The Isle of Doubt

CHAPTER XIV. TRAPPED!

HARRY VINCENT had reached the boiler room of the derelict. Holding a flashlight low, so its rays were focused only on his surroundings, he had made a quick survey of the place. Rusted machinery set in a water-logged pit, around that, a raised ledge which afforded plenty of foot room. These were the principal features of the boiler room.

Harry had come through an entrance at the front. There was a similar passage at the rear. Then there were side doors — both closed with old wooden barriers. Harry’s light went out. The Shadow’s agent stationed himself on the lower side of the ship.

Harry had something to think about. From the moment that he had entered this portion of the derelict, he had sensed a presence which he could not see. His light had thrown long, grotesque streaks of shaded blackness. In that guarded illumination, Harry had fancied that he had seen a tall, mysterious shape.

Was The Shadow here?

There were reasons to believe so. Harry could not relieve himself of an impression of awe — a feeling which he had previously experienced when in the presence of The Shadow. Friends or enemies — so long as they were ordinary beings — were not difficult for Harry to detect. The Shadow’s agent had acquired considerable skill as an investigator. But when The Shadow was present, the only indication was that weird feeling that invisible eyes were watching; that a powerful, unseen hand was close by.

Minutes drifted. It was quiet in the boiler room. Harry no longer felt that uncanny sensation that betokened The Shadow’s presence. Intuitively, Harry came to a solution.

The Shadow had been on this boat, awaiting Harry’s arrival! Now that his agent was here, The Shadow had departed on some other errand!

That, surely, must be the answer. Eventually, The Shadow would return — until then, it was Harry’s duty to watch.

Had The Shadow gone to the island? That was plausible. Harry half imagined the master of the night stalking forth to spy upon the house where three crooks were stationed. Thinking of The Shadow as a personage brought recollections of the amazing episodes in which Harry had seen The Shadow figure.

Long ago, Harry Vincent had been on the brink of suicide. A mysterious figure from the night — a being shrouded in fog and blackness — had drawn him back. A commanding voice had ordered Harry to obey the mandates of The Shadow. Harry had undertaken that trust. He had always followed his duty.

Danger — adventure — thrills — all had been Harry Vincent’s lot. He had been captured by insidious enemies; he had been wounded on occasions; he had been doomed to die by monsters of crime. Always, The Shadow had arrived to rescue him.

The Shadow never failed; in that conviction, Harry held no reservations. Yet The Shadow relied upon his agents to do their duty. When they failed, difficult situations arose, and such occurrences brought trouble to The Shadow’s plans.

HARRY VINCENT did not expect trouble tonight. He was sure that he had come unobserved to the River Queen. He reasoned that the crooks on the island would not make another trip to the derelict; he decided that Harvey Wendell could not possibly have left the plantation at this early hour.

Hence, Harry accepted his present duty as a matter of routine, and his sense of vigilance returned only when he thought that he heard a creaking sound from the opposite side of the boiler room.

Softly, Harry arose and crept along the catwalk, in order to look beyond the old machinery. All was blackness on the other side. Without light, it was impossible to tell whether or not some one had slid aside the old door that led to the outer deck.

Harry did not care to risk his flashlight. He remained vigilant, ready to go into action at a moment’s notice.

No further sound came from the direction of the old door. Harry realized that a stealthy prowler could have entered by that route, but it would have been an artful piece of business for any one to have done so.

Nevertheless, the belief that a person had come in from the side door still persisted in Harry’s mind.

Close by the front companionway, Harry decided that if an enemy had entered, he would probably have taken the rear route around the machinery. With this sudden thought, Harry crept back along the lower side of the catwalk. He stopped — to listen.

Some one was in the darkness straight ahead! Harry was sure of it now. He knew that it could not be The Shadow, lurking there beside the boilers. It must be an unknown foe; if so, the man might have realized Harry’s presence.

Harry crouched and waited. He could play at a slow game as well as the other man. When the time for action came, Harry would be ready — so he thought. Therein was Harry’s mistake — an error that was to shape events in a most unexpected manner.

A click sounded in the darkness. Simultaneously, the glare of a bull’s-eye lantern flooded the boiler room.

Harry Vincent, helpless in the light, could see nothing but the dazzling orb of the lantern, less than a dozen feet in front of him!

A GROWLING voice issued a command. Harry, trapped flat-footed, dropped his gun. He knew that he was covered. An enemy had discovered him; had outwitted him. Harry had blundered directly into the snare!

The lantern swung. The enemy hung it alongside of the boiler, so that it provided sweeping illumination in this room. Then the foeman stepped into the light.

Harry saw the glitter of a big revolver. He looked above, and found himself staring into the sallow face of his captor — Harvey Wendell!

There was malice in the secretary’s features. Wendell’s suspicious-looking countenance wore a look of keen triumph. Harry, bewildered, could not understand how the man had arrived here at this crucial moment.

