“But the crooks are on the island.”
“That’s the trouble. I’m going over there again tonight, to watch them.”
“You’re letting them do all the searching.”
“Yes. I can’t get out of it. Say, Vincent, we might be able to cook up a plan where one of us could watch while the other looked around a bit. That is, if you’re game.”
“I’m game,” returned Harry.
“I know that,” said Wendell quickly, “but I mean if you’re willing to poke yourself into trouble. I’m a lone hand, Vincent. I’ve never needed help before, like I do now. I don’t want to bring men up from St. Louis — I don’t know who I’d get. Levis is too old a man. Hadley is a capable chap, but I don’t know if he could stand the gaff.”
“Why do you think I could?” quizzed Harry.
“Here’s why,” returned Wendell, pointing to his jaw. “You showed your stuff, young fellow. I’ll work with you any day. What say — are you ready to hit that island?”
Harry Vincent’s lips were moving to form an affirmative reply when a weird, creepy sound reached the young man’s ears. It was a whisper from the darkness beyond the boiler room, a sinister sound articulated so subtly that Harry could barely detect it, while Wendell, fifteen feet away, did not catch the words that were so softly spoken.
The whisper of The Shadow! As Harry heard its sinister tones, he listened, for the new instructions. The reply that Harry was to make depended upon the word that was coming from The Shadow!
CHAPTER XVII. STOLEN WEALTH
“THE lower door.”
These were the words which Harry heard, while Harvey Wendell, State investigator, awaited his new companion’s decision. The whisper of The Shadow was scarcely greater than an echo, yet it had impressed a definite message upon Harry’s mind.
The lower door!
What did the phrase mean?
For a moment, Harry Vincent was at a loss. He heard Harvey Wendell speak again.
“How about it?” the investigator was questioning. “Are you game to strike for the island?” Harry looked at Wendell. The investigator was anticipative, hoping that his new friend would agree to work with him. For a moment, Harry glanced at Wendell’s face; then his eyes searched beyond the man.
Harry saw the wooden barrier that he knew must lead to the mud-bound deck on the lower side of the listed River Queen.
Through that door, like a specter from another world, had come The Shadow. That was the spot where The Shadow had been — the last place aboard the derelict where one would expect concealment.
The lower door! Harry was gazing at it now! What lay beyond? Only The Shadow knew; and he had ordered Harry to learn the same!
“Well,” asked Wendell, “shall I go alone?”
“Wait a minute,” responded Harry. “Count me with you, Wendell. I don’t mind danger, but I was thinking over what you said. If there was some way of beating the crooks to what they’re after—”
“Great,” interposed Wendell. “You’re forgetting, though, that I’ve been around here a long while — and I haven’t found a thing on that island.”
“Neither have the crooks.”
“No. But Zach Telvin may have a better idea than I have as to the probable location of the stuff that Bizzup buried.”
“Maybe and maybe not. Those fellows may be in the dark — they probably are. I was just thinking that it might be a good idea to go over this old boat while we’re on it.”
“This boat?” Wendell laughed. “Say, I’ve searched the old tub from stem to stern. I know every stateroom. I looked through here — until I suddenly realized that Bizzup wouldn’t have been sap enough to put the dough on an old wreck that any curiosity seeker might visit.”
“What about this boiler room—”
“You mean the boilers? I thought of them. Nope — the stuff isn’t there.” Harry cast a careful glance about the sphere of light. He walked over toward Wendell and pointed to the lower barrier.
“What about this door?” questioned Harry.
“Mud under that,” asserted Wendell. “I hammered at it once, and the mud oozed through. See — here at the bottom? That door is jammed as tight as the timbers of the old tub—”
Wendell paused. Harry was pushing against the door. The barrier was yielding under pressure. A surprised look came into Wendell’s eyes.
“It’s coming open!” exclaimed the investigator. “Say, Vincent, maybe you’ve struck something. How in the world did that get loose? It was like a rock when I first noticed it!”
THE door was halfway open. Its bottom edge was muddy, and the muck seemed to aid the barrier in its slide. This was the door which The Shadow had handled so easily. Wendell grabbed the bull’s-eye lantern from the boiler and turned its rays on the door.
“Look at that!” the man exclaimed. “It’s like the door on the other side — slides into the walls of the boiler room. But there’s nail holes there. Vincent, somebody has loosened this—”
The investigator’s speech ceased. The lantern light had revealed a sight which startled him — one that made Harry Vincent stare in wonder also. Projecting up against the side of the door was a surface of solid rock, its edges incased with mud, its center cloven as though by a mighty ax.
The light from the bull’s-eye was blazing into the crevice. It showed a damp passage leading at an angle through the solid rock.
“The old boat must have grounded on rocks,” remarked Harry. “The mud — the swamp — they resulted later. This must have been above the water level.”
“It still is,” said Wendell, “but the hole goes down beneath the swamp. This is a region for caves, Vincent — and there are a good many underground channels. Say — we’re going in there. It may be Bizzup’s safe-deposit vault! Come along!”
In his eagerness, the investigator thought of nothing but an exploration of the cavern. He wedged his way between the rocks and beckoned to Harry to follow. The Shadow’s agent paused. He was about to suggest that he remain on guard. Then he realized that such action would be unnecessary. The Shadow, himself, had taken over the duty of the watch!
Harry joined Harvey Wendell. The cavern had widened after the crevice. It was sloping downward as the two men groped their way along its stony bottom. Trickling water accompanied them — a tiny stream which oozed its way from the layers of mud above.
The passage leveled. Its bottom was rough. It led toward the island, and the two men followed it.
Wendell, his low voice echoing as he spoke, remarked that this cave might be part of a larger cavern underneath the isle. A sharp turn and a widening space indicated the possibility of his theory.
The men had reached the end of the accessible cave. They were in a chamber, far from the derelict, moving upward toward the top of a steep slope. This was evidently a space underneath high-banked rocks on the shore of the island. The light showed a downward sloping ceiling, broken with narrow passages, too small for a man to squirm through. There was no continuation.
Wendell lowered the bull’s-eye. A gleeful exclamation came from his lips. Two heavy wooden boxes were in view, stowed on a small shelf of rock. The investigator leaped forward. A knife came from his pocket. Eagerly he pried up one of the top boards of the nearer box.
THE board loosening, Wendell passed the knife to Harry, and urged him to open the other box. Pulling out his revolver, Wendell set the lantern on a jutting rock above, and thrust the butt end of the weapon under the board that he had raised. The board snapped off. Wendell pulled aside the edge of a rubber blanket. The green hue of a stack of bank notes caught his eye.
“We’ve found it!” cried the investigator. “We’ve found it all, Vincent! Never mind opening that other box. We’ll get this stuff out of here without delay. This is Bizzup’s safe-deposit vault right enough!”