The Plot Master

CHAPTER VII AT CEDAR COVE

WHILE exciting events had been happening at Death Island, all had remained quiet at Cedar Cove, the spot where Commander Joseph Dadren had established his headquarters for submarine experiments.

Located on the Carolina coast, Cedar Cove was an ideal place for tests of the sort that the commander was making. Five miles from the nearest town, isolated amid a forest of pine trees, the cove was obscure and unfrequented.

Moreover, it was suited to secrecy. A single channel connected the cove with deep water. On the innermost shore of the cove was a chasm between two low ledges of rock. This formed a natural inlet wherein Commander Dadren housed his undersea craft.

Less than thirty feet in width, the cleft between the cliffs had been boarded over and topped with a boat house. The entrance to the inlet was protected by heavy, doorlike screens which could be raised and lowered.

Dadren’s experimental craft was a small one. It remained undercover except when the commander employed it for tests. Four men were constantly on duty in the boat house. These were trusted aids, chosen from petty officers who had seen service in the United States Navy.

Near the boat house was the building that served as headquarters. This was a square-shaped structure, one story in height. It formed a type of blockhouse, with an inner court. Windows on the outside were protected by heavy bars; those on the court had crisscrossed screens of stout wire.

The main hall of the headquarters house was a sort of clubroom where Dadren’s workers congregated. Off the hall were doors that led to smaller rooms. Some of these were quarters for the men. Others were testing rooms that opened from side corridors.

At the rear was a large room that served as Dadren’s laboratory. It had a steel door connecting with an inner office. The little room was windowless.

A score of men constituted Dadren’s crew. On this night some had retired; others were on duty at the boat house. The rest, half a dozen in all, were gathered about the big fireplace in the front section of the main hall.

Two solemn-faced men were acting as patrol. Together, they made the rounds of the square house, while the others sat and chatted at the fireplace. A radio, turned down, was furnishing a melodious musical program.

AMONG the men seated in the main hall was a quiet, watchful individual, less talkative than his companions. This chap was Commander Dadren’s secretary. He had been recommended to the confidential post through Professor Arthur Whitburn. There was a definite reason for the professor’s recommendation. The secretary’s name was Harry Vincent. He was an agent of The Shadow.

Harry was speculating as he sat before the fire. He was thinking of the events that had brought him here. Once — it seemed very long ago — Harry had aided The Shadow in giving protection to Professor Whitburn. Following that episode, The Shadow had kept in occasional contact with the old professor, through Harry.

One month ago, Harry had paid a visit to Death Island. There, he had learned of Commander Dadren’s experiment. Harry had reported to The Shadow. New contact had followed with Whitburn. Through the old professor, Harry had gone to Dadren’s headquarters to take the job of confidential secretary.

Passing weeks had given Harry no inkling of impending trouble. Commander Dadren’s methods seemed airtight. None of his subordinates knew the full extent of his inventions. Moreover, they were paired when they worked, so that no man could attempt any surreptitious action without being observed by a companion.

The only weak point was the fact that Dadren had finished the extensive plans of his completed submarine. Those plans were somewhere in his inner office; and every man at Cedar Cove knew it. But outsiders had no chance of getting by the guards; and the system of pairing workers made it impossible for a traitor — if one were in camp — to conduct a secret search.

Tomorrow, the commander intended to fly to Washington, accompanied by Hasker, the mechanic who had charge of Dadren’s amphibian plane. Harry had reported that fact to The Shadow. He had added that nothing of a suspicious nature surrounded the proposed flight.

So to-night — the last night at Cedar Cove — Harry Vincent felt sure that any danger period had been passed.

MIDNIGHT had arrived. Harry had been waiting for the hour. If The Shadow had new orders, they were due. Harry rose from his chair; while others chatted he strolled to the radio and turned the knob. He switched from the music of a Richmond station just in time for the announcement of a program from WNX, New York.

The radio announcer was beginning a discourse on the merits of heavy winter overcoats manufactured by a New York concern. His voice came over the air; and it carried an emphasis on certain words:

“To prevent winter colds, follow the plain advice that will save many a trip to the doctor. Read our free booklet ‘When North Winds Blow.’ Join with those who are wise. Make plans to be healthy this winter—”

The announcer droned on. Harry heard no further words that were stressed. He knew that the message had been given. Buried in the announcement was the emphasized order from The Shadow:

“Prevent plane trip North with plans.”

In the past, Harry had received many such messages from The Shadow. Somehow, his mysterious chief had arranged a method of putting hidden sentences into the regular station announcements. But on this occasion, Harry was startled by a difference.

At the end of the announcement, the speaker made a passing statement before the music began. His words were:

“This program is an electrical transcription—”

A recorded program! The cleverness of the idea was impressive. This announcement must have been spoken a few weeks ago, implanted upon a studio record that had been laid aside until required. The Shadow had prepared it for an emergency.

Thus Harry realized that The Shadow might be far from New York. There had been no need for him to visit Station WNX and arrange for a planted announcement. With a record ready, it had simply been a case of telephoning instructions to use it.

Although he did not know the details, Harry had struck upon the exact truth. Before leaving New York to rescue Professor Whitburn, The Shadow had ordered Burbank to call the studio and state that Program R344 WC was to be used to-night. That had all been planned beforehand.

Thus The Shadow, imprisoned with Professor Whitburn, had assured the old inventor that all would be well at Cedar Cove. For unless The Shadow returned to New York and canceled his original instructions, the emergency order was sure to be received by Harry Vincent.

BACK in his chair near the fireplace, Harry was thinking quickly. He knew that a task lay before him. To try to warn Commander Dadren would be a false step. As confidential secretary, Harry might be able to give advice, provided that danger seemed present at Cedar Cove. But so far, there had been no indication of an existing menace.

