The Isle of Doubt

CHAPTER VIII. ON THE ISLAND

LATE the next afternoon, Harry Vincent stepped from a rickety pier into the little motor boat which he had tied there a few hours before. He pushed the craft into the stream, and headed outward toward the vast flow of the Mississippi. The motor boat began its chugging progress up the river.

Harry’s plans were working well. The pier which he had just left was several miles below the old Saunders Landing. Harry had traveled a considerable distance — with calculated effect.

At a railroad station a mile back from the river, he had found a telegraph office. He had sent a communication to New York. It told of Harry’s temporary residence at Levis’ plantation, and mentioned the distance above the island which Harry suspected to be the isle of doubt.

Weston Levis was not expecting Harry back until late. Hence, The Shadow’s agent did not hurry his boat as he forced it against the heavy Mississippi current. Twilight was approaching, and Harry was timing his progress in anticipation of darkness.

Twinkling lights had appeared at spaces along the river banks when Harry Vincent sighted the black hulk of the island. The River Queen was barely visible off the shore. Harry softened the tone of the motor, and by the time he had neared the island, his boat was scarcely more than a gliding speck lost upon the darkened surface of the river.

Harry shut off the motor entirely. He took an oar and used it as a paddle, edging the boat forward in the still water just below the isle. He was out of the current; the little craft responded to Harry’s muffled strokes.

Smoothly, Harry docked the motor boat beside an overhanging bank. He tied the mooring rope to a sapling, and stepped ashore. A few minutes later, he was lost in the cover of the woods.

Darkness was thick; nevertheless, Harry managed to make stealthy and effective progress. He guided his steps just within the fringe of trees. Slight light from the space above the river enabled him to pick his way along the shore.

This island was not wide. Harry intended to circle it, keeping close watch toward the interior. He hoped that he would be able to spy anything unusual that might lie in the center of the isle.

It was not long before he made a lucky discovery. Harry’s footsteps crunched upon a flattened gravelly patch of earth. Harry had stumbled upon the remains of a forgotten path which led in from the shore of the island.

Harry followed the path. It ended in a thicket.

Carefully pushing his way through the brush, Harry found himself close beside the wall of a deserted house. This was a lucky discovery. If men were hiding upon the island, they might be using the building for their headquarters. If, instead, they preferred the woods, the house could serve as Harry’s place of outlook.

CREEPING along the wall, Harry turned to the rear of the house which jutted back into the woods.

After a few paces, he stopped short. A tiny glimmer of light was coming from a rear window.

On hands and knees, Harry reached a spot below the window. A patch of light was visible here. Harry slowly raised his head and peered through a crack between two boards which blocked the window.

Three men were seated in the room; two upon the floor, one on an old bench which constituted the sole article of furniture in the kitchen of the abandoned house. The oil lantern which provided illumination was resting upon the bench beside the man who was seated there.

As Harry Vincent stared, he recognized every one of the roughly clad trio. The man on the bench was Possum Quill. On the floor was Lefty Hotz; beside him, the visitor who had come to the room at the Hotel Slater. This was the man whom The Shadow had identified as Zach Telvin, the escaped convict.

The conversation which Harry Vincent now heard justified The Shadow’s deduction.

“Well, Zach” — Possum Quill was speaking in a smooth but disgruntled tone — “we’re here on your island. Where’s the swag?”

“That’s up to us to find out,” retorted Zach.

“We’ve had no luck yet,” declared Possum.

“What do you expect?” queried Zach. “You don’t think Birch Bizzup would have left the dough laying loose, do you? It’ll be hard to find — I told you that when we came here.”

“We’ve been at it a couple of days,” said Lefty, gruffly siding with Possum.

“Yeah,” retorted Zach, “and we’ve gone through the old boat and this house. They were the first two places to look, of course. But it’s likely that Birch picked somewhere better. Give us time — we’ll find it.”

“Out here in the sticks,” growled Possum. “Plowing around an island like a bunch of Boy Scouts. You sure horsed us this trip, Zach.”

