The Golden Grotto

CHAPTER XVI TROUBLE BREAKS

HARRY VINCENT was worried. Waiting alone in Malbray Woodruff’s cottage, he sensed that trouble was brewing. Since his talk with the artist that morning, Harry had counted upon Woodruff taking a conservative attitude, and fitting himself into a common-sense game of waiting.

Whatever might be happening at East Point, Harry knew well that he must withhold action until he received a reply to his message to The Shadow. That answer would come tonight, via Professor Kirby Sheldon, The Shadow’s impromptu messenger. By tomorrow morning, Harry could learn all that need be known.

In fact, Harry, in his note to The Shadow, had promised to keep Woodruff under curb. Therefore, as Harry tuned in at ten thirty on the radio, and heard no emphasized announcement from the proper station, he knew that The Shadow expected him to play tight until the morrow.

Harry, however, had penned that note before evening; and as soon as dusk had fallen, Malbray Woodruff had shown new and unexpected tendencies. He had decided to lie in wait for Elbert Cordes — to see just when the recluse or his servant would take the little boat from the beach.

Woodruff most certainly had something on his mind. He had been out in the rowboat all afternoon, following his intended policy of making observations while pretending to be seeking seascape subjects. Upon his return, he had acted in a cryptic manner, and had withstood all Harry’s efforts at subtle questioning.

As a climax, Woodruff had insisted upon going to the beach. Harry had wisely refrained from the same procedure.

It was now nearing midnight, and Woodruff had not returned. Harry could only hope that the artist had not yielded to the impulse of accosting Cordes if the man went to the beach.

While Harry was in this troubled mood, the door opened suddenly, and Woodruff slipped within. He closed the door quickly to shut off any light, and beckoned to Harry while motioning for silence. Immediately afterward, Woodruff spoke in a low whisper.

“They’re out in the boat,” he explained. “Both of them — Cordes and Downs! I heard them whispering together on the beach. They’re on their way back right now. I heard an oarlock squeak and a splash — across the water. Come!”

THERE was no stopping Woodruff. Harry felt that the best plan was to accompany the artist, and see that he made no demonstration when the two arrived ashore. Gripping the automatic that he had placed in his pocket, Harry went with Woodruff.

As they neared the beach, it was evident that the artist had spoken truly. Woodruff drew Harry behind a scrubby clump of bushes, and whispered to listen to sounds upon the water.

Muffled oars — Harry could detect the telltale sound. The noise was very slight; but it seemed quite close. The night was cloudy and drear; the approaching rowboat could not be seen until it grounded upon the sandy beach.

Then, Harry distinguished the outlines of two men. It was impossible to see faces, but as the pair drew the boat on the shore and crept away from the beach, they passed so close to the scrubby bush that Harry was positive one was Downs. The other — by the scrawny outline of his body — must be Elbert Cordes.

Harry gripped Woodruff’s arm, signaling the artist to wait. When the men had traveled a safe distance on, Harry let Woodruff follow, at the same time urging him to be cautious.

There was no mistaking the destination. The trail led toward the Cordes cottage, and as they neared the building, Harry and Woodruff could plainly see the two forms against the white of the cottage.

Woodruff was for approaching closer. Harry urged him back to his own cottage.

Woodruff’s face was frenzied when he faced Harry in the light of the living room. It was obvious that the artist had reached a point of hysteria. Harry tried to calm him; but the effort was useless.

“I’ll take this up with Cordes!” exclaimed Woodruff. “I’ll prove that he can’t get away with whatever dirty work he is doing! I’ll go there to his house and—”

“Easy — easy!” Harry’s admonition was soothing. “Why be a fool, Woodruff? You don’t know any more than you did before.”

“Don’t I?” Woodruff’s face gleamed triumphantly. “Don’t I? Maybe you don’t think I know, Vincent, but I do! I found out plenty this afternoon!”

“This afternoon?”

“Yes! Listen to me, Vincent. I can tell you now.

“When I went out in the boat, I headed off beyond Little Knob. After I had passed the island, I began to think I was foolish to delay. Little Knob was the place I wanted to work. I had every right to go there. So I did!”

Woodruff paused and looked expectantly toward Harry as though he awaited some comment. Harry made none. Woodruff continued.

