“Quex will go to the front door!” exclaimed Whitburn. “Bragg will find him when he returns! He will read the message! Does it tell him that we are imprisoned here?”
“Yes,” responded The Shadow, in a laughing whisper. “Bragg will release us. We can wait until the morning. Commander Dadren is warned. We have no need for immediate escape.
“Let us wait for Bragg. It is important that I see him. For I intend to take his place to-morrow. I shall go to the address mentioned in the note that our enemy left upon your desk.
“We have air. An attempt to force the steel door is unnecessary. Particularly because I must see Bragg when he returns. In the meantime, professor, I advise sleep for you and Stephen.”
WHITBURN nodded. He looked about the room and shrugged his stooped shoulders as he viewed the bodies of the four enemies who had fallen in their fight with The Shadow. Picking an obscure corner, the old inventor sat down and rested his back against the wall.
Stephen chose another clear place. Stolidly, he watched Whitburn and saw the professor begin to doze. That was sufficient. Stephen closed his eyes; five minutes later, he was also asleep through sheer weariness.
The Shadow still stood beside the machine at the bottom of the periscope tube. Immobile, he had become a living statue. Untired, he had no need of sleep. His keen eyes glistened as they surveyed the dozing men. A soft laugh rippled from his hidden lips.
After that came silence. Ticking minutes left the scene unchanged. Sprawled bodies on the floor of this odd chamber; two living men lay asleep in their corners.
And in the center of the stage, The Shadow. Victor of the fray, he had devised a way to counteract the death trap. He had found a method of informing Bragg that his master was locked in the submarine room.
Weird master of the scene, The Shadow was planning for the coming day. In the meantime, spectral and immobile, he was biding the passing hours until dawn.
CHAPTER VII
AT CEDAR COVE
WHILE exciting events had been happening at Death Island, all had remained quiet at Cedar Cove, the spot where Commander Joseph Dadren had established his headquarters for submarine experiments.
Located on the Carolina coast, Cedar Cove was an ideal place for tests of the sort that the commander was making. Five miles from the nearest town, isolated amid a forest of pine trees, the cove was obscure and unfrequented.
Moreover, it was suited to secrecy. A single channel connected the cove with deep water. On the innermost shore of the cove was a chasm between two low ledges of rock. This formed a natural inlet wherein Commander Dadren housed his undersea craft.
Less than thirty feet in width, the cleft between the cliffs had been boarded over and topped with a boat house. The entrance to the inlet was protected by heavy, doorlike screens which could be raised and lowered.
Dadren’s experimental craft was a small one. It remained undercover except when the commander employed it for tests. Four men were constantly on duty in the boat house. These were trusted aids, chosen from petty officers who had seen service in the United States Navy.
Near the boat house was the building that served as headquarters. This was a square-shaped structure, one story in height. It formed a type of blockhouse, with an inner court. Windows on the outside were protected by heavy bars; those on the court had crisscrossed screens of stout wire.
The main hall of the headquarters house was a sort of clubroom where Dadren’s workers congregated. Off the hall were doors that led to smaller rooms. Some of these were quarters for the men. Others were testing rooms that opened from side corridors.
At the rear was a large room that served as Dadren’s laboratory. It had a steel door connecting with an inner office. The little room was windowless.
A score of men constituted Dadren’s crew. On this night some had retired; others were on duty at the boat house. The rest, half a dozen in all, were gathered about the big fireplace in the front section of the main hall.
Two solemn-faced men were acting as patrol. Together, they made the rounds of the square house, while the others sat and chatted at the fireplace. A radio, turned down, was furnishing a melodious musical program.
AMONG the men seated in the main hall was a quiet, watchful individual, less talkative than his companions. This chap was Commander Dadren’s secretary. He had been recommended to the confidential post through Professor Arthur Whitburn. There was a definite reason for the professor’s recommendation. The secretary’s name was Harry Vincent. He was an agent of The Shadow.
Harry was speculating as he sat before the fire. He was thinking of the events that had brought him here. Once — it seemed very long ago — Harry had aided The Shadow in giving protection to Professor Whitburn. Following that episode, The Shadow had kept in occasional contact with the old professor, through Harry.
One month ago, Harry had paid a visit to Death Island. There, he had learned of Commander Dadren’s experiment. Harry had reported to The Shadow. New contact had followed with Whitburn. Through the old professor, Harry had gone to Dadren’s headquarters to take the job of confidential secretary.
Passing weeks had given Harry no inkling of impending trouble. Commander Dadren’s methods seemed airtight. None of his subordinates knew the full extent of his inventions. Moreover, they were paired when they worked, so that no man could attempt any surreptitious action without being observed by a companion.
The only weak point was the fact that Dadren had finished the extensive plans of his completed submarine. Those plans were somewhere in his inner office; and every man at Cedar Cove knew it. But outsiders had no chance of getting by the guards; and the system of pairing workers made it impossible for a traitor — if one were in camp — to conduct a secret search.
Tomorrow, the commander intended to fly to Washington, accompanied by Hasker, the mechanic who had charge of Dadren’s amphibian plane. Harry had reported that fact to The Shadow. He had added that nothing of a suspicious nature surrounded the proposed flight.
So to-night — the last night at Cedar Cove — Harry Vincent felt sure that any danger period had been passed.
MIDNIGHT had arrived. Harry had been waiting for the hour. If The Shadow had new orders, they were due. Harry rose from his chair; while others chatted he strolled to the radio and turned the knob. He switched from the music of a Richmond station just in time for the announcement of a program from WNX, New York.
The radio announcer was beginning a discourse on the merits of heavy winter overcoats manufactured by a New York concern. His voice came over the air; and it carried an emphasis on certain words:
“To prevent winter colds, follow the plain advice that will save many a trip to the doctor. Read our free booklet ‘When North Winds Blow.’ Join with those who are wise. Make plans to be healthy this winter—”
The announcer droned on. Harry heard no further words that were stressed. He knew that the message had been given. Buried in the announcement was the emphasized order from The Shadow:
“Prevent plane trip North with plans.”
In the past, Harry had received many such messages from The Shadow. Somehow, his mysterious chief had arranged a method of putting hidden sentences into the regular station announcements. But on this occasion, Harry was startled by a difference.
At the end of the announcement, the speaker made a passing statement before the music began. His words were:
“This program is an electrical transcription—”