could do was go through with Rigger’s orders. I was looking for a way out; but there was none, until you arrived.”
“When you started that fight, I had my chance to chip in. I had a revolver hidden away up here. I used it, and I shouted to the crew to help. They knew what I was up against. They didn’t lose much time.
“After the fight was over, I sent men to look for Delka. He was gone; but the first mate found out where he went. Two of the stokers had managed to make a deal with him. They took him ashore in the little motor boat. That happened while the fight was still going on.”
HILDER ended his statement. His words had been spoken frankly. The Shadow knew that the captain honestly regretted his past actions. Steady eyes fixed on Hilder’s troubled face, The Shadow understood more.
Hilder was thinking of the future wondering how he could explain matters when the Zouave reached port.
The Shadow spoke an answer to that problem.
“Send out a wireless report of mutiny,” he ordered. “State that the mutineers were criminals who shipped as crew members. Chart your course to Norfolk. Make a simple report. It will be accepted. The dead men will be identified as crooks.”
Captain Hilder managed a smile.
“That will cover it!” he exclaimed. “The regular crew will be commended. Helping to suppress the ‘mutiny.’ But” — he paused, frowning — “but what about your plane, there?”
“I shall go aboard the autogiro,” returned The Shadow. “Send the first mate to your cabin. There he will find a man named Miles Crofton, who assists me as pilot. Crofton will ask for crew members to aid him in repairing the autogiro. The work may be accomplished in a few hours. The autogiro, however, will take off before the Zouave reaches Norfolk.”
Captain Holder nodded. His smile returned. He started to speak; then ended suddenly. Looking down from the bridge, he saw the tall stranger crossing the deserted deck. The Shadow had left the bridge without Hilder realizing it. Gaping, the skipper saw the tall stranger enter the autogiro.
Hilder called for the first mate. He learned that some of Rigger’s men had damaged the wireless equipment, but that it would be in working order later. That was as well, thought Hilder. No need to rush the dispatch concerning the mutiny, now that the course lay for Norfolk.
He sent the mate to find Miles Crofton. Soon, a stolid, methodical appearing man appeared on deck and began to repair the wing struts of the autogiro. Crew members came to help as he might need them.
At the wheel, Hilder chuckled. He noted that the crew was eyeing Crofton with awe. They thought that he must be the cloaked fighter of the night before. As he guided the slow-moving steamer, Hilder watched the repair work progress. It was about half done when he received word that the wireless was repaired. He ordered dispatch of the mutiny report.
IT was eight o’clock when the wireless message left the Zouave. Nearing noon of that same morning, a wiry, stoop-shouldered man picked up the earliest edition of a New York evening newspaper. Standing by a subway entrance, the man read headlines that told of mutiny at sea. Thrusting the newspaper in his pocket, he looked about suspiciously; then dived into the subway.
Fifteen minutes later, this same man appeared at the entrance of a large apartment building. He went through the lobby and took an elevator to the tenth floor. He rapped at a door marked 10 B. A harsh voice responded: