Chain Of Death

CHAPTER XIX SHOTS ON BOARD

GRIM complications were combining aboard the Steamship Mauritius. While the broad-beamed liner was pounding steadily seaward, passengers aboard it were setting the stage for startling events.

The Shadow, planning a lone battle against crime, had gauged the situation. He knew that Wesley Elkin, traveling as an ordinary passenger on this slow ship, was probably secure in the belief that no one suspected the value of the secret cargo in his stateroom.

During his tour of inspection through many passages, accomplished prior to Harry Vincent’s discovery of Raoul Darchonne, The Shadow had noted various persons and their actions. Among those whom he observed leaving staterooms was the man who occupied 128.

The way was clear for crime; and The Shadow knew that it would be carried through by stealth. A search of Elkin’s stateroom; the removal of the valuable paintings — these deeds would require time. Such action might already be under way; yet a delay in arrival would not defeat The Shadow’s cause. There was time to take care of the predicament which Harry Vincent faced.

PROOF of The Shadow’s accurate calculation lay in stateroom 128. The door of that cabin was ajar. Within the lighted room, three men were at work. Elkin’s cabin was a spacious one. It contained three wardrobe trunks. These had been opened by the trio. Upon the floor lay long metal tubes, each the container of a valuable portrait.

From behind the drawers of the wardrobe trunks, the riflers had brought framed canvases. The trunk had been specially prepared to hold the paintings. The spoils of crime — nine framed paintings and a dozen more in tubes — were being gathered for removal.

At the door, keeping the barrier almost closed, stood the husky American whom Harry Vincent had seen in the smoking salon. He was the leader of the trio. His hard eyes watched the workers. Then came a change upon his countenance. He raised a warning hand and hissed an order.

The riflers moved to the wall of the stateroom. Carefully, their leader peered through the crack of the door; then closed the barrier. He looked about and saw that his men had ducked from sight. He stepped forward and crouched beyond the central wardrobe trunk.

He was just in time. The door of stateroom 128 was opening. A moment later, a heavy, bluff-faced Englishman stepped into the room. Consternation showed upon his middle-aged visage. Wesley Elkin had returned unexpectedly to his stateroom, to find the door unlocked. Entering, he stood in amazement as he saw the wide open trunks and his treasures, stacked upon the floor.

Elkin backed toward the door. His thought was to sound an alarm. He did not gain the opportunity. A man’s head and shoulders bobbed above the central trunk. A harsh voice commanded Elkin to halt. A revolver glistened in the hand that showed atop the trunk.

“Close the door,” ordered the leader of the crooks.

Mechanically, Elkin obeyed. Unarmed, relying solely upon the belief that no one knew of his art treasures, Elkin was helpless. He faced the muzzle of the revolver.

“Don’t make any trouble,” growled the chief crook. “It will be too bad for you if you do.”

“Who — who are you?” stammered Elkin.

“Let me introduce myself,” scoffed the man with the gun, as he stepped from behind the trunk. “They call me Richard Glade. That is the name which I employ when I resort to crime. These gentlemen” — he waved his free hand toward the side of the cabin — “are my gang.”

Glade’s two cronies stepped into view. Each man held a revolver. Glade pocketed his own weapon while his minions covered Elkin.

“Passengers aboard the Mauritius,” scoffed Glade, again indicating his men. “All except myself. I merely came aboard to superintend their work. Our purpose, as you see, is to remove the paintings that you are taking to England.

“Your plan was rather clever, Elkin. Traveling as the obscure representative of a large British syndicate, you thought it best to bring back these art treasures in a very inconspicuous fashion. Your plan, however, has failed. You cannot save your valuables; but you still have the opportunity to keep your life. I advise you to do nothing foolish.”

Glade motioned the Englishman toward the inner end of the stateroom. Weakly, Elkin backed against a port hole and stood with arms upraised. Glade spoke to his men.

“You keep him covered, Hank,” ordered the crook. “Come on, Terry, we’ll move the swag. The boys are waiting.”

Opening the door of the stateroom, Glade gave a low hiss. Two men appeared promptly from a passage just beyond the stateroom. It was an opening that led directly to the lower deck — the most deserted spot aboard the ship.

AT the same time, a door opened in a stateroom across the passage. Another pair of huskies stepped into view. As Glade and Terry bundled up a load of paintings and left the doorway marked 128, a second pair of men came in to gain a similar burden.

Glade and Terry reached the deck. Four box-like trunks were set there, forming a huge cube. These burdens had been brought from cabins. Loaded on as ordinary luggage, emptied of their original contents, the four containers made a massive block.

While Glade and his companions were loading their stolen goods into one of the trunks, the next pair of men arrived with their burden. Glade yanked open the tight-fitting front of a second trunk, to admit the next supply of paintings. He then turned to a small box that lay on the deck. He uncoiled a length of wire, one end of which was fastened to the little box. He fixed the free end to the handle of a trunk.

Within his stateroom, Wesley Elkin was standing backed against the port hole. Hands still upward, the Englishman was watching the third pair of crooks as they gathered up the final spoils. Hank still held his quarry helpless. Elkin could not move while the revolver muzzle covered him. Yet a look of determination was creeping over the Englishman’s face.

SIMILARLY, in a cabin one deck above, a man was standing covered by a gun. Harry Vincent, trapped in his stateroom, was staring into a shining barrel held by Raoul Darchonne. Harry had left the door of his stateroom unlocked. The Frenchman had stealthily followed his into the cabin.

