The Golden Grotto

CHAPTER I THE GOLD SHIP

“CLICK — click — click — click—”

Clyde Burke’s ears were alert as they caught the coded rattling. His hand, resting unseen within the book that he was reading, jotted down the dots and dashes that his ears were hearing.

Without moving his head, Clyde turned his eyes across the smoking room of the steamship Patagonia, and detected the source of the message. A poker player, his back toward Burke, was idly lifting and dropping a stack of chips that rested on the table beside him. Clyde could see the up-and-down motion of the man’s fingers.

“Click — click — click — click — click—”

Clyde’s hand was still busy, but his gaze was moving to other sections of the room. Somewhere, he knew, a man was receiving the message which the other was sending.

Clyde’s stealthy glances were rewarded. Two men, seated opposite each other on the side of the smoking room nearest the door, were rising as with one accord. One swallowed a half-finished drink; then the two strolled from the smoking room.

The clicking had ceased. Casually, Clyde Burke closed his book, tucked it under his arm, and arose from his chair. He paused to light a cigarette; then walked leisurely across the room, and stepped through the door that led to the deck.

THE Patagonia was driving steadily through a placid sea. Only the easy, even rise of the slow swell imparted other motion to the steamship. Although an old vessel, and of comparatively light tonnage beside more modern liners, the Patagonia was making excellent headway on this last night at sea.

The coolness of the sea air was sufficient excuse for Clyde Burke to lean against the rail and slowly turn his gaze toward the bow of the ship.

Had the two men who had left still been walking along the stretch of deck, Clyde would easily have spotted them. As it was, the observer saw that the deck was clear. There was only one inference. The men had entered the opening to the stairway that led to the deck below.

Clyde Burke drew away from the rail and took the course that he knew the others must have traveled. He reached the stairway and descended. He stopped at the door of the main saloon, and watched the dance that was in progress. He saw no sign of the two who had gone ahead.

Wending his way along a corridor, Clyde reached the door of his stateroom. He entered and closed the door behind him. Seating himself at a small table, Clyde opened the book which he carried, and transcribed the coded dots and dashes to a sheet of paper.

The message was undecipherable. The man who had sent it had evidently been using a code known only to himself and to those who were meant to receive it.

Clyde Burke arose, a serious expression upon his face. He flipped his cigarette through the open porthole; then walked quietly to the door and listened cautiously. Satisfied that no one was in the corridor outside, Clyde returned to the table and began to make penciled notations.

Ostensibly, Clyde Burke was a freelance journalist who had found it profitable to act as a newspaper correspondent in England and France. His presence on this boat appeared of no special significance. A young man, quiet in demeanor, and watchful rather than loquacious, Clyde had the ability to render himself inconspicuous.

Privately, however, Clyde Burke followed an occupation quite different than that which he openly professed. His voyage as a passenger on the Patagonia, now bound from Southampton to New York, was not being made in the interests of journalism.

In fact, Clyde was particularly anxious not to encounter unusual news items during the journey. For Clyde Burke was acting as an agent for The Shadow!

A few weeks ago, Clyde recalled, he had been in London, picking up news suitable for cable dispatches. Then shortly before the Patagonia had sailed from Southampton, Clyde had received a special order from The Shadow to embark as a regular passenger upon this particular boat.

There had been no question about the purpose of his mission. Reaching in his pocket, Clyde drew forth the important item that concerned it. This was a newspaper clipping, which read:

The printed paragraph was filled with meaning for Clyde Burke. As a newspaperman, he knew that a gold shipment of approximately two millions would not ordinarily be mentioned on the front page of a New York newspaper. Under present conditions, however, such a transaction became news.

Moreover, it was not usual to announce a shipment of precious metal so far in advance of the sailing date. This clipping had come to Clyde, in London, several days before the Patagonia had been due to sail.

Private funds — so the dispatch stated. There, again, lay an unusual factor. Such gold would not go through the regular precautionary measures adopted with specie that represented transactions between governments of large financial interests.

In brief, this dispatch was more than a simple news item. It was an open announcement to the world at large that a valuable sum in gold would be on the high seas at a certain date, accessible to any and all who might possess the nerve and ingenuity to seize it!

IN his dual occupation as newspaperman and agent for The Shadow, Clyde Burke had learned much regarding the boldness of international crooks. He knew that the criminal rings of New York, London, and Paris overlapped whenever occasion demanded. This dispatch should never have been made public. It was virtually a challenge to the skill of crookdom!

The steamship company, like the newspapers, had overlooked the possible results that might occur from the unwise dispatch.

Gold shipments had been transported before. An ocean liner, it would seem, must be the safest possible place for gold to be — so far as theft was concerned. But in this instance, the transfer was a set-up — should any one devise a means to take advantage of it.

Gold on the high seas — the shippers unworrying, the authorities out of the picture. After all, there was safety in the fact that it would require a supercrook to plan a way to seize the millions. The chances were a hundred to one that no attempt would be made to gain the gold; but where others were content to play with the ninety-nine chances, there was one man who chose the hundredth.

The Shadow!

He was the mysterious being of darkness who fought crime with an iron hand — the master mind who called the turn before the schemes of fiends could reach their culmination.

A lone avenger whose very identity was a mystery, The Shadow saw the signs of approaching evil with unerring foresight.

Through his agents — trusted men who, themselves, were ignorant of The Shadow’s actual personality — this master of detection felt the pulse throbs of lawlessness, and maintained a constant vigil against impending crime.

As The Shadow’s secret agent, Clyde Burke was now watching doings on this ship, ready to send an urgent message, should he see the slightest chance of trouble on the Patagonia.

