Death in the Stars s-197 Read online

  Besides, the base of the rock looked unreachable, due to jagged chunks of stone that studded the water.

  Those barring points of rock had evidently broken from the crag in some past age.

  As they headed out from the cove, The Shadow slowed the boat, to study Denwood's chart. Harry noticed that it was less of a maze than before. The Shadow had marked it with his own observation lines, erasing some of the more doubtful ones.

  By a system of triangulation, he had picked the area near Indian Cove as the probable destination of the curious lake monster. Having seen that craft's course twice, The Shadow had narrowed down his quest.

  There was another cove, however, that adjoined this one, past a jut of land called Piny Head. It was also in the area picked by The Shadow, and the cove furnished a landing to the old Pioneer Mine.

  The Shadow swung into the cove, let the boat chug up to the remains of an old burned wharf. Gloom here was heavy; Harry, scrambling on the wharf to tie the boat, did not sense the stir about him.

  Of a sudden, he was prodded with gun muzzles. He saw the bristling rifle barrels, determined faces behind him. Voices were ordering him to "put them up"; and he heard one call: "We've got him!"

  Harry let his hands go up. His right came from his hip, bringing an automatic, as he wheeled away from the rifles. There was a crackle from one rifle: an answering shot from Harry's automatic. But not a bullet took effect!

  The long-barreled guns were being knocked aside. Harry, as he fired, received a side-arm blow that sent his shot wide. The sweep carried him backward into the boat. On the wharf, he could see three men sprawling, their rifles clattering the charred timbers, as they succumbed to the barehanded punches of a lone attacker.

  The Shadow!

  He had leaped from the boat at the instant of the conflict, and was taking control as Cranston. One rifleman went splashing into the water; another landed headlong, into the boat with Harry. The third, shaken to his senses by hands that collared him, recognized the face of his shaker and gulped to the others:

  "It's Mr. Cranston!"

  THESE were the sheriff's deputies, on hunt for Barcla and missing servants like Horace and Rufus. They had mistaken Harry for Barcla, thinking that the missing crook had chosen this secluded landing spot. The Shadow's skill at breaking up a fight had proven as useful as his ability in prolonged battle.

  His swift and timely intervention had saved Harry's life, along with one or more of the deputies.

  More men arrived, the sheriff among them. Congratulations were promptly given Cranston for halting mistaken battle. The sheriff had come to search the old Pioneer Mine, in case Barcla was using it as a hideaway. He invited the newcomers to join the party. Cranston accepted; but Harry had to leave, in order to catch his plane.

  Alone in the boat, Harry idled the motor as he neared the site of Rundon's cabin, which was on the way to the end of the lake. He wanted to see what had been done with the wrecked craft belonging to Denwood; workmen had been sent to lift it from the rocks today.

  Harry chose Rundon's rickety dock as a landmark and cut in close to it. Something he saw made him cut off the motor and glide to a stop.

  Another boat was tied to Rundon's pier; it was Scorpio's speedster!

  For the moment, Harry thought that Lois had come here; then he remembered that the girl had returned the borrowed boat to Scorpio. Stepping ashore, Harry saw a light glimmering from Rundon's cabin and crept close. Through a crack where a draped blanket failed cover the window edge, he looked in on two men: Professor Scorpio and Edward Barcla.

  It was clever, those two meeting here. Probably Scorpio deserved credit for the idea; but Barcla gained the chief benefit. The missing crook was using Rundon's cabin as his hide-out, and had chosen a perfect spot.

  With Rundon abducted, there was no reason for anyone to come here. It was the last place where the sheriff would look for Barcla. Scorpio, a master at the art of alibi, considered it safer to visit Barcla than have the wanted man visit him.

  Scorpio was opening a wrapped package. Harry saw bundled cheesecloth, a wire mask. There were bottles that looked as though they contained paint; a box that appeared to be a make-up kit. Harry could hear Scorpio's words, purring and reassuring:

  "It will be easy, Barcla. Less risky than staying here. The séance will square me, and give them so much to think about, they will forget you. It will be the biggest thing we've staged."

