The Shadow Double-Novel Pulp Reprints #45: Terror Island & City of Ghosts s-109

by Maxwell Grant

  "Good!" exclaimed Feldworth. "We must save the yacht, captain! This ship means much to me -"

  "Not as much as human lives," put in the officer. "Remember this, Mr. Feldworth: the storm is increasing. The longer we stand by the ship, the greater the danger. We can launch the small boats at present. But later on -"

  "You mean we should abandon the yacht?" interrupted Feldworth. "I refuse to do so, captain. As for you, it is your duty to remain."

  "That is what I intend to do," retorted the captain. "Likewise the crew. I am speaking for the safety of the passengers. This will be their last chance to get ashore. With the engines working" - the speaker paused as the ship quivered with increased throbs - "I'm going to drive away from shore."

  "But this coast is desolate!" exclaimed Feldworth. "If the small boat should survive the waves, where would it land?"

  "Near human habitation," assured the captain. "We have seen lights on the shore. The yacht has been observed. We received a rocket signal from the beach."

  "You answered it?"

  "Yes. Rescuers are waiting. Our lifeboats are unsinkable. That is why I propose that you and your passengers should take this opportunity for safety. I shall stand by the ship."

  FELDWORTH arose. Swaying unsteadily with the motion of the yacht, he clapped his hand upon the captain's shoulder.

  "Fine news," declared the owner. "You are right, captain. We shall launch the small boat for the passengers. But I, like you, intend to remain aboard."

  "No, uncle!" exclaimed Francine. "You must come with us!"

  "I shall stand by," returned Feldworth.

  "Then I shall remain," decided the girl. "And I believe" - she looked about the cabin - "that the others will do the same."

  "What about it, captain?" queried Feldworth, with a smile.

  "The lifeboat will be ready in ten minutes," asserted the officer, steadily. "All passengers will go ashore. That is my order. It must be obeyed!"

  "But my uncle!" protested Francine. "He will have to go with us!"

  "Mr. Feldworth is owner of the Maldah," returned the captain. "I cannot force him to leave the ship. But the rest of you will obey my command. I shall use force, if necessary."

  "Be calm, Francine," insisted Feldworth, swaying toward the girl's chair. "From the shore, you can inform the coast guards. They may bring us aid. With our wireless out of commission, we shall need assistance of that sort."

  "Your uncle is right, Francine," stated Hadlow, quietly. "We shall take to the lifeboat. What about it, Jalway?"

  "I should prefer to remain aboard," returned the promoter, still wearing his fixed smile. "But the captain has ordered otherwise. He must be obeyed. Moreover, Francine" - he turned to the girl - "I cannot forget your safety."

  "You are ready, professor?" inquired Hadlow.

  Professor Marcolm responded with a solemn nod of his white-haired head.

  "Two crew members will go with you," declared the captain, deciding that the matter was settled. "You, Mr. Hadlow, and you, Mr. Jalway, are as capable as any man aboard this yacht. Four able-bodied men are all that the lifeboat will require.

  "Bring most of your luggage to the deck. It will serve as ballast. The crew members - I am sending Hoskins and Dashler with you - have arranged provisions and firearms. Ten minutes."

  With that, the officer swung about and went out through the door that he had entered. Hadlow arose; Jalway did the same. Together they aided Francine from her chair. The trio headed toward an inner door at the right of the oak paneling.

  FRANCINE looked hopelessly toward her uncle. He smiled encouragingly. The girl departed with her companions. Professor Marcolm staggered to his feet. Gripping a corner of the inner doorway, he clung there and extended his hand to Kingdon Feldworth.

  "A sorry ending to our cruise," observed the owner. "If we had left Havana a day sooner, professor, we might have escaped this storm. I should like to go with you; but my place is here."

  "The captain is right," declared the professor, in a crackly tone. "We must obey his order. Your niece will be safe, Mr. Feldworth. We shall take good care of her."

  "I am counting on all of you, professor," smiled Feldworth. "Cheer her up as much as possible. Keep assuring her that I am safe."

  The professor turned and went through the inner door. Feldworth swayed across the cabin and found a chair. He was solemn as minutes passed. The outer door opened. Hoskins and Dashler entered. Both were brawny-looking fellows.

