The Isle of Doubt

CHAPTER XVII. STOLEN WEALTH

“THE lower door.”

These were the words which Harry heard, while Harvey Wendell, State investigator, awaited his new companion’s decision. The whisper of The Shadow was scarcely greater than an echo, yet it had impressed a definite message upon Harry’s mind.

The lower door!

What did the phrase mean?

For a moment, Harry Vincent was at a loss. He heard Harvey Wendell speak again.

“How about it?” the investigator was questioning. “Are you game to strike for the island?” Harry looked at Wendell. The investigator was anticipative, hoping that his new friend would agree to work with him. For a moment, Harry glanced at Wendell’s face; then his eyes searched beyond the man.

Harry saw the wooden barrier that he knew must lead to the mud-bound deck on the lower side of the listed River Queen.

Through that door, like a specter from another world, had come The Shadow. That was the spot where The Shadow had been — the last place aboard the derelict where one would expect concealment.

The lower door! Harry was gazing at it now! What lay beyond? Only The Shadow knew; and he had ordered Harry to learn the same!

“Well,” asked Wendell, “shall I go alone?”

“Wait a minute,” responded Harry. “Count me with you, Wendell. I don’t mind danger, but I was thinking over what you said. If there was some way of beating the crooks to what they’re after—”

“Great,” interposed Wendell. “You’re forgetting, though, that I’ve been around here a long while — and I haven’t found a thing on that island.”

“Neither have the crooks.”

“No. But Zach Telvin may have a better idea than I have as to the probable location of the stuff that Bizzup buried.”

“Maybe and maybe not. Those fellows may be in the dark — they probably are. I was just thinking that it might be a good idea to go over this old boat while we’re on it.”

“This boat?” Wendell laughed. “Say, I’ve searched the old tub from stem to stern. I know every stateroom. I looked through here — until I suddenly realized that Bizzup wouldn’t have been sap enough to put the dough on an old wreck that any curiosity seeker might visit.”

“What about this boiler room—”

“You mean the boilers? I thought of them. Nope — the stuff isn’t there.” Harry cast a careful glance about the sphere of light. He walked over toward Wendell and pointed to the lower barrier.

“What about this door?” questioned Harry.

“Mud under that,” asserted Wendell. “I hammered at it once, and the mud oozed through. See — here at the bottom? That door is jammed as tight as the timbers of the old tub—”

Wendell paused. Harry was pushing against the door. The barrier was yielding under pressure. A surprised look came into Wendell’s eyes.

“It’s coming open!” exclaimed the investigator. “Say, Vincent, maybe you’ve struck something. How in the world did that get loose? It was like a rock when I first noticed it!”

THE door was halfway open. Its bottom edge was muddy, and the muck seemed to aid the barrier in its slide. This was the door which The Shadow had handled so easily. Wendell grabbed the bull’s-eye lantern from the boiler and turned its rays on the door.

“Look at that!” the man exclaimed. “It’s like the door on the other side — slides into the walls of the boiler room. But there’s nail holes there. Vincent, somebody has loosened this—”

The investigator’s speech ceased. The lantern light had revealed a sight which startled him — one that made Harry Vincent stare in wonder also. Projecting up against the side of the door was a surface of solid rock, its edges incased with mud, its center cloven as though by a mighty ax.

The light from the bull’s-eye was blazing into the crevice. It showed a damp passage leading at an angle through the solid rock.

“The old boat must have grounded on rocks,” remarked Harry. “The mud — the swamp — they resulted later. This must have been above the water level.”

“It still is,” said Wendell, “but the hole goes down beneath the swamp. This is a region for caves, Vincent — and there are a good many underground channels. Say — we’re going in there. It may be Bizzup’s safe-deposit vault! Come along!”

In his eagerness, the investigator thought of nothing but an exploration of the cavern. He wedged his way between the rocks and beckoned to Harry to follow. The Shadow’s agent paused. He was about to suggest that he remain on guard. Then he realized that such action would be unnecessary. The Shadow, himself, had taken over the duty of the watch!

Harry joined Harvey Wendell. The cavern had widened after the crevice. It was sloping downward as the two men groped their way along its stony bottom. Trickling water accompanied them — a tiny stream which oozed its way from the layers of mud above.

The passage leveled. Its bottom was rough. It led toward the island, and the two men followed it.

Wendell, his low voice echoing as he spoke, remarked that this cave might be part of a larger cavern underneath the isle. A sharp turn and a widening space indicated the possibility of his theory.

The men had reached the end of the accessible cave. They were in a chamber, far from the derelict, moving upward toward the top of a steep slope. This was evidently a space underneath high-banked rocks on the shore of the island. The light showed a downward sloping ceiling, broken with narrow passages, too small for a man to squirm through. There was no continuation.

Wendell lowered the bull’s-eye. A gleeful exclamation came from his lips. Two heavy wooden boxes were in view, stowed on a small shelf of rock. The investigator leaped forward. A knife came from his pocket. Eagerly he pried up one of the top boards of the nearer box.

THE board loosening, Wendell passed the knife to Harry, and urged him to open the other box. Pulling out his revolver, Wendell set the lantern on a jutting rock above, and thrust the butt end of the weapon under the board that he had raised. The board snapped off. Wendell pulled aside the edge of a rubber blanket. The green hue of a stack of bank notes caught his eye.

