“How?” demanded Hargreaves.
“With more ammunition,” was Traymer’s answer.
With that, Traymer drew a revolver from his pocket, and thrust it against the millionaire’s ribs. Hargreaves stepped back, too astounded to take any action.
“What — what — what” — Hargreaves was stammering — “what are you trying to do, Traymer?”
“I intend to kill you,” answered Traymer coldly, “as a favor to Professor Sheldon, who detests you. He will be here in a few minutes to state the fact himself — but you will not hear it. Those flaring matches, Hargreaves, were the signal that all is ready. The professor’s ship is just off the yacht. Your crew is filled with his men — and he has some capable assistants on his own boat — the boat, Hargreaves, that robbed the Patagonia!”
HARGREAVES became game. He made a leap at Traymer. With a laugh, Traymer leaped back, and laid his finger on the trigger of the revolver as Hargreaves slipped against the rail. Half falling, the millionaire had no chance against his murderous foe. Traymer delivered his last thrust now, speaking in a wicked tone.
“Here goes the shot, Hargreaves,” he said. “It starts the fight that will end this yacht cruise — and when the bullet hits, it will end a useless life.”
Traymer’s last prediction was correct. As the society man lowered his revolver to cover his helpless victim, a shot roared forth the instant that Traymer’s finger moved against the trigger.
But Anthony Hargreaves never received the bullet that was intended for him. The cannonlike roar did not come from Traymer’s gun. A shot from an automatic, twelve feet away, was the one that issued forth.
Maurice Traymer was right. A useless life was ended with that shot. The life was Traymer’s own. The Shadow — who had come aboard as Lamont Cranston — had been watching for this moment.
With timely skill, The Shadow had discharged his automatic. The bullet found its mark in Traymer’s body. The revolver clattered to the deck as Traymer crumpled at the feet of Anthony Hargreaves, the honest man whom he had sought to slay!
CHAPTER XXI
THE FLIGHT
PANDEMONIUM reigned aboard the yacht Aquamarine. At the given signal of a shot, members of the crew — gunmen in disguise — leaped to strategic spots, brandishing revolvers. At the same moment, the glare of a searchlight came beside the ship; and the entire length of the Aquamarine was bathed in illumination.
Shouts came from below decks. People were rushing forth to learn the meaning of the shot. The tried members of the crew — the captain at the helm — all were at the mercy of gloating mobsters who intended to shoot them down without mercy.
But they had reckoned without the surprise that was arranged for them. Rising upon the roof of the central cabin was a tall figure in black — a spectral shape that was not noticed until a loud, jeering laugh broke forth from the spot where the black-garbed phantom stood.
All eyes swung there, and in one split second, the gangster mutineers recognized the figure of the one being whom they dreaded to a man — The Shadow!
None had long to speculate on the unexpected arrival of this feared avenger. As he laughed, The Shadow raised his arms. Bursts of flame issued from powerful automatics.
Anthony Hargreaves, standing against the rail, saw the devastating effects of The Shadow’s fire. Swift, sure shots were felling snarling enemies. Revolvers blazed as the mobsters, to a man, sought to down the menace that confronted them.
The Shadow had chosen his spot well. He had watched the posting of the disguised gangsters. He had them outranged. Good shots at close quarters, these gorillas could not, with their hasty aiming, bead the wavering shape that mocked them with a sardonic laugh.
The Shadow’s shots were as perfect as though they had been aimed from the distance of a foot. The very light that had been directed to aid the gangsters was now their undoing. The sight of men falling from spots along the deck was appalling to the fiends of the underworld.
One man, leaning from a lifeboat, sought to get The Shadow. The roar of the automatic spelled the gangster’s plunge from the boat to the rail — and thence to a flat splash in the sea beneath. Another gangster, atop the roof of a side deck, tried to leap to safety. The Shadow’s bullet caught him in midair, and the thug dropped.
One gangster, seeing opportunity, clambered up to get The Shadow unaware. Turning instinctively, the black-clad battler caught the invader as he rose. A thud marked the passing of an evil gunman as the malefactor’s body tumbled to the uncovered portion of the deck.
IT was a swift fight, with The Shadow holding the odds. One man against a score, he relied upon his skill and precision against the fury of the outwitted gangsters.
Only those who sought to protect themselves had a chance to elude The Shadow’s might; but within a minute after the fight had started, The Shadow was joined by a host of allies. The captain and quick-witted members of the crew were in action.
Had these fighters used discretion, none of them would have fallen. In their excitement, however, they leaped at gangsters, and in the brawling, three or four of the crew were downed by bullets before The Shadow could aid them in their reckless behavior.
Passengers, coming from their cabins, were in the fray, and here The Shadow managed to save all. One gunman, coming momentarily in view, sought to shoot Hargreaves. The Shadow, with a timely bullet, prevented the cowardly deed against an unarmed man. Another dead gangster fell as token to The Shadow’s prowess.
As the firing began to die out, the mystery ship loomed close with its dazzling searchlight. Cries came from the hidden vessel.
Those aboard had seen The Shadow. They knew that the mutiny aboard the yacht had failed. The yacht captain ordered searchlights toward the approaching ship. The rays of the yacht’s lights were counteracted by that dazzling illumination.
It was The Shadow who turned the tables. His automatic spoke, and the answer was the crash of glass as the mystery boat’s light was shattered. With the finish of its powerful searchlight, the black ship was plainly revealed scarcely fifty feet from the Aquamarine’s side.
With smoothly purring motor, the pirate craft was swinging broadside. Its decks were awash; the cockpit, bulwarked on all sides, served as a fortress in miniature. Peering over the walls were fiendish faces, and chief among them was the countenance of Professor Kirby Sheldon.
Nearing the low deck of the yacht, the hand at the wheel of the black ship was guiding it so that the attackers could pass the Aquamarine close enough to grapple and come aboard.
This was a give-away of the plan that had been foiled by The Shadow. With the yacht in confusion due to the mutiny, the invaders from the ship had been coming up to add the finishing touches to the capture of the Aquamarine.
Even now, with the rebuff that his underlings had taken, Professor Sheldon was determined to succeed. As his wave-plowing craft came within fifteen feet of scraping the side of the Aquamarine, the fiend gave a sharp command. His gloating cry came as a note of terror to those aboard the yacht.
UNWITTINGLY, the captain and his victorious crew had played into the hands of the supervillain. The passengers, too, had made the same error.
With the mobsters down, and triumph virtually assured through The Shadow’s great work, nearly all the able-bodied men aboard the Aquamarine had crowded to the rail on the port side of the yacht.
With revolvers in readiness, they were prepared to resist the boarding the moment that their enemies rose above the bulwark surrounding the cockpit of the black ship. The Shadow, standing above, was holding two empty automatics. He had carried three braces tonight; these were his fifth and sixth pistols.