The Isle of Doubt

CHAPTER XI. BEFORE DAWN

THE big sedan came to a stop. A foggy drizzle had arisen; its heaviness above the road indicated the proximity of the Mississippi. Yet the mist-blanketed headlights showed a dirt road that led from the main highway toward the direction of the river.

A soft laugh came from unseen lips. This was evidently a spot for which The Shadow had been watching.

The driver of the sedan twisted the wheel, and the big car moved slowly along the dirt road.

The course of the byway twisted slightly to the left. It ran through thick woods until it came to a small, stump-filled clearing. On the right, visible between the trees; was a thick mass of fog — a phenomenon which indicated the Mississippi.

Picking a spot between trees on the land side of the clearing, The Shadow drove his car directly into the forest. The wheels rose as they slowly passed over large stones; the radiator and fenders plowed through bushes that snapped back like whipcords. The car came to a stop, completely hidden among the thick foliage. The door opened. Something jostled as an object was removed from the back seat.

The clearing was a spot of Stygian blackness when an invisible figure picked its way between the stumps.

Fog and night were no detriments to The Shadow. The master’s goal was the brink of the river. He gained it and deposited a large, soft burden upon the sloping bank.

This place which The Shadow had chosen was a spot which had been partly cleared to serve as a landing, then had been abandoned. It had shown on the aerial photograph. It could not be seen from the river, yet it was only a quarter mile below the blackened island which was now invisible in the thick fog.

A tiny flashlight glimmered. The eyes of The Shadow gazed upon the long canvas roll. This was the object that The Shadow had carried from the sedan. Black-gloved hands set to work in the darkness. At intervals, the light shone as a guide to the next step.

These intermittent flickers revealed The Shadows actions. The end of the bag came open. Out from it slid a round-shaped object that appeared to be a rubber mat with an outer edge that resembled nothing more than a flattened inner tube.

A small compressed-air tank came into momentary view. The light went out, and a hissing sound marked the passage of air into a receiving valve. When the flashlight’s rays reappeared, the circled margin of the rubber mat had become a tightly inflated wall. The light gleamed upon the canvas bag; the tank slid out of sight, and a blackened hand produced a stubby, wide-bladed paddle.

The glare showed toward the river bank. The air-walled contrivance slipped into the stream. Out went the light, as a form stepped into the peculiar craft. The paddle swished in the water. A slight rippling sound continued.

Enshrouded by fog and darkness, The Shadow was venturing forth upon the broad Mississippi, traveling in a collapsible rubber boat which he had inflated for this purpose.

THE river, here, was placid. The blanketing mist seemed to have a lulling effect, as The Shadow propelled his special boat upstream. The current was almost negligible, for the boat was nearing the protecting shelter of the isle of doubt.

Away from the shore, the little craft was as lost as if it had been in the center of a wide sea. Not a semblance of a river bank was visible. There were no marks by which The Shadow could guide his course; yet the steady strokes kept on, as though controlled by well-designed purpose.

Stroke after stroke, The Shadow had paddled far enough to gain the lower end of the island; still, there was no sign of bog and reeds.

There could be but one answer. The Shadow had kept an uncannily accurate course close to the main bank. He was wide of the splotchy marsh which projected from the isle.

The circular boat began to spin. It swung to the right. Paddle strokes were inaudible. The blade never left the water; its return motion was an edgeways action. The boat seemed to glide of its own volition, making its uncanny way through the water.

Then came scraping sounds; the scratching of reeds after a cross-river course. The boat was in shallow water, its flat bottom skimming the oozing mud beneath.

Like a giant specter of darkness, a huge bulk loomed in the fog. The tiny boat came to a whirling stop; a sure hand caught a broken timber. The Shadow, picking his way with incredible precision, had reached the wreck of the River Queen!

Shortly afterward, the tiny rays of the flashlight manifested themselves. The glow was no larger than a silver dollar. The guarded gleam was pointed downward. It showed upon the rotting deck of the derelict.

