The Isle of Doubt

CHAPTER VII. HARRY GETS ACQUAINTED

HARRY VINCENT and Weston Levis were seated in the front room of the plantation house. The new owner of the Saunders tract had invited Harry there immediately upon hearing Hadley’s introduction. In the coolness of a broad, open-windowed room, Harry found himself facing a man who seemed to possess a youthful vigor in spite of advanced years.

“So you are from New York,” Levis was inquiring. “It is rather unusual for a visitor from the East to stop at this isolated landing on the Mississippi.”

“Surprising, yes,” smiled Harry. “At the same time, Mr. Levis, I am somewhat bewildered to discover a gentleman of urban characteristics living in this region.”

“I am in retirement,” declared Levis. “I am classed as an elderly man, Mr. Vincent. After forty years of business in St. Louis and other cities, I have been warned by my physician to take a rest. I was advised to go to California, or to Florida. I compromised by coming here.” Levis paused as a servant entered with a tray and glasses. Harry was offered a cooling drink, which he accepted. Levis also took a glass and, after a short sip, proceeded.

“You are the first visitor to my new residence,” remarked the old man. “This plantation is not for sale; nevertheless, you are welcome to its hospitality. Even if I should emerge from my retirement, I shall keep the plantation as a vacation spot. I like it here on the Mississippi. I have chosen well.” The old man was gazing over the rim of his glass. He shook the ice against the sides, took another sip, and laid the tumbler aside.

“Three months ago,” announced Levis reflectively, “I received my ultimatum. Increased business interests had led me into many channels. I had acquired my share of wealth. I was a director in many progressive enterprises. At last I began to feel the effects of ill health.

“Retirement, the doctor said. I protested. I could not leave the Mississippi district. Then the idea struck me to locate somewhere on the river, to remain close by, while I regained my former energy. Harvey Wendell — a man who has long served me in a secretarial capacity — came to me one day and told me of this plantation. I purchased it for a song. Now, a few weeks after my residence has begun, you arrive with the desire to buy the same place. Quite odd, I must declare.”

HARRY saw that it was time to offer an explanation. Duplicating Levis’ casual manipulation of a drinking-glass, Harry replied.

“Odd, yes,” were the young man’s words. “Particularly because my purpose is different from yours. I represent men in New York who have seen possibilities in the development of the Mississippi Valley. Naturally, with the proper financing dead regions may be brought to life.

“I was particularly interested in Saunders Landing, because I learned that the town of Knoxport was once a thriving place — now lost from sight because of a change in the course of the Mississippi. I thought that with this plantation as a nucleus, it might be possible to build up a prosperous town that would gain the place which the old one held.”

“To be, in turn, isolated by a new activity of the river,” smiled Levis. “The Mississippi is a stern master, Mr. Vincent. Nevertheless, your plan has merit. But why centralize on Saunders Landing? There are other spots along the river that have the same potential.”

“I should like to locate them,” remarked Harry.

“I can aid you,” returned Levis. “Remain here a while, if you wish. I have a motor boat which you can use. Short trips up and down the river may enable you to find the type of land which you consider.”

“Excellent!” exclaimed Harry. “I thank you for your invitation, Mr. Levis. I do not wish to impose upon you, however—”

“You will not be doing so,” interposed the old gentleman. “On the contrary, Mr. Vincent, I shall be pleased to enjoy your company. That is the one thing I lack — companionship. Wendell, my secretary, is a methodical sort of fellow, who seems to be overburdened with the many loose threads of my business interests. Hadley is engaged in putting the plantation into shape. I am alone a great deal of the time.”

“Do you have many men upon the plantation?”

“Yes, but in the daytime, only. They are working under Hadley’s direction. Later, we shall house them on the premises. Eventually, Mr. Vincent, I may be living the life of an old-time planter.”

“Interesting,” observed Harry.

The conversation continued. Weston Levis talked of his business career, while Harry Vincent stared occasionally down the river toward the spot where the tilted wreck of the River Queen showed beside the isle of doubt.

All the while, Harry was engaged in speculation. Levis had remarked that Harry’s visit here was an odd one. The statement was merited. Having given a satisfactory answer, Harry was now considering the old man’s presence. Perhaps there was a special reason why Levis, too, had chosen this isolated spot.

