The Golden Grotto

CHAPTER X THE SHADOW ARRIVES

FORTY miles out on Long Island, a swift coupe swerved from a paved road and sped rapidly along a winding dirt highway. As it neared the top of a gradual hill, the car came almost to a stop. The driver — his form totally invisible in the darkness within the car — shifted into noiseless second, and turned the car between two pillars that stood at the side of the road.

This was the entrance to the Cathcart summer home, a place well known to those who lived along this section of Long Island Sound. The twisting drive along which the coupe was crawling noiselessly was one portion of a network of narrow roads that traversed the estate.

The lights on the coupe went out. The car, under the control of a master hand, seemed to feel its way through the blackness.

Either those sharp, flashing eyes above the wheel could see through dark, or else the steering hands could sense the pressure of the gravel upon the tires. For the car took every turn, and finally came to a stop as it swung off on a side lane that was quite invisible in the night.

The automobile had actually entered the grounds and reached a spot within fifty yards of the house without making a sound that could have been heard by listeners near the building. But the slight noise of the car was much greater than the sound made by the person who had left it, and who was now stealing across the velvety lawn with its network of gravel walks. Only an almost inaudible swish signified that The Shadow was approaching the Cathcart home.

The swift traveler of the night had reached this spot well ahead of the large car that was bringing Elise Cathcart and her friend, Gale Sawyer. The Shadow’s speedy coupe had burned up the Long Island roads in its madcap trip. The goal had been reached, and The Shadow was now approaching the side of the house, guiding his advance by the few lights that showed through windows on the ground floor.

Tonight, The Shadow had sensed that danger would be present at this lonely residence on Long Island. He knew that a plot was brewing, and he had come here to forestall it. Soon, the Cathcart car would arrive. Then trouble would be due to follow. The Shadow knew that others — men of the underworld — would be here.

Two girls would be protected only by a handful of unsuspecting servants. That, at least, was the opinion of the conspirators, whoever they might be.

The Shadow, however, had altered the situation. His one aim, tonight, was to combat immediate crime, irrespective of whether or not it had a bearing on the Patagonia gold robbery.

THE glare from one first-story window flickered momentarily as a mass of blackness came between it and the outside darkness. A form — now invisible — was making its silent entrance into the house. A few moments later, a tall, black-clad figure stood within a dimly lighted dining room.

Away from the window, The Shadow made no attempt to conceal himself. He stood like a somber phantom materialized from the night — a sinister being whose entire shape was of sable hue.

A long, flowing cloak hung from The Shadow’s shoulders. The upturned collar of the garment blended with the brim of a slouch hat that was drawn well down upon the head that wore it. The hands of The Shadow were gloved with black. Only two eyes were visible — sharp, peering eyes that carried a fantastic gleam as they shone like living coals.

All was silent in the house. This indicated that the servants had retired. But as The Shadow listened, his keen intuition told him that all was not well on these premises. Something about that silence carried the semblance of death.

Softly, The Shadow glided across the room, his spectral form clinging to the darkness of the inner wall. His advance stopped as he reached the doorway to the living room.

Upon the floor lay two lifeless bodies — one a man, the other a woman. By their attire, The Shadow recognized them as the servants in the Cathcart home. Both upturned faces were staring with the bulging eyes that told the manner of their death — strangulation.

Already, foul deeds had taken place within this house. The Shadow knew the answer, and realized why chance had brought him here too late to prevent these deaths.

Murderous villains had been ordered to attack this house; they must have been located on Long Island when they had received their instructions. With all his speed, The Shadow had been unable to arrive before those who had less distance to go.

This was the work of a gang — of cruel criminals who had entered the house immediately upon their arrival, and who had decided to kill the servants who had heard them enter. Somewhere in this place, the murderers were still at large. Others, in all probability, were lying about the grounds.