“The trouble was getting on the island,” said he. “It was low tide, and the shore goes right straight up. I tried a couple of places, and finally I went all the way around. That’s how I discovered what I did—”

Woodruff paused suddenly. He cocked his head as though listening to a sound outside the cottage. Harry listened also, and fancied that he heard a slight noise at the nearest window.

Was some eavesdropper overhearing the conversation?

Malbray Woodruff evidently thought so. With a quick gesture to Harry, the artist leaped to the front door, opened it, and slipped out into the night. Harry followed, crouching toward the ground as he tried to call Woodruff back.

FOR a few moments, the whole affair seemed like a false alarm; then Woodruff’s whisper drew Harry’s attention to a crouched figure that was creeping rapidly away along the road — a man barely visible against the whitened surface.

This prowler had obviously been listening at Woodruff’s cottage. He passed the front of the next building — the one where Cordes lived — and turned quickly around the edge of the house.

“Come inside!” warned Harry.

Woodruff obeyed reluctantly. He stood in the living room with his hand on the half-opened door.

“Did you get that?” he demanded. “Either Cordes or Downs was snooping here — likely it was Downs. He made a quick dodge in back of the cottage. Now he’s probably gone in through a window on the other side. That settles it, Vincent! That settles it!”

“Settles what?” asked Harry.

“Settles the whole matter in my mind,” retorted Woodruff. “I found the place where Cordes has been going. A tiny cove on Little Knob is where I learned—”

He stopped again to listen, while on the very point of making a revelation. Then, his attitude took on a sudden change. He became an impetuous madman, and glared as he shook his fist beyond the door.

“I’ll learn your game, Cordes!” he cried. “I’ll learn it from your own lips — and I’ll learn it now!”

Before Harry Vincent could leap forward to stop him, Woodruff dashed through the door, and ran toward the next cottage. Harry rushed after him and hissed warningly, but Woodruff kept on. Harry saw him slow his pace as he neared the cottage where Cordes lived.

There was only one course — to go after Woodruff and drag him back. Harry started forward, hoping that the artist would dally before going into the cottage.

There was a slight depression in the ground, and as Harry entered it, he caught a glimpse of Woodruff standing in front of the other cottage. Then, a second later, Harry could see no sign of his friend.

With automatic in hand, Harry reached the cottage. He was amazed to find no sign of Malbray Woodruff. Cautiously creeping about, Harry encountered something in the dark — a small, soft object. He knew immediately that it was the hat Woodruff had been wearing.

There was only one explanation. Some one had been lying in wait by the door of the cottage. That person had seen Woodruff coming, and had struck down the artist with a single blow. It must have been the man who had cut around the cottage.

Was it Cordes or Downs?

It did not matter which. One or the other must have done this fell deed, and then clambered into the house.

Crawling on hands and knees, Harry reached the opposite corner of the house, and felt about, hoping to find some trace of his vanished friend. The result was ineffective. Harry felt sure that Woodruff, felled by a sharp blow, had been carried beyond the cottage. In all probability, the artist’s body had been hauled into the house.

This was a terrible emergency. Despite his desire for caution, Harry realized that the time for hesitation had passed. Somehow, he must learn what was going on within this place, where two strange men dwelt alone, and set out on nightly expeditions to a mystery spot in the bay.

Creeping toward the front of the cottage, Harry reached the door, and raised his body. He leaned against the barrier, hoping that he might hear some sound from within.

The doorknob rattled slightly as Harry’s arm struck against it. Immediately, Harry was cautious and unmoving, resting his body silently against the door.

Then came the unexpected. The door was suddenly yanked inward. With automatic in hand, Harry Vincent stumbled forward, failed to catch himself, and sprawled headfirst upon the floor, his gun dropping from his grasp.

The door slammed shut. A hand snatched the automatic. On hands and knees, Harry Vincent saw his predicament. To one side, by the door, was Downs, the servant. He had opened the door; he had closed it.

Before him, Harry saw an ugly-faced old man, whose leer offered no welcome to the intruder. It was Elbert Cordes, who had snatched the gun. He now held Harry Vincent covered with his own weapon.

Malbray Woodruff had been right. Elbert Cordes and his servant were on watch. Trouble had broken. Through his impetuousness, Malbray Woodruff had himself come to grief — and now Harry Vincent was at the mercy of the evil-looking pair!