The Python

CHAPTER XII THE CASTAWAYS

DAWN had streaked the ocean’s horizon. A new day showed heavier swells than those of night. Amid that area where the Tropical had blazed while the Colonia lurked, one craft alone was visible. That was the overturned lifeboat that had left the liner.

A figure was perched upon the sheltered side of the shoreward drifting lifeboat. A bedraggled shape in black trousers and white shirt, this was the same form that had fought from above the tugboat’s pilot house. The Shadow had survived that short-lived battle. He was drifting toward the final safety of the coast.

The lifeboat still retained some buoyancy; that fact gave the explanation of The Shadow’s remarkable escape. He had recognized the futility of further fight when Lem Hurdy had come into the fray.

He had acted with quick inspiration. His dive had been made with purpose; his wild cry faked to deceive the men who sought his life.

The Shadow, too, had noted the lifeboat’s drift, no more than fifty feet off the tug’s side. It had been his goal, that lifeboat; and he had neared it, swimming swiftly, before the searchlight’s gleam had swept the sea. Diving under, The Shadow had come up beneath the lifeboat.

He had stayed within that air pocket for half an hour. Then, confident that the Colonia must be gone, he had swum out and reached the surface. Though it was not the summer season, the ocean lacked the killing chill of winter. A long float with the lifeboat promised an eventual landing on the coast.

Rising winds, in from the sea, had propelled the lifeboat onward. With dawn, The Shadow could see breakers, beyond them a low, sandy shore. Low houses told of a deserted summer colony; the location — The Shadow estimated it roughly — was somewhere along the peninsular coast of Maryland.

Testing the buoyancy of the lifeboat’s air chambers, The Shadow worked upward on the bottom. His long stay in the ocean had not sapped his strength; rather, it had revived him.

He was anxious to reach the shore, somewhere near those houses; and the lifeboat’s course was taking him too far below. Moreover, a near line of breakers indicated a reeflike bar, where the boat might strand too soon.

A HIGH, half-breaking swell arrived while The Shadow was gazing northward. His keen eyes spied an object, bobbing from a wave less than a mile away. The Shadow sighted it again; it looked like a man clinging to a life preserver. The object was floating straight for the houses on the shore.

The Shadow slid from the lifeboat. His arms began long strokes. He had long since kicked off his troublesome shoes; the very vigor needed in this swim was the test that he had needed. Unhampered, The Shadow lengthened his strokes toward that floating goal that he had taken.

As he neared the object, he saw that his surmise had been correct. A man was clinging to the life buoy, paddling weakly at intervals. Unlike The Shadow’s boat, the buoy had afforded no shield against the white-capped swells. The floater had probably spent much effort in keeping his head above water.

With overarm strokes, The Shadow reached the buoy and gripped the nearer side. A pale face turned in his direction; eyes opened and lips smiled feebly.

The Shadow shifted his position to aid the wearied man. Though he had not yet learned the fact, The Shadow had found Louis Revoort.

Fellow castaways, they were drifting shoreward and the remaining journey was not far. Already each wave seemed ready to break about them. The last stretch was coming, and it would be grueling for Revoort. It was well that The Shadow had arrived to aid the exhausted man through the surf.

Revoort was sagging when they reached the breakers. The Shadow gripped him, to keep his head above the surging foam. With the life buoy, they bobbed wildly; then, as a big wave passed, The Shadow’s feet struck the sand.

Dragging Revoort’s sagging form from the life buoy, The Shadow worked against a heavy undertow, pulling his companion toward the shallow water of a shelving beach. Revoort’s body was a burden by the time they reached dry land. The Shadow rested him upon the sand.

Revoort needed no resuscitation; but he was too weary to move. The Shadow rose unsteadily and looked along a line of cottages that fronted on the beach. He saw one with curtained windows.

Helping Revoort to his feet, he urged the man to walk. Revoort managed it though he nearly collapsed with every dozen steps.

The Shadow forced a cottage window. He entered and unlocked the front door. He had left Revoort sprawled on the porch; he helped the fellow up again and dragged him into a living room, to place him on a couch.

This cottage was well furnished. Evidently, its owners visited it some times during the off season. The Shadow found coffee and canned goods in the kitchen; and the gas and the electricity were still connected. All that the cottage lacked was a telephone.

WHEN Revoort opened his eyes from the couch, a hot cup of coffee was awaiting him. He gulped the liquid and felt better. Knowing that this new friend had rescued him, he tried to talk.

“My name,” he gasped. “My name — is Revoort. Louis Revoort. I–I was aboard the steamship Tropical—”

The effort was too much. Revoort sagged back upon the couch. The Shadow laid aside the empty cup; then went upstairs in the cottage. He found some khaki trousers and shirts, with a pair of sneakers.

He donned these in place of his water-soaked garb. He also discovered an old but serviceable beach robe in a closet with bathing suits.

He took the robe downstairs, shook Revoort and helped the castaway out of his wet clothes. He aided Revoort into the beach robe and placed him on the couch.

Revoort mumbled wearily; The Shadow left him lying half asleep. He locked the door of the little cottage and went out by the window.

It was noon when Louis Revoort was again aroused. Refreshed by sleep, he was gladdened by the sight of food and coffee. He sat down at a table to eat and to talk with his rescuer. The Shadow completed the introduction that Revoort had begun earlier.

“My name,” he stated, “is Lamont Cranston. I had friends board the Tropical; but I was not on the liner. I came ashore from a tug called the Colonia.”

