The Golden Grotto

CHAPTER XIII HARRY HAS NEWS

SINCE his advent at East Point, Vincent had become an early riser. In this propensity, he found Malbray Woodruff to be his equal. The artist claimed that early-morning atmosphere was conducive to artistic talent.

Thus Harry and Woodruff were eating breakfast shortly after dawn, and Harry, taciturn in demeanor, was silently reviewing the events of the past few days. He realized that he had discovered very little to report to The Shadow.

Two nights ago Professor Kirby Sheldon had returned late from his lecture in New York. The old gentleman had been at home yesterday, and in the evening, Harry and Woodruff had made a short call. This present afternoon, Sheldon was due to leave for New York to deliver another lecture.

Events at the cottage of Elbert Cordes had not been illuminating. Watching at night, Harry had suspected that either Cordes or Downs had been abroad, but he had discovered no tangible evidence to that effect.

The only unusual item of interest on the point had been the activity of Malbray Woodruff.

Yesterday, the artist had taken his little boat, and Harry had seen him rowing out into the bay, equipped with his easel and brushes. A hundred yards off the Point lay a little wooded island, the trees upon its surface being of the scrubby variety. It was the first in a succession of tiny islets — some no more than bare rocks above the surface of the water. Others, like the nearest area of isolated land, were like high mounds, with inaccessible sides.

Woodruff, when he had rowed away, had disappeared behind the first island; and it was from that same spot that Harry had seen the artist returning to the Point after an all-day expedition.

This morning, Woodruff announced his intention of going on a similar trip, but decided that he would come back in time for lunch. He exhibited a partly finished painting of a bay scene, and stated that he had found a desirable spot upon a mass of rocks that could not be seen from the Point.

Since his last journey to the settlement at the depot, Harry had not left the vicinity of Woodruff’s cottage. There was nothing to be gained by applying a further test concerning Cordes and his man. Here, on the Point, Harry felt a complete detachment from the rest of the world.

He had seen no newspapers — either at Woodruff’s or at Sheldon’s. Although it was Harry’s custom to keep posted on events of the day, he could see no present necessity, particularly as he knew that The Shadow would keep him posted on all matters which concerned him. It was Harry’s job to look for any unusual signs — that was all.

In his visit to the professor’s house, Harry had obtained a note from the band of the gray hat. This was the second coded message from The Shadow. It was simply another admonition to maintain contact, and to send in a full report of whatever might occur at East Point.

Radio broadcasts had brought no further orders. It was obvious to Harry that The Shadow was playing a waiting game, gathering certain items of information, withholding action until the time would prove right. If, as Harry supposed, the gold robbers who had attacked the Patagonia were also lying low, the period of waiting would eventually end in exciting events.

WITH very little to report to The Shadow, Harry spent the morning strolling on the beach beside the bay. At times, he turned a cautious eye toward the cottages.

He saw Downs ride down toward the little town, and return about half an hour later. Otherwise, nothing occurred until nearly noon, when Harry became suddenly aware that Malbray Woodruff was approaching in the rowboat. As on yesterday afternoon, the artist had come from behind the mound-shaped island just off the sandy shore.

Woodruff was rowing with quick, eager stroke, and Harry was surprised to see the artist show so much activity. The boat grounded in the sand. Woodruff clambered out and dragged his easel after him. He shot a quick glance at Harry, and made a sign to come with him. Together, they walked hastily to the cottage.

Woodruff closed the door as soon as they had entered. He motioned Harry to a chair and placed the easel in a corner. With the air of a man who has something important to say, but is doubtful how to begin, the artist paced back and forth across the floor, while Harry watched him without comment. At last, Woodruff halted, faced his friend, and asked a point-blank question.

“Why are you out here, Vincent?”

Harry, raised his eyebrows in a puzzled manner.

“I mean,” explained Woodruff, “do you have any special purpose for being at East Point? Are you a detective — for example?”

“Of course not,” replied Harry, with a laugh. “Why do you ask that, Woodruff?”

The artist stared steadily at his guest, while his hands acted mechanically in filling his pipe with tobacco.

“Don’t misunderstand me, Vincent,” Woodruff said. “I just want to get matters straight. If you are investigating out here, I want to be of assistance to you. If you are not, I want you to help me. So the result will be the same in either case.”

The statement was Harry’s cue. He made the most of it by putting a question of his own.

“What’s up, Woodruff?” he asked.

The artist decided to explain. He seemed to have confidence in Harry, and the frank question made him resolve to treat his new friend as a confidant.

“Something is wrong here at East Point,” asserted Woodruff. “I sensed that a long time ago — when I first came here. One night I was sure I saw a mysterious light out in the bay. At other times, I have heard men outside this house.

“When the coast guards came to investigate, it increased my suspicions. They went away, after looking the place over very carefully. Everything was quiet after that. But since you came, I have become suspicious once more.

“Night before last, I heard something that sounded like a motor — very muffled. My room is in the front of the house, and I listened at the window. Knowing that you were at the side of the house, I doubted that you could have heard the sound. I came in to speak to you, but saw you were asleep. I wanted to talk to you about these matters.