One statement might furnish the clew. Levis, according to his own declaration, had not chosen this plantation for retirement. His secretary, Harvey Wendell, had been responsible for the acquisition of the estate. Had Wendell had a purpose in picking this lone spot?

Harry realized that he must meet the secretary soon. Therefore, he sought to establish himself as completely as possible with Weston Levis, in anticipation of Wendell’s arrival.

Their beverages finished, Levis offered to show Harry the plantation. The two men strolled out to the veranda. Levis spied Harry’s grip where Hadley had placed it beside a pillar. The old man ordered a servant to take the bag to a guest room. It was evident that Levis had been sincere in his statement.

HADLEY joined the two men as they strolled toward another clearing. Afternoon was waning, and the quiet lull of the Mississippi seemed to pervade the atmosphere. Weston Levis, courteous and benign, had accepted Harry Vincent as a friend. Hadley, too, expressed a genial attitude.

Harry realized that he had fallen into luck. He saw the motor boat as he neared the cove with his companions, and knew that with this craft at his disposal, he would have every advantage in covering the river district. Weston Levis, a retired business man, and Hadley, a hard-working overseer, would never suspect that Harry was here for a purpose other than the one he had represented.

As chance had it, Weston Levis pointed out the wreck of the old steamship down the river. Harry Vincent remarked that he had seen the River Queen when traveling up the Mississippi.

“The boat has been there for many years,” said Levis. “I remember the old packet when she first went aground. I have often traveled the Mississippi by steamboat.”

A clanging bell announced the dinner hour. Harry Vincent accompanied Weston Levis into the house.

They had scarcely seated themselves before a figure appeared in the doorway. Looking up, Harry caught the stare of a stocky, dark-haired man whose face was firm and challenging.

“Ah! Wendell!” exclaimed Levis pleasantly. “I want you to meet Mr. Vincent — a real-estate man from New York. He intends to stay with us a while.”

Harry had risen from the table. Wendell advanced and thrust out a hand. Harry returned a powerful, viselike grip. Harvey Wendell took a chair and joined the others at their meal. Weston Levis chatted for a short time, then seemed to weary. Wendell took up the conversation.

“So real estate is your business?” he inquired of Harry. “Well, without disappointing you, I’ll tell you that you’ve picked a bad section.”

There was challenge in the man’s words; challenge in his tone; challenge in his very attitude. All the ease that Harry had gained now changed to cool caution. There was something in Wendell’s manner that evidenced doubt as to the authenticity of Harry’s claims.

“Lots of queer ideas about the Mississippi,” continued Wendell, “but I never heard of a real-estate promoter figuring this location worth while.”

Harry knew that the man was baiting him. He realized, also, that Wendell was a type of individual too shrewd to serve merely as a secretary to a retired business man.

A glance toward Weston Levis convinced Harry that the old man was completely used to Wendell’s brusque manner. Harry could now see a hidden motive in the secretary’s action of urging Levis to purchase this plantation.

Was there a connection between Harvey Wendell and the island down the river? Harry could not guess.

It was possible, he thought, that Wendell was an adventurer who had gained a foot-hold in the management of Weston Levis’ affairs, and simply resented the appearance of any one who might suspect what he was doing. That would account for Wendell’s urging Levis to come to this secluded spot.

At the same time, the proximity of the island which Harry believed was the goal of three crooks, might be more than mere coincidence. According to the word that Harry had received from The Shadow, Zach Telvin, an escaped convict, was leading Possum Quill and Lefty Hotz to that isle. Could Wendell be a secret pal of Zach’s?

Speculation — that was all. In The Shadow’s service, Harry had learned to deal with facts, not fancies. He ceased his meandering and concentrated upon Harvey Wendell. The secretary was bringing up the subject of real estate.

Weston Levis owned property in the East. Wendell had classified the old man’s deeds and titles; he referred to them now as he conversed with Harry. Under apparent desire to learn of property values, Wendell was sounding out the visitor’s knowledge of real estate.

Harry Vincent suspected the ruse. He handled the situation well. It was Harry’s business to play parts.

His knowledge of real estate was genuine; in fact, Harry had credentials in his grip, should they be required. He answered every question that Wendell put forward. Nevertheless, the secretary’s suspicion still remained in evidence.

