Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 029 - The Golden Grotto

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THE GOLDEN GROTTO
Maxwell Grant
? CHAPTER I. THE GOLD SHIP
? CHAPTER II. THE ROBBERY
? CHAPTER III. THE SHADOW ACTS
? CHAPTER IV. THE STRANGER AT EAST POINT
? CHAPTER V. THE SHADOW'S MOVE
? CHAPTER VI. HARRY BECOMES SUSPICIOUS
? CHAPTER VII. THE GUISE OF THE SHADOW
? CHAPTER VIII. THE REPLY
? CHAPTER IX. THE NEXT LECTURE
? CHAPTER X. THE SHADOW ARRIVES
? CHAPTER XI. THE SHADOW FIGHTS
? CHAPTER XII. THE SHADOW LISTENS
? CHAPTER XIII. HARRY HAS NEWS
? CHAPTER XIV. CRANSTON PAYS A VISIT
? CHAPTER XV. FIENDS ARE FOILED
? CHAPTER XVI. TROUBLE BREAKS
? CHAPTER XVII. MEN IN THE DARK
? CHAPTER XVIII. THE SHADOW'S CLEW
? CHAPTER XIX. THE GOLDEN GROTTO
? CHAPTER XX. ON THE YACHT
? CHAPTER XXI. THE FLIGHT
? CHAPTER XXII. THE RETURN
? CHAPTER XXIII. THE GET-AWAY
CHAPTER I. THE GOLD SHIP
"CLICK - click - click - click -"
Clyde Burke's ears were alert as they caught the coded rattling. His hand, resting unseen within the book
that he was reading, jotted down the dots and dashes that his ears were hearing.
Without moving his head, Clyde turned his eyes across the smoking room of the steamship Patagonia,
and detected the source of the message. A poker player, his back toward Burke, was idly lifting and
dropping a stack of chips that rested on the table beside him. Clyde could see the up-and-down motion
of the man's fingers.
"Click - click - click - click - click -"
Clyde's hand was still busy, but his gaze was moving to other sections of the room. Somewhere, he
knew, a man was receiving the message which the other was sending.
Clyde's stealthy glances were rewarded. Two men, seated opposite each other on the side of the
smoking room nearest the door, were rising as with one accord. One swallowed a half-finished drink;
then the two strolled from the smoking room.
The clicking had ceased. Casually, Clyde Burke closed his book, tucked it under his arm, and arose from
his chair. He paused to light a cigarette; then walked leisurely across the room, and stepped through the
door that led to the deck.
THE Patagonia was driving steadily through a placid sea. Only the easy, even rise of the slow swell
imparted other motion to the steamship. Although an old vessel, and of comparatively light tonnage
beside more modern liners, the Patagonia was making excellent headway on this last night at sea.
The coolness of the sea air was sufficient excuse for Clyde Burke to lean against the rail and slowly turn
his gaze toward the bow of the ship.
Had the two men who had left still been walking along the stretch of deck, Clyde would easily have
spotted them. As it was, the observer saw that the deck was clear. There was only one inference. The
men had entered the opening to the stairway that led to the deck below.
Clyde Burke drew away from the rail and took the course that he knew the others must have traveled.
He reached the stairway and descended. He stopped at the door of the main saloon, and watched the
dance that was in progress. He saw no sign of the two who had gone ahead.
Wending his way along a corridor, Clyde reached the door of his stateroom. He entered and closed the
door behind him. Seating himself at a small table, Clyde opened the book which he carried, and
transcribed the coded dots and dashes to a sheet of paper.
The message was undecipherable. The man who had sent it had evidently been using a code known only
to himself and to those who were meant to receive it.
Clyde Burke arose, a serious expression upon his face. He flipped his cigarette through the open
porthole; then walked quietly to the door and listened cautiously. Satisfied that no one was in the corridor
outside, Clyde returned to the table and began to make penciled notations.
Ostensibly, Clyde Burke was a freelance journalist who had found it profitable to act as a newspaper
correspondent in England and France. His presence on this boat appeared of no special significance. A
young man, quiet in demeanor, and watchful rather than loquacious, Clyde had the ability to render
himself inconspicuous.
Privately, however, Clyde Burke followed an occupation quite different than that which he openly
professed. His voyage as a passenger on the Patagonia, now bound from Southampton to New York,
was not being made in the interests of journalism.
In fact, Clyde was particularly anxious not to encounter unusual news items during the journey. For Clyde
Burke was acting as an agent for The Shadow!