“Later, I was sure that I heard sounds on the beach. I fancied that I saw a prowler passing Professor Sheldon’s house. At last, I went to sleep, and forgot all about it. Nothing occurred yesterday; but last night, I thought I heard new sounds from the beach. Again, I felt sure that prowlers were about.

“Then, when I went to get my boat this morning, I noticed that its position was different from the way I had left it on the beach. Going back in my mind, I realized dimly that I had seen the same fact yesterday. Some one, Vincent, has been going out in that boat at night!”

Woodruff paused dramatically. He saw that Harry was listening intently. The artist seemed determined to convince his companion that this belief was more than mere conjecture.

“When I was rowing back this morning,” Woodruff continued, in a low voice. “I skirted the wooded island just offshore. Little Knob, they call it. Those scrubby trees run right down to the water line, and the edge of the island is rocky and irregular.

“I generally keep away from it because of rocks. But to-day, I saw something floating in the water. I picked it up — it had evidently been hooked against the brush on the shore of the island — and here it is.”

With that, Woodruff produced a fragment of cloth and spread it, damp, upon the table. The object was a portion of a handkerchief. The corner bore the embroidered initials:

“A girl’s handkerchief,” commented Harry.

“Are you sure of that?” asked Woodruff.

“Certainly,” said Harry. “Look at the embroidery. I would be positive that it was a girl’s handkerchief.”

“It might be a man’s handkerchief,” responded Woodruff.

Harry shook his head. He picked up the cloth and sniffed it, hoping to detect the scent of perfume; but the handkerchief had evidently been floating for some time in the salt water.

Nevertheless, in examining the cloth, Harry found three corners, and he pointed to that fact as proving that the handkerchief was less than twelve inches square.

“Pretty small for a man’s handkerchief,” observed Harry. “So I disagree with you, Woodruff. I cannot offer any theory as to how the handkerchief arrived where you found it; but I am quite sure that its former owner was a lady whose initials are E. C.”

“That’s just it!” exclaimed Woodruff triumphantly. “E. C.! Those initials prove the very point that I am after. This is a man’s handkerchief, and I know who the man is. Elbert Cordes!”

THIS statement placed a new light on the subject. Harry, despite the fact that he was sure this was a woman’s handkerchief, was forced to acknowledge that the initials were the same as those of Elbert Cordes.

“Yes,” affirmed Woodruff, “Elbert Cordes was out in that boat of mine. For some reason, he went over to Little Knob. Why did he go there? That’s what I want to find out.”

“Have you any reason to find out?” asked Harry, in an indifferent tone.

“Reason?” Woodruff’s tone was indignant. “Isn’t it sufficient reason when you suspect that some dirty work is going on? Why does Cordes keep to himself? Why does he act suspiciously all the time? I’ve tried to keep out of his affairs, because they were none of mine; but now that he’s making it my business, I’m going to know the reason!”

Harry was in a quandary. He saw where Malbray Woodruff could be either an advantage or a disadvantage in the process of investigation at East Point. Woodruff was in a position to learn facts concerning Elbert Cordes. With Harry as his confidant, the artist would be of indirect aid to The Shadow.

On the other hand, should Woodruff become precipitous in action; should he decide to accost Cordes, and accuse him of using the boat at night, the result would very likely be damaging.

The obvious course was to line up with Woodruff; to artfully suggest ideas to the man. In that way, Harry could make Woodruff prove useful.

Harry sensed that developments were due at East Point. Observing that Woodruff was looking to him for advice, Harry employed the power of suggestion.

“Perhaps you are right, Woodruff,” he declared. “If Elbert Cordes has an ulterior purpose in living here on the Point, it is good judgment for you to learn about it. At the same time, it would be unwise for you or myself to make accusations with no more basis than your present discoveries.”

“I know that some one has been using my boat,” objected Woodruff. “The handkerchief proves that it is Cordes. I don’t believe in halfway measures, Vincent. If Cordes is up to something objectionable, I’m liable to be dragged into it. If he is using my boat — as I know he is — I am indirectly a party to his proceedings.”

“Why not wait?” suggested Harry. “You learned facts to-day. Perhaps you may learn more tomorrow. Hold your cards, Woodruff. Don’t spread them on the table when the other man isn’t doing the same.”

This thought had its effect upon the artist. He nodded slowly as he puffed his pipe. He could see the logic in Harry Vincent’s suggestion, looking at it with a calm mind.

“You’re right, Vincent,” he agreed. “I’m glad I talked this over with you. I ought to know more before I act. If Cordes is snooping around, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t be a snooper, too. I tell you what I’ll do” — his face lightened with the words — “and I’ll start on it right away. I’ll specialize on seascapes for the next few days. They’re my best type of painting, and I’ve been neglecting them too long.

“That means, that I will be among those islands on a perfectly innocent mission. But I’ll be looking for more than seascape subjects. I’ll be looking for matters that pertain to Elbert Cordes!”