  "The luggage, sir?" questioned Hoskins, speaking to the owner.

  Before Feldworth could reply, Seth Hadlow appeared with two large suitcases. Then Francine arrived; behind the girl came Bram Jalway, staggering with the burden of a small but heavy steamer trunk.

  As the sailors relieved him, Jalway went back and returned with a small valise. A moment later, Professor Marcolm arrived with his carpetbag and cylindrical oilskin bundle.

  Donning slickers and overcoats, the passengers followed the sailors to the deck. Engines were pounding, holding the yacht in position for the launching of the lifeboat. Lanterns, held by crew members, threw a strange glow amid spray from sweeping waves.

  No words were spoken. The howling of the gale made voices hopeless. The two sailors were in the lifeboat; others of the crew helped the four passengers aboard. Then came the creak of davits. The little boat lowered toward the teeming ocean.

  The captain had gone to the bridge. Pounding engines were forcing the Maldah into the waves, bringing temporary shelter to the side where the boat was being launched. From a larger vessel, the lowering of the lifeboat might have been, disastrous. But the skipper had calculated upon the low build of the yacht.

  NESTLED deep among bags and wraps, Francine Feldworth saw the white side of the yacht rise ghostlike in the wind-swept darkness. For an instant, the girl shrank back, fearing that the lifeboat would crash against that threatening wall of steel. Then the swell ended. The tiny boat twisted away.

  The yacht dipped downward. The funnel loomed, distinguished by the wraith-like cloud of smoke that eddied in the wind. A wave hoisted the lifeboat like a cockleshell, hurling it clear of the disabled Maldah.

  The menace of the launching was ended. The lifeboat, clear away, was dipping deep into the valley of the waves. It was heading toward the darkness of the shore, leaving the Maldah as a row of fading lights that flickered and went out with every surge of the tumultuous sea.

  Yet the hazards which the voyagers faced amid the waves were small compared to the strange menace that would lie beyond. Death was to strike amid the storm. It was fortunate that The Shadow had chosen to accompany the others to the shore.

  CHAPTER V. STRANGE WELCOMES

  BLACKNESS lay ahead as the lifeboat neared the shore. Four oarsmen were at work, timing their strokes as the little craft poised upon the crests of waves.

  Francine had been stationed near the bow. One of the sailors had given her a flashlight. The girl was blinking the torch as signal to those on land. In response, she could see the wave of lanterns, moving toward the right along the beach.

  Hadlow and Jalway were plying oars, along with the sailors. Professor Marcolm was at the stern, handling the helm. Francine could not see him through the darkness; nor could she turn the light in his direction, for its gleam would be lost to those ashore.

  The girl knew that the professor was observing the lanterns from the beach. Plainly, they were signaling that safety lay to the right. The professor was handling the rudder to bear the lifeboat in that direction.

  The roar of surf came from ahead. The climax of the danger would be found when the boat struck the crashing breakers. As they veered farther to the right, Francine noticed that the roar was dulling. The lights, however, were closer than before.

  They were swinging a new signal, calling for the boat to cut in to shore. White breakers foamed in the darkness. All were to the left, the boat was escaping them. The professor was responding with the tiller. The pitch of the lifeboat lessened.

  S
weeping strokes came from the oars as the craft entered the area of an even swell. Shining the light toward the water, Francine suddenly realized that they had been guided to a haven. Those signaling lights had drawn them past the end of a sandbar that must mark the entrance to a shallow inlet. They were safe from the surge of the surf.

  The boat was circling the moving lights. The arrivals from the yacht passed inside the line of the beach. Hails came above the whistle of the wind. The men in the boat answered the calls from the shore.

  Professor Marcolm swung the helm. The bow of the lifeboat was cutting toward the left. The boat scraped suddenly upon the sand of the bar. A slow, heaving swell drove it almost to land.

  Dropping their oars, the two sailors sprang overboard, leaving the control of the boat to Hadlow and Jalway. Waist deep, they splashed past the bow, outlined by Francine's flashlight as they seized a rope to haul the boat up to the bar.

  A few moments later, they were clear of the water. The bow of the boat jolted upward as Hadlow and Jalway plied the oars while the sailors pulled.