  Barcla's negative headshakes lessened. He turned to a table, picked up a photograph of Niles Rundon and stared at it.

  "But if Rundon ever comes back-"

  "He won't," interposed Scorpio, in confident tone. "If we put this over one hundred percent, we can keep Rundon right where he is. I'll keep them buffaloed, Barcla, while you move in and out."

  There was a nod from Barcla. It ended when he cocked his head, stared uneasily at the windows. He muttered something about the woods being safer than the cabin, to which Scorpio agreed. The two started toward the door, Barcla carrying the bundle.

  Harry reached the pier, pushed the boat off and drifted out into the lake. He could hear sounds along the shore; he lay still, lest Scorpio and Barcla hear him. Darkness was thickening, particularly on the water.

  From his vantage point, Harry was barely able to discern Scorpio when the professor came out on the dock and entered his speedboat alone.

  Scorpio drifted, too, before starting the motor. As the speedster increased its distance from shore, Scorpio stepped it up. That made it safe for Harry to get going, but he throttled down his motor very promptly. He thought that he had heard Scorpio's speedster slacken, as though the professor had detected sounds behind him.

  INSTEAD of going direct to the Community Center, Harry detoured across by Denwood's. There, he grabbed a few clothes and put them in a bag.

  After leaving a coded message for The Shadow, Harry told Denwood that he was starting for Los Angeles, and hurried down to the dock. There was no sign of Scorpio's speedster; the professor must be back at the Castle.

  Looking out across the blackened lake, Harry stared suspiciously at everything that resembled foam.

  Even the splashes of fish caught his attention. He was remembering the mystery craft that also plowed these waters, wondering if it had been around this evening.

  Harry had forgotten the lake monster while thinking about Scorpio. Satisfied that the lake was as placid as it looked, Harry started off.

  From Denwood's, a close inshore route was best, because of a shoal. Harry was sure that he had passed the danger spot, when he felt the prow of his boat quiver. He had struck something, too close for the searchlight to show; for Harry was using a high focus.

  It was a shoal, and an odd one; for the boat seemed to climb along it as Harry cut off the motor.

  It wasn't a shoal; it was an island! Added to that surprise, Harry recognized that it was moving. Before he could jump to a further conclusion, brawny hands descended upon him. Twisting, too late to struggle, Harry saw that he had struck neither shoal nor isle.

  He had run upon the lake monster; lurking in the darkness, the strange craft had glided forward as Harry's boat struck it. It was as tricky as a crocodile, posing as a log, then turning to life. The long slope of the thin craft's deck had slithered under Harry's boat, to lift it from the water!

  The men were coming from a tiny cockpit; as two hauled Harry down into their craft, a third rolled over into Harry's boat and added weight from the opposite direction.

  Hands pinned behind him, throat half-throttled, Harry put up a final struggle, kicking hard with his feet.

  Just as he was wrenching free, a heavy, padded object struck him behind the ear.

  Stunned, Harry settled helplessly. The two men pulled him down with them; drew a sliding hood, with a tiny celluloid window, over the space above their heads. There was a slight churn as the mystery ship worked backward; then it was gliding off into the lake. The man who had taken over Harry's boat continued toward the Community Center.
r />   AT the Pioneer Mine, a search had proven fruitless. After going through old shafts with flashlights, the searchers ended at a spot where a large chunk of payless ore had settled down into a cavity. The blocking rock was too deep-set for them to haul it out.

  "Barcla couldn't have gotten that chunk out," said the sheriff, as they left the mine. "Anyway, Mr.

  Cranston, I'm just as glad we haven't found him."

  "On account of the coming séance?"

  "That's it." The sheriff nodded. "I like your idea of nabbing Scorpio and Barcla together. But I kind of figured they'd get leery if they heard we weren't hunting any more. So I thought it best to keep the boys busy."

  The Shadow complimented the sheriff on his foresight. As they met the others, they parted in a group.

  Near the lake the crowd divided. They had come in two boats, which they had left in different spots.

  Each crew thought that the helpful Mr. Cranston was going back with the other. Both were wrong.

