Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 179 - Isle of Gold

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THE ISLE OF GOLD
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. MANHATTAN MADNESS.
? CHAPTER II. ROY MAKES PLANS.
? CHAPTER III. CRIME MOVES AGAIN.
? CHAPTER IV. TREASURE QUEST.
? CHAPTER V. HAWK ISLAND.
? CHAPTER VI. NIGHT BRINGS A KILLER.
? CHAPTER VII. VANISHED FIGHTERS.
? CHAPTER VIII. ANOTHER CLAIMANT.
? CHAPTER IX. ALONG THE WATER FRONT.
? CHAPTER X. THE SHADOW'S REVERSE.
? CHAPTER XI. CROOKS ON THE LEASH.
? CHAPTER XII. HIDDEN STRATEGY
? CHAPTER XIII. THE FINAL DAY.
? CHAPTER XIV. NIGHT COMES TO CASCO.
? CHAPTER XV. CHANGED COURSES.
? CHAPTER XVI. WANTED--THE SHADOW!
? CHAPTER XVII. THE SHADOW'S STRATEGY.
? CHAPTER XVIII. BROKEN BATTLE.
? CHAPTER XIX. THE HIDDEN HAND.
? CHAPTER XX. BATTLE ON THE BAY.
? CHAPTER XXI. THE FINAL RIDDLE.
CHAPTER I. MANHATTAN MADNESS.
ROY ORWIN stopped at the little window, scrawled his signature in the pay book, and tore open the
envelope that was handed to him. Walking out past the slowly moving line, he counted the eighteen
dollars and odd number of cents that represented his week's pay.
Shoving the money and the remains of the pay envelope into his pocket, Roy went down the stairs to the
street and started toward the lights of Lexington Avenue. Ahead, the vast skyline of Manhattan was
dotted with myriad light from the windows of massive buildings and the sight brought a grimace to Roy's
rather handsome face.
Not that Roy Orwin was dissatisfied with his pay. He regarded it as fair enough for his present job, that
of a shoe clerk in a fair-sized New York department store. If he stayed with it long enough, he would be
getting commissions on all sales above his quota, and the job itself might have suited him a few years
ago.
At present, however, it didn't satisfy Roy's ambitions. He had put himself to a great deal of time and labor
in the past, with the single purpose of obtaining a different sort of job than the one he now held.
He had grimaced at the tall buildings because they were the real cause of his defeated hopes. There were
more of them, dozens of them, all looming like vindictive monsters, each ready to swallow him in its craw
as Roy walked north along the avenue. There were too many of those skyscrapers. Manhattan was
overbuilt; would be, perhaps, for a dozen years to come.
That was why no jobs were open for a budding young architect with the qualifications that Roy Orwin
possessed. There might be jobs some day, when New York became a dream city of the future, like the
fantastic exhibit on view at the World's Fair. But by that time, new generations of young architects would
be in the running. Roy could picture himself as a gray-bearded man, trying to break into the business
against such competition.
Buildings--buildings--buildings--they became more maddening with every block. Through Roy's brain
thrummed a surge that drowned the sound of the city's traffic. He wanted to be away from New
York--miles away!
Maybe it would be best to accept the proposition that Sidney Bayne had offered, wild though it seemed.
Sid claimed there was a gold mine somewhere in Arizona, just waiting for a couple of venturesome and
hard-working chaps to take it over.
It would mean money, though, a grubstake of five thousand dollars each, to carry them through two years
of toil. Roy had a few thousand of his own, money left him by his father, and he also had an uncle who
could lend him the rest. But he hadn't convinced himself that the proposition was sure enough; otherwise,
he would have chucked his present job a long while ago.
It was the same old story--that of holding his own until the right break came. From all that Roy could see
of it, the break would never arrive while he was in New York.
In that surmise, Roy Orwin was only half correct. His break was to come tonight. It was to begin here,
though it was to carry elsewhere. This route that he was following, northward along the avenue, was to
produce a sequel quite different from Roy's usual arrival at this tiny apartment.
Fate was to play its hand in the affairs of Roy Orwin. Fate, and a living being who was equally
mysterious: The Shadow!
TRAFFIC halted just as Roy reached a cross street. Red lights were gleaming along the avenue; taxis,
trucks and other vehicles began a mad helter-skelter dash across the broad thoroughfare, mixing their
dashes with swift turns left and right.
Roy had to go westward, sooner or later, so there was no use waiting on the corner. He turned into the
side street and gave a pleased grin as he felt the lull about him. Here was gloom, caused by older
buildings that cut off view of the hated skyscrapers. Roy hadn't even noticed what street it was; in fact, he
didn't care.
