Had Revoort gone back to his cabin? Harry chose a course along the side deck, heading forward. He plunged into a mass of smoke that was pouring from stateroom windows.
He stumbled squarely into a struggling trio. One was Revoort, still pounding Hank; the other was Eddie, the steward. This fellow was trying to drag Revoort away.
HARRY pitched into the fight and flayed out with his fists. Revoort staggered away while his rescuer dealt with the pair. Then came a cry; Harry sprawled Hank and punched Eddie’s jaw.
He wheeled about to see Revoort in the clutch of a bulky, leering fighter. It was “Slug” Cladder, the rogue who had started the fire in the purser’s cabin.
A big fist crashed against Revoort’s face. As the man’s body slumped, Slug hoisted it and gave a heave across the rail.
Harry sprang in just as Revoort’s body balanced on the rail. Slug turned upon him savagely. As they grappled, Revoort delivered a sighing gasp and slid helplessly beyond the rail.
Harry delivered an ankle kick that sent Slug sprawling. He had heard the splash of Revoort’s body. Forgetting Slug, Harry dashed through the smoke to grab a hanging life preserver. Gaining it, he hurled the circular buoy into the ocean, hoping that Revoort might see it bobbing close at hand.
From the smoke came Slug. On his feet again, the vicious fighter encountered Harry before The Shadow’s aid had time to swing and meet him.
Gaining a hold upon Harry’s throat, Slug proceeded to hammer his adversary into complete submission. They sprawled to the deck, Slug on top. Half a minute of hard pounding left Harry limp and unconscious.
Slug arose, to find Hank and Eddie clutching the rail beside him. He heard a voice calling from the smoke; he caught the sound of approaching footsteps.
Yanking a revolver, Slug snarled to Hank and Eddie, telling them to pitch Harry’s helpless form overboard. The pair started to obey.
A puff of breeze thinned the smoke. An approaching man appeared a dozen feet from Slug’s gaze. The arrival was Cliff Marsland. He had left his firefighting to look for Harry Vincent. Cliff, like Slug, could see plainly when the smoke cleared.
He saw Hank and Eddie, struggling to lift Harry Vincent. He saw the glint of Slug’s revolver in the glare of the ship’s flames.
Slug was shoving his fist forward in quick aim; Cliff jogged his reloaded automatic upward from his hip. His finger was quick on the hair trigger. The automatic spoke.
Slug wavered, snarling. Staggering to the rail, he fired two quick, wide shots. Cliff could take no more chances. Dropping back, he pumped three bullets straight into the would-be killer’s body. Slug pitched head foremost to the deck. Cliff swung to deal with Hank and Eddie.
Petty workers in Duronne’s Coil, those two crooks had no nerve for gunplay. They had dropped Harry when they heard the shots; they were pulling out revolvers as they scrambled inward from the rail.
Slug’s fall, however, gave them panic. Eddie dived through an opening into the smoke-filled ship. Hank hurried after him as Cliff delivered a quick shot.
CLIFF chased the pair, stabbing more bullets through smoke and flame. He stopped short as he heard a scream that was followed by a hideous bellow.
He had not even spotted his quarry; he had fired only to drive the two men onward. Cliff moved forward cautiously through the increasing heat. He stopped again as his foot struck a tippy floorplate.
Eddie and Hank had dropped through a fire-gutted opening into flames below. They had fallen into the cornered remnant of the inferno that Slug had started in the purser’s cabin. They had perished in their own trap.
Cliff went back to the deck. Hoisting Harry on his shoulder, he carried his comrade toward the stern. The engines of the Tropical had begun a slow throb.
Excited passengers were reporting that the crew had gained control of the fire. The ship was being headed shoreward; but it would not be beached if the fire could be completely extinguished.
Harry was still unconscious. Cliff’s efforts to revive him failed. A physician among the passengers gave help; he decided that Harry was suffering from a slight brain concussion. He predicted that a few hours of careful treatment would restore him.
Relieved regarding Harry, Cliff wondered what had happened to Revoort. Perhaps the man was safe among the huddled passengers. Cliff planned to look for him later; for if Revoort had escaped harm amid the turmoil, he would be in no present danger.
Should Revoort be missing, there would be a later task in which Cliff would need Harry’s aid. That would be to go to Cabin 222; to lug the heavy trunk from there to 309.
It would not be a great problem; when all was quiet aboard the Tropical, many passengers would be moving to new quarters. Cliff foresaw that he and Harry would be able to get unsuspicious stewards to help them with the treasure trunk.
Such a move, of course, depended on Revoort. Cliff still hoped to find the man aboard the forward-forging Tropical. He did not know that somewhere, far astern, Louis Revoort was floating, forgotten — his only hope the life buoy that Harry Vincent had cast into the waves.
CHAPTER XI
ODDS PREVAIL
A DYING flambeau etched against the sky. Such was the steamship Tropical as it floated northward, still within sight of those aboard the tug Colonia. The liner had passed to leeward of the lurking tug; its course had carried the big ship a few miles ahead.
Darkness still persisted aboard the Colonia. From the heaving tugboat, The Shadow had watched the progress of the fire. He had seen the glare subside. He knew that the stout crew had won their battle with the devastating flames.
The only clue to the tragic happenings aboard the Tropical had been the sight of a single lifeboat, pulling away within the circle of the firelight.
Crouched by the forecastle of the Colonia, The Shadow had guessed the lifeboat’s purpose. It was coming seaward instead of heading for the shore. That fact betokened one logical answer. Those in the lifeboat knew of the tug’s presence. They intended to contact the Colonia.
THE SHADOW shifted away from the forecastle entrance. He crossed the brine-soaked deck and reached the windward side of the pilot house. He sensed that men were absent here; they were all to leeward, watching.
The Shadow found an iron ladder in the darkness. He moved upward, silently, on the side of the pilot house opposite the door. He reached the broad, flat roof above and crouched there, just in front of the tug’s single funnel.
A flare squidged from the darkness — the lifeboat’s first cautious signal. The Shadow heard a growl from the deck below; an answering flare fizzed to indicate the tug’s position. Minutes passed; the creak of oarlocks reached the ears of listeners. A flashlight blinked from near the tugboat’s stern.
There was no need of further caution. The Tropical was far away; those aboard it would not recognize the significance of distant lights. A small searchlight came into play, its beams directed toward the water. It picked out the lifeboat; soon the bobbing craft hung almost at the tug’s side.
Lanterns glimmered. The Shadow could count the crew members. He saw boathooks grip the lifeboat; a gangway swung open and half a dozen men clambered forward from the lifeboat. They stopped at Duronne’s order, long enough to raise a heavy coffer from beneath a canvas covering. The treasure chest came aboard.
The Shadow had gained and lost by waiting. He saw booty, ready to be regained — for like Duronne, he believed that the chest must contain Revoort’s Cuban wealth. But now the number of his enemies had been increased. There were half a dozen more with whom The Shadow must deal.