  Lights were coming toward the boat. Dropping the oars, Hadlow and Jalway swung about, ready to aid in the landing. An electric lantern gleamed from among the men ashore. It showed one of the sailors - Hoskins - moving forward to meet the advancing throng.

  THEN came a crackly cry of warning from the stern of the lifeboat. Professor Marcolm issued it. The others became rigid. From the group on shore, a man had sprung forward, leaping upon Hoskins. A knife blade glimmered in the light. The sailor staggered.

  With that attack came spurts of flame from beside the electric lantern. Gunshots, puny in the whir of the wind, accompanied those bursts. Francine dropped into the boat as a bullet struck the gunwale. The rescuers on the shore were opening fire on the castaways from the yacht!

  Dashler, the second sailor, was leaping forward squarely into the lantern's glare. Maddened when he saw Hoskins fall, Dashler was foolishly rushing to the side of his companion. He was heading into what would have been his own doom, but for the prompt action of the three men in the lifeboat.

  The captain had placed loaded rifles aboard. Three guns were in the center of the boat. Hadlow, seizing two of the rifles, hurled one to the professor. Jalway, grabbing another, was the first man to open fire.

  Hadlow's rifle spoke next; the professor, clutching the weapon thrown to him, also managed to join in the outburst.

  As Dashler, unarmed, was suddenly pounced upon by the man who had murdered Hoskins, a quick shot from the boat brought rescue to the foolhardy sailor.

  The man with the knife went staggering, just as he tried to plunge the blade into Dashler's body. The sailor tripped upon the beach as he sought to grab his crippled enemy. He formed an easy target for the fiends upon the shore. Death would have been his lot but for another timely shot from the lifeboat.

  A rifle bullet found a perfect target: the electric lantern. Out went the light. All that remained were the bobbing glimmers that had been seen before. Hadlow, springing to the bow of the lifeboat, dashed the flashlight from Francine's hand. Again his rifle barked, to mingle with Jalway's fire. A flash came from the professor's gun.

  Bobbing lanterns now were targets. Shots from the men on shore were wide; but the marksmen in the lifeboat were able to take aim. Lanterns went bounding to the sand as their holders threw away the telltale objects. Flashes from guns were receding. The enemy was in retreat.

  In the darkness, Hadlow and Jalway each found the same idea. The two sprang overboard and floundered to the sand bar. When they reached there, they stared in vain for new flashes from the night. The enemy had fled.

  The two men gave the lifeboat another drag. Francine came over the bow; Jalway carried her to the sand bar. The professor followed, gripping his rifle. He had fired only a few shots; he had ceased when the foe had fled. Dashler came stumbling back through the darkness.

  "Got another gun?" queried the sailor, gruffly.

  "How many were there?" demanded Jalway, in the darkness.

  "Three, I think," recalled Dashler.

  "Then there's no more," put in Hadlow. "What about ammunition? We've emptied our rifles."

  "I don't think there's any extra cartridges," returned the sailor.

  "There's some here," crackled the professor, thrusting his rifle into Dashler's hands. "I only fired three shots."

  DRIZZLY wind beat upon the castaways as they realized their plight. It was lucky for them that the opposition had ended. The gun now held by Dashler was the only rifle that could be used. Huddled in a group, they waited, almost ready to return to the lifeboat. The mercy of the storm seemed better than the fierce welcome of the fiends who had awaited them.

  As minutes passed, eyes strained through the darkness. Discarded lanterns had been extinguished by the wind and rain. There was no indication that the attackers intended to return. Staring seaward, the castaways saw no sign of the Maldah. The yacht had hoisted anchor to drive out into the storm.

  A flashlight clicked. Jalway had produced it. The promoter glimmered the rays upon the lifeboat. Wading into the water, he began to bring out luggage. Hadlow aided him, Professor Marcolm remained with Francine while Dashler stood guard with the rifle.

  Dragging and carrying their possessions, the little group advanced. Jalway, leading with the flashlight, came upon the body of Hoskins. The sailor was dead. Blood from his knife wound stained the dark, water-soaked sand.