THE artist’s decision pleased Harry. It meant that Woodruff would be a nautical observer, while Harry could keep a shore lookout. Actually, Harry was far more interested in what Woodruff might discover than was the artist himself. But a trip through the bay would have been poor policy on Harry’s part.

“I’m going out this afternoon,” asserted Woodruff. “Over to a ledge of rock from which I can paint a seascape that will take in Little Knob. Later on, I’ll work from the island itself. Maybe I’ll find some more evidence, Vincent — enough to convince you that Cordes is mixed up in something around here.”

The artist ate a hasty lunch, and left for the beach after admonishing Harry to preserve the utmost secrecy regarding his true purpose. Woodruff’s departure was the opportunity that Harry had awaited. As soon as the artist’s rowboat disappeared behind Little Knob, Harry penned a hasty message to The Shadow, and strolled over to see Professor Sheldon.

The old man was in his study. As usual, Lester went to summon him. Harry slipped the report into the band of the professor’s hat. When the kindly old sociologist arrived in the main room, Harry asked if he intended to be at home that night.

“No,” the professor said, “I am going to New York for my next lecture. I shall be home tomorrow, however.”

“My mistake,” rejoined Harry. “I understood Woodruff to say that you were not going to New York until tomorrow.”

“Where is Woodruff now?” asked Sheldon.

“Out painting a seascape,” answered Harry.

The professor smiled.

“Nature is beautiful,” he declared, in a philosophical tone. “Therefore, art, as the reproduction of nature, is a beautiful subject. Yet the man who spends his life attempting to portray scenes which he cannot possibly duplicate is pursuing a chimera. Art, while beautiful, is delusionary. The true Utopian will glorify the grandeur of nature by seeking it — not by contenting himself with vain efforts to duplicate it, or improve upon it.

“Architecture may be called true art. It represents creative effort to produce the beautiful or to improve necessities, so that they may conform to natural ideals. There may be artists in Utopia, as I have visualized it, but not such artists as our friend Woodruff, who would sacrifice all other benefits in order to express the one.”

Harry expressed agreement with Sheldon’s sentiments. He had found it wise to be in accord with the professor’s theories. Even where Harry did not agree with Sheldon’s expressions, he was forced to admit that the old sociologist was logical.

“Utopia!” concluded Kirby Sheldon, with a smile. “I am talking of my dream again. I like to speak of it when I meet a responsive friend, like you, Vincent. Tonight, I shall lecture on Utopia. Some of my listeners will be responsive. Others will not. The latter will think that I am dealing only with absurd theories.

“They will be the only losers. The non-Utopians are useless beings. When my theories become fact — as they will — the believers in Utopia will benefit. Dreams come true, when those dreams are visions. But should they fail” — Kirby Sheldon’s gray head wagged slowly — “then I must turn to a new doctrine — the right of the individual. That, in the final analysis, is also Utopian.

“The man who does the utmost for himself is at least finding a high expression. No one denies the natural law that concerns the survival of the fittest; and a true student of human conditions must admit with such survival, the doctrine of the end justifying the means is but a natural consequence.”

Harry was pondering over the professor’s words as he returned to Woodruff’s cottage. He would have liked to ask Professor Sheldon about Elbert Cordes. There was a man — Cordes — who was evidently seeking something through individualism. A person who dwelt apart from the world must fit in perfectly with the professor’s scheme of things.

But Harry, despite his policy of agreeing completely with Professor Sheldon, actually felt that the old man was overfilled with theory. Let Sheldon have his dreams and dwell at ease here. Harry’s work concerned unmolested investigation of those who might be dealing in crime — and Elbert Cordes fitted in that niche.

THE report that Professor Sheldon was unwittingly carrying to The Shadow was a concise record of Harry Vincent’s new impressions. It included Woodruff’s theories and Harry’s objections. Certainly, the evidence pointed to Elbert Cordes and his man Downs.

Tonight, with Woodruff as an ally, Harry could watch to ascertain whether either of them were abroad. It would be wise, Harry felt, to keep an eye on Woodruff’s boat.

Still, in his methodical summary of the situation, Harry had not allowed his opinion to be fully swayed by Woodruff’s ideas. That handkerchief proved that some one had been in the vicinity of the island called Little Knob. The initials on the fragment of cloth pointed directly to Cordes. But, in his report, Harry had made definite mention of his own belief that the handkerchief had belonged to a woman.

The piece of evidence was still in Woodruff’s possession. Harry felt sure that he could obtain it if necessary. That time, however, would be after new orders had come from The Shadow.

Tonight might bring new clews. Professor Sheldon would be back before dawn. On the morrow, Harry would no doubt have instructions from The Shadow.

A peculiar, restless feeling dwelt in Harry Vincent’s mind. He had experienced it before, while working in The Shadow’s cause. That feeling, in this instance, seemed predictive to Harry Vincent. It made him sure that ere long the unexpected would occur at East Point. But from what source it would come, Vincent had no idea.