Harry did not know the exact purpose of these; they probably had to do with some invention planned by Professor Whitburn; but they would solve the problem that was now involved.
Harry seemed to have gained new strength. He lifted Arlette, resting her on his good arm, and carried her to the torpedo tube. She did not realize what he was about until he had slipped her into the shell. Then she gazed at him in bewilderment.
“What — what are you doing?” she asked.
Harry smiled reassuringly. He was shoulder-deep in water now. The high-set tube was just barely free of the rising flood.
“Sending you to safety,” he replied. He lifted the cap of the torpedo. “Do you see these movable metal pieces in the cap?”
“Yes,” replied Arlette.
“Wait until the torpedo is floating steadily,” said Harry. “Then open the one that is above you. It will let in air.”
“But Harry!” exclaimed Arlette, as she began to understand. “I can’t leave you here — “
Harry had expected to hear her say that. He smiled grimly, as he was about to lower the cap of the torpedo.
“I’ll be along later,” he said.
He closed the cap, and shoved the torpedo into the tube. During the past two days, he had been studying the projection of torpedoes from submarines, from textbooks which the professor had marked for him. He recognized the mechanism of this tube.
Harry hung close to the wall and gripped the apparatus. He released the torpedo; it was discharged from the tube.
Arlette was off on her journey!
HARRY was forced to swim as he made his way back to the steps. By standing on the uppermost place, he could last a little longer.
He watched the gaining flood, as it seemed to swirl upward. He was in the highest possible position; yet it was coming almost to his shoulders.
He knew that he must meet death alone; but he was willing. He had saved Arlette.
It was impossible for him to leave by the same route. He could not have entered a torpedo and also have discharged it. So he must die alone — here beneath the surface of Death Island — unless — unless -
The water was up to his neck. He could see it swirl on the level with his eyes. It still continued to swirl, but it rose no more.
There was a clicking behind him. Some one was again working at the steel door. Harry tried to tap a message, but his hands were numb, and his efforts were feeble.
“Hold on — “
The reply was encouraging, yet time seemed endless. Harry knew now that the water was no longer rising. His rescuer had found the hidden switch that controlled the sluices.
It must have been a long, heart-rending search. Stokes had probably fixed that secret control somewhere — arranged it so that he could drown any who were trapped within this den of death.
The steel door swung open. A flashlight gleamed into the dark chamber. A black form stooped quickly, and a powerful hand seized Harry Vincent as he was about to topple into the flood beneath.
WHEN Harry opened his eyes, he found himself lying in the bed of his room on the second floor. Two persons were beside him. One was Vic Marquette; the other was Arlette DeLand.
“Arlette,” said Harry feebly. “Tell me — “
“The torpedo floated to the shore,” explained Arlette. “I managed to open the cap and get out. Then this man, Mr. -” she looked at Vic Marquette.
“Crawford’s my name,” said Marquette calmly. “Those scoundrels rode me all over the lake, Vincent. Then they ditched the motor boat at Harvey’s Wharf.
“By that time I knew where I was; and I figured they knew that I was with them. I popped out on them, before they had a chance to plug me under the sacks. They were on the wharf; but they skipped before I had a chance to shoot at them.”
“Professor Whitburn,” said Harry. “Is he — all right?”
“He’s groggy,” replied Marquette. “Somebody must have doped him. He was half out when I found him. I’ve got to go back to him now.”
“But the man who — “
“The fellow who trapped you and the girl downstairs? He’s gone. Must have taken the little motor boat we keep under the dock. I’ve heard all about him. This young lady told me the story.
“I saw the torpedo floating over to the shore, I went over to investigate, and found her. But what I’m trying to figure is who doped out that combination and opened the door to let you out of — “
“There’s only one man who could have done that,” said Harry weakly. “Only one man — “
“The Shadow!” exclaimed Marquette.
Harry Vincent nodded.
CHAPTER XXX
BEFORE THE MEETING
FOUR days had passed since the eventful happenings at Death Island.
Vic Marquette had revealed his identity to Professor Whitburn, as soon as the old man had recovered, the next morning.
The loss of the plans had been discovered.
Professor Whitburn had decided to rest from his labors. He had wired his sister to come and take care of his house, while he recuperated.
Harry Vincent and Arlette DeLand had remained as his guests. Now that the enemy had left, the island was a safe place for Arlette, and the best spot for Harry Vincent to recover from his injuries.
Marquette had taken charge of affairs long enough to arrange for one of the men from the village to take a job as handy man; and he had also obtained some other servants.
The house was transformed from an experimental laboratory to a country home.
But Marquette had left immediately afterward. He had received a message brought by Bruce Duncan. When he had read its contents, he had started immediately for New York, leaving Duncan to keep Harry Vincent company.
No one but the secret-service man knew the contents of that note. It had come, indirectly, from The Shadow, and it had proposed certain plans that pleased Vic Marquette.
The message had disclosed facts which the government man had not known; and he was raised from the depths of gloom. He had promised to cooperate by following the instructions which were given him.
It was now the night set for the Red meeting. A man, alone in a dark room, was working at a table above which hung a shaded lamp. His hands were sorting papers of various sorts, in an effort to find the solution to pressing perplexities.
Chief among these papers were reports from Vic Marquette. The secret-service agent had made every effort to trace the man who had vanished with the important plans of Professor Whitburn’s inventions. Marquette had been informed that the man had probably left the country; but with all the power that he had at his disposal, he had been unable to track the mysterious thief.
Another report was from Burbank. This man, a valuable worker for The Shadow, had been watching Prokop’s apartment. He had seen Prokop leave the apartment; he had observed another man enter and leave, a few hours later. Those events had taken place on the same night that the Red Envoy had appeared at Death Island. Since then, Prokop had not returned home.
The hands began to write beneath the light:
Prokop left a note for the Red Envoy. It was the Red Envoy who entered and left the apartment, a few hours later. He must have flown from Connecticut by plane.
Despite the fact that Marquette has obtained no results, the inference is obvious. The Red Envoy sailed for Europe on the Dresden. He will reach Cherbourg day after to-morrow.
Prokop had all passage arrangements in readiness. He left the apartment after receiving a long-distance call from the Red Envoy.
When the latter reached New York, he went to Prokop’s to pick up the information. Burbank saw him arrive and leave.
Prokop is playing a safe game. He is hiding until the meeting to-night. He is the only man who knows the Red Envoy’s plans. He took all incriminating documents from his apartment. A brief search has revealed nothing.