THESE were not idle conjectures. They were statements of fact that revealed the professor’s true character.
Behind his benign mask, the old sociologist was a criminal of amazing caliber. These conjectures on the part of the victims were obviously no more than reflections of the solid ideas that were already completely planned in Kirby Sheldon’s crooked brain!
Harry Vincent was listening — and his thoughts were far ahead of those expressed by his companions. Harry had encountered supercriminals before, and he realized that Professor Sheldon was a master beyond them all.
In Sheldon, Harry was forced to admit, The Shadow would find a foe to tax his genius. Professor Sheldon had been playing a waiting game — so had The Shadow. But The Shadow had relied upon Harry to gain vital information. In that task, Harry had failed sadly. Last night, upon reading The Shadow’s message, he had learned for the first time that Professor Sheldon was not above suspicion.
Watch Sheldon. He is the plotter. Connect all suspicious events with him. Await my arrival.
That was the message which Harry had received. Realizing his predicament, Harry had faced Sheldon with an accusation as the only hope of safety.
Elbert Cordes had suspected some one on the Point. That had been the reason for the recluse’s expeditions in Woodruff’s boat. Woodruff, suspicious of Cordes, had been overpowered by Lester, who served as Sheldon’s safety man.
Cordes, suddenly realizing that Sheldon was the master plotter, had been killed — with Downs — by Lester, who was listening outside. Harry had been spared only because Sheldon wanted him for a member of the experimental group on the island of Utopia.
Here, in this grotto, Harry had learned the most drastic stroke which the professor contemplated. The murder of innocent people — the forcible seizure of others — these were Sheldon’s dreams. Harry knew them now; but all method of communication had been ended.
The way to this grotto was blocked. A secret entrance, guarded by Sheldon’s men, served as an exit for the mystery boat. People, met by the boat with Lester at the helm, were brought here.
Guessing some facts, hearing others from his companions in misery, Harry now possessed information that would enable The Shadow to make an effort to strive against the supercrook. But not a word could reach The Shadow!
There was just one fact that Harry Vincent failed to consider. It would have comforted him had he thought of it. That fact was that Professor Sheldon’s master stroke would be directed against the yacht owned by Anthony Hargreaves.
There would be the battleground. That was a fact which The Shadow had divined. When The Shadow saw a crisis, he sought it. That was The Shadow’s method!
The climax would come on the boat!
CHAPTER XX
ON THE YACHT
THE yacht Aquamarine was churning steadily through a glassy sea. A hundred miles out from shore, its northeasterly course was carrying it through cool and pleasant areas. This night — the first at sea — had gained a slight chill, and the passengers had retired, with the exception of two.
These were Anthony Hargreaves, the host aboard the yacht, and Maurice Traymer, the New York society man. They, alone of all the passengers, had remained on deck, chiefly at Traymer’s suggestion.
“You sent your radiogram?” questioned Hargreaves genially, as they strolled the deck.
“Yes,” responded Traymer. “Thanks, old chap.”
A member of the crew shambled past, giving a quick salute to Hargreaves. The millionaire responded with a wave of his hand. He did not observe the man closely; hence he did not see the slight signal with which Traymer replied.
The same procedure occurred with another member of the crew. Nearing the bow of the ship, Traymer suggested that they go to the port side. There, Traymer lingered by the rail, and Hargreaves, always affable, lingered beside him.
“All on board seem to be enjoying themselves,” observed Hargreaves. “I’m certainly glad that Lamont Cranston came along. He is a very prominent man.”
“I didn’t notice him tonight,” said Traymer. “Where was he?”
“He retired early,” said Hargreaves. “A delightful chap, Cranston. Excused himself, saying that sea air always made him sleepy.”
The pair walked a few paces along the deck, and paused again by the rail. A light above showed their shadows upon the deck. It also revealed a long, silhouetted blotch that lay between the other two.
That sign represented the presence of a third person — yet only two were visible. No human eye could have discerned the tall, cloaked figure that stood back from the rail, hearing every word that was uttered by Hargreaves and Traymer.
More members of the crew were passing by. To each, Traymer gave a secret sign which escaped the notice of Anthony Hargreaves. The millionaire simply observed that a considerable number of men were on hand, and he commented proudly upon the fact.
“Some yachts are undermanned,” he told Traymer. “That’s not the case with me. I hired extra members for the crew — and did it on short notice, too. Enough men — that’s my motto. It’s good in case of emergency.”
A short while later, Hargreaves made another comment — one which made Traymer start; then smile.
“We’re heading along the steamship lane,” said the millionaire. “Guess we’re pretty near the spot where they pulled that gold robbery on the Patagonia. Say! That was nervy, wasn’t it? Wonder how they got away with it?”
“Any one could be nervy for two million,” responded Traymer, in an indifferent tone.
“That’s right,” admitted Hargreaves. “But it was piracy! I’m glad we’ve got no bullion on this yacht. Those same fellows might bob up to take it away from us!”
TRAYMER was watching over the side. The lights of the Aquamarine reflected on the water. Not far off, Traymer fancied that he could distinguish a black object keeping pace with the yacht. He glanced at the luminous dial of his wrist watch, and noted that it was nearly half past one.
From then on, Traymer’s glances were repeated. He listened while Hargreaves talked. Just as the watch indicated one thirty, Traymer decided to light a cigarette. He drew a match from his pocket, and struck it on the rail. The match sputtered and sent off fizzing shots of light like a firework sparkler.
“Whew!” exclaimed Hargreaves. “That match must have been made in a cannon-cracker factory. Do you have any more ammunition like it?”
“Yes,” said Traymer quietly. “I’ll produce it. By the way, Hargreaves, did you hear anything from Professor Sheldon before we left?”
“Yes,” said Hargreaves. “He dropped me a note and wished us bon voyage. A fine fellow, the professor. He likes me immensely.”
“I disagree with you,” declared Traymer.
As he spoke, Traymer lighted another match. It sputtered like the first.
“Don’t use any more of that ammunition,” laughed Hargreaves. “But what about the professor?” The millionaire’s tone became incredulous. “You say he doesn’t like me?”
“No, Hargreaves,” said Traymer. “He knows you for what you are — man of attained wealth. He prefers people like myself — those who are born among the elite — and he also likes those who remain where they belong. You are of common stock, Hargreaves. A crow bedecked with fancy feathers, you seek to cut a figure among peacocks.”
“I resent that remark, Traymer,” said Hargreaves angrily. “It is an insult to me and to Professor Sheldon—”
“You deserve insults,” said Traymer contemptuously interrupting the millionaire. “As for Professor Sheldon, I can very easily prove his feeling toward you.”