The only break in the line of ancient house fronts was the marquee of a small, but fashionable, apartment
house midway in the block. Traffic had cleared itself by the time Roy had arrived at the front of the
lighted building. He paused there long enough to light a cigarette; then, as he flicked the match away, he
stared at the door of the apartment house.
It had opened; a girl was stepping into sight. She was more than pretty, she was beautiful--as charming a
person as Roy could ever have imagined. She wasn't frail, or willowy; on the contrary, she looked very
active; her clear complexion seemed dyed by the outdoors, rather than by the lights of night clubs.
Her brown eyes were matched by exquisite hair of the same hue; though the lips beneath her perfect nose
wore an anxious curve, that was merely because she was in a hurry. She was looking for a cab, but there
was none in sight. Once one came along, those lips would probably form a very lovely smile.
Meanwhile, Roy waited, fascinated. The girl was going to a party somewhere; her evening wrap, only
half upon her shoulders, disclosed a gorgeous gown of silver matched by trim, high-heeled slippers,
which Roy noted with expert approval, basing his estimate on his recent experience as a shoe salesman.
Then, as the silver heels clicked forward. Roy heard the shriek of automobile brakes. A cab was
wheeling into the curb, coming to a sharp halt. The girl was beginning the smile that Roy anticipated, as
she hurried forward to open the cab door.
Roy saw the cabby's face; a haggard one. Next, he spied another visage, that of a man in the rear of the
cab. Roy's eyes caught a silvery glimmer that didn't come from the girl's dress.
The man in the back of the cab, a sallow, long-faced chap, was swinging a revolver; he was bringing it
away from the cab driver's neck, straight toward the door that the girl was about to open!
She hadn't sensed the danger, that girl in the shimmering gown, and Roy didn't waste time letting her
blunder further.
As the girl yanked the door open, Roy reached her with a bound, caught the loose evening wrap and
whipped her back from the curb. His tug took the wrap from the girl's shoulders; spinning, she was
actually in his arms, her lips opening as she voiced an indignant cry.
Then there was a sweep of silver as Roy sent the girl toward the door of the apartment house. There was
a flash of trim heels, high in the air, at the end of shapely legs, as the girl bowled into a cedar plant and
overturned it. But Roy didn't see that finish. He was springing to meet the man from the cab.
They locked; the sallow face thrust close to Roy's as the fellow tried savagely to get his gun from Roy's
hard-clamped grip. The taxi driver jumped out the other side of his cab and took off between buildings
on the far side of the street.
The girl's face poked up from the green cedar branches; her eyes showed horror as she witnessed her
rescuer's battle with the sallow fighter from the cab. Grimly, she rose to her feet, hoping to help Roy's
cause.
At that moment, the man with the gun wrested free. Roy drove a punch that turned the fellow half about.
Catching his balance, he was about to start another spring before the man could aim again. But the fellow
wasn't waiting for Roy's sally. Wildly, the sallow man was starting along the sidewalk, hoping to reach the
corner.
Three paces settled the fellow's flight. Out of approaching traffic came a rakish sedan. Guns bristled from
the windows, as hoarse voices shouted. Halting, the man began to shoot at the car. The other guns
answered, with a barrage of flame. The sallow man was withering, as the sedan doors flung open to emit
a crew of rough-faced murderers!
CAUGHT flat-footed where he stood, Roy heard the girl's scream from the doorway. It wasn't a
frightened shriek; it was a warning call, her repayment for Roy's earlier rescue. But that cry ended Roy's
mad desire to make for the shelter of the apartment house.
The girl was still there; he would only be drawing fire in her direction. Instinctively, Roy took another
action; one that had all the earmarks of sheer suicide.
He sprang for the gun that the sallow man had dropped; scooping it from the sidewalk, Roy tried the
dead man's folly of attempting to shoot it out with the murderous gunners from the car. He could hear
their raucous shouts from all about him; he knew that in those instants, they were taking aim. He
wondered if he would hear the shots that were due to drop him.
Then, from the darkened building from a few yards away, came a singular sound: the taunt of a wild,
outlandish laugh. That mockery, for all Roy knew, might have been uttered by some creature of the Great
Beyond, welcoming him to the realm of death.
Instead, the mirth meant life for Roy Orwin.
It changed shouts to snarls, for crooks knew that the laugh was meant for them. It was a token of doom
that maddened all men of crime.
The laugh of The Shadow!
Revolvers barked, not in Roy's direction, but toward the darkness where the killers thought they had
located the taunt. Those shots were wide; in answer to their puny jabs came spurts of flame from another
angle.