“We’ve found it!” cried the investigator. “We’ve found it all, Vincent! Never mind opening that other box. We’ll get this stuff out of here without delay. This is Bizzup’s safe-deposit vault right enough!”

Wearied by momentary eagerness, Wendell sat down upon the box that he had opened and grinned as he looked at Harry. The Shadow’s agent joined in the smile.

“That door must have been loose,” declared Wendell. “Bizzup must have opened it. He found this place, and stowed the stuff. Then he nailed the door up tight. Say, Vincent — you’ll get plenty of credit for this — and your share of the reward for finding the dough.”

A pause; then Wendell arose and managed to raise one end of the box.

“Heavy,” he remarked. “Probably some gold in it. The two of us can heft it. Come along — we’ll take this box, and then return for the other. We’ll tote the whole works up to the plantation. Say — this will be a surprise for Levis!”

Harry responded. The two men managed the box and carried it well along the passage that led back to the River Queen. They left the box near the boat, and returned for the second. It was as heavy as the first. Both were panting when they completed the new journey.

“Get the boxes into the motor boat,” said Wendell. “Here — we’ll lug them around the boiler room. I’ll be ready to leave from the deck when you have the boat. Where is it?”

“Down by the bow,” said Harry.

The pair manipulated the boxes one by one. They brought the treasure chests to the narrow deck on the upper side of the boiler room. The lantern was out. Harry groped his way through darkness to the upper deck, and found the motor boat.

AS he slid the boat along the side of the derelict, Harry felt a sensation of strange freedom in the coolness of the night air. His past experiences, short though they had been, seemed unbelievable. Wendell had given him credit for a smart discovery. Harry knew that The Shadow had been there before.

In fact, Harry had a good inkling of what The Shadow had originally intended. He did not know that the shrewd master of deduction had located the layer of cave rock by means of an aerial photograph. But he did know that The Shadow must have found the cavern previous to this night.

He knew that The Shadow had summoned him here to aid in the removal of the wealth before the crooks could find it. The Shadow had needed the motor boat; he had required Harry on watch so that he could safely explore the depths of the treasure cave.

Harry had failed; but The Shadow had rectified matters. Returning to the door which he had wisely closed, The Shadow had seen the light of Wendell’s lantern, and had observed his agent in trouble. The Shadow had turned the tables. Learning that Wendell represented the law, the master had let Harry aid the investigator.

Instead of stolen wealth reappearing in a mysterious way, it would be brought back by a man who had set forth to seek it. Such was The Shadow’s method. He let such men as Harvey Wendell get the credit that they deserved for honest effort.

Harry was aiding Wendell. Together they were frustrating evil men who dwelt upon the isle of doubt.

Harry smiled triumphantly as he brought the motor boat against the little rowboat that Harvey Wendell had previously moored amidships.

A whispered voice came from above. Wendell was signaling. Harry responded softly.

“Ready?” questioned Wendell.

Harry reached up and felt the bulk of the first box. He gave a grunt of assent. The box came over the edge. Harry eased it into the motor boat. The second box followed. Wendell joined The Shadow’s agent.

“Wait a minute,” the investigator said. “I’ll hitch the rowboat to the stern.” That job done, Harry and Wendell worked with the oars, and pushed the motor boat through the muck of the swamp water, until they reached the deeper section of the cut-off. Caught by a slow current, both boats drifted downstream.

“No noise,” said Wendell quietly. “We’ve been close to the island all along. Wait until we’re below it, then we’ll start the motor and head up the main channel.”

All was silent. The derelict lay almost invisible against the bulk of the isle of doubt. To Wendell, that old ship meant nothing now. But to Harry Vincent, the River Queen was still a place of mystery. For on that old steamship, Harry was sure, remained the presence of a weird personage to whom belonged all credit for tonight’s success.

HARRY was right. The Shadow was still upon the derelict. Invisible upon the bow of the old boat, his sinister form was a motionless object. Eyes that shone even in the darkness were scanning the cut-off as though they could see the progress of the two adventurers.

A soft laugh sighed from the spot. Its tones were caught by the solemn hush of the silent river. The Shadow moved noiselessly across the deck. His tall form glided over the side and entered the rubber boat, which was moored to a spot near the bow — toward the island.

Harry Vincent and Harvey Wendell had departed in the boats which they had used to make their separate visits. It was The Shadow’s turn. The rubber boat moved easily among the reeds, and glided to the edge of the swampy water.

Swift but guarded strokes of the broad-bladed paddle made no ripples in the water as The Shadow’s strange craft moved out into the blackened stream. Another laugh — soft but weird. That sinister sound came from absolute darkness.

The Shadow had turned the tide of events tonight. The stolen wealth had been recovered. Harry Vincent, The Shadow’s secret agent, was aiding Harvey Wendell, who represented the law. To all events, this turn had brought an end to the adventure.

The tribe of crooks still remained upon the island. The law would soon be loosed upon them. Yet The Shadow, ever wise, had not yet ceased his vigilance.

Until all scores had been settled, The Shadow would remain in this vicinity — ever watchful in the cause of law and justice.