So far, Clyde had carefully obeyed instructions. He had looked for suspicious characters, paying particular attention to any traces of collusion existing between passengers upon the liner.

Until tonight, Clyde had encountered nothing during the uneventful voyage; but his instructions from The Shadow had warned him to be particularly alert as the ship neared the coast of the United States.

The smoking room, Clyde had noted, was the natural meeting place where any plotters would seek one another. The very conspicuousness of the spot made it most desirable.

Secret cabals on decks or in cabins might create suspicion. Concealed communications in the smoking room would pass unnoticed. That had proven true tonight, as Clyde had learned when he had heard the coded clicking of the poker chips.

At present, the ship was more than a hundred miles from shore. Its course would bring it close to the coast before dawn. Clyde, in his quiet conversations with ship’s officers, had learned that the Patagonia was close to its expected position.

The danger zone had not yet been reached. Tonight, it was Clyde’s duty to give The Shadow radio information if trouble was developing. So far, Clyde had sent no messages.

The Shadow was allowing for the ninety-nine possibilities, even though he saw much likelihood of the hundredth chance. Hence, Clyde, in his instructions, had been told to send no message should nothing develop.

As a passenger, Clyde Burke was too smooth a worker to come under the suspicion of any criminals who might be contemplating concerted action. Hence, he had been reserved in every manner of his conduct. At present, Clyde was debating whether or not to wait an hour longer before sending word to The Shadow.

Well did Clyde Burke know the swiftness and certainty with which The Shadow could act. He sensed that The Shadow knew that trouble would not develop until the Patagonia had neared shore. The comparatively slow progress of the ship would enable The Shadow to intercept it by swift boat or by plane, before it came into that zone where danger might well be lying.

Strolling from his cabin, Clyde was relieved to note that the corridor was still empty. He congratulated himself on the fact that though he knew little of the enemy’s plans, his own observations were entirely unsuspected.

At the smoking room, Clyde lingered long enough to study the poker player who had indulged in the chip-clicking. He also noted other men lounging about, and felt sure that some of them were deserving of suspicion.

Half an hour passed. With no results occurring, Clyde left the smoking room.

Had he lingered a few minutes more, he would have seen the clicking chips once more in action. Their signal caused one man to saunter from the smoking room.

Unfortunately, however, Clyde Burke had not waited quite long enough. Paradoxically, he had waited too long — as events of the next ten minutes quickly proved.

CLYDE’S destination was the radio room. Reaching that spot, the newspaperman drew a radiogram from his pocket and gave it to the operator. It was a simple message — one which Clyde had kept in readiness for this moment. The radiogram was addressed to Rutledge Mann, in the Badger Building, New York. It read:

The message was signed by Clyde Burke.

Ostensibly, it was information concerning investments which Clyde was sending to his broker. Actually, it was an urgent report from one of The Shadow’s agents to another.

Rutledge Mann, a placid, quiet-faced investment broker, was the contact man who received direct communications from The Shadow’s operatives.

The radio operator read the message and nodded. He assured Clyde that it would be sent within the next fifteen minutes. Clyde left the wireless room and went below. The operator prepared to send the message.

With ear phones to his head, and hand on key, the operator did not notice that another man had entered the room. This individual — a short, sallow-faced fellow — was the man who had left the smoking room after Clyde Burke had gone.

He approached the wireless operator and tapped his shoulder. The man at the key turned suddenly. Recognizing his visitor, he removed the ear phones from his head.

“What’s up, Pete?” he questioned, in a low voice.

“All set,” responded the swarthy man. “Stick with us from now on, boy. Nothing goes out that might be a tip-off. What you got there?”

The operator handed him Clyde’s message. The swarthy man read it and handed it back.

“It looks O.K.,” he said. “But just the same—”

“I’d better send it,” declared the operator. “There might be a squawk.”

“All right” — the swarthy man paused suddenly, then shook his head — “I guess it isn’t best to chance it. Nothing to this, but the chief has passed me the word. When he says what to do, he means it. He tipped me to come up here and pass you the word. This message will be lost in the rush.”

The radio operator took the written sheet. He glanced at it reluctantly. Then, as he noted the decided expression on his companion’s face, he shrugged his shoulders.

“All right, Pete,” he said.

Crumpling the paper between his hands, the operator tossed it in a wastebasket beneath the table. He put his ear phones on his head and rested his hand on the key. Pete thumped him on the back, swung on his heel, and went from the room.

It was several minutes later when the swarthy man reappeared in the smoking room. He took a seat as soon as he entered. Clyde Burke was sitting not far away. He noted the quick glance that passed from the chip-clicking poker player to the new arrival.

Clyde Burke smiled to himself. Trouble was brewing to a certainty. Duty lay ahead tonight. Here, on this ship, he must learn all that he could to aid The Shadow.

As to the outcome of whatever might transpire, Clyde had no doubts. That lay in the hands of The Shadow. Through Rutledge Mann, stationed in his office this evening, The Shadow would receive the word which he awaited.

So Clyde Burke reasoned. He did not know that fate had worked against him tonight; that his message to New York would not be delivered. Men of crime were preparing for a master stroke — and Clyde Burke’s carefully planned warning had failed to go.

Steaming onward, the Patagonia plowed through the silent sea, nearing a spot where strange events were scheduled to take place — without interference from the one person who had divined that crime was brewing!

Thorough though he was, Clyde Burke had slipped tonight. Experienced though he was in The Shadow’s service, Clyde lacked the intuition that was needed tonight.

Even while he smiled to think of the unexpected surprise that would encounter the crooks aboard this ship, his own plan had gone awry, leaving the field clear for crime!