Roy, gazing toward the street at last, saw gunners sprawl. He added belated shots of his own, and in the
midst of them a whirling form in black struck him with the power of a tornado.
It was Roy's turn to sprawl; spun a dozen feet, he wound up on hands and knees beside the deserted
taxicab. He was staring from the step, away from danger, while the girl gazed in similar awe from the
shelter of the overturned cedar.
Before them, they saw a figure cloaked in black; a being whose face was hidden by the brim of a slouch
hat. They caught the gleam of burning eyes above thin-gloved fists that swung big automatics.
More crooks were coming up--a reserve crew that had followed to see how their comrades fared. Like
those before them, they were greeted by a strident challenge that mirthed from hidden lips.
The laugh of The Shadow!
CHAPTER II. ROY MAKES PLANS.
AGAIN, The Shadow's automatics were in action, their staccato bursts forming a solid accompaniment
to the sinister laugh. This was a long-range fight, forcing reserve crooks into a prompt retreat, and Roy
understood why The Shadow wanted a clear area about him.
Occasional bullets whistled from the darkness, to ping the walls of the apartment house or ricochet from
the sidewalk; yet The Shadow held his ground. He could afford to do so; those shots that answered his
were no more than strays. Gunmen could not match The Shadow's distant fire.
No longer did echoes of other guns come from the corner. Instead, Roy heard the shrill blasts of whistles,
the approaching wails that denoted police sirens. The Shadow, though he had not arrived in time to save
the sallow man, had paid off the fellow's murderers and driven their allies back into the hands of the law.
With that combat, he had rescued Roy and had saved the silver-clad girl from further danger. Nor did
The Shadow forget them now. Roy saw him turn toward the doorway of the apartment house, heard him
hiss words that brought a nod from the girl.
Picking up her lost wrap, the girl hurried into the building, while The Shadow turned to Roy. The cab
motor was still running; The Shadow pointed the rescued man behind the wheel.
"Start at once"--The Shadow's tone was sibilant--"and desert the cab after a few blocks!"
Roy nodded. As he took the wheel, The Shadow reached to the space beside the front seat and handed
him a cabby's cap that the driver had dropped in his hurry. As he clamped the cap on his head, Roy
heard The Shadow slam the rear door.
There was a light overcoat lying on the running board. The sallow man had dropped it there when he
jumped from the cab. Darting a look back through the rear window, Roy saw the overcoat on the curb,
where The Shadow had evidently let it fall. But there was no sign of the being in black.
Other cabs were following through, some honking their horns to raise a huge tumult. Roy felt sure that
they were after him, but he was also convinced that he had The Shadow as a passenger, and that gave
him the required nerve to keep on his course.
Whether or not The Shadow had timed the getaway to the exact second, Roy couldn't be sure. It
seemed that way though, for the light above the avenue was green when Roy reached it, and it flicked red
just as he passed. Roy turned right; another cab was just behind him, but, to his relief, it went left.
No others came through. Swallowed in the traffic of the avenue, Roy played his part of taxi driver, while
police cars whisked by in the opposite direction. They were converging upon the scene of battle, but they
wouldn't find Roy there, thanks to The Shadow.
As for the girl, Roy was positive that she would tell the right sort of story. Maybe she would neglect to
mention him at all. That would be a great help, but Roy hoped that he would not be entirely forgotten by
the silver vision.
FULLY a dozen blocks from the scene of strife, Roy parked the cab in front of a fire plug. There, it
would soon be noticed and aid the police in their investigation of the gun-fray.
Who the cab driver was, or where he had gone, were questions that the law ought to learn. The man was
obviously innocent, but his testimony might help track the murderers who had so promptly disposed of
the sallow passenger.
The first question was one that Roy could answer for himself. He opened the door of the cab, lighted a
match and read the name on the license card: "Henry Gothro"; then, about to close the door, Roy
observed something else.
There was a crinkling sound from the floor. The door had closed upon a roll of thin paper, very long and
girded with a rubber band. The roll must have been poking from the pocket of the over-coat that the
sallow man had dropped upon the step.
Hidden by the coat, the paper hadn't been seen by The Shadow when he closed the door. It had
remained when the coat rolled from the step. Roy's fingers gripped the paper, then stiffened as his eyes
searched the darkened interior of the cab.
Perhaps The Shadow was in that very darkness!
Roy had supposed that The Shadow was his passenger. During the ride, hearing no whispered tone, he
had later decided that the cloaked fighter had chosen the second cab. Lighting another match, Roy made
sure that The Shadow wasn't about. Rubbing his chin, he decided to take the paper along.