“Horsed you?” Zach was angry in tone. “Say — if you birds had stayed in New York, you’d have been nabbed with Punch Baxton and his mob. The bulls got those guys — and if I hadn’t showed up to give you this steer, you’d have taken it, too.”

“Maybe,” voiced Lefty.

“Maybe?” Zach laughed. “You know what Possum said himself. A fine job — all for one grand — and you’d never have collected. Don’t tell me. When you read that New York newspaper, both of you were glad you hadn’t stayed in the big town.”

“Zach’s right, Lefty,” declared Possum. “We’re better off here. We’ve got a chance for a big haul — if we can find the spot we want. I’m leery, though.”

“Why?” queried Zach.

“Some other guy may know the lay,” said Possum.

“The boys were all bumped off, I tell you,” came back Zach. “That is, all except a couple of punks who went to the Big House along with me. They weren’t in the break—”

“I’m not figuring them,” interrupted Possum. “From what you say, Birch Bizzup was a smart gazabo. Maybe you weren’t the only guy that was close to him. Suppose he had another worker — an inside man.”

“Birch never said nothing about any such guy.”

“Birch wouldn’t have told you, Zach. I’m not saying anything for certain — I’m just figuring. Somebody else may know about this hidden swag. If there is such a bird, he’s had month or more to look for it.”

“Listen, Possum. Birch Bizzup was smart. You said plenty when you made that statement. Maybe Birch did have some connection that I didn’t know about. But what of it? This hiding place was Birch’s own idea. He only let me in on it because he needed me to help him lug the swag.

“Say, Possum, I came up here with Birch, and the two of us had a load of real goods. I stuck down by the shore; when Birch came back, he didn’t have the stuff with him. It was all he could do to carry it alone.”

“He left you on the shore, eh?”

“Yeah,” returned Zach, “and he started around the island in the boat.”

“Maybe he went over to the mainland.”

“I don’t think so, Possum. He must have landed at another spot on the island. I figured it that way at the time. I still figure it that way now.”

“You win, Zach. I guess the swag is here. Just the same, I suspicion another guy in it somehow.”

“I don’t, Possum — at least I don’t figure the other fellow or anybody Birch might have known could have got the goods. Look here — suppose when we find the swag — are we going to bother about covering up?”

“No — I don’t think there’d be much reason to bother.”

“Well — suppose some wise guy got here ahead of us — figuring, like us, that he’s the only one on the lay. He’d have left some tracks, if he’d picked up the swag.”

“Yeah. That sounds likely.”

Silence descended upon the trio. Harry Vincent slipped away from the window. He reached the corner of the house and crouched there.

Harry was satisfied. He had discovered that the crooks were on the isle. He had learned that they had not yet found the wealth for which they had come. This would be real information for The Shadow.

HARRY lingered cautiously. He intended to make a very careful departure. Care was essential. He watched the shaft of light that came from the window, then began to back from the side of the house.

Suddenly, he stopped.

The Shadow’s agent had detected something beyond the light from the window. Harry heard a slight sound. He had a hunch that some one else was entering this picture.

While Harry waited, the figure of a man appeared within the range of light. Harry saw a face come into view, as the stranger raised his head to peer through the cracked boards of the window.

Staring, Harry recognized the face. It was the sallow countenance of Harvey Wendell!

All Harry’s suspicions of the secretary crystallized in the space of a few seconds. Wendell’s absence from the plantation, yesterday afternoon; his secret departure late last night; his presence here!

What cause would Wendell, as an old man’s secretary, have to visit this island?

There could be only one answer. Harvey Wendell must know the secret of the buried wealth!

Adding facts, Harry saw merit to the suggestion, which he had heard Possum Quill utter but a few minutes ago. Harvey Wendell was a crafty individual. He was the type who would have worked as Birch Bizzup’s secret accomplice. The secretary of a business man — a crook by actual profession. Such was Harry Vincent’s prompt summary.

