The Romanoff Jewels

CHAPTER XVIII. THE BATTLE AT SEA

TOBIAS WADDELL arose from his seat at the poker table. He had lost heavily tonight, and he was annoyed. Money meant little to the millionaire, but he enjoyed the glory of winning.

“Time for some sleep,” he growled. “Daylight is coming. The cards always get worse after dawn.”

The other players arose also. All seemed tired, and this break was sufficient to conclude the game.

Seeing that the party was ended, Waddell dropped into a chair for a momentary rest. The others sat down to chat for a few brief minutes.

“The game is over, gentlemen?”

The question was asked by a man who had just entered the smoking room from a side door. Had this individual arrived a short while earlier, he would have come under the immediate surveillance of the old gentleman with the cane. The new arrival was Ivan Motkin.

“Yes,” said Waddell, in a friendly tone, “we have just finished. Perhaps some of the others would like to continue—”

“I seldom play cards,” interposed Motkin. “It would be a good habit for me, as I am sometimes troubled with insomnia. I found it difficult to sleep tonight. I have been strolling on the deck.”

“Sleep,” observed Waddell, “is one of my indulgences, day or night. Sometimes, during rough voyages, I have found sleep difficult at sea. But on this trip, with the fine stateroom that I have, it is most enjoyable.”

“You engaged a good stateroom?” questioned one of the other men.

“Two excellent staterooms,” responded Waddell. “Adjoining rooms; one for myself and one for my daughter. Young Tholbin — a friend of mine — made the arrangements. He made only one mistake. Through some oversight, he found it necessary to put a large trunk in the inner room. It is a nuisance there.”

“Why didn’t it go in the hold?”

“It isn’t part of my baggage,” replied Waddell. “It’s something he picked up in Paris. Some bargain, I suppose. He must prize it highly. He invariably inquires about it when he sees me.”

“That is odd,” observed Motkin, in a smooth tone. “What does this precious trunk contain?”

“Tholbin isn’t trying to smuggle it in,” said Waddell with a laugh. “Taking that white elephant past the customs would be like” — he paused and sought an example — “well, like trying to steal the Russian crown jewels.

“No, I suppose it’s just some piece of luggage that he liked and bought. It’s fitted with the greatest lot of locks you ever saw. It looks very nice, I must admit, but not in a stateroom.”

Waddell arose and said good night. Motkin glanced at one of the men who had been in the poker game.

The man nodded slightly. He, too, arose and strolled from the smoking room. Motkin followed shortly afterward.

ON the deck, Motkin encountered the man whom he had signaled. The two spoke in low, guarded tones.

“That may be it,” said Motkin, in Russian. “Do you know the number of his stateroom?”

“Yes,” replied the man. “It’s 7-D.”

“Go there. Enter. I shall send Solinski. You make some excuse to speak with Waddell. Be ready to act.

The others will follow.”

The two men separated. Motkin’s underling made his way to Waddell’s cabin. There, he knocked upon the door. Waddell opened it and looked at his visitor with some surprise.

“Just passing by, Mr. Waddell,” said the arrival. “Stopped to say good night.”

The millionaire gazed suspiciously at the stranger. The two had been companions at the poker table.

Waddell knew the man’s name was Baldridge. That was all. He wondered why this chance visitor had stopped with no apparent purpose.

Studying Baldridge, Waddell received a bad impression. The man had a foreign look. He appeared to be an adventurer. Waddell had encountered other individuals of his type. They were the class who tried to prey upon wealthy Americans.

“Very kind of you,” remarked Waddell testily. “Well, good night.”

Baldridge gave no sign of leaving. Instead, he gazed curiously about the stateroom.

“You are right, Mr. Waddell,” he said. “This is an excellent stateroom. By the way — where is that white elephant of which you were speaking?”

“In the other stateroom,” snapped Waddell. “My daughter is sleeping in there. Good night, Baldridge.”

