The Plot Master

CHAPTER IV THE TRAITOR

WHEN Professor Whitburn arrived back in his study, he found two anxious men awaiting him. Stephen had become uneasy. Polmore’s nervousness had increased. Both men seemed relieved by their employer’s return.

Quex, coiled in a corner of the window sill, stretched lazily when he saw his master. The cat was used to the professor’s sudden ways of leaving and returning. The old man smiled and stroked the cat. Quex began to purr.

“Is everything all right, sir?” questioned Polmore. “I was careful to latch the door after I came back from the dock—”

“Everything is well,” interposed the professor.

“No sign of Bragg?” questioned Stephen.

“None,” returned Whitburn, abruptly.

Minutes passed. All of Whitburn’s previous worriment had gone. Stephen began to share his master’s ease of mind. Polmore, however, showed new signs of nervousness. Whitburn noticed it and studied the secretary with a quizzical look.

“I’m thinking about Bragg, sir,” declared Polmore. “I wonder if he really went to the mainland.”

“You told us the boat was gone,” reminded Whitburn.

“Yes,” assured Polmore, “but Bragg may have had some other idea than an over-night visit with friends in New Haven.”

“What makes you think he had that idea?”

“That’s where he usually goes, sir. To New Haven.”

“Ah, yes. I had forgotten it. Go on, Polmore. Tell me what else Bragg may have had in mind.”

“Well” — Polmore was speculating — “you said that someone had been here in the study.”

“I did. Do you think it could have been Bragg?”

“Yes, sir. At first I thought he might have left after he was in here. But then I began to figure that he might still be on the island.”

Professor Whitburn nodded; but his eyes were still questioning.

“You spoke of Bragg as a traitor,” declared Polmore. “A traitor would resort to any trickery. Bragg could have taken that boat around the island and landed somewhere on the other side. There are several shallow places that would be suitable.”

“I don’t think Bragg would do that,” objected Stephen. “Really, professor, he is—”

“Wait,” interposed Whitburn, quietly. “Let us hear what Polmore has to suggest. Go on, Polmore.”

“I think we ought to search the island,” declared the secretary. “It wouldn’t be difficult. All we’d have to do would be to go around the shore, looking for the boat.

“A good suggestion,” nodded Whitburn. “Which of us should form the expedition?”

“Stephen and myself,” replied Polmore, promptly. “You would be safe here, sir, with the door locked. We could make the search in less than an hour.”

“I shall consider it,” decided the professor. “First, let us see if the telephone is still out order.”

HE went to the telephone and tried it. There was no response. Yet the old man persisted, with his intermittent clickings of the hook. Five minutes — ten — still he repeated his trials. At last, after a quarter hour had elapsed, the professor gave up the task.

“This is serious,” he declared. “The telephone seldom remained out of order for so long a time. Perhaps the cable has broken between here and the mainland. Unfortunately, there is no way by which we can communicate with the telephone company.”

“If we had the boat,” reminded Polmore, “one of us could go ashore. If Bragg is on the island, we might trap him. We would then have the boat, in addition.”

“Well reasoned,” declared Whitburn, in a commending tone. “Yes, Polmore, I believe that we shall institute the search as you suggest. I think, however, that it would be unwise for me to remain here.”

“Why so, sir?”

“If we should find Bragg, I would want to speak with him. Suppose you and I search, Polmore. Let us leave Stephen here.”

“That would hardly be fair, sir. Stephen can not well refuse to remain. Yet it was my suggestion—”

“Very thoughtful, Polmore. Then you can stay.”

“I—I would rather not, sir.”

“You fear danger?”

“No, sir. But the responsibility — you must consider that. How can I protect something that I have never seen? These plans of which you have spoken, they—”

“They are here in the study. That is all you need to know. It would be best for you to stay here, Polmore.”

“But the surface of the island is rough. You could not stand the heavy effort, professor. Climbing over huge rocks—”

Whitburn waved his hand in interruption. He drew his large watch from his pocket, unhooked it from the chain and placed it on the table.

“Time has flown,” he remarked. “It is quarter to ten — fully half an hour since I returned from my inspection of the house. Stephen” — he turned to the stolid man — “do you have a watch with you?”

Stephen nodded.

“Then I shall leave mine here,” decided Whitburn. “Polmore, we shall be gone until half past ten. That is, unless we encounter Bragg in the meantime. Do you still object to staying here on guard?”

“I guess not, sir.” Polmore eyed the watch that the professor had placed on the desk. “Three quarters of an hour isn’t very long. You can let Stephen do most of the heavy work, scrambling over the rocks.”

“Another good suggestion,” nodded Whitburn. “Come, Stephen, we must start.”

USHERING Stephen from the study, Whitburn followed and closed the door behind him. The two men passed through the corridor.

Stephen reached the outer door, opened it and stepped to the path. It was then that he felt the professor clutch his arm.

“Wait!” ordered the old man, in a whisper. “Step back into the house! Say nothing!”

Stephen obeyed. As soon as they were inside, the professor closed the door with a slight slam. He held Stephen silent. Minutes passed, one by one. At the end of five, the old man delivered a soft, whispered chortle.

“The time is right,” he decided. “Come, Stephen. Follow me. Make no noise. Have your revolver ready.”

Stephen nodded as he caught the whisper. He was puzzled by the professor’s actions; he became more perplexed when the old man led him back toward the study. Stephen thought that they were going to make a new search upstairs, in case Bragg should be lurking there.

