Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 125 by Maxwel l Grant

Author:Maxwel,l Grant
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf

CHAPTER XI

LUCKY KITTEN

IT seemed as if The Shadow were doomed. The only link between his dangling

body and the strut that joined the floats was the remaining grip of one desperately slipping hand. The sweep of the gale heeled the seaplane far over on a wing-tip.

The Shadow's body jerked dizzily back and forth over empty space. The gale

threatened to tear him loose and send him hurtling downward to death in the foaming water far below.

But the very fury of the gale was The Shadow's salvation. It threw him almost horizontally against the undercarriage, as he clung by one slipping hand

to the cross-support. His legs wound around a knobby strut. He held himself there, breathless, both hands clinging now with a death grip.

He was almost in the exact center of his dangerous hiding place. The tortured plane now roared straight through the windy darkness on an even keel.

The only threat to The Shadow's life was the occasional up and down plunge that

signalized the presence of air pockets. He withstood these sickening jerks, although once or twice it seemed as if his arms might be wrenched out of their sockets.

Both legs were firmly anchored. The Shadow managed to twist so that most of his body was above, and not below, the slippery length of the horizontal strut.

He felt the seaplane's speed slacken after a few minutes more of this nerve-racking skyride, and he stared watchfully ahead. The outline of the Long Island shore was dimly visible, rushing closer and closer with frightful speed.

The engine of the plane ceased its harsh droning. In long sweeping circles the plane descended.

It's goal was a small landlocked harbor that looked like the water entrance to a private estate. Sandy hills swept out from the shore, almost meeting in a narrow inlet. Water boiled and thundered outside the opening, but within the harbor the water was calm except for the flat rollers that raced toward the sandy beach.

The seaplane descended to the surface of this tiny harbor with a beautiful

glide. Evidently, Paul Rodney was a calm and resourceful pilot. He landed with a

smother of spray, swung the nose of the ship expertly around, and taxied toward

a building that proved to be a private marine hangar.

The seaplane drifted closer and closer to its entrance. Squint took a long

leap from the bobbing top of one of the floats and scrambled ashore. A moment later, the huge door of the hangar slid open by concealed machinery. Lights were visible, staining the black water with a glow like yellow daylight.

Rodney himself was furiously busy, working with tools on the wing-tips.

Squint joined him and both wings were folded back into place. The ship was now like a bird with clipped plumage. It was ready to drift through the water entrance of the hangar and be securely lashed to its snug mooring.

THE SHADOW saw only the latter part of these maneuvers. The landing of the

ship on the tiny bay had plunged him completely under water. He held on, his lips grimly closed against the

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