AFTER dinner, the three men went into the large front room. They sat in mild light, smoking cigars. Harry Vincent, facing toward the window, could see the moon-bathed Mississippi, with the isle of doubt a blackened outline upon its surface. The wreck of the River Queen was also visible, like a tiny satellite beside a larger orb.

Casually, Harry discussed his plans for the morrow. He was the one who put the questions now. He asked about properties along the river. Weston Levis called upon his secretary to answer.

“You found this plantation, Wendell,” remarked the old man. “Tell Mr. Vincent about some of the other places in this vicinity.”

“Nothing much to talk about,” returned Wendell gruffly. “There are other old plantations — but they’re all tumble-down. The best way to find them is to cruise along the river bank, and look for old landings. Every landing means houses inshore.”

“That will be my occupation to-morrow,” decided Harry. “Mr. Levis has promised me the use of his motor boat. I appreciate the favor, for it will enable me to cover this territory very effectively.”

Harvey Wendell went out of the room in order to go over the day’s account sheets. Hadley came in, chatted a few minutes, and went upstairs. Weston Levis, laughingly remarking that he was classed as an invalid, decided that his bedtime had arrived.

“Finish your cigar, Vincent,” he said. “You know where your room is located.”

“I’ll be turning in very shortly,” replied Harry. “That trip up the Mississippi made me sleepy.”

After Levis had gone, Harry strolled to the veranda. He finished his cigar while he stared down the river toward the isle of doubt. When he turned toward the screen door of the plantation house, Harry was momentarily startled to see a man standing within the transparent barrier. It was Harvey Wendell.

“Turning in?” queried the secretary.

“Yes,” answered Harry.

Wendell pushed the door open.

“I’ll be hitting the hay myself,” he said, “after I get the correspondence done.” He pointed across the hall to a small room where Harry saw a desk, filing cabinet, and portable typewriter. Wendell strolled to the door of the room. A smile appeared upon his sallow face as he bade the visitor good night.

HARRY VINCENT’S room was at the back of the second floor. A short cleared space, then woods — that was all Harry could see from the window.

After retiring, Harry began to wonder further about the part that Harvey Wendell might be playing.

Cautiously, The Shadow’s agent tiptoed from his room and reached the head of the stairs.

He could barely hear the intermittent tapping of the typewriter. The noise ceased; then began again.

Harry continued to listen. The typing ended. Harry heard the door of the little office open.

Peering from a corner of the stairs, he saw Harvey Wendell come from the downstairs room. The man paused in the hallway and stared toward the steps. Harry kept out of sight.

The screen door clicked slightly. Again peering, Harry saw the secretary go out to the veranda. The screen closed. Harry waited. Had Wendell remained upon the porch, or was he going elsewhere?

A hall window opened at the front of the house. Harry stole in that direction. He glanced from the second-floor window. At first he saw nothing but the dim glow of moonlight. Then his eyes were attracted by a moving object.

Harvey Wendell was moving across the clearing. The man had nearly reached the opposite side when Harry saw him. As The Shadow’s agent watched, he observed Wendell enter the clump of woods.

The secretary did not reappear.

Listening, Harry fancied that he detected the sound of rattling oarlocks. Silence followed. Minutes dragged. Harry Vincent returned to his room.

The Shadow’s agent was now convinced that Harvey Wendell was playing some secret role. In all probability, neither old Levis nor Hadley suspected it. That would make Harry’s task all the easier.

Harry Vincent had become acquainted with the people at the old plantation.

From now on, he could begin his investigations of the isle of doubt. But the island, alone, would not be Harry’s only object.

The Shadow’s agent was determined to keep a secret watch upon the actions of Harvey Wendell.

Perhaps, through them, he could discover a clew to cross motives which had entered this field of hidden crime.

Not for one moment, however, did Harry forget the need for caution. His part was that of secret investigator. He was merely the aid who prepared the way for the coming of the one who could solve the mystery that enshrouded these spots along the Mississippi.

With the advent of The Shadow, the schemes of skulking crooks would soon be learned, and the hidden motives of Wendell would also be discovered.

These were convictions in Harry Vincent’s mind as the young man returned to his darkened room, and sat in silence, wondering how soon Wendell, the prowler, would return.