Within a hundred yards of the isle of doubt, The Shadow was beginning a tour of exploration.

Why had he chosen the boat instead of the island? Did The Shadow intend to use this derelict as his headquarters, before he looked in upon the crooks who were stationed on the isle of doubt? Or was there some secret purpose in The Shadow’s visit here?

Only The Shadow knew the answer.

The glimmer of the flashlight — ever guarded — came at infrequent intervals. It moved with the unexpected changes of a firefly’s course, twinkling here, then there, as its owner made his progress along the decks.

At last the light vanished. When it shone again, the rays were less guarded. The Shadow had entered the interior of the ship.

The gleams of the flashlight showed deserted cabins, they revealed the interior of a large, empty hold.

They came at last to a room that was filled with large contrivances of rusted metal — the boiler room of the River Queen.

The flashlight swept in all directions. The lower floor of the boiler room showed murky water. The list of the old ship was apparent. Standing upon a flat platform at the lower side, The Shadow scanned the inner wall of the ship. The light fell upon a battered doorway that denoted an exit to the submerged lower deck of the River Queen.

This represented the center point of the old steamboat — the spot where the derelict was most firmly implanted, according to the photograph that The Shadow had so carefully studied. The water that had flooded the lower portion of the boiler room had not trickled through this route, although the old door was by no means watertight. The leakage had come from broken timbers beneath.

The narrow deck beyond that door was unquestionably buried in the mud that had formed about the lower side of the old ship. There was a similar opening on the other side of the boiler room; following the raised floor, The Shadow reached that point, and opened a broken barrier. The flashlight glimmered through the heavy fog; the rays showed mucky, reed-filled water several feet below.

THIS was an outlet from the boiler room. Did the door on the lower side still afford a means of exit? To learn that seemed to be The Shadow’s purpose.

The flashlight shone at short intervals as the weird investigator retraced his steps. The light went out; wood creaked as the door gave way beneath The Shadow’s strong pressure. The flashlight glimmered, clicked off, and a soft laugh whispered through the boiler room. After that, deep silence reigned.

The ship seemed deserted. Long minutes passed; at last, a sign of The Shadow’s presence was once more manifested. Creaking boards, the flicker of the flashlight; then a stealthy form ascended from the boiler room. The Shadow picked his way through darkness, and reached the spot where he had moored his boat to the side of the mud-bound ship.

Once more, The Shadow was on the surface of the Mississippi. The little rubber boat slid away from the side of the River Queen. For a hundred yards, the course was directly toward the mainland; then, in the clear water of the cut-off, the boat spun and resumed an upstream progress. It passed the head of the island.

There, The Shadow paused. His keen ears caught a faint sound. While the little boat drifted downstream, the guarded noise came closer. The rubber boat was no more than a floating circle upon the surface of the broad river; the form of The Shadow was so motionless that it seemed like a portion of the tiny craft.

The noise that The Shadow had heard was the creaking of a pair of oarlocks. A splashing followed; then a rowboat passed within ten feet of the invisible craft in which The Shadow floated. The man at the oars was breathing heavily. His boat passed on, headed upstream. The Shadow made no motion. His drift continued, after the rower’s noise had ceased far above.

The rubber boat floated into the shelter of the rugged rocks that marked the head of the island. Here, after gripping a branch that projected from the shore, The Shadow disembarked. Through a carpeting of rain-soaked grass, he glided, invisible, toward the center of the island.

With amazing ability to find his way through darkness, The Shadow reached the abandoned house. He arrived at the front door of the building, softly crossed the threshold and caught the gleam of a light from a rear room on the ground floor. There were no doors in the building; those had evidently been removed.

From the darkness of a side room, The Shadow gained an angled view into the kitchen. The oil lamp was visible upon the bench, its light showing the rest of the room.

THE three crooks were awake. Zach Telvin was standing by the wall; Possum Quill and Lefty Hotz were half lying upon mattresses. The Shadow, completely obscured by darkness, caught the words that Zach was uttering.