The Shadow’s stealthy approach by car and on foot had not been detected by the waiting fiends. They were in readiness now, knowing that soon a car would arrive bearing two girls who were to be their prey. But these fiends would meet their match, now that The Shadow had arrived!

No laugh sounded from The Shadow’s hidden lips as the tall figure stooped to examine the bodies of the murdered servants. The sharp eyes saw that all life was gone from those motionless frames. The tall figure of The Shadow arose and towered like the shape of an avenging specter.

THERE were two doors to the room; one leading to the front of the house, the other back to the dining room through which The Shadow had come. The Shadow chose the latter as his exit.

With silent tread, he turned in that direction. His purpose was to gain the outer darkness, there to lie in readiness, or to fathom the hiding places of the men without.

At the entrance to the dining room, The Shadow stopped. His keen ears heard whispered voices at the window beyond. The Shadow drew back into a corner of the dim living room as the figure of a man blocked the open window.

Low, harsh words were plain as one man spoke to another. They believed that there was no one here to overhear them.

“Better drag out the bodies, Bart” — this voice was that of the man outside — “and then we’ll be ready to scram.”

“You coming in to help me?”

The reply was from the man who had entered the window.

“No,” came the low words, “Jimmy and Duke will be in to give you a lift. Make it quick — that car ought to drive up here pretty soon.”

Bart came slowly across the dining room. His eyes were upon the glow that showed through the doorway. Beyond that entrance, a tall, sinister form was awaiting him. Bart, the gangster, was walking into the hands of The Shadow!

The gleaming eyes of the waiting avenger were hard upon the curtains that hung in the doorway. Bart’s footsteps were coming closer. In a few seconds more, the unsuspecting gangster was due to encounter the same surprise that had often before met others of his ilk — the swift, sure stroke of The Shadow!

Again, however, fate was to play a thwarting part against The Shadow’s cause. Those motionless, extended hands in black were waiting to clutch their victim; then, suddenly, they withdrew to the form behind them.

There would be no swift, silent punishment for Bart. The keen ears of The Shadow had detected a new sound that told him of imminent danger.

With swift swing, the tall figure whirled back toward the wall, and the gleaming eyes shone upon the door that came from the front of the house. There stood a stocky man garbed in sweater and cap, a flashing revolver in his hand. Another grimy face peered over his shoulder.

Jimmy and Duke — the two who had been deputed to aid Bart — had come by the other route. Moving stealthily, through natural caution, they had come upon the figure of The Shadow, waiting for a victim!

Both had recognized that sinister form. They, of all gangdom, had been fortunate enough to come upon The Shadow unaware.

But the intuition of The Shadow worked more rapidly than could the swiftest hand of the underworld. These men were armed; yet they did not have time to raise their weapons before The Shadow had divined their presence.

AS The Shadow swung back toward the wall, his deft hands were already swinging toward the automatics that hung beneath his cloak.

His actions were of double effect. His body, merging with the gloom of the wall, was seeking the defense of obscurity. His hands, incredible in their swiftness, were bringing offensive weapons into action.

Amid that tense moment of discovery came another sign — the sudden flare of headlights as an automobile came up the driveway to the Cathcart home. It was the car in which Frederick, the chauffeur, was bringing the two girls from New York!

The Shadow had arrived to discover murder. The murderers had arrived to encounter The Shadow. The car which the gangsters sought to stop, and which The Shadow sought to save, had also arrived at this critical juncture!

At every point, The Shadow had been tricked by fate. Already, the muzzle of a revolver was aimed at his moving body. Even while his hands were drawing forth their weapons, Jimmy, the front man at the door, was pressing the trigger of his gun.

The report of that shot reechoed through the room where death had already fallen. With the sound, The Shadow’s form was dropping to the floor. Bart, stopped short in the next room, was yanking forth his revolver. Jimmy and Duke were leaping forward.

All the venom of gangdom’s hatred for The Shadow had been vested in the shot which Jimmy had fired. Tonight, The Shadow was at bay — and evil men had sought to make the most of it!