Revoort’s eyes opened in amazement.

“The Colonia,” continued The Shadow, “was the boat to which a crew of deserters took your ironbound chest. I suppose they must have stolen it from the purser’s office, aboard the Tropical.”

Revoort gasped at this news. He wondered how his new friend could have learned about the false treasure chest. Revoort, however, was to gain new surprises.

“The Tropical,” resumed The Shadow, “is safe. She is steaming into New York under her own power and will arrive there late this afternoon. My friends dispatched a coded radiogram to New York. They have found your trunk — with the real treasure — and they will land it, with their own luggage.”

REVOORT dropped his knife and fork. This was uncanny! Had he talked too much while unconscious? A smile appeared upon The Shadow’s oddly streaked face.

“A few miles up the beach,” explained The Shadow, “I finally discovered a cottage with a connected telephone. I called New York and I reversed the charges. I learned these meager details. I shall know everything, however, after the Tropical docks. My friends will have a full report.”

“But — but who did they send word to in New York?”

“A mutual friend.” The Shadow smiled, thinking of Rutledge Mann, an investment broker, who acted as contact between himself and active agents. “Do not worry, Revoort; your secret is safe. The radiogram was coded; it was a long one pertaining to stock sales, and no one will suspect its real purpose.

“For the present, you can aid matters by giving me the details which I shall surely learn later. I know about your connection with Jurrice; I have also heard of your unknown Cuban friend. The more information you give me, the better I can aid you.”

Revoort nodded. He was convinced.

“My Cuban friend,” he said, slowly, “is named Carl Ramorez. He is somewhere in New York; he is to communicate with me when I arrive.”

“Where?” inquired The Shadow.

“I was to register at the Hotel Legrand,” explained Revoort. “Ramorez is to call me there and arrange a meeting. Craig Jurrice does not know that fact; we intended to get together with him later.”

“You do not know where Ramorez is at present?”

“No. I can do nothing but register at the Legrand and wait to hear from him.”

The Shadow’s eyes were keen, almost questioning. Revoort spoke as though impelled by them.

“To protect the treasure,” he stated, “I put it in Cabin 222 under the name of a non-existent passenger, J.F. Jenks. I intended to have it claimed later. I had signed as Jenks and could, of course, duplicate the signature that I used.

“I feared trouble. That is why I loaded the original treasure coffer with old metal and put the wealth in the trunk instead. I made the coffer heavy, to give thieves trouble if they tried to filch it.”

REVOORT paused to swallow some coffee. He noted that The Shadow was eyeing him closely, studying each gesture that he made. The searching gaze made Revoort twitch nervously. The Shadow smiled.

“Since you played the part of Jenks,” he decided, “I shall don the guise of Revoort. There is danger in New York; yet your appointment with Ramorez must be kept.”

“You mean,” inquired Revoort, puzzled, “that it would be unsafe for me to register at the Hotel Legrand?”

“I do. Therefore, I shall go there in your place. I shall keep the appointment with Ramorez.”

“But he will know that you are someone other than myself—”

“He will not. I shall use a disguise that will amaze you, Revoort. When I have completed it, I shall be your double.”

“But what — how—”

Revoort stammered helplessly.

“My part,” explained The Shadow, “is to offset crime. An evil enemy has backed the game to gain your treasure. He will learn that he has been thwarted. He is in New York; he is my foe as well as yours.

“Who I really am is something that we can discuss later. It is sufficient for you to know that I shall protect both you and your wealth. When we reach New York, I shall be Louis Revoort. You will remain in seclusion, at my home in New Jersey. Your treasure will be safe there with you, until after I — as you — have arranged matters with Carl Ramorez.”

“What of Jurrice?”

“Precautions have already been arranged for his safety. At present, however, he is in no danger. You will see Craig Jurrice later.”

Louis Revoort sank back with a sigh. He believed in this new friend. Facts had amazed him; he was willing to rely on these astounding promises and to obey all orders. One last iota of doubt still gripped him, however.

“If the Tropical reaches New York this evening,” declared Revoort, “I should be there — that is, you should be there — at about the same time. Yet we are hundreds of miles south; both of us, I suppose are penniless—”

“Within three hours,” interposed The Shadow, “an autogyro will land outside this cottage. We shall both go aboard; the return trip will enable us to reach Newark airport by early evening. You will go from there to my home; I shall go to the Hotel Legrand. I arranged for the plane when I made my long-distance call.

“Here, in this cottage, before we start our trip, we shall become doubles. New clothes and my required make-up will arrive aboard the autogyro. In the meantime, I should like to view your signature. I shall have to copy it when I register at the Hotel Legrand.”

LOUIS REVOORT was nodding in final bewilderment. He had learned the strength of hidden foes; now he had gained knowledge of a friend whose might seemed greater.

Confidence gripped Revoort as he visioned the immediate future. He realized that his rescuer was one who handled every detail; whose plans could not be balked by either time or space.

Revoort’s nod was his agreement. His trust was complete. In giving full privilege to The Shadow, he had chosen the one wise course. Beset by many enemies, Revoort had placed his cause in The Shadow’s hands. His secret would be kept while he and his treasure gained protection.

The Shadow, too, had attained a mighty purpose. Back from the dead, he was free for his new struggle. Master of vengeance, The Shadow was returning to deal — at equal odds — with his hidden foe, The Python!