A few weeks ago, Clyde recalled, he had been in London, picking up news suitable for cable dispatches.
Then shortly before the Patagonia had sailed from Southampton, Clyde had received a special order
from The Shadow to embark as a regular passenger upon this particular boat.
There had been no question about the purpose of his mission. Reaching in his pocket, Clyde drew forth
the important item that concerned it. This was a newspaper clipping, which read:
GOLD SHIPMENT FOR UNITED STATES
A shipment of gold said to exceed $2,000,000 in value has been scheduled for transport on the S. S.
Patagonia. Detailed information has been withheld, but it is assumed in financial circles that the shipment
involves a transfer of private funds. With the prevailing rates of exchange adverse to shipment of gold
from England to the United States, this constitutes the first considerable transfer that has occurred within
the past twelve months.
The printed paragraph was filled with meaning for Clyde Burke. As a newspaperman, he knew that a
gold shipment of approximately two millions would not ordinarily be mentioned on the front page of a
New York newspaper. Under present conditions, however, such a transaction became news.
Moreover, it was not usual to announce a shipment of precious metal so far in advance of the sailing date.
This clipping had come to Clyde, in London, several days before the Patagonia had been due to sail.
Private funds - so the dispatch stated. There, again, lay an unusual factor. Such gold would not go
through the regular precautionary measures adopted with specie that represented transactions between
governments of large financial interests.
In brief, this dispatch was more than a simple news item. It was an open announcement to the world at
large that a valuable sum in gold would be on the high seas at a certain date, accessible to any and all
who might possess the nerve and ingenuity to seize it!
IN his dual occupation as newspaperman and agent for The Shadow, Clyde Burke had learned much
regarding the boldness of international crooks. He knew that the criminal rings of New York, London,
and Paris overlapped whenever occasion demanded. This dispatch should never have been made public.
It was virtually a challenge to the skill of crookdom!
The steamship company, like the newspapers, had overlooked the possible results that might occur from
the unwise dispatch.
Gold shipments had been transported before. An ocean liner, it would seem, must be the safest possible
place for gold to be - so far as theft was concerned. But in this instance, the transfer was a set-up -
should any one devise a means to take advantage of it.
Gold on the high seas - the shippers unworrying, the authorities out of the picture. After all, there was
safety in the fact that it would require a supercrook to plan a way to seize the millions. The chances were
a hundred to one that no attempt would be made to gain the gold; but where others were content to play
with the ninety-nine chances, there was one man who chose the hundredth.
The Shadow!
He was the mysterious being of darkness who fought crime with an iron hand - the master mind who
called the turn before the schemes of fiends could reach their culmination.
A lone avenger whose very identity was a mystery, The Shadow saw the signs of approaching evil with
unerring foresight.
Through his agents - trusted men who, themselves, were ignorant of The Shadow's actual personality -
this master of detection felt the pulse throbs of lawlessness, and maintained a constant vigil against
impending crime.
As The Shadow's secret agent, Clyde Burke was now watching doings on this ship, ready to send an
urgent message, should he see the slightest chance of trouble on the Patagonia.
So far, Clyde had carefully obeyed instructions. He had looked for suspicious characters, paying
particular attention to any traces of collusion existing between passengers upon the liner.
Until to-night, Clyde had encountered nothing during the uneventful voyage; but his instructions from The
Shadow had warned him to be particularly alert as the ship neared the coast of the United States.
The smoking room, Clyde had noted, was the natural meeting place where any plotters would seek one
another. The very conspicuousness of the spot made it most desirable.
Secret cabals on decks or in cabins might create suspicion. Concealed communications in the smoking
room would pass unnoticed. That had proven true to-night, as Clyde had learned when he had heard the
coded clicking of the poker chips.
At present, the ship was more than a hundred miles from shore. Its course would bring it close to the
coast before dawn. Clyde, in his quiet conversations with ship's officers, had learned that the Patagonia
was close to its expected position.
The danger zone had not yet been reached. To-night, it was Clyde's duty to give The Shadow radio
information if trouble was developing. So far, Clyde had sent no messages.
The Shadow was allowing for the ninety-nine possibilities, even though he saw much likelihood of the
hundredth chance. Hence, Clyde, in his instructions, had been told to send no message should nothing
develop.
As a passenger, Clyde Burke was too smooth a worker to come under the suspicion of any criminals
who might be contemplating concerted action. Hence, he had been reserved in every manner of his
conduct. At present, Clyde was debating whether or not to wait an hour longer before sending word to
The Shadow.