“Nabbed you, eh?” growled Wendell. “Thought you were too smart for me. Well, you weren’t! What are you here for? Come on — spill it if you know what’s good for you!”

Harry did not immediately reply. He was still wondering how Wendell had managed to learn that he was coming here. He was positive that the man had not put out from the little dock in front of the plantation.

“Come on,” ordered Wendell. “Speak up! What’s the idea of coming down here?”

“Curiosity,” remarked Harry calmly. “I was coming by and thought I’d look over the old derelict—”

“Quit the stall,” interrupted Wendell. “You headed here from up above Saunders Landing. I was watching for you. I knew that you had gone up the river — not down. What was the idea of drifting past the plantation?”

A sudden light dawned upon Harry Vincent. Until now, The Shadow’s agent had regarded Harvey Wendell as a crook; Weston Levis as an honest man. But it was obvious, from Wendell’s words, that the secretary had talked with Levis. Today, on the veranda, Levis had feigned suspicion of Wendell.

Actually, the two must have been in complete accord. Harry had fallen for a pretense!

Wendell grinned as he sensed the thoughts which were in Harry’s mind. Then his expression regained its sternness. Wendell did not intend to let Harry stall.

“What do you know about this place?” queried the secretary. “What do you know about the island over here?”

“All I know,” rejoined Harry, “is that you must be a crook — and a bad one.”

“Me?” sneered Wendell. “A crook? What about yourself, you rat? There’s three men on that island. They’re guys I’m going to get — and you’re in with them.”

There was conviction in Wendell’s tone. Harry felt the tenseness of the situation. Wendell, backed by Levis, and with Hadley in reserve, was evidently playing a lone hand against a trio whom he intended to thwart.

This gave Harry opportunity. If he could convince Wendell that he was not with the band of outlaws, he might be able to stall off trouble for a while.

Harry was thinking of The Shadow. He knew that his own failure might mean difficulty for the hidden master.

“Let’s talk fair, Wendell,” declared Harry. “I’ll tell you why I came here tonight. When I came up the river the other night, I saw a light on the island. I was fool enough to go ashore to find out what it was all about. I saw three men through the window of a house.”

“Yeah?” queried Wendell sourly. “What then?”

“I saw you,” rejoined Harry. “I had left the window. You came up there. You went away. When I came in with the motor boat, you were at the dock.”

“What of it?” demanded Wendell.

“Just this,” replied Harry. “If I happened to be in with those men who you say are crooks, I could have made trouble for you outside of the house. The fact that I saw you there proves that I was looking in on them — just like yourself.”

“Humph!” grunted Wendell. “Maybe you’re right about that — maybe you aren’t. Looks to me like you’re in this game on your own. Well, if that’s the case, it won’t be quite so tough for you. But I’ve still got a hunch that you’re phony, and I’m going to stick right here in case those other birds intend to show up to meet you.”

HARRY said nothing. He wondered what Wendell intended to do. The sallow-faced man was considering the problem also. Harry, expecting no mercy, feared for a moment that Wendell would deliberately shoot him down. Then he realized that the report of a gun would probably be heard on the island. That could cause trouble for Wendell, should the three crooks visit the River Queen with knowledge that a fray had taken place on board.

A sarcastic grin showed on Wendell’s face as the man gained a bright idea. Harry did not view the expression with any pleasure.

“I’ve got the place for you,” growled Harry’s captor. “I’m going to shove you into one of those old staterooms — and I’ll fix you so you’ll make no noise. Remember this: I know you’ve got no business here. I’ll shoot you quick enough if you make trouble. It makes no difference to me if those other birds are your buddies. If I make a noise, I’ll slide out before they show up.”

Wendell’s face gleamed at his own suggestion. Harry became more tense than before. He could see that Wendell was a man of cold action. One false step — Wendell would not fail in his threat. Harry met Wendell’s stare; a second later, he made a new discovery — one that brought him a sense of keen elation.

Harvey Wendell was standing beside the old door on the lower side of the ship. Harry had fancied the bulwark was below water level. It could not be, as Harry now perceived, for that door was sliding open, actuated by a force that was both powerful and silent!

Wendell moved two steps forward. Less than eight feet separated him from Harry. The secretary wore a sallow scowl as he gripped his big revolver. Harry was apparently staring into Wendell’s face; actually, he was watching beyond.

A form of blackness was wedging through from the space at the end of the half-opened door. Free of the barrier, it became a tall figure which seemed to loom like the darkness of the room beyond the gleaming lantern. A living shroud, this black-garbed form hovered above the stocky figure of Harvey Wendell.

Harry could distinguish the folds of a black cloak, the brim of a slouch hat, two burning eyes that shone like blazing orbs. Then, stretching from the weird form, Harry saw a pair of black-gloved hands that reached forward like tentacles of doom.

From the most unexpected place on the ship — an abandoned doorway that seemingly led nowhere — The Shadow had returned!