“I’m getting leery of this place,” declared the convict. “I’m ready to admit that maybe you’re right, Possum. I heard somebody plowing around out back — I’m sure of it. That’s why I took a look out there.”

“Any footprints?” questioned Possum.

“No,” returned Zach. “The grass is packed, and there’s no mud. But I followed over to the shore, and I thought I heard a noise like a guy rowing along the river.”

“Maybe some hick was paddlin’ home,” put in Lefty.

“This late?” queried Possum. “In all that fog? Guess again, Lefty. Not a chance. Well, Zach, you brought us here. I was leery from the start. What do you want to do now? Scram?”

“Not me,” retorted Zach. “I say get busy — that’s all. Maybe somebody’s spying on us — maybe he’s after the same swag we want. The best bet is to get him when he shows up again — that’s all.”

“You heard the boat rowing up the river,” remarked Possum. “If the fellow in it had been here, he was going away when you heard him. Remember the time the motor boat went by at night? I figured it was bound to the old plantation on this side of the landin’. Maybe the same fellow was in that boat.”

The crooks pondered. Lefty Hotz was the first to make a suggestion — one that was promptly rejected.

“Let’s lay for the guy,” growled the big gangster. “Let him come ashore again — then gang him.”

“Nothing doing,” declared Possum. “We want to know who he is, first. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t be on this island.”

“There’s good reason why I shouldn’t be anywhere,” interposed Zach. “I’m not far from where I made the jail break. Don’t forget that, Possum.”

“I’m not forgetting it,” said Possum. “It means you’ve got to lay low, that’s all. It also puts the kibosh on Lefty’s idea of starting trouble before we know what we’re about. Say” — Possum paused to look at Zach — “you don’t think that this fellow in the rowboat could have been prowling around that old wreck, do you?”

“No,” returned Zach. “I figured he slid away from the island here. That boat’s a tough place to get to, anyway. Remember the trouble we had when we went out there just when it was getting dark? Wading through that swamp — say, if we hadn’t used those boards we took with us, we’d have been in a nice mess.”

“Don’t forget the snakes,” growled Lefty. “Those what-you-call-‘ems—”

“Water moccasins,” remarked Zach. “They’re bad. Lucky one of us didn’t get bit.”

“I’m still figuring on the boat,” declared Possum. “It wouldn’t be so hard to get to the wreck from the other side. We’ve still got that skiff that we hid in the woods. We could get out to the old steamer by rowing over to the mainland, and coming in to it.”

“What for?” queried Zach. “The guy didn’t go there—”

“Maybe not,” interposed Possum, “but the chances are he will, if we play the game right. To-morrow night, we’ll take to the woods.”

“Then what?”

“The guy will come here, and he’ll find us gone. He’ll figure we’re still somewhere on the island. He’ll be likely to come the night after that — or maybe in the daytime.”

“Then where’ll we be?”

“On the steamboat. We’ll be the ones to watch the island. Turn the tables on the smart gazabo.”

“Suppose he heads for the boat—”

“Great. We’ll be ready for him there. That’s just the spot I’d like to get him.”

POSSUM’S plan was a vague one; nevertheless, it offered real possibilities. The crooks knew that they were being watched; it was wise to take some method of retaliation.

Had there been a serious objector, Possum’s plan might have been questioned, but circumstances made both his companions agree to follow his leadership.

Lefty Hotz was Possum’s henchman. The big gangster had always followed the guidance of the smart crook. Zach Telvin, alarmed because of his status as a convicted criminal, was ready to fall in line with any scheme that might make some trouble for the unknown visitor.

“Unless that guy is just some hick who wants to stick his nose into trouble,” declared Possum Quill, “you can bet that he is another smooth worker who was close to Birch Bizzup. I don’t mind a guy like that being around. It only proves that you’ve given us a real tip about this place, Zach. But we’re not making friends with anybody.

