“Perhaps you are right, Woodruff,” he declared. “If Elbert Cordes has an ulterior purpose in living here on the Point, it is good judgment for you to learn about it. At the same time, it would be unwise for you or myself to make accusations with no more basis than your present discoveries.”
“I know that some one has been using my boat,” objected Woodruff. “The handkerchief proves that it is Cordes. I don’t believe in halfway measures, Vincent. If Cordes is up to something objectionable, I’m liable to be dragged into it. If he is using my boat — as I know he is — I am indirectly a party to his proceedings.”
“Why not wait?” suggested Harry. “You learned facts to-day. Perhaps you may learn more tomorrow. Hold your cards, Woodruff. Don’t spread them on the table when the other man isn’t doing the same.”
This thought had its effect upon the artist. He nodded slowly as he puffed his pipe. He could see the logic in Harry Vincent’s suggestion, looking at it with a calm mind.
“You’re right, Vincent,” he agreed. “I’m glad I talked this over with you. I ought to know more before I act. If Cordes is snooping around, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t be a snooper, too. I tell you what I’ll do” — his face lightened with the words — “and I’ll start on it right away. I’ll specialize on seascapes for the next few days. They’re my best type of painting, and I’ve been neglecting them too long.
“That means, that I will be among those islands on a perfectly innocent mission. But I’ll be looking for more than seascape subjects. I’ll be looking for matters that pertain to Elbert Cordes!”
THE artist’s decision pleased Harry. It meant that Woodruff would be a nautical observer, while Harry could keep a shore lookout. Actually, Harry was far more interested in what Woodruff might discover than was the artist himself. But a trip through the bay would have been poor policy on Harry’s part.
“I’m going out this afternoon,” asserted Woodruff. “Over to a ledge of rock from which I can paint a seascape that will take in Little Knob. Later on, I’ll work from the island itself. Maybe I’ll find some more evidence, Vincent — enough to convince you that Cordes is mixed up in something around here.”
The artist ate a hasty lunch, and left for the beach after admonishing Harry to preserve the utmost secrecy regarding his true purpose. Woodruff’s departure was the opportunity that Harry had awaited. As soon as the artist’s rowboat disappeared behind Little Knob, Harry penned a hasty message to The Shadow, and strolled over to see Professor Sheldon.
The old man was in his study. As usual, Lester went to summon him. Harry slipped the report into the band of the professor’s hat. When the kindly old sociologist arrived in the main room, Harry asked if he intended to be at home that night.
“No,” the professor said, “I am going to New York for my next lecture. I shall be home tomorrow, however.”
“My mistake,” rejoined Harry. “I understood Woodruff to say that you were not going to New York until tomorrow.”
“Where is Woodruff now?” asked Sheldon.
“Out painting a seascape,” answered Harry.
The professor smiled.
“Nature is beautiful,” he declared, in a philosophical tone. “Therefore, art, as the reproduction of nature, is a beautiful subject. Yet the man who spends his life attempting to portray scenes which he cannot possibly duplicate is pursuing a chimera. Art, while beautiful, is delusionary. The true Utopian will glorify the grandeur of nature by seeking it — not by contenting himself with vain efforts to duplicate it, or improve upon it.
“Architecture may be called true art. It represents creative effort to produce the beautiful or to improve necessities, so that they may conform to natural ideals. There may be artists in Utopia, as I have visualized it, but not such artists as our friend Woodruff, who would sacrifice all other benefits in order to express the one.”
Harry expressed agreement with Sheldon’s sentiments. He had found it wise to be in accord with the professor’s theories. Even where Harry did not agree with Sheldon’s expressions, he was forced to admit that the old sociologist was logical.
“Utopia!” concluded Kirby Sheldon, with a smile. “I am talking of my dream again. I like to speak of it when I meet a responsive friend, like you, Vincent. Tonight, I shall lecture on Utopia. Some of my listeners will be responsive. Others will not. The latter will think that I am dealing only with absurd theories.
“They will be the only losers. The non-Utopians are useless beings. When my theories become fact — as they will — the believers in Utopia will benefit. Dreams come true, when those dreams are visions. But should they fail” — Kirby Sheldon’s gray head wagged slowly — “then I must turn to a new doctrine — the right of the individual. That, in the final analysis, is also Utopian.
“The man who does the utmost for himself is at least finding a high expression. No one denies the natural law that concerns the survival of the fittest; and a true student of human conditions must admit with such survival, the doctrine of the end justifying the means is but a natural consequence.”
Harry was pondering over the professor’s words as he returned to Woodruff’s cottage. He would have liked to ask Professor Sheldon about Elbert Cordes. There was a man — Cordes — who was evidently seeking something through individualism. A person who dwelt apart from the world must fit in perfectly with the professor’s scheme of things.
But Harry, despite his policy of agreeing completely with Professor Sheldon, actually felt that the old man was overfilled with theory. Let Sheldon have his dreams and dwell at ease here. Harry’s work concerned unmolested investigation of those who might be dealing in crime — and Elbert Cordes fitted in that niche.
THE report that Professor Sheldon was unwittingly carrying to The Shadow was a concise record of Harry Vincent’s new impressions. It included Woodruff’s theories and Harry’s objections. Certainly, the evidence pointed to Elbert Cordes and his man Downs.
Tonight, with Woodruff as an ally, Harry could watch to ascertain whether either of them were abroad. It would be wise, Harry felt, to keep an eye on Woodruff’s boat.
Still, in his methodical summary of the situation, Harry had not allowed his opinion to be fully swayed by Woodruff’s ideas. That handkerchief proved that some one had been in the vicinity of the island called Little Knob. The initials on the fragment of cloth pointed directly to Cordes. But, in his report, Harry had made definite mention of his own belief that the handkerchief had belonged to a woman.
The piece of evidence was still in Woodruff’s possession. Harry felt sure that he could obtain it if necessary. That time, however, would be after new orders had come from The Shadow.
Tonight might bring new clews. Professor Sheldon would be back before dawn. On the morrow, Harry would no doubt have instructions from The Shadow.
A peculiar, restless feeling dwelt in Harry Vincent’s mind. He had experienced it before, while working in The Shadow’s cause. That feeling, in this instance, seemed predictive to Harry Vincent. It made him sure that ere long the unexpected would occur at East Point. But from what source it would come, Vincent had no idea.
CHAPTER XIV
CRANSTON PAYS A VISIT
EVENING found a solemn group of persons assembled at the apartment of Anthony Hargreaves. The short, baldheaded millionaire appeared worried. He was trying to greet his guests with his usual unconcern, but the pall of gloom that lay over the throng was apparent.
Whispered discussions were held in corners; and the one subject was the kidnaping of two nights ago. The absence of Elise Cathcart and Gale Sawyer was a matter of dread speculation. Mutual apprehension was the one bond that had caused the entire group to assemble on this night.