Well did Clyde Burke know the swiftness and certainty with which The Shadow could act. He sensed
that The Shadow knew that trouble would not develop until the Patagonia had neared shore. The
comparatively slow progress of the ship would enable The Shadow to intercept it by swift boat or by
plane, before it came into that zone where danger might well be lying.
Strolling from his cabin, Clyde was relieved to note that the corridor was still empty. He congratulated
himself on the fact that though he knew little of the enemy's plans, his own observations were entirely
unsuspected.
At the smoking room, Clyde lingered long enough to study the poker player who had indulged in the
chip-clicking. He also noted other men lounging about, and felt sure that some of them were deserving of
suspicion.
Half an hour passed. With no results occurring, Clyde left the smoking room.
Had he lingered a few minutes more, he would have seen the clicking chips once more in action. Their
signal caused one man to saunter from the smoking room.
Unfortunately, however, Clyde Burke had not waited quite long enough. Paradoxically, he had waited
too long - as events of the next ten minutes quickly proved.
CLYDE'S destination was the radio room. Reaching that spot, the newspaperman drew a radiogram
from his pocket and gave it to the operator. It was a simple message - one which Clyde had kept in
readiness for this moment. The radiogram was addressed to Rutledge Mann, in the Badger Building,
New York. It read:
ARRANGE SECURITY PURCHASES AS ADVISED
The message was signed by Clyde Burke.
Ostensibly, it was information concerning investments which Clyde was sending to his broker. Actually, it
was an urgent report from one of The Shadow's agents to another.
Rutledge Mann, a placid, quiet-faced investment broker, was the contact man who received direct
communications from The Shadow's operatives.
The radio operator read the message and nodded. He assured Clyde that it would be sent within the next
fifteen minutes. Clyde left the wireless room and went below. The operator prepared to send the
message.
With ear phones to his head, and hand on key, the operator did not notice that another man had entered
the room. This individual - a short, sallow-faced fellow - was the man who had left the smoking room
after Clyde Burke had gone.
He approached the wireless operator and tapped his shoulder. The man at the key turned suddenly.
Recognizing his visitor, he removed the ear phones from his head.
"What's up, Pete?" he questioned, in a low voice.
"All set," responded the swarthy man. "Stick with us from now on, boy. Nothing goes out that might be a
tip-off. What you got there?"
The operator handed him Clyde's message. The swarthy man read it and handed it back.
"It looks O.K.," he said. "But just the same -"
"I'd better send it," declared the operator. "There might be a squawk."
"All right" - the swarthy man paused suddenly, then shook his head - "I guess it isn't best to chance it.
Nothing to this, but the chief has passed me the word. When he says what to do, he means it. He tipped
me to come up here and pass you the word. This message will be lost in the rush."
The radio operator took the written sheet. He glanced at it reluctantly. Then, as he noted the decided
expression on his companion's face, he shrugged his shoulders.
"All right, Pete," he said.
Crumpling the paper between his hands, the operator tossed it in a wastebasket beneath the table. He
put his ear phones on his head and rested his hand on the key. Pete thumped him on the back, swung on
his heel, and went from the room.
It was several minutes later when the swarthy man reappeared in the smoking room. He took a seat as
soon as he entered. Clyde Burke was sitting not far away. He noted the quick glance that passed from
the chip-clicking poker player to the new arrival.
Clyde Burke smiled to himself. Trouble was brewing to a certainty. Duty lay ahead to-night. Here, on this
ship, he must learn all that he could to aid The Shadow.
As to the outcome of whatever might transpire, Clyde had no doubts. That lay in the hands of The
Shadow. Through Rutledge Mann, stationed in his office this evening, The Shadow would receive the
word which he awaited.
So Clyde Burke reasoned. He did not know that fate had worked against him to-night; that his message
to New York would not be delivered. Men of crime were preparing for a master stroke - and Clyde
Burke's carefully planned warning had failed to go.
Steaming onward, the Patagonia plowed through the silent sea, nearing a spot where strange events were
scheduled to take place - without interference from the one person who had divined that crime was
brewing!
Thorough though he was, Clyde Burke had slipped to-night. Experienced though he was in The
Shadow's service, Clyde lacked the intuition that was needed to-night.
Even while he smiled to think of the unexpected surprise that would encounter the crooks aboard this
ship, his own plan had gone awry, leaving the field clear for crime!
CHAPTER II. THE ROBBERY
GRAY streaks of dawn were bringing a feeble glow to the horizon beyond the stern of the Patagonia.
