The Golden Grotto

CHAPTER XVII MEN IN THE DARK

HARRY VINCENT’S first action was to accept present consequences in the safest way. Seeing the automatic in the hand of Elbert Cordes, the agent of The Shadow raised his own hands as he clambered to his feet.

Elbert Cordes followed a circling course and joined Downs beside the front door. The two had Harry at their mercy, and the expression on the old man’s face was not comforting. Nevertheless, Harry bided his time.

In his term of service with The Shadow, Harry Vincent had been faced by many situations like this; and he had found that calmness often meant salvation. A parley with his captors might subdue their antagonism; it might offer opportunity for escape; or it might afford invaluable delay.

Whenever trouble brewed — no matter how unexpectedly — The Shadow was likely to arrive upon the scene. Time and again, his mysterious employer had saved Harry Vincent from some situation that was seemingly hopeless.

Tonight, Harry knew, The Shadow was in New York. Moreover, he had relied upon Harry’s discretion. Therefore, the arrival of The Shadow was hardly to be expected — but it was something that Harry never failed to count upon in an emergency.

Harry’s calmness worked. It brought a gesture toward parley. Elbert Cordes, seeing that his captive was helpless, began to question Harry in a thin, sharp voice.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Who are you, anyway? What is this intrusion?”

“My name is Harry Vincent,” responded Harry, in a quiet tone. “I am staying with Malbray Woodruff, the artist. It was not my intention to intrude here. I was merely searching for Woodruff.”

“With a gun?” asked Cordes sarcastically.

“With a gun,” responded Harry calmly. “Owing to the peculiar circumstances surrounding Woodruff’s disappearance, I thought it wise to be armed.”

“Humph,” grunted Cordes. “What was Woodruff doing, prowling around here at night?”

“He was trying to find out who took his boat,” declared Harry boldly. “He said that some one was using it, tonight. He stated that he was coming over here to question you. So that is why I followed — after Woodruff did not return.”

The old man studied Harry Vincent narrowly.

“So Woodruff wanted to know why I was using his boat,” he said coldly. “May I ask you a question? Why was Woodruff using the boat himself?”

“He is a painter of seascapes,” declared Harry. “He finds suitable scenes in different parts of the bay. That is why he uses the boat.”

“So he would like people to believe,” sneered Cordes.

“But, look here, Cordes,” announced Harry suddenly. “I don’t know what your game is, or why you suspect me of having one. I came up here for a rest — and to do some writing. I found Malbray Woodruff to be a first-rate fellow, and I’m sure that he is doing nothing shady. He wants to be left alone — like you do.

“From what you just said, you were using his boat. You admitted it. I think that Woodruff had a fair right to talk with you about the matter. The boat belongs to him. If you have held any animosity toward Woodruff, it’s time to forget it. He is impetuous, that’s all.”

HARRY’S remarks were intended to subdue any suspicions that Cordes might be entertaining. Moreover, Harry hoped that Woodruff had not suffered serious harm. If the artist had merely been captured by Downs, this was a negotiation that might lead to his release.

Cordes was staring quizzically at Harry. The old man’s face reflected a shrewd gleam that Harry could not understand. Cordes mumbled a few words to Downs, and the servant nodded. It was then that Cordes, as though receiving agreement from his servant, addressed a new question to Harry.

“You say your name is Vincent?” he asked.

Harry nodded.

“And that your purpose at East Point is entirely innocent?”

Again, Harry nodded.

“Are you a detective?”

Harry shook his head.

There was a frankness about Harry’s attitude that seemed to have a marked effect upon Elbert Cordes. The sour expression became less noticeable on the old man’s lips.

“Vincent,” said Cordes, “I’m not too inclined to accept the story that you have given me. Perhaps you know more than you pretend. But I am certain of one thing — that you are a newcomer here at East Point. I have been suspicious of you, but—”

Until this moment, Downs had said nothing. The servant now took it upon himself to interrupt his master’s discourse. Cordes nodded in commending fashion, as Downs said:

“Do not tell him too much.”

“You are right, Downs,” said the old man. Then, to Harry: “Your friend Woodruff is one whom I have suspected. Therefore, you share the suspicion. Do you understand that?”

A sudden hunch struck Harry Vincent. Often, in his diversified career, had he encountered difficult situations that were clouded purely through misunderstanding. Perhaps this was such a case.

At any rate, now that a show-down was in progress, Harry felt that the truth could strengthen his position rather than weaken it. After all, Malbray Woodruff knew very little about Elbert Cordes. Why not tell the old man so, and convince him by the tale?

“Cordes,” said Harry, “let me tell you about Woodruff. I know the man only as a recent acquaintance. He impresses me as being unobtrusive. He has been very frank with me, and he told me that he did not like things that were going on at East Point. He stated that he had seen lights out in the bay; that he had heard noises; and, finally, that he had discovered some one was using his boat.”