“We’ll get him before he has a chance to get us. If he’s smart enough to uncover the goods we’re after, we’ll grab him before he can scram with the coin. That’s our ticket. Lay low on the island to-morrow night. You can keep out of sight, Zach — I’ll watch this house.

“Then, if the guy makes a trip to look through the woods, he won’t find us the next day or night — whichever time he comes. We’ll be on the old steamboat, high and dry. We’ll play ring around the rosy with this smart egg until we get him where we want him.”

Possum Quill arose from the floor. He strolled over to the bench, made a motion as though to pick up the lantern and changed his mind. He thrust his hands in his pockets, and brought out a revolver in his right, a flashlight in his left.

“I’m going to take a look,” he growled, with sudden determination. “See if I find anything you missed, Zach.”

Swift strides took Possum toward the open doorway. The flashlight gleamed in the crook’s hand. It blazed a path of light into the next room, but it did not reveal The Shadow. Timing his actions with those of the crook, the phantom had glided away toward the front of the house.

Possum turned the corner. Again, his light gleamed toward the spot where The Shadow had been. The illumination struck the front doorway. This time, The Shadow was in its path. The black-garbed stranger had stepped from the house; he was standing against a mass of foliage.

Possum Quill started and uttered a low exclamation. He saw the outline of a vague shape; he caught the sparkle of two eyes that were upon him. As Possum thrust the flashlight forward and swung his gun upward, the waver of the illumination produced a strange result.

The figure of The Shadow melted away. Dropping below the swath of light, the tall figure dwindled to pygmy shape.

“What’s the matter, Possum?”

The call came from Zach Telvin, in the kitchen. Possum Quill did not heed it. Too late to fire, he leaped to the door of the house. Foolishly, he made himself a perfect target for a concealed enemy.

There was no shot, however, from the blackness.

POSSUM was swinging his light back and forth, covering bushes and grass-grown paths when Zach arrived. Possum gave a growling laugh when he again heard Zach questioning about the trouble. Lefty, too, had arrived.

“Fooled myself,” said Possum. “That’s all. These trees and bushes — with the rain on them. Thought I saw a guy looking at me from outside. He couldn’t have got away — I’d have seen him and heard him. Just the way the light hit the trees — that’s all.”

The crook prowled about the vicinity of the cottage, with Zach Telvin and Lefty Hotz at his heels. There was no sign of a living person. The men went back into the old house. After they had gone, a stealthy figure emerged from the shelter of a large tree.

The Shadow had let the crooks alone. Until he knew what cross-purposes were at work, he preferred to allow them to continue on their failing quest. The Shadow had other investigations to make — other plans to follow. He knew what the crooks intended to do. He could deal with them later.

Shortly afterward, the strange round boat of rubber pushed away from the isle of doubt. Its course was again against the current of the river. When it came to shore in the lifting fog, it was beside the little dock of Weston Levis’ plantation.

A flat-bottomed rowboat was drawn up on shore. The Shadow eyed the craft, with the guarded circle of his flashlight. The boat was under the shelter of a tree; the lower portion of its side showed that it had but recently been removed from the water.

Some one from this plantation had been down the river. It was not Harry Vincent — for The Shadow’s agent had been instructed not to visit the island. The Shadow, now, was finding evidence of the cross-purposes that existed in the search for hidden wealth. He was on the trail of Harvey Wendell.

The Shadow’s laugh was a low whisper as the tall being moved through the clearing and melted into nothingness before the sheltering wall of the old plantation house.

When the fog had nearly cleared, an hour later; when the first streaks of early-morning light were forcing their way over the eastern horizon, there was no sign of the black-clad stranger who had visited the plantation.

The rubber boat was gone. The river was a stretch of blankness, from the dock at the plantation, over the broad expanse of water, to the isle of doubt and the time-beaten wreck of the River Queen.

Dawn had arrived. The Shadow’s work was done. His plans had been completed. He had returned to the secret spot where he had left the parked sedan.