He had been in his cabin. That was all. He passed inspection.
AS the Gasconne neared New York harbor, Ivan Motkin kept to two places. One was the smoking room, the other was his cabin. The Red agent was in constant dread — not of discovery by the ship’s officers, but of a new encounter with that strange apparition in black.
He had only one hope; that his archenemy had been one of the slain. But that hope was faint. Ivan Motkin was constantly on guard.
He identified this man in black with the American whom he had captured in Moscow, and who had eluded him. But nowhere on the ship did he encounter any one who would have passed for Henry Arnaud.
With his trepidation, Motkin felt elation. In New York, he would find new Red agents. They would be there to help him. He had seen what no one else had seen — the three men pitching the big trunk overboard.
That action, Motkin had been sure, was not one of destruction, but of safety. Somewhere, in the vicinity of where the Gasconne had been, a small ship must have been waiting to pick up the precious object.
For Motkin was sure that he knew the contents of that trunk.
His idea was partially correct. It was wrong in one detail. Motkin pictured a lowlying yacht as the boat which had been waiting. Motkin was wrong in another belief. He was sure that he alone knew that the trunk had gone overboard.
On the Gasconne was a keen mind that knew what Motkin did not know. A figure was standing by the rail as the ship neared the American coast. Leaning on his cane, a kindly-faced old gentleman was beaming at the broad Atlantic.
The picture that he formed was the correct one. His mind was visioning a submarine under the guidance of Silas Helmsworth— traveling beneath the surface of the swelling ocean.
No detail had escaped The Shadow. Disguised as a ministerial old man, who was deaf, and who walked with a cane, he could have answered the questions that were perplexing crew and passengers alike.
The stolen contents of the Moscow storage vault were on their way to New York, to be delivered into the keeping of Frederick Froman.
The Shadow knew all!
CHAPTER XX. ON THE SUBMARINE
“SMUGGLED goods?”
Silas Helmsworth was the questioner. His voice sounded hollow and strained in the musty, steel-walled cabin. His companion was Frederick Froman.
“Yes,” replied the light-haired man. “Smuggled goods, Helmsworth. What of it?”
“I don’t like it,” objected Helmsworth. “I didn’t know that my arrangement with Mr. Noyes would call for this. First I was to go to Riga; instead, I was sent miles out to sea. When we picked up that floating trunk, I became worried.”
“Forget it, Helmsworth,” rejoined Froman impatiently. “That’s what you are being paid to do.”
“The crew may ask me questions about—”
“All right. Tell them it was an experiment; to learn whether or not a floating object could be located. They had enough trouble finding it and hauling it aboard.”
“All right,” agreed Helmsworth reluctantly. “I shall forget the matter. Except—”
“Except what?”
“You are going to take the trunk ashore.”
“I am not,” returned Froman. “I intend to remove a box that the trunk contains. You can keep the trunk” — he laughed — “for future experiments. It is quite a remarkable object, that trunk, with its watertight construction and its air compartments.”
“And then—”
“I told you to forget the matter,” said Froman. “You are setting forth immediately upon your polar expedition. Mr. Noyes gave you a previous assignment, that is all. You can talk with him when you reach the base. He will be there.”
“To get the box—”
“To get the box. We are transporting it by automobile. Listen, Helmsworth” — Froman’s face hardened — “I have been too patient with you. The less you know, the better. That trunk was dropped overboard from a certain ship — the particular one is none of your affair.
“On a cruise like this — a mere test of the submarine — there is no customs supervision at the base. Parker Noyes is an eccentric man. You have benefited by his eccentricity. Now, let us suppose” — Froman’s tone became deliberate — “that Mr. Noyes is so fond of a certain brand of XX Chartreuse or Burgundy — or some other choice liqueur — that he is willing to go to any expense to obtain it—”
“I think I understand,” interposed Helmsworth, with a relieved smile. “He is eccentric, indeed. Yes, he would go to great trouble for any purpose that might suit his fancy.”
“Which is exactly as he has done,” Froman concluded.
There was a rap at the door of the cabin. Helmsworth answered it. A member of the crew announced that the submarine was nearing port.
Helmsworth and Froman ascended the ladder to the conning tower. They reached the deck. The submarine was cleaving through the waters of Long Island Sound, moving smoothly on the surface.
FROMAN was thoughtful as they neared the submarine base. He knew that the Gasconne had long since reached port. That did not matter. The sea risk had ended with the finding of the trunk. A crafty scheme, this plan evolved by Parker Noyes!
Froman was forced to admire Helmsworth’s skill as a navigator. Furnished by wireless with certain reports, he had held the submarine below surface until after an appointed hour. The floating trunk had been found within a mile of the spot where the submarine had waited until after dawn.
It was evening now — another evening since the day that they had picked up the trunk at sea. The searchlight of the submarine picked out a pier. The boat swung into dock.
Parker Noyes was waiting. With him were two men. They were Froman’s Russian servants, but they gave no sign of recognizing their master.
Parker Noyes stepped aboard, and the other men followed. Froman descended the ladder, and his henchmen joined him below. Unlocking a small compartment close to a bulkhead, Froman revealed the mysterious trunk.
He undid the fastenings. The trunk opened to reveal a box fitted between two air chambers — one above, the other below. The two men removed the box. Froman helped them to get it to the conning tower.
None of the crew were around; all had scrambled ashore when the submarine had docked.
The box was drawn up with the aid of ropes. Froman and his helpers carried it to the darkened dock, and placed it in the back seat of a large car. Froman walked back to the submarine, and discovered Parker Noyes talking pleasantly with Silas Helmsworth.
Parting words were extended. Noyes and Froman went to their car, leaving Helmsworth puzzled but silent. The big automobile pulled away — Noyes and Froman were seated in back, the retainers in front.
“Trouble on the Gasconne,” remarked Noyes.
“What sort of trouble?” asked Froman.
“Reds, evidently,” declared the lawyer. “Waddell was killed; Tholbin was killed. So were two of our men.”
Froman’s lips became grim.
“Will there be trouble here?” he asked.
“I have expected it,” said Noyes calmly.
“Had we better change our plans?” asked Froman.
“I have safeguarded our plans,” said Noyes. “That is all that will be necessary. We shall proceed as we intended. But we are not going to hasten. When we arrive” — he chuckled as though enjoying some huge joke — “all will be arranged.”
The car whirled along. It was a distant trip into New York. Frederick Froman, tired after his trip on the submarine, rested back upon the cushions.
The big box that bulked upon the floor of the car gave him a quiet satisfaction. He feared no trouble from Silas Helmsworth. Whatever danger might exist, most certainly lay ahead. Yet Frederick Froman was not apprehensive.