  The castaways moved forward. Jalway's light revealed no sign of any attackers. Evidently the fleeing men had taken their wounded along with them. Slowly, the little group neared the wide stretch of the long beach. Crossing it, they came suddenly to a fringe of trees.

  They were on the edge of a thick Georgia woods, almost tropical in its density. Trees above were creaking as the wind sighed through heavy branches. Below, where the people stood, the shelter produced a lull. Voices could be understood without shouting.

  Jalway threw his flashlight about the group. Francine had slumped upon the little steamer trunk; Hadlow had dragged it along from the sand bar. The professor was beside her, his hand upon the girl's shoulder.

  Hadlow was extracting a cigarette from beneath his slicker, while Dashler was standing amid a cluster of luggage. The sailor had his rifle in readiness. He had brought along the two emptied weapons. They were lying on the fringe of the sand.

  "These woods are our best refuge," informed Jalway, in a voice that was steady in the lull. "If we can find some sort of opening among them, we can make camp for the night. You hold the flashlight, professor. Francine can remain with you while we scout about."

  Professor Marcolm received the flashlight. He extinguished it as the other men moved off through the darkness. Then he flashed it with intermittent blinks. Five minutes passed. Suddenly Hadlow returned.

  "Wave the light, professor," he ordered. "Bring in the others. I've found something."

  "A path?" questioned Francine.

  "Better than that," replied Hadlow. "A house. I saw the lights in the woods."

  JALWAY and Dashler arrived while Hadlow was pointing out the direction in which he had investigated. The professor's waving of the flashlight brought them in. The sailor offered an objection when he heard Hadlow's plan to proceed to the house.

  "Maybe that's their hang-out," he insisted. "They might get us like they got Hoskins. I'd like to get square with the fellows that killed my matey; but it ain't policy to walk into their camp."

  "The rogues fled along the beach," reminded Hadlow. "This house is in the direction of the inlet. In my opinion, it offers safety rather than danger."

  "That sounds likely," put in Jalway. "What is your opinion, professor?"

  "The same as Hadlow's," crackled Marcolm. "Come, my friends. Let us fare toward this habitation."

  Leaving the luggage, the group followed Hadlow's lead. Using the flashlight, the sportsman picked out a path at the entrance to the woods. The glare showed a narrow but clean-cut passage. Hadlow turned out the light and
spoke.

  "There's the glimmer." His voice was solemn beneath the shelter of the swaying, creaking oaks. "Unquestionably a house. Suppose that Jalway and I go in advance. You follow, professor, with Francine."

  "What about me?" asked Dashler.

  "Stay in the background," ordered Hadlow. "Cover with your rifle. If we run into trouble, you can open fire to protect us."

  SHOULDER to shoulder, Hadlow and Jalway advanced. They came to a clearing where the white tabby walls of an old building showed its spectral bulk among the trees. The lighted windows had been at the side. Here, only the whiteness of the house was visible. Reaching a stout oak door, Hadlow knocked.

  A long pause. The wind sighed heavily through the trees, then whistled eerily as its angry gusts rose violently in the night. Hadlow rapped again. The drawing of bolts followed. The door opened.

  Just within the threshold stood a huge, big-fisted man whose face was fierce and challenging. Light from the hall showed the water-soaked visitors. The big man eyed them with a glare that was not pleasant.

  Close by the trees, Marcolm and Francine could see the man's face plainly. So could Dashler. The sailor shifted his rifle. The professor stretched out a hand to withhold him. Listening, they could hear the growled challenge of the man within the door.

  "What you want here?"

  The voice was thick and uncouth. Hadlow's reply was a quiet one that the listeners could not hear; but they caught snatches of Jalway's steady tone. The castaways were explaining their plight. Their story brought results. The big man stepped back and motioned them to enter.

  Jalway turned and signaled. Professor Marcolm led the others to the house. They followed Hadlow and Jalway into a lighted hallway. The big guardian eyed Dashler's rifle in suspicious fashion, then closed the door and bolted it. He departed through the hallway, leaving the little group talking in puzzled whispers.

  A few minutes passed. Then the big man returned from the rear of the hallway. He opened a door on the right, turned on a light and ushered the arrivals into a living room. Francine gasped in amazement. The others looked around in surprise.