A soft laugh came from Bragg’s drooping lips. The sound brought Whitburn to his feet. Though the laugh was no more than a whisper, it carried an echo of the mirth that the old professor had heard within the walls of the submarine chamber.
This was not Bragg. It was The Shadow!
The thought was startling as it drove through Whitburn’s brain. The professor understood what The Shadow had meant when he stated that he would like to see Bragg after the man returned.
The Shadow had come from the submarine chamber. Ascending to the roof, he had obtained a suitcase from the autogyro. In the lonely tower room, he had made himself up to resemble Bragg. The rest of his plan was apparent to Professor Whitburn.
Looking to the desk, the old inventor picked up the note that Polmore had written for Bragg. It had not been opened, for Bragg had come directly to the submarine room after discovering Quex outside the front door.
The Shadow took the message that Eric Hildrow had dictated to Polmore.
He read its contents; then returned the note to Whitburn.
The message instructed Bragg to come the Hotel Halcyon, in New York; there to inquire for Professor Whitburn. Its tenor indicated that the professor had left for an important conference; that he wanted his aids there to listen in on the discussion of some new experiments.
“Do you intend to go in Bragg’s place?” inquired Whitburn, looking up at The Shadow.
“Yes. I shall leave immediately.” Whitburn was astonished at The Shadow’s excellent counterfeit of Bragg’s voice. “I entered here to learn what you might think of my disguise.”
“It is remarkable!” declared Whitburn. “It deceived me.”
“That is sufficient. One other point. If your telephone service has been restored, I should like to make a call to New York.”
Whitburn had forgotten the telephone. Turning to the instrument, he raised the receiver and clicked the hook. He shook his head. The line was still dead.
“My call can wait,” asserted The Shadow. “In the meantime, follow these instructions. Leave the island, taking Stephen and Bragg with you. Also remove the cat. It is important that our enemy does not learn that a rescue was effected.”
“But he may send some one back here to look around—”
“That is unlikely. A spy would not approach closer than Lake Marrinack. Any sign of life upon Death Island would attract an observer. If all appears deserted, I doubt that an agent would approach.”
WITH this statement, The Shadow turned. He left the professor’s study and walked through the corridor to the stairs. He reached the tower where he picked up his bag. Leaving by the skylight, he boarded the autogyro.
Then came a remarkable maneuver. The flat roof offered very little opportunity for a take-off. The only factor that favored The Shadow was a breeze that came through the trees from the front of the house. But The Shadow kept his ship facing straight toward the tower at the back.
The propeller began to whirl; the fan above the ship spun also as the motor roared. Then the autogyro started straight for the tower at the rear, traveling in the direction of the wind. An observer might have expected an immediate crash.
None came. Instead, the autogyro spun about. Braking one wheel, The Shadow caused the ship to turn in a twisting circle. The right wing grazed the tower; then the about face was completed. The autogyro was headed directly into the wind; for the ship was moving toward the front of the house.
The quick whirl had given momentum to the autogyro. It produced the added impetus upon which The Shadow had counted. The windmill blades were lifting; the speeding propeller aided. The ship took off before it had reached the front of the house.
Rising, its ascent became almost vertical. The undercarriage scraped the twigs of the nearest tree; then the autogyro was clear.
Bragg, down at the dock, heard the roar of the motor. Staring, the man saw the autogyro rising above the trees. He wondered what this ship was doing at Death Island. Anxiously, he hastened to the house to report to Professor Whitburn.
ONE hour later, The Shadow landed at the Newark airport. Disguised as Bragg, he lost no time in getting to a taxicab. He entered the car, carrying his bag. He gave the driver an address in Manhattan.
Arriving in the city, The Shadow left the cab and called another. He wanted to break the trail. He did not wait to put in a call to Burbank. That could come later; the sooner that he performed Bragg’s mission, the more effective would future measures be.
The new cab reached the Hotel Halcyon. This building was an old-fashioned structure, located in a dingy part of town. Yet it was the type of place that an old man like Professor Whitburn might have chosen for a temporary residence in Manhattan. The Shadow entered the lobby.
He spoke to an idling clerk. In Bragg’s voice, he inquired for Professor Whitburn. The clerk looked at the register; then nodded.
“Room 406,” he said. “The professor came in late last night. Said to send up anybody who asked for him.”
There were loungers in the lobby. As soon as the arrival had entered the elevator, one man spoke to another. The speaker was the man whom Hildrow had left at the dock on Death Island, the only survivor of Nuland’s crew.
“That’s Bragg,” he whispered to his companion. “I know the guy. We’ve been watching him along with others. That’s why the chief put me here.”
“You’re sure its him?”
“Positive!”
“Come on, then.”
THE pair entered the second elevator and told the operator to take them to the fourth floor. They were following less than two minutes after The Shadow. He, however, had reached the fourth floor and was already knocking on the door of 406.
Some one unlocked the door. Guised as Bragg, The Shadow entered to find two men standing in what appeared to be the outer room of a suite. In a quizzical tone — a perfect counterfeit of Bragg’s — The Shadow asked:
“Where is Professor Whitburn?”
“Is your name Bragg?” questioned one of the men.
The Shadow nodded.
“All right, then,” said the fellow. “I’ll call the professor. He’s taking a nap in his room. Say, Jerry” — this was to the other man — “show Mr. Bragg that model engine that the professor wanted him to see.”
Jerry nodded and turned to a suitcase. The other man entered an inner room. Playing the part of Bragg, The Shadow stood idly just within the door. His rounded face looked complacent; his hands were resting in his coat pockets.
“Stick ‘em up!” came a sudden order.
Jerry had brought a .38 from the suitcase. Whirling, he was covering this visitor whom he thought was Bragg. He saw an amazed expression come over the droop-lipped face. Thinking he had a soft victim, Jerry was totally unready for what occurred.
The Shadow half staggered backward, just as Bragg might have done in the face of a gun. As his left hand came up empty, his right was momentarily out of sight, due to a slight turn that he gave his body. Then he wheeled the other way. His quick-moving right had whisked an automatic from his pocket.
Jerry never had a chance to press the trigger on which his finger rested. The automatic barked with split-second speed. Jerry staggered; his hand lost its grip on the gun. Again, The Shadow whirled.
This quick move was a timely one. The fellow who had made pretense of summoning Whitburn had turned immediately when he had gained the other room. He, too, was covering the form of Bragg. The flash of the automatic brought him into action. Quickly, the fellow fired.
His bullet sizzed by the spot where The Shadow had been; inches only from the place where The Shadow now stood. The revolver bullet flattened itself against the wall. Before the would-be killer had a chance for new aim, another burst came from The Shadow’s .45s.