  From beneath the charred wharf, The Shadow picked up hat and cloak that Harry had left there for him.

  Completely enveloped in black, he used the cloak folds to shield the glow of a tiny flashlight, as he picked a course of his own along the shore.

  It was only a short route, along the curve of Piny Head, to the channel between that promontory and the island. The channel in question was the entrance to Indian Cove.

  The Shadow expected slight ripples from the direction of the bay; but he gave occasional glances toward the lake. He suddenly spotted a streak of foam along the blackened water, heard the slight swash of little waves. He was clinging to a bush on a rocky bank just above the channel, as a slender thing of steel eased through the tiny inlet.

  With a roll, The Shadow landed on the metal creature's long back. His fingers dug among rivets; his soft-tipped shoes allowed him a toe hold. High and dry, yet with wavelets scudding up beside his shoulders, The Shadow clung to the lake monster as it gathered speed.

  The thing whisked through the cove, then slackened. Still riding it, The Shadow checked the tricky channel it took among the stony piles. It had two propellers, that craft, and they enabled it to pivot sharply. It found a course where, earlier, neither The Shadow nor Harry had observed one. But The Shadow had suspected such a channel.

  Solid blackness loomed ahead-the heights of Indian Rock. There was a gap: the arch-like crevice at the water line. The long, low hull had been designed to pass under it with only a few inches of clearance. Not enough for The Shadow, too, but the slow-motion approach gave him time to reach up from the stern and clutch the rock above.

  Its cracked surface gave him a grip; he found it just as he was toppling backward. The steel monster was gone from beneath him, in under the very rock to which The Shadow clung. Swinging sideward, the cloaked investigator found a foothold and began to worm his way up the rock.

  Soon, The Shadow reached a narrow split; when a loose bit of stone slipped through the fissure, he heard it plunk into water below. The discovery was one that would prove useful later; for the present, The Shadow wished simply to reach solid ground.

  A sideward trip brought him to turf that marked the edge of the great granite rock. From there, he reached the woods.

  It would be a long trip by land, back to some spot where The Shadow could find a boat; but he had all the time he wanted. His work for tonight was ended, according to his calculations. Above the lake, The Shadow saw the rising lights of the taxi plane, winging toward Los Angeles.

  There was a whispered laugh in the darkness, signifying that The Shadow thought that all was well. For he believed that his agent, Harry Vincent, was safely on board that plane, taking a night flight to the city.

  The Shadow had considered it good policy to let the crooks in the lake monster return to their base unmolested.

  The Shadow was to change that opinion, later, when pieced facts would tell him that Harry had been a prisoner within the mystery ship, while The Shadow, himself, was riding as an unseen passenger upon the deck!

  CHAPTER XIII. PLACES OF DARKNESS.

  WHEN Harry Vincent awoke, he could remember a long succession of strange nightmares, interspersed with darkness and light. He had heard voices, some ugly, others friendly, but none had roused him from his coma until the present moment.

  His eyes opening slowly, Harry saw two men standing, with a lantern, above a cot on which he lay. He recognized them; one was Horace, the sly servant who had tricked Denwood; the other was the missing man from Paula Lodi's, the husky Rufus.

  "He'll come to," growled Horace, in reference to Harry. "Leave him lay. We've got to get started for Grendale's."

  "Not yet," returned Rufus. "But we may as well let the other simps work on the guy. Come on."

  Rufus hung the lantern on a hook. The two men went out. Harry tried weakly to rise; sank back as the door of the room opened. Eyes half shut, he saw another pair entering. They came unwillingly, at the points of guns: Howard Carradon and Niles Rundon.

  Both looked the worse for wear. Carradon, who had been missing longer, was badly in need of a shave, while Rundon showed the effects of his hard struggle by a bloodstained bandage wrapped around his head. The two approached Harry, then looked back gingerly at a guard who stood in the doorway.

  Harry opened his eyes. Eagerly, Carradon and Rundon propped him up, and swabbed his face with a sponge from a handy water bucket. They were asking questions, anxiously, eagerly. At first, Harry looked askance at the guard in the doorway; then he saw his fellow prisoners smile bitterly.