Whatever it was, it had belonged to the dead man. Whose property it was at present, remained another
question. Roy was willing to concede that The Shadow had title to it; but The Shadow had left it in Roy's
possession. For the present, therefore, Roy felt that he could consider it as his own. Later, should he find
The Shadow, or meet him again, they could properly decide the question.
The paper roll just fitted under Roy's coat. After a ten-minute walk, he reached the small, old-fashioned
apartment house where he lived and went to his rooms at the back of the second floor.
There, Roy unrolled his prize. It proved to be a map, evidently a reproduction of a very old one, for
though the map looked fairly new, it was dated 1768. It bore the legend: "Falmouthe Harbour," with a
large space of island-studded water entitled "Kaskoe Bay."
Consulting an old encyclopedia, Roy soon learned that Falmouthe was the original name given to the city
of Portland, Maine; that the body of adjacent water was Casco Bay, famous for its many islands.
Exaggerated claims credited the bay with having three hundred and sixty-five islands; not more than a
hundred appeared upon this old map.
Some of the islands were marked with names; one, in particular, aroused Roy's interest. It was an outer
island and it bore the title: "Ye Spyeglasse." That particular island was marked with a red circle, evidently
placed by the map's last owner.
A sudden recollection came to Roy Orwin. He repeated, half aloud: "Spyglass Island!"
SNAPPING from his reverie, Roy reached for the telephone and called a hotel. He asked for Mr.
Sidney Bayne, learned that his friend was out of town, but would return within a few days. Perhaps Sid
had made a plane trip to Arizona to look over the mine. However, that struck Roy as unimportant at this
moment.
If Roy's hunch was right, and his recollection was certainly becoming clearer, the Arizona proposition
could be forgotten. There would be something better and nearer at hand to attract the combined efforts
of Roy Orwin and Sidney Bayne.
It was worth playing, that hunch. Good enough for Roy to give up his present job and take a chance that
would still leave him funds, even if it fluked.
Still somewhat shaky from the evening's experience, Roy also decided that it would be wise to leave
New York for a few days, timing his return to Sid's arrival back in town. He decided to let Sid know
about it; but he didn't care to show too much optimism just yet.
That was why Roy worded a very careful note, in which he stated simply that he was going to Portland,
Maine, and would write again, from that city. Meanwhile, Sid was to regard the matter as very important,
enough so to keep him in New York until Roy returned.
Addressing the letter, Roy tucked it in his pocket and called the Grand Central Station. He learned that
the State of Maine Express left for Portland at nine o'clock. That allowed plenty of time for packing,
dinner, and--most important--a stop at the public library.
There, Roy was sure, he could find the answer to his hunch; an important detail upon which his entire trip
depended. If he didn't discover what he expected, this adventure could be written off the books and he
would be back in the shoe department tomorrow morning, hoping that a girl who sometimes wore silver
slippers might be shopping for some other style of footwear.
In hope that his luck would hold, Roy dug up the rent money that he had intended to pay tonight and
added it to the salary that he had collected. Leaving the apartment, he postponed dinner, deciding to go
to the library first.
An hour later, when Roy came down the steps of the library, he scarcely felt the stone beneath his feet.
He was treading air as he crossed Forty-second Street. He had found what he wanted, and the facts
were right.
First, he would have dinner--an expensive one, even though it would be a lone celebration. Next, he
would mail the letter to Sid. Thence to the train, which left at nine o'clock.
From one adventure, wherein he had met a girl in silver, Roy Orwin was embarking upon another. This
time, his goal would be gold!
In his elation, Roy retained a sober thought. He had not forgotten a rescuer to whom he owed his present
promise of good fortune. If this venture proved a sound one, division of the gain would rest in the hands
of a silent partner who had the right to first claim, should he appear to demand it.
Roy's silent partner was The Shadow!
CHAPTER III. CRIME MOVES AGAIN.
ON the third evening following his side-street adventure, Roy Orwin returned to Manhattan. Riding in on
a train from Boston, he culled the latest newspaper reports concerning the affray outside the apartment
house. The case had been in the news for two days; at last, the police had definitely settled it.
The sallow man had been known as Duke Hawley, a blackmailer who had frequently used the services of
a small but select mob. For some reason, Duke had suddenly cut off relations with his crowd. Whether
he had intended to pull some deal on his own, or leave them in a jam because of some past enterprise,
Duke's followers had not learned.
They knew he was leaving town; that was enough. They had trailed Duke and put him on the spot, just
for old-times sake, or vice versa. But they had run into trouble of their own--caused, in the law's opinion,
by some new pals that Duke must have hired for the future.