The millionaire’s glance was angry as he opened the door of the cabin. Baldridge held his ground.

Waddell pressed his hand against the fellow’s shoulder. Motkin’s henchman did not budge.

“I should like to see that trunk,” he said coldly.

“Get out!” cried Waddell, now thoroughly enraged by the man’s actions.

Instead of obeying, the man pulled a revolver from his pocket. He thrust it toward Waddell, expecting to intimidate the old man. The action drove Waddell into a sudden fury. He gripped the man’s wrist, turning his hand away. With a wild fling, he hurled Baldridge to the floor.

Despite his age, Tobias Waddell was a fighter. He was heavy and portly, but could use his weight to unusual advantage. He sprawled his opponent upon the floor, and began to drive his fists against the other’s head. Baldridge had dropped the gun. Waddell suddenly seized it and clambered to his feet.

In his rage, he would probably have shot the man dead. But a noise from the corridor turned his attention in that direction. He turned to face a wicked-looking rascal who was covering him with another revolver.

It was Solinski, Motkin’s second henchman.

“You— you—”

Waddell spluttered as he recognized the man’s face. The gun he had aimed at the first of Motkin’s henchmen now turned itself against this second intruder.

But Waddell’s aim was bad. He missed.

Before the millionaire could try another shot, his enemy fired directly at Waddell. The man dropped his gun. His body slumped.

THE sound of the first shot had penetrated to Betty’s stateroom. Her attention aroused by the first struggle, she was at the door and stepping through as her father sank to the floor.

She was fully dressed, prepared for her early-morning promenade. With an exclamation of horror on her lips, she instinctively closed the door behind her.

Solinski paused, training the revolver upon Betty Waddell. But he hesitated, for the girl’s bravery awed him. It was Baldridge, wild and snarling, who spoke first.

“Get away from that door!” he ordered. “Get away! We are going to enter.”

The man was upon the point of firing, when Solinski leaped forward and gripped the girl with his free hand. He tried to drag her away from the door.

Betty, with wild determination, fought back. Solinski flung her to the floor. Before she could rise from her knees, Baldridge gripped her shoulders.

Solinski paused with his hand upon the knob of the inner room. With cruel eyes he watched his companion fighting to hold the struggling girl. Coolly, Solinski aimed his revolver directly at the girl’s breast.

A shot rang out from the outer door. Solinski’s arm fell. His grip upon the doorknob loosened. He swayed and slumped to the floor. Baldridge, staring in the direction of the shot, saw a weird figure in black.

An avenging form, The Shadow towered above the dead body of Tobias Waddell. His prompt arrival had saved the girl’s life.

Baldridge remained to be reckoned with, and this man was not idle. With a furious oath, he sprang to his feet and turned to shoot the intruder.

The Shadow’s second shot was the response. Like Solinski, Baldridge collapsed. Motkin’s two henchmen were foiled in their plan for murder.

For a moment, The Shadow waited; then he turned to the corridor. Sounds were coming from that direction.

The Shadow paused no longer. He stepped swiftly from the room to meet Ivan Motkin and three ruffians who were coming to join the attackers.

Only Motkin recognized the danger. He and his crowd had heard the shots and had believed that their companions had slain both the millionaire and the girl. Now, with The Shadow stepping into view, these new invaders were caught before they realized it.

The Shadow’s gun barked sharply. Each burst of flame delivered a well-aimed bullet. Only one man managed to fire in return. His shot rang out as he was staggering. His gun was pointing harmlessly above The Shadow’s head.

Motkin alone escaped. Scurrying for cover, he was momentarily protected by the falling men in front. He gained the turn in the corridor and fled. The Shadow started in pursuit. Reaching the turn, he saw that the way was blocked between himself and Motkin. Stewards and passengers were appearing.

They caught only a fleeting glimpse of a black-clad form as The Shadow wheeled and disappeared along another passage.