Harry could see a reason now for Wendell’s supposed discovery of an excellent plantation where Weston Levis could live, in retirement. It had given Wendell the opportunity to make excursions to the island.

Had Wendell already discovered the hidden funds? Harry was considering that fact as he watched the black-haired man peer into the window. Wendell’s expression was barely discernible. It showed eagerness to hear what was going on. Harry knew then that Harvey Wendell could not have completed his quest before the arrival of the crooks.

Harry watched and waited. He was in readiness for any emergency. In his pocket, Harry carried an automatic. He was sure that Wendell was also armed, for he could see the secretary’s hand resting upon his hip. Several minutes passed, then Wendell suddenly ducked away from the window.

Harry knew that the secretary had come from the lee shore of the island, and was probably headed for a rowboat which he had left there. In his turn, Harry pushed through the bushes and regained the path. He made good progress to the bank where he had left the motor boat. Harry pushed the little craft from the shore.

FIFTEEN minutes later, Harry had drifted well below the island. He started the motor, let the chugging gradually increase, and gave the boat speed upstream.

Harry skirted the island, and headed for the light that twinkled on Saunders Landing. Then, as he reached a spot on a cross line with the cove at the plantation, Harry sped the boat across stream and coasted into the little dock that rested in the shelter of the cove.

As he turned off the motor, Harry caught the click of oarlocks. He could see a hazy outline moving into the cove. He called a greeting.

“That you, Vincent?” came a growling response.

“Right,” responded Harry.

A flashlight turned on. A rowboat came up beside the motor boat. Harry recognized Wendell as the secretary turned the light upward.

“Just out for my evening row,” remarked Wendell. “Got my work done early for a change. Thought you’d be back before this.”

“I took a long trip down the river,” responded Harry.

The boats were docked. The two men were walking side by side along the path that led to the clearing.

“How’d you make out?” queried Wendell.

“Not so good,” rejoined Harry. “The places around here look mighty tawdry. I’m going to cover more, though, before I quit.”

“Heard you chugging up the river,” remarked Wendell. “We held out some dinner for you, after the servants left.”

At the house, Harry found his plate waiting in the dining room. Weston Levis joined his guest at the table.

Harvey Wendell stood by the door, making no comment. Harry wondered if the secretary had any suspicions. Wendell betrayed none. Finishing his meal, Harry pulled a paper and pencil from his pocket.

“Can I send a telegram from here?” he asked, looking toward Wendell.

“Sure,” replied the secretary. “We’ll telephone it into the office at Knoxport.” Harry thought that he detected curiosity in Wendell’s expression. Withholding a smile, Harry addressed a telegram to Rutledge Mann, in New York, and wrote out the message:

“Wendell will send the telegram if you wish,” remarked Weston Levis.

“A night message,” said Harry, handing the paper to the secretary. “Collect.” Harry’s slight smile appeared when the man had gone to telephone the message. To the secretary, the wording would seem obvious. By “good property occupied,” Harry had evidently referred to this plantation. “No results” could be applied to to-day’s trip down the river. The words “await reply” were natural.

But the night message carried a deeply hidden meaning. When it reached The Shadow, through Rutledge Mann, the message would be properly interpreted.

“Good property occupied” meant that the crooks had reached the island. “Have gained no result” signified that they were baffled in their quest. “Await reply” showed that Harry needed new orders from The Shadow.

Harvey Wendell was phoning the message. Harry Vincent saw him in the little office, as Harry, with Levis, walked through to the front room. There was reason now for Harry to smile.

Harvey Wendell, like the crooks whom he had seen tonight, was interested in what was passing on the isle of doubt: Two factions were at work — Harry could see the coming clash of crook against crooks, in a battle for illicit wealth.

There, at the telephone, Wendell himself was unwittingly aiding in the cause of justice. He was sending through the message that would bring The Shadow into this strange complexity of cross-purposes.

When The Shadow entered such a field, the designs of evil men were doomed to fail!