These men were The Shadow’s agents, Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland. They were the pair whose names The Python had not learned. Aboard the Tropical, they had gained a stateroom that gave them close watch on Louis Revoort.
“The purser has gone, Cliff,” whispered Harry, from close behind the door. “But Revoort is still in his cabin.”
“Worried, all right,” Cliff acknowledged. “Maybe we ought to be watching the purser’s office. Then there’s that fellow you’re suspicious of—”
“Luke Duronne, the card sharp?”
“Yeah.”
“We’ll keep an eye on him, too.”
“Right enough, Harry. We’ll stick close by, to protect Revoort when trouble comes.”
Cliff’s words were prophetic. They reminded Harry of a present duty. Extinguishing the light, Harry opened the door; then gave a whisper to Cliff, who came over beside him. Revoort was coming out of his cabin. Harry had heard the unlocking of the catch from the inside.
ONCE in the corridor, Revoort closed the door of Room 313. He pulled a key from his pocket and inserted it into the keyhole. He twisted; but the lock failed to act.
The observers watched Revoort give a grimace. The fellow reached into his pocket and produced another key; like the first, it was the key to a ship’s cabin.
Revoort pocketed the first key and used the second. This time the door locked. As Revoort placed the keys in separate pockets, Harry eased his own door shut. He heard Revoort pass through the corridor; then he turned on the light and looked at Cliff.
“What do you make of it?” inquired Harry. “What was the idea of two keys?”
“Maybe one was a pass-key,” responded Cliff. “Revoort may have brought along a supply like we did, and found that one could be fixed.”
“Then why did one fail to lock the door? If one was a pass-key — and the other belonged to 313—”
Harry paused; then snapped his fingers.
“I’ve got it, Cliff!” he exclaimed. “Let’s see that copy you made of the passenger list. The one we’ve both been checking over.”
Cliff produced the list. Its margins bore notations. Harry passed a string of names; then indicated one.
“J.F. Jenks,” he read. “He’s the fellow whom we haven’t seen. Never been in the dining saloon for meals. Nobody else has noticed it; but we have.”
“Cabin 222,” remarked Cliff. “A good place to stay away from, if Jenks is always in it.”
“Let me have the pass-key, Cliff. While you’re out keeping an eye on Revoort, I’ll make a trip to Cabin 222.”
“But I just said that—”
“I heard you. Don’t worry, Cliff. My hunch is a sweet one. There’ll be no trouble. I’ll look you up later.”
The two went from their cabin, Harry smiling; Cliff, half puzzled. There was no chance for Cliff to question Harry in a corridor; so they parted after they had passed a bulkhead. Once Harry had left him, Cliff gained a hunch of his own. He decided that Revoort had gone to the smoking room.
Not much of a deduction, Cliff admitted to himself; nevertheless, he was pleased when he reached the smoking room and found Revoort there. Twenty minutes passed; from a corner, Cliff saw Revoort rise and depart.
CLIFF left the smoking room half a minute later. He took a circuitous route toward the state room that he shared with Harry, but he made rapid speed. When he reached the end of a long corridor, he was just in time to catch a glimpse of Revoort. The man was going back to 313.
Cliff reached 309. He paced about for several minutes; then heard a key click in the lock. Harry entered. His smile was broader than before.
“I’ve narrowed it, Cliff,” stated Harry. “Is Revoort back in his cabin?”
Cliff nodded.
“Then we’ve nothing to do but watch him,” decided Harry. “The purser’s office doesn’t matter. The ship’s officers can worry about it.”
“What about this fellow Jenks? Wasn’t he in 222?”
“No. My hunch was proven, Cliff. There is no one named Jenks aboard.”
Cliff pondered.
“Revoort had two keys,” reminded Harry. “Since one failed to lock his door, I figured that it belonged to another cabin — an empty one.”
“But in order for Revoort to have the key—”
“He would have to have engaged the cabin, under another name.”
“Jenks! You means that Revoort is J.F. Jenks?”
“There is no J.F. Jenks. Moreover, Revoort is wise enough to stay away from that cabin, which he knows no one will visit. For Cabin 222 contains luggage, although it has no occupant. I found a trunk in there, Cliff; it was so heavy that I could not lift it.”
“You mean that Revoort has put the treasure in Cabin 222?”
“Exactly. The coffer that the purser has in the strong room is nothing but a bluff.”
“Nobody would ever guess about that other cabin, Harry.”
“Not unless they should see Revoort’s two keys and dope it out as I did.”
“And unless someone grabs the coffer and cracks it open, nobody will know that the real swag might be elsewhere.”
HARRY nodded his approval of Cliff’s statement.
“If there is a gang aboard,” concluded Harry, “they’ll raid the purser’s office first. Once that has been discovered, the crowd will have to dig for cover.”
“They’d come for Revoort, though,” decided Cliff, “unless they already know — as is likely — that there is nothing of value in his own cabin. Maybe some bribed steward has made a search there for them.”
“That’s probable,” agreed Harry, “and it’s likely that Revoort has paid a steward to stay out of 222. Two could handle that game, Cliff. But if a raid is made on the purser’s office, with success, they’ll come for Revoort anyway.”
“To make him blab?”
“Yes. That’s why we’ll stay here. To be ready for the sequel, should the first attack succeed.”
That matter settled, The Shadow’s agents began their vigil, as self-appointed guardians of Louis Revoort. Trouble was brewing, they were sure. Both Harry and Cliff felt themselves prepared for it.
These aids of The Shadow were right in their surmise. Evil purposes were already in action aboard the steamship Tropical. Coming events, however, were to be of a magnitude that neither man expected!
CHAPTER VIII
CRIME’S ZERO HOUR
IT was close to midnight when Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland began their vigil in Cabin 309. They had concentrated their efforts upon the guarding of Louis Revoort, in Room 313. They had ceased to worry — for the present — regarding others aboard the Tropical.
They had discussed a passenger named Luke Duronne, the man who looked like a card shark. Cliff had seen the fellow while in the smoking room. Duronne had been playing poker with a crowd and had seemed quite disinterested in the temporary presence of Louis Revoort.
While The Shadow’s agents watched below, Duronne was still in the smoking room. Sallow and quick-eyed, he was tugging at the pointed ends of a dark mustache while he played a two-handed pinochle game with a bulky, dull-faced passenger. The poker game had ended. Duronne had apparently picked up an acquaintance with this lone passenger.
As they played their cards, however, Duronne was speaking in an undertone. Looking past the bulky man’s shoulder, he noted the purser talking with a ship’s officer.
Duronne was catching some of the words that lips were forming; he was repeating his observations to his bulky acquaintance.