The plodding ship formed a dim bulk in the center of a placid sea - a moving object of blackness marked
with separated spots of twinkling lights that glowed through portholes.
The size of the ship and the presence of those lights rendered the Patagonia visible to eyes that were
watching more than a mile away; yet the watchers, themselves, were unseen by any eyes aboard the liner.
A low, sleek-lined motor boat, its decks awash, and its smooth engines muffled, was keeping pace with
the transatlantic ship.
The mystery boat had crept up under cover of darkness. As obscure as a derelict in the sea, it had
followed the Patagonia for twenty miles, using those glimmering lights as a moving beacon.
Still, the placidity of the scene had not altered. But with daylight approaching, the low-lying boat would
soon become visible.
The masts and superstructure of the Patagonia were now forming blackened silhouettes against the
lightened sky. Suddenly, a change took place in the appearance of the liner; and with that alteration, the
pursuing motor boat veered quickly and pointed its sharp nose toward the Patagonia.
A peculiar jet of white appeared near the stern of the liner; thin filmy puffs became clouds of smoke.
Within a few seconds, the rear of the steamship was enveloped in thick white vapor that issued through
portholes and from cabinways.
Immediately visible to the watchers a mile away, the effect of this strange happening became known to
those on the Patagonia a minute or two later.
It came as a startling surprise to Clyde Burke, one of the few passengers who was awake. Lounging in
the smoking room, watching the card game that was still in progress, Clyde heard the sudden clang of
bells and the jolt in the liner's easy speed that heralded the fact that something was amiss.
Restraining his eagerness, Clyde watched the men at the table. He saw them glance at one another in
feigned consternation; then, with one accord, they pushed their chips aside and started for the deck.
Clyde followed.
MEN were dashing along the deck toward the stern of the ship. Clyde could see the whirl of smoke
pouring from that direction. His first belief was that the ship had taken fire; that the crew of the Patagonia
was faced with the greatest danger that can be encountered at sea.
Then, as the deck was cleared of running seamen, Clyde noticed that the men from the smoking room
were heading in the opposite direction. In a flash, he realized what had happened.
The ship was not on fire - although the crew believed it to be. Some persons - confederates of those in
the smoking room - had loosed smoke bombs at the stern of the ship. They had produced the perfect
effect of smoldering flames coming suddenly to life. The semblance of a terrific holocaust had brought all
hands to aid.
Four men were rushing forward to the part of the ship that the crew had deserted - their goal the purser's
office on the deck below! There, protected in a vault, were the millions in gold!
Seeing the invaders turn into a companionway, Clyde followed and ran beyond the spot where they had
left the deck. He knew that they were going down the inner stairway, so he chose the outer steps that led
from deck to deck. A minute later, he found himself outside the companionway on the deck below.
There, crouching by the rail, Clyde stared inward.
The four invaders had reached the purser's office. Clyde could see them accosting the man in uniform.
The ship's officer was suddenly thrust aside, and the men plunged into the office. At the same moment,
other faces appeared at the opposite companionway.
Fully a dozen men were engaged in the attack. Those who had loosed the smoke bombs had hurried
forward and waited in hiding until most of the crew had scurried past toward the stern.
A pistol shot sounded within the purser's office. Other shots fired. The uniformed man came tumbling
headlong and sprawled motionless upon the floor. His sudden attempt to resist the invaders had brought
him death.
Where was The Shadow?
Clyde Burke had been confident that in some way his chief would have acted to thwart this scheme.
Clyde's appointed task had been to warn; then to await The Shadow's bidding. In desperation, Clyde
turned his gaze across the rail, and a sudden exultation swept over him.
Speeding noiselessly toward the side of the ship was a long, sharp-prowed motor boat that seemed like a
monster of the deep. It was swinging to the side of the Patagonia, its low-lying deck scarcely visible in the
dark water.
Leaning over the rail, Clyde signaled with his arms. He was sure that rescuers had come. He fancied that
he saw an answering wave from the dark cockpit of the boat as it drew alongside the liner.
Then Clyde turned as he heard footsteps behind him. A dark-faced man rushed through the
companionway and sprang to the rail, ten feet away. So intent was this arrival that he did not notice
Clyde Burke's presence. Watching, Clyde saw the man signal to the boat below. He heard a shrill whistle
and an answering response from beneath.
THE man turned away from the rail and saw Clyde Burke standing by. In that instant, Clyde knew the
truth. The motor boat below had not brought The Shadow. Instead, it was manned by men who were in
league with those who had attacked the purser's office!