  "Nothing you can tell us will hurt," said Carradon. "These fellows know everything that's going on."

  "But they've told us very little," added Rundon. "There's a lot we'd like to learn. Did they deliver those notes?"

  Harry nodded, then remarked: "To Scorpio."

  Both men looked puzzled. When Harry explained how Scorpio had claimed full innocence, the pair showed anger. It was Carradon who gave chief vent to his opinions.

  "The nerve of him!" Carradon stormed. "I'd never have believed it! But it sounds like Scorpio, all right-to send notes to himself!"

  "Was Scorpio here?" asked Harry.

  "No," replied Carradon. "Rufus told us what to write. There wasn't any use to argue. We knew the notes would tell people that we were alive."

  "He'll probably make you write one next," added Rundon. "Then he'll send it over to Scorpio in that crazy ship this bunch his bunch is using."

  Harry shook his head.

  "It won't be delivered tonight," he said, "unless a spook brings it. Scorpio is putting on a show at Grendale's."

  Rundon snapped his fingers and turned to Carradon.

  "That's why Barcla hasn't been around!" he exclaimed. "We figured he was Scorpio's pet spook. He'll be needed over at Grendale's."

  Further conversation was ended by the arrival of Rufus. For the first time, Harry noticed that Rufus had a bandaged shoulder. One of The Shadow's bullets had evidently clipped him during the passing fray at the Castle dock, two nights before.

  Yanking Harry to his feet, Rufus lined him up with Carradon and Rundon. The three were marched in lock step through a passage, down natural steps in the rock. Rufus followed with the lantern; they came to a row of crannies in the wall. Each crevice had a metal gate."

  The three were stowed in their improvised cells, where cots awaited them. They were some distance apart, but they could all hear Rufus clank the locks on the other cells. Then the fellow growled:

  "No jabber tonight. You've had enough time to talk. Any guy that opens his trap will get another tap in back of the ear. If you can't go to sleep, we'll show you how!"

  WITH the lantern gone, the cell passage became absolutely black. Lying on his cot, Harry could almost imagine that he was in a huge cave, instead of a tiny rock crevice He heard slight stirs from the others: the darkness seemed to annoy them. Finally, they quieted. But the darkness didn't bother Harry. He rather liked it.

  Harry's head was aching badly; ev
en the brief display of light had hurt his eyes. Besides, he could think well in darkness. He realized that his half-conscious spell had carried him over a full day. It was night again, and it would soon be time for Scorpio's séance. The time when The Shadow planned a big surprise for the artful professor and his tool, Barcla.

  The others would be there, too-Rufus, Horace, and a few more servants who had skipped from the Calada colony under pressure.

  They wouldn't be all; this strange lair, wherever it was located, had been peopled all along by hidden workers who were in the crooked game. But there still might be a chance for a showdown-by The Shadow.

  Harry wasn't worried about his chief, not even when the opposition was numerous. But he foresaw one serious handicap. The Shadow had depended upon Harry's return to Lake Calada. Whatever his plans, The Shadow would have to change them at the last moment.

  It wasn't a pleasing prospect, considering that there was no one else who could supply whatever duties The Shadow expected from Harry.

  Across the lake, at Denwood's, The Shadow was considering that very factor while sitting at the desk in the study. The Shadow had read Harry's note, written in special ink that faded, the sort that The Shadow and his agents always used in correspondence.

  The Shadow had read it that morning, and had thereby obtained some very useful information, proving a prospect that he had considered a likely one. All day, The Shadow had been expecting Harry's return, since Denwood had been sure that the agent had caught the last plane.

  But Harry had not come back. The afternoon plane was already here from Los Angeles, and Harry should have been on it. Remembering the return of the mystery craft to Indian Cove, The Shadow could picture only too well what had happened to his agent.

  The rented boat was back at the Community Center, but no one remembered that Harry had delivered it personally. Nor was anyone sure that he had been among the half-dozen passengers who had taken the plane to Los Angeles.