In a low, snarling voice, Darchonne was baiting the man whom he had surprised. Darchonne was demanding information. He wanted to know what Harry Vincent had learned regarding crime aboard ship.

Tensely, Harry was facing his captor. Harry knew that Darchonne would not risk a shot while plans were still in the making, unless Harry, himself, committed the folly of an attack.

Silent, The Shadow’s agent refused to reply to Darchonne’s questions. Staring straight toward the snarling Frenchman, Harry maintained an expressionless gaze as he saw the door of the stateroom opening.

The Shadow!

Harry knew that his chief had returned. Darchonne’s form obscured the center of the door. The only manifestations of The Shadow’s arrival were the motion of the door and the blackness that seemed to creep forward as the barrier closed.

“Come on!” Darchonne’s tone showed suppressed fury. “Speak! I’ll give you five seconds longer!”

Darchonne was half crouched. His left fist was clenched in front of him. His right held the gun close to his body. A mass of shrouding blackness loomed behind the Frenchman. Burning eyes showed above Darchonne’s head. Then, like living tentacles of darkness, a pair of arms came winging in from either side. A grip, as firm as it was swift, caught Darchonne’s form and pinioned the Frenchman’s arms.

The Shadow had stooped speedily. His obscured form shot backward with a powerful snap. To Harry’s staring eyes, Darchonne’s body seemed to act of its own accord. The Frenchman’s feet shot upward. His body flew to a horizontal position in mid-air. Then, as The Shadow released a downward swing, Darchonne came smashing flat upon the floor.

The Frenchman lay stunned before Harry’s eyes. His arms spread. His revolver went bounding sidewise across the floor. Looking up to the spot where Darchonne had stood, Harry saw the swishing folds of The Shadow’s cloak, as its wearer whirled toward the stateroom door. A whispered laugh was The Shadow’s token. It came as the master-fighter opened the door. Then Harry’s rescuer reached the passage. The door closed, leaving Harry safe and Raoul Darchonne helpless.

MEANWHILE, the last pair of burden carriers had left stateroom 128. Facing Hank, Wesley Elkin stood with twitching hands. The Englishman was desperate. He was barely managing to restrain himself, despite the threat of the looming revolver.

The door opened. It was Richard Glade. The chief crook did not enter. He gave a hiss toward Hank; the minion shot a glance toward the door. He nodded as he heard Glade’s whisper. The door closed. Hank approached closer to Wesley Elkin.

The Englishman sensed the verdict. Though he had not heard Glade’s whisper, he had caught the involuntary gesture of a downward pointed thumb. Glade had ordered Hank to hold his prisoner a few minutes longer — then to kill.

Hank was but a few feet away; Elkin knew why. When ready for the shot, the rogue would jam the gun forward, to muffle the shot against his victim’s body. Elkin shifted as though his arms were weary; then, with a sudden spring, he launched himself upon his captor.

The act caught Hank off guard. With a sweeping clutch, Elkin caught the fellow’s wrist. As he grappled with his captor, Elkin twisted. The revolver clattered to the floor. Hank, writhing in pain, wrenched himself free. Then, as Elkin pounced upon him, Hank met the attack with powerful force, he flung Elkin toward a wardrobe trunk.

The Englishman slipped. His head struck the edge of the trunk. His slumping body yielded. Wesley Elkin rolled unconscious to the floor. Luck had come to Hank. The villain pounced to the floor and grabbed his gun.

Elkin had received a heavy blow. The man was out; it was plain that he would not recover consciousness for some time to come. Holding his revolver, Hank grinned as he leaned toward the slumped form and shoved the gun muzzle directly above Elkin’s heart. His finger was on the trigger, it was a sound from the door that prevented Hank from firing the fatal shot.

Thinking that Richard Glade had returned, Hank turned. The door was open. There, framed in the gloom of the corridor was a black-cloaked figure. Hank, a product of New York’s gangland, recognized the awe-inspiring shape.

“The Shadow!”

Hank gasped the name as he swung in desperation. He aimed his revolver squarely toward the door. Before Hank could press the trigger of the gun, a burst of flame came from an automatic wielded by a black-gloved fist. Hank sprawled upon the stateroom floor.

OUT on deck, Richard Glade heard the report. An oath came from the chief crook’s lips as he stepped back from the trunk in which he had stowed the final paintings. Glade turned to two of his men.

“Back in there!” he snarled. “See what that boob Hank has done! I told him to hold that shot!”

Two ruffians dashed into the ship. They reached the end of the passage outside of 128. The Shadow, just within the stateroom door, heard their footsteps. With a backward swing, the black-garbed warrior swerved into the passage.

Glade’s henchmen were holding drawn guns. They stopped short as they saw the blackened shape which confronted them. The burning eyes of The Shadow were orbs of fearful vengeance. As one man scrambled wildly back toward the opening to the dock, his companion fired at The Shadow.

The man’s shot, delivered from a rising gun, was wild. The rogue never gained a chance to deliver a second bullet. The Shadow’s response halted the ruffian’s rising aim. Tongued flame came from a mighty automatic.

The crook crumpled. The second of Glade’s henchmen had failed. His body, like Hank’s, lay motionless upon the floor. The Shadow was moving swiftly forward, past the man whom he had downed.

For The Shadow knew the route that crooks had taken. He had seen the chaos in Elkin’s rifled cabin. He knew that the paintings had been carried from 128. His opportunity still existed.

Alone, The Shadow was after desperate men. Warned by the crook who had fled back to the deck, they would be prepared for battle. A chilling laugh came echoing from The Shadow’s lips. One against five, The Shadow was ready for the fray!