Those in the motor boat had taken Clyde for a friend; the man on the deck, however, recognized him as
an enemy. A revolver gleamed as the swarthy man leaped forward.
Clyde, however, was already in action. In his pocket was an automatic; but it was too late to reach for
the pistol. Instead, Clyde leaped forward and swung a staggering punch to his opponent's face.
The man went down sidewise from the blow, and Clyde fell upon him. He wrested the revolver from his
enemy's grasp, hurled the man along the deck, and made a mad dash toward the companionway that led
to the purser's office.
Boom!
The sullen sound of a muffled explosion made the deck tremble. Men burst forth from the
companionway. They had blown the vault in the purser's office.
Clyde Burke stopped short, face to face with half a dozen ruffians. The nearest raised a revolver, but
Clyde fired before the man could shoot. The enemy went down, and Clyde, knowing that he could not
stand against the others, made a mad scramble along the deck, reaching the safety of a stateroom door
just as avenging shots swept the deck behind him.
Had these opponents made a mass attack, they could have overpowered Clyde in his temporary
entrenchment. Instead, they remained at the companionway, firing pot shots. Along the deck came
members of the crew, brought hither by the sound of the explosion in the purser's office.
Revolver shots burst forth. Those defending the doorway were forced back into safety. The armed crew
swept on. Clyde, accepted as an ally, joined them. They reached the entrance from which the enemy had
withdrawn.
The scene was deserted; except at the head of the stairway, where three determined men opened a
devastating fire that dropped half a dozen in the rescuing crew.
For a moment, Clyde Burke thought that the men of the Patagonia had arrived in time to thwart the
attempt on the gold. But as the men at the head of the stairs fled downward, and the crew members
reached the door of the purser's office, the empty interior of the blown vault told the true story of the
daring crime!
"The gold! The gold!" cried Clyde, turning to the men beside him. "They're carrying it below! To the boat
-"
His revelation came to a sudden end. Clyde's words had been heard by the men withdrawing down the
stairs. A daring sniper came suddenly into view and fired. Clyde toppled as a bullet struck his shoulder.
The man who had fired was pressing the trigger for a more certain shot to end the life of the informer; but
the one shot was his last. Half a dozen of the crew responded to his bold attack. The man fell, riddled by
bullets, and rolled down the stairway.
Men were bending over Clyde Burke. Others were pursuing the enemy who had retreated down the
stairway. Clyde was gasping, trying to explain what he knew. He realized that he, alone, had seen the
approach of the motor boat along the side.
"They - they've got the gold," blurted Clyde. "Down - down through the ship - little boat - at the side -"
With an effort, he staggered to his feet and broke toward the doorway to the deck. The other men
hurried after him. Clyde fell against the rail, and pointed downward with his uninjured arm. Below lay the
little boat, now clearly outlined. White faces were staring upward from the cockpit.
BEFORE Clyde's companions could act, they saw a sheet of metal swing outward from the side of the
Patagonia. A coal hatch had been opened from within. A long, flat sack swung out, and hands came up
to receive it.
A gold sack!
A horde of ruffians had carried the gold below, while their companions had blocked the rear. Members
of the crew had been bribed to aid them. The gold was going out through this opening into the waiting
speed boat!
The men beside Clyde began to fire. Their scattered shots ended quickly. Clyde fell back with them as
the rattle of a machine gun sounded from the motor boat below. With quick staccato, bullets drilled the
side of the rail where the crew had been.
Firing sounded from below decks. Seeing that attack was useless from this spot, Clyde's companions
rushed to the nearest companionway. Others were coming up to take care of the wounded. Propped
against a stateroom door, Clyde listened to the sound of battle.
The gold thieves had arranged a path straight to the hold. They had carried the stolen metal in relays,
protected by a handful of gun wielders. Below decks, they were holding back the crew while they loaded
the sacks of gold into the motor boat.
The machine gun on that low-lying vessel gave the boat adequate protection. The gun was rattling now,
preventing men from approaching the rails of the Patagonia.
As two men helped Clyde Burke to his feet, a wild, triumphant shout came from below. Uttered by a
score of voices, it meant only that the crew had overpowered the rear guard that was holding them back.
The men of the Patagonia had proven themselves too strong for the few who resisted them.
But amid that shout came a new sound - the sudden thrumming of the motor boat. The machine gun gave
a last rattle as the flight began.
The men who were helping Clyde turned toward the rail. With them, Clyde saw events below.