“Go on,” ordered Cordes.

“Near Little Knob,” resumed Harry, “Woodruff accidentally found a handkerchief floating in the water. He has the handkerchief now. It had the initials E. C. embroidered upon it. Woodruff thought that the handkerchief belonged to you. I disagreed. I took it to be a lady’s handkerchief. I regarded the initials merely as a coincidence.

“However, Woodruff was suspicious of you. He was sure that you were using his boat. That is why he wanted to take the matter up with you. But he had something else on his mind. He said that to-day, he discovered something strange on Little Knob.”

A look of intense interest came over the old man’s face. It showed eagerness rather than antagonism. Harry regarded it as a good sign, and continued:

“I was very anxious to learn what Woodruff had found,” said Harry, “but, unfortunately, he did not tell me. He suspected that some one was listening outside his cottage. He ran out into the dark, and disappeared. The last I saw of him was when he reached your door.”

“You mean” — Cordes was speaking slowly now — “that you thought Woodruff had entered here—”

“Exactly,” said Harry. “I thought that some harm had befallen him — and I was ready to blame you for it.”

THERE was an unfeigned note of anxiety in Harry’s voice. Since Cordes had begun to parley, Harry had been studying his surroundings, and his first opinion had begun to change. He was wondering if Elbert Cordes or Downs could have attacked Malbray Woodruff so quickly and effectively. Where, then, could the artist be?

A sudden cry of understanding came from Elbert Cordes. The old man turned to his servant, and Downs seemed to share the inspiration.

“If Woodruff is not to blame” — Cordes spoke excitedly — “then we know the truth, Downs. We know now—”

In his excitement, Cordes had lowered the automatic. Harry made no effort to take advantage of the action. He wanted to gain the confidence of Cordes — for a peculiar understanding was dawning in his mind.

In that momentary burst of excitement, Elbert Cordes behaved with an impetuosity similar to Malbray Woodruff’s. Forgetful of all else, he swung toward the door and yanked it open. As he did, a shot rang out from the dark. The single oil lamp upon the table was shattered.

With a wild cry, Cordes leaped toward the spot where the shot had occurred, swinging Harry’s automatic into firing position.

Another shot was the answer. A scream came from Cordes as he plunged headlong into the outer darkness.

Harry, unguarded, made a dive for the side of the room. He saw two flashes of a revolver as Downs fired toward the door. The servant must have drawn a revolver from his pocket. Neither of these shots could have been effective, for a new shot answered them, and Harry heard a groan as Downs toppled to the floor.

Unarmed, Harry crouched in the darkness. What did these shots mean? Who could have fired them?

Malbray Woodruff!

That was Harry’s first conjecture; then he decided that the artist could not have been capable of such quick, effective action.

The Shadow?

That was possible, Harry, thought. Nevertheless, there could scarcely have been occasion for The Shadow to have opened fire so quickly. Cordes, dashing out into the night, would have been no danger to The Shadow.

It suddenly struck Harry that there must be others in this vicinity — men whom he had not yet encountered — who were the ones actually engaged in some unlawful surprise. One of them had struck down Malbray Woodruff. One of them — perhaps more than one — had just now shot Elbert Cordes and Downs.

Cautiously, Harry crept toward the door. He encountered the silent body of Downs. He found the man’s revolver, and gripped it as he kept along. Outside the cottage he discovered the dead body of Elbert Cordes.

Two men were dead here. Malbray Woodruff had disappeared. Professor Sheldon was in New York.

Harry Vincent scarcely knew which way to move in the face of hidden and unknown danger. Long minutes ticked by, while Harry waited. Then, far down the road, he saw an approaching gleam of light. It was the professor’s car, arriving from New York.

Plunging desperately through the dark, Harry hurried toward Sheldon’s cottage. He knew that if men of crime were abroad, the old professor lay in danger.

With risk of death to himself, Harry rushed into the focused rays of the headlamps, spreading his arms as a sign of warning. Another man suddenly appeared before him, doing the same. Harry recognized Lester, the professor’s servant.

The car came to a stop. Shoyer, the chauffeur, leaped to the ground, and the professor followed with surprising agility. Lester was beckoning them all into the cottage. Harry realized that Lester must have been home in the professor’s house — and therefore in a position to hear the firing.

This thought was promptly justified. Switching on a floor lamp in the professor’s living room, Lester, a revolver in his trembling hand, blurted forth that he had heard firing from outside. Harry Vincent stepped forward, also carrying a revolver.

“Bad news, professor,” he explained. “Cordes and his man, Downs, have been killed. Malbray Woodruff has disappeared. We must act promptly! There is great danger here at East Point!”