Roy read between the lines of those news accounts. He knew the truth. The person who had attempted
to block Duke's murder was that fighter in black, The Shadow.
Somewhere, Roy had heard the name; he knew that The Shadow was a being who battled crime.
Obviously, too, The Shadow omitted no angle of justice, for he had seen to it that two innocent
participants--Roy and the girl--were not even mentioned in the case. Roy's only disappointment on that
score was the fact that he still did not know who the girl was.
As for Hawley's map, apparently the police had never heard of it. Where and how the dead man had
acquired it, were secrets that had died with him. That news--or lack of it--brought a satisfied smile to
Roy's lips, as they tightened on the mouthpiece of his favorite brier pipe. It meant that he could go
through with his intended plans.
When the train reached Grand Central, Roy went to a telephone booth and called Sid Bayne. He found
his friend more than eager to hear from him.
"I got your second letter," informed Sid, over the wire. "The one you wrote from Portland. But listen,
Roy, everybody's been looking for that treasure--"
"In the wrong place, Sid," interposed Roy. "That's why they haven't found it."
"You mean there is a treasure? But I've been looking over maps of Casco Bay--"
"They don't count." This time, Roy chuckled with his interruption. "I've got the right map, Sid--one so old
that everybody has forgotten it. Bring yours over to the apartment and I'll give you the whole story."
FIVE minutes after Roy had reached his apartment, quick rings of the bell announced Sid Bayne.
Unlike Roy, whose broad, well-molded face denoted some complacency, Sid was a nervous type. He
was a good-looking chap, but sharp-featured and talkative. His excess energy displayed itself in the way
he smoked his cigarettes. Sid would take three or four puffs while Roy was enjoying one draw from his
pipe.
"So you've looked into the treasure story," smiled Roy, in an approving manner. "Let's hear what you
know about it, Sid."
Unfolding a new map of Casco Bay, Sid ran his finger to a long, thin stretch of land that was titled:
"Spyglass Island."
"That's where Captain Mowatt was supposed to have left his spoils," explained Sid. "after he bombarded
Falmouth and burned the place, early in the Revolution. Mowatt was in the British service; he couldn't
have kept his swag if he had lugged it into port.
"Apparently, he never came back for it: and it wasn't until a century later that somebody claimed that
Mowatt had collected a ransom from the citizens of Falmouth, then had bombarded the town anyway.
That was true to form, because Mowatt had already broken the parole that the Falmouth people granted
him. He hadn't any right at all to show up with his fleet."
Roy's nods encouraged Sid. So far, the story tallied. Like Roy, Sid had learned it from a well-known
book on piracy and treasure hunters.
"According to old letters," continued Sid, "the treasure was on Spyglass Island, between the great rock
and the three pines. But the island has lots of rocks and plenty of pine trees. It's been dug up from stem
to stern and nobody has found a British farthing, let alone a chest of gold!"
As Sid finished, Roy pointed to the map. He followed a line from the slender island, until he reached a
chunky one a few miles distant.
"This is where they should have looked," said Roy. "This island has one great rock in the center, with
three pines at the western end."
"But that's called Hawk Island!"
"On this map, yes"--Roy was turning to unroll his own map--"but not on the earlier charts, like those used
during the days of Captain Mowatt."
Sid gaped when he saw the old map. The chunky isle was the one that bore the title: "Ye Spyeglasse,"
while the long, narrow island bore no name at all.
"There are hundreds of islands in that bay," declared Roy. "My opinion is that the little outer island was
called 'Spyglass' because it offers a good outlook to the sea. Most of the old charts were probably
destroyed when Falmouth was burned, except for those that belonged to fellows like Mowatt.
"But the name 'Spyglass' was remembered, along with its approximate location. So someone pinned the
title on the long island, because it looks like a spyglass. Compare those maps, Sid, and you'll see a lot of
changes in the names."
Sid made the comparison. although he was already convinced. His eagerness increased; then, cannily, he
asked:
"Have you shown this map to anyone else?"
Roy shook his head.
"Then why not destroy it?"
"A good idea," agreed Roy. He stepped to the tiny fireplace, which was the prize furnishing of his little
apartment, and crumpled the old map. Sid watched Roy apply the match that began the important blaze.
"Here goes the bad along with the good." Sid tossed his own map into the flame. "All right, Roy, I'm with
you! We're going to hunt for treasure! What are the terms?"
ROY chuckled.
"I thought you'd leave that to me, Sid," he said. "In fact, I depended on it. You're