The last sack of gold had been tossed into the waiting boat. With the signal to clear, the speedy vessel
was swinging away from the side of the big ship.
In their eagerness for a quick getaway, the men who had received the gold were giving no more heed to
the men who had made the raid upon the treasure vault of the Patagonia. Wild screams arose as the men
who had tossed down the gold leaped for the motor boat to escape the attack of the crew that was
breaking into the hold.
Not one of these desperate crooks reached his objective. The few who sprang forward found themselves
precipitated into the sea. The others paused on the brink, shouting imprecations to the traitors who had
abandoned them.
Turning, they opened fire upon the invading crew. Fighting to the end, their bullet-riddled bodies toppled
and fell splashing into the ocean.
Seamen of the Patagonia reached the open hold and fired vainly at the departing motor boat. The cause
was hopeless. Churning through the water, its submerged prow plowing up the swell, the strange boat
was beyond recall. A low-lying streak speeding rapidly toward the horizon, it had departed with its cargo
of stolen wealth.
PROPPED in his berth a few hours later, Clyde Burke heard further details. Clyde was one of the heroes
of the fray - the only passenger who had joined the crew in the conflict against the raiders. His
explanation of how he had wrested the revolver from an attacker was justification for the weapon in his
possession.
A room steward gave Clyde final information. Nearly twenty men had been identified as members or
allies of the raiding band. Of these, only five - three traitors in the ship's crew - had survived. They were
being held for piracy.
Each man had admitted that he had been paid to join in the plot; but all disclaimed knowledge of the men
in the mystery boat. The captured wretches seemed only too eager to seek vengeance thrust upon those
who had deserted them; but they were totally in ignorance of the identity of the men who had engineered
the plot.
Then came a bit of news that was of special significance to Clyde. Among the slain raiders had been
found the body of the radio operator. The man had deserted his post with the opening of the attack. He,
like the others, had expected to escape in the boat that had taken the gold.
Before leaving the wireless room, the operator had put the equipment out of commission. At present, the
Patagonia was steaming toward New York with no means of informing the world of what had taken
place aboard!
Startling though that information was, the news explained more to Clyde Burke. He realized that the
traitorous operator had been on duty when he had taken his radiogram to the wireless room.
The message to The Shadow had not been sent!
Somewhere, out on the broad expanse of slowly heaving blue that Clyde could see from his cabin
porthole, was a swift, low-lying boat speeding toward a spot of safety with a fortune in stolen gold. The
lives of many men had been sacrificed to gain that wealth.
Had Clyde's message reached The Shadow, this crime could have been frustrated. From now on, Clyde
knew, The Shadow's task would be to regain the stolen gold and bring doom to the plotters who had let
death rule in their thirst for wealth.
CHAPTER III. THE SHADOW ACTS
THE daring gold robbery aboard the steamship Patagonia became sensational news in the New York
dailies. The bold act of piracy was unparalleled in the history of modern shipping.
From the time that the Patagonia reestablished contact by wireless, until the liner docked in New York -
in the days of search and investigation that followed - the gold robbery remained the outstanding feature
of front-page news.
Clyde Burke, a bona-fide newspaper correspondent, who had figured in the fray, immediately gained a
position as special staff writer on the New York Classic. His signed articles, beginning with the actual
episode and continuing through the period of search, were recognized by the public as the most
authoritative records on the subject of the missing gold.
The Patagonia had been less than thirty miles offshore at the time of the attack. The escaping motor boat
- a craft that was speedy despite its semi-submersible construction - had gained more than three hours'
start. That was enough to have enabled it to reach the coast, unload the gold, and take to sea again.
But the alarm from the Patagonia had created an effect that surpassed all expectations. With one accord,
every possible arm of the law had swung into immediate action.
Piracy!
That electric word had roused Federal and State governments to instant action. Coast-guard cutters
摘要：

THEGOLDENGROTTOMaxwellGrant?CHAPTERI.THEGOLDSHIP?CHAPTERII.THEROBBERY?CHAPTERIII.THESHADOWACTS?CHAPTERIV.THESTRANGERATEASTPOINT?CHAPTERV.THESHADOW'SMOVE?CHAPTERVI.HARRYBECOMESSUSPICIOUS?CHAPTERVII.THEGUISEOFTHESHADOW?CHAPTERVIII.THEREPLY?CHAPTERIX.THENEXTLECTURE?CHAPTERX.THESHADOWARRIVES?CHAPTERXI.T...

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