Harry smiled. Again, he was benefiting by The Shadow’s forethought. He had received instructions covering just such an emergency as this one. It was Harry’s appointed duty to create the thought of danger by action of his own.

Of all those stationed at Cedar Cove, Harry was the only one not paired with a companion. He had arrived long after the others. His recommendation from Whitburn and his service as Dadren’s secretary had separated him from the others. In conformity with Dadren’s system, however, Harry was supposed to keep with the company except when performing actual duty.

Therein lay Harry’s opportunity. After a few minutes of planning, The Shadow’s agent arose and approached Wilkins, who rated the highest of those in the main hall. Harry remarked that he had work to do for Commander Dadren.

“I have to type some letters for the skipper,” he told Wilkins. “I’ll use the machine in my room. Let me know when the skipper comes in.”

Wilkins nodded. Harry turned and entered a little room that opened from the hall. He turned on the light and closed the door behind him. This room served as both bedroom and office, so far as Harry’s own work was concerned. A cot stood in one corner; opposite it was a table with a typewriter.

Reaching beneath the table, Harry brought out what appeared to be the case of a portable typewriter. He unlocked it and opened the top. Inside was a machine that bore a resemblance to a usual portable. With it was a coil of insulated wire, with a plug on the loose end.

Harry connected the cord with a wall socket. He was about to press a lever when he remembered something. Seating himself at the table, he opened a drawer and brought out a few letters that he had already typed. He laid them beside the real typewriter; then inserted a blank sheet of paper and typed a letter halfway through.

That done, Harry stepped from the desk and pressed the lever on the portable machine. There was a slight whirr, then the false typewriter began to click. Its action was irregular; at the end of a series of clicks a little bell rang, and the carriage slid back to begin again.

Harry had received this device from The Shadow. It was serving an excellent purpose. Out in the big hall, the men could hear the pounding of the keys, the sliding of the carriage. They would swear, later, that they had heard Harry Vincent typing in his room.

WHILE the mechanism clicked, Harry stole toward the door and pressed the light switch. With the room in darkness, he went to the window and softly opened it.

The window was barred with a crisscross wire grating; but Harry had previously loosened the frame. He pushed the barrier outward, jamming it so that it hung as if hinged to one side of the window. Harry dropped into the inner court.

He had long since planned this emergency trip. It required stealth, for too much noise might attract the attention of men patrolling the halls about the block-shaped building. Crossing the court, Harry reached the window of the laboratory.

Here were bars like those on the windows of his own room. Instead of attacking the frame, Harry produced a pair of small but powerful wire clippers. Using both hands to gain more pressure, The Shadow’s agent began to clip the crisscross wires, just within the frame.

The task needed endurance. Each wire seemed tougher than the one before. But Harry had confidence that he could accomplish the job with speed. He succeeded. Less than five minutes after the departure from his room, he had the bottom and lower sides cut loose.

Harry pried the wires upward. As he had anticipated, the window, itself, was unlocked. With a grating covering it, Commander Dadren seldom locked the sash. Harry opened the window and entered the laboratory.

He needed no flashlight for the work that lay ahead. About the lab were tables. The drawers contained papers — formulas, typewritten instructions — that were of little consequence. An intruder, however, might have found them worthy of inspection. Opening the various drawers, Harry removed the papers and scattered them about.

There was a file cabinet in the corner. Harry approached it in the dark and opened the topmost drawer. He removed several files, let their papers scatter; then took another sheaf and raised it to the top of the cabinet. In three minutes, Harry had given the appearance of a quarter hour search. He was ready for the finish.

On top of the cabinet was a rack of test tubes, several beakers and a hydrometer jar. The last named was a tall object, easily toppled. Thrusting a stack of papers along the top of the cabinet, Harry deliberately knocked over the hydrometer jar, which he could barely see in the semidarkness. The glass object toppled against the rack of test tubes.

With a final push, Harry sent the jar and the tubes clear of the filing cabinet. The wavering hydrometer jar took along a beaker; the entire lot went crashing to the stone floor of the laboratory.

As the crash was sounding, Harry was diving for the window. He sent a chair skidding against a table; another jar toppled and rolled to the floor. Then Harry was through the window, heading back across the inner court.

AS he gained his own room, Harry pulled in the grating and lowered the sash. Amid the clatter of his fake typewriter, he could hear the sounds of scuffling feet from the outer hall.

At the table, Harry never bothered to turn off his machine. He simply yanked the cord from the floor plug, dropped it in the box and shut the lid. The interruption of the current stopped the ticks of the fake typewriter.

Next, the door. Harry reached it just in time. He pressed the light switch, turned the knob and opened the door. Wilkins was already on the threshold, coming to summon him to join the others. The rest of the men had headed for the lab.

“Come along, Vincent,” ordered Wilkins, in an excited tone. “We’re heading for the lab.”

“What’s up?” inquired Harry, as they started along the hall.

“Didn’t you hear the glassware smash?” returned Wilkins.

“No,” responded Harry. “I was typing; then I heard you fellows shouting out here.”

“That’s right,” nodded Wilkins. “You wouldn’t have heard the noise from the lab. I remember! I heard your typewriter clicking away. Before the noise came from the lab — and after that, too.”

Harry smiled to himself as they reached the door of the laboratory, where the two patrolling men had used a key to enter. His first task had been accomplished. He had started trouble here at Cedar Cove.

Yet, with it, he had established a perfect alibi. Wilkins had already put himself on record as a witness to the fact that Harry had been working when the crash sounded within the laboratory. The Shadow’s plan had worked.

Confident that his own part in the game would never be known, Harry Vincent entered the laboratory along with Wilkins. There they joined the half dozen men who were already speculating on what had become of the mysterious intruder.