At the study door, the professor again gripped Stephen’s arm. Then, with a quick movement, Whitburn turned the knob, opened the door and sprang into the room. He held his automatic ready. Stephen was close behind him, revolver leveled.

THEY caught Polmore in the act. The secretary was beyond the desk. He had opened Whitburn’s watch to get the key. He had pressed back the molding and had managed to unlock the metal slide.

At the moment of Whitburn’s return, Polmore had one hand in the empty space behind the bookcase.

“Step away!” rasped Whitburn.

Polmore obeyed. Gunless, he had no other alternative. He had placed his revolver on the table, never suspecting that Whitburn and Stephen would return so soon. The old professor glared at his secretary.

“We know the traitor,” he declared. “You managed only to deceive yourself, Polmore. Thanks to Quex, on the window sill, I knew that some one had been prowling just before Stephen arrived.”

“It might have been Bragg. But you overplayed your hand. You wanted me to remain here. Why? Because I had the watch. I suppose you have communicated that fact to my enemies. You saw the secret of my hiding place.

“I tricked you, Polmore. As soon as I left my watch on the desk, you changed your tune. You were willing then — anxious — to stay here. You are the traitor — you, the man I trusted!”

Polmore quailed beneath the professor’s severe gaze. He tried to talk, but only wordless gasps came from his trembling lips. It was plain that Polmore was an amateur accomplice. The professor took advantage of the fact.

“You have been long in my employ,” he declared. “Therefore, your treachery began at a recent date. Some one bribed you to betray me. Who was the man?”

“He — he called himself Satterly,” stammered Polmore. “Reginald Satterly. But — but I’m not sure that was his name. He was a tall man — tall, with a red mustache — red hair — and he wore a monocle.”

“Did he talk like an Englishman?”

“Yes — but I think he was faking it. He was disguised — I’m sure of it — when I met him in New York. He — well, he offered me a job at first. Then he paid me a thousand dollars. He wanted me to make sure whether or not you had the plans.”

“Have you seen him since?”

“No, sir. Truly, I haven’t. I met a man that works for him. A rough-looking chap named Nuland. In a cottage on the mainland. I—I signaled Nuland to-night.”

“When you pretended to be looking for Bragg?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where is Bragg?”

“He went to New Haven. He asked me to speak to you this afternoon. I told him later that I had, that you had said he could go. He won’t be back until to-morrow morning.”

“I see. You thought it might be easier with Bragg out of the way.”

“Yes, sir.”

PROFESSOR WHITBURN turned to Stephen. The faithful man was ready. He had listened while the professor had forced the full confession from Polmore’s lips. Stephen advanced and pressed his revolver against Polmore’s ribs. He backed the secretary into a corner.

“Hold him there, Stephen,” ordered Whitburn. He glanced at his watch on the desk. “It is now five minutes past ten. We have not long to wait.”

“For what, sir?”

Stephen put the question without taking his eyes from Polmore.

“For a solution to our problem,” chuckled Professor Whitburn. “We shall turn Polmore over to a person who will question him further. Perhaps we can gain more facts pertaining to the true identity of this briber who called himself Reginald Satterly.

“As for you, Polmore, you can forget all about those plans that I received from Commander Dadren. So can the man who bribed you. The plans were of no use to me. When I suspected that their hiding place was known, I destroyed them.”

As he spoke in a dry tone, the old professor was stroking the cat upon the window sill. As he paused, he felt Quex arch his back.

Alarmed, Whitburn turned toward the door. A sudden gasp came from the old man’s lips. Stephen heard it. He turned; then sullenly dropped his gun.

A man was standing in the doorway. Sallow-faced, with black mustache and hair, he wore an evil leer. He was holding a revolver, covering those within the room. Behind him were three ruffians, also carrying leveled guns.

Eric Hildrow had arrived.

A TROUBLED look came over Professor Whitburn’s thin countenance. Trapped, the old inventor knew that this enemy had heard his final words to Polmore. Moreover, Whitburn recognized that Hildrow — though different from Polmore’s description — must be the master plotter.

Eyeing the professor, Hildrow sneeringly revealed the very fact.

“I am Reginald Satterly,” scoffed the disguised man. “Also Logan Collender, whom you now see. You are right: I am disguised. Disguised when I am Satterly; disguised when I am Collender. Moreover, those identities are but a few of the many that I can assume.

“My real name; my true personality — those would not concern you. I prefer to keep them to myself. As Satterly, I bribed Polmore. As Collender, I command these men who are with me. They have watched this island from the mainland.”

A pause. Twisting, the lips beneath the black mustache formed a sour, cunning smile. Then Hildrow spoke in an insidious tone.

“Fortunately,” he remarked, “Polmore left his key outside the door, with a note beside it. He informed me that he would do so when he flashed his signal to the mainland. We expected to find you alone, Professor Whitburn.

“You are right in assuming that I came to obtain those duplicate plans. But you did not divine the purpose for which I wanted them. I intended to destroy those plans. You have saved me the trouble.

“All that remains is the elimination of yourself. For good measure, I shall dispose of this man Stephen also. You will not live, professor, to tell of this invasion, nor will Stephen be alive to state how you died.”

With this pronouncement, Eric Hildrow turned to growl an order. Nuland advanced, followed by the others of the evil crew. Professor Whitburn and Stephen stood helplessly awaiting the doom that was to be theirs.

Yet the old inventor was unflinching. Despite the closeness of death, he still had hope of rescue. He had sent his message to The Shadow.