The Shadow 169 River of Death by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant [Grant, Maxwell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1939-02-28T23:00:00+00:00

“Why the sudden speed in sailing?” Pike asked.

“Because she secured her cargo sooner than the line officials expected. Some kind of a quick deal was made with an exporter. The Silver Knave -“

“Silver Knave?” Pike uttered a startled oath. “Is that the name of the ship?”

“Yes.”

“Then I think I know now who he is! It’s gotta be him!”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Roy Hollister! I got some straight dope on him only this afternoon. Hollister and a couple of river rats have been snooping around the Silver Knave for the past two days!”

“Hollister, eh?” There was a queer smile on Turner’s face. “He might fit it.”

“He does fit,” Pike replied, quickly. “All those guys in the bookstore had clean hands, didn’t they? Saxon.

And Deegan. You, too, if it comes to that! Yet Davy Jones had blue dye splashed all over his hands. He couldn’t have washed it off. Suppose Hollister had snooped around the bookshop and had found out that the -“

OUTSIDE the partly opened porthole, The Shadow quivered suddenly as if he had been shot.

For an instant, blinding white light bathed him in daylight brilliance. The light threw an accurate silhouette of his listening head through the porthole. It showed like a vivid black picture on the inner wall of the cabin.

The light came from the searchlight of a Hudson River night boat moving up the river toward Albany.

Pike yelled with alarm. He darted toward the porthole the moment he recovered from his amazement.

His stunned hesitation gave The Shadow his opportunity. The searchlight had shifted toward the opposite shore. The Shadow fled in darkness along the narrow ledge toward the bow.

Pike’s face peered into the night. A gun gleamed in his rigid hand. He saw nothing.

The Shadow was only a foot or so above the black surface of the river. He had slid swiftly down the taut anchor chain. He hung with arms and legs coiled about it. His face was turned downward. Protected by his black cloak and the gloves that covered his hands, he was invisible to the light-blinded eyes of Pike.

But the searchlight beam of the night liner was racing playfully back and forth over the showboat. If it swept across the motionless body of The Shadow, he would be revealed like a spider hanging on the end of a thread.

The white beam flicked aside at almost the last moment. It jerked clear of the invisible anchor line and focused on the hull of the showboat. It leaped from porthole to porthole, halting motionless as it picked out of darkness the blur of Pike’s peering face.

With an oath, Pike jerked his head inside the cabin. The porthole slammed shut.

Minute after minute passed in pitch-darkness. The Shadow used the delay to let strength flood back into his aching muscles. Then he began the difficult task of climbing up the slippery links of the chain.

It was greasy, ticklish work. He had to avoid making the least bit of noise. His gloved hand slipped.

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