As effectively as if he had been present at the meeting between Possum and Zach, The Shadow studied the rough diagram. He recognized the large oval as an island in a river. The letters S.L. — the tabulated figures — these gave him the clew to the Mississippi. The square mark was obviously a landing place.
Carefully, The Shadow considered the short lines with the outlined dot in their midst. This was a projection of the island. Upon this point only did The Shadow show a trace of doubt. Shoal water or swamp — a rock or some other distinguishable object located at that spot.
The Shadow laughed softly. Paper and pen appeared in his right hand. In blue ink, The Shadow traced a duplicate of Zach’s crude chart, and added figured summaries beside it. Then followed coded notations.
The Shadow folded his paper, and placed it in an envelope. He wrote another note, placed it with the envelope, and sealed both in a larger wrapper.
With another pen, The Shadow wrote the address of Rutledge Mann, Badger Building, New York City.
The hand that wore the girasol swept up the fragments of paper, and let them flutter into the wastebasket.
The light went out. The Shadow moved to the other room, quickly drew the microphone from behind the radiator, and gathered up the hidden wire that led beneath the carpet toward the hallway.
Back to Harry’s room; the wire stowed in the bag with the ear phones, The Shadow’s work was done.
With a mocking whisper upon his lips, the black-clad master disappeared along the corridor.
THE SHADOW had solved the mystery of Possum Quill’s strange departure. He had recognized the identity of Zach Telvin. The details of the raids made by “Birch” Bizzup’s gang were familiar facts to The Shadow. The newspapers had made much of the case, and had commented upon the inability of the police to discover the stolen spoils.
To The Shadow, all was plain. Amid the ashes of Punch Baxton’s crimes, he could see the beginning of a new episode in which Possum Quill intended to play an important role. Eager crooks were on their way to an isle of doubt, seeking to discover buried wealth.
They would not be alone in that quest. The Shadow, too, was in the game. It was The Shadow’s move, and he was one who moved by stealth. The ceaseless war with crime was one which required The Shadow’s presence in Manhattan at this time; but The Shadow had a way when he set out to seek the unusual in criminal activities.
The isle of doubt! The Shadow would pave the way to that mysterious spot. He would follow when the time was ripe. The triumph of evil men would he short-lived when The Shadow chose to make his counterstrike.
The Shadow knew! And The Shadow’s long talons would reach out to another section of the country, even though The Shadow himself must, for the time, remain fighting gangdom in New York!
CHAPTER VI. THE MAN FROM THE EAST
A STEAMBOAT was chugging upstream against the current of the mighty Mississippi. A young man, standing near the prow of the ship, was studying the shores which bordered the broad path of the wide, curving stream.
Despite the greenness of the banks, the Mississippi provided a sense of sleepy desolation. The warm sun gave the young man a feeling of laziness. As he gazed along the river, he speculated upon the peculiar turn of events which had brought him here — to a locality where Harry Vincent, agent of The Shadow, had never expected to travel in The Shadow’s service.
The morning after Harry’s vigil at the Hotel Slater, in New York, Harry had received a telephone call, instructing him to appear at the office of Rutledge Mann, a Manhattan investment broker. Rutledge Mann, a chubby-faced individual who took life in leisurely fashion, was one who served as secret contact man for The Shadow.
The investment office was actually a blind, although Mann did good business in the Badger Building. Only The Shadow’s agents knew of Mann’s actual duties. Harry Vincent, when he had visited the investment office, had expected word from The Shadow.
He had been surprised, however, to learn what was required of him. Harry had thought that accounts were squared with Possum Quill, Lefty Hotz, and the third man who had accompanied that pair of crooks.
Instead, Harry had been instructed to follow on the trail of the men whom he already knew, and to look for the stranger who was with them. This third man, Harry had learned, was an escaped convict named Zach Telvin. The trio’s destination was an island in the Mississippi.
How had The Shadow learned these facts? Harry could not surmise. The Shadow’s capacity for deductive solution of crime was something that Harry could not even imitate. It was Harry’s duty to follow The Shadow’s bidding. He had done so. Aboard a steamboat chugging up the Mississippi, he was now approaching the vicinity in which the island lay.
There were numerous islands in the river, hereabouts, but Harry had seen none that answered the description shown in the sketch which The Shadow had sent him. Thus Harry continued to watch the river ahead, while he speculated upon the vanished fame of the Mississippi as an avenue of navigation.
Very few boats had been sighted along the river. Those that Harry had seen were chiefly tugs, towing scows. Harry looked in vain for passenger vessels that would match descriptions of such old-time ships as the Robert E. Lee. Even this boat upon which Harry was a passenger was scarcely more than a tawdry freighter.
THE boat rounded a bend. Harry, staring straight ahead, observed a narrowing of the river between two wooded shores, far up the stream. His eye caught sight of an object that aroused his immediate interest — an old-time steamboat, close beside the right-hand shore.
Two smokestacks, side by side, awakened Harry’s recollections of stories that he had heard concerning the old Mississippi. There was no smoke coming from the funnels; Harry decided that this ancient vessel must be lying to, near a wharf.
“An old-timer, eh?” Harry put the question to a mate who was standing near by.
“Sure enough,” said the man.
“Not many of them navigating the river,” suggested Harry. “It’s odd that that one is still going.”
“That boat!” the mate laughed. “Say — that old packet ain’t moved along the Mississippi for thirty years.”
“Anchored?” queried Harry, in surprise.
“Aground,” returned the mate.
“Strange,” said Harry. “She’s there in the main stream—”
“Not by a jugful,” interposed the mate, with another laugh. “That old relic would have cracked up long ago during high water or flood time. That ain’t the main stream. Look over there.” He pointed toward the right, and Harry observed a bend that was opening to view. The mate again pointed toward the stranded steamship.
“See the list on her?” he queried. “That’s the packet River Queen. There ain’t been no fire in those boilers since before I was born. There used to be lots of wrecks along the river — lots like that one — but most of them has washed away.”
“Why not the River Queen?” asked Harry.
“On account of the spot where she lies,” explained the mate. “She’s alongside an island. That narrow strip of river used to be a cut-off, in high water — one of those places where the river chews through.
“The pilot of the River Queen must have chanced a short cut and run his tub aground. Anyway, there she is. What’s more, that cut-off was one that was fading out instead of growing. Each year it got shallower and shallower. No steamboat could go through there now — even a tug might hit trouble.
“That island has been growing out into river. Swampy land — you’ll see the long reeds all up around the River Queen when we get close. That’s why the old boat has stayed. She’s fast in the mud and mush — anchored to stay. You’d have a tough time blasting that packet loose from her moorings.” The lower end of the island was enlarging as the mate spoke, and Harry could begin to see all that the man had mentioned. The plodding steamship was veering slightly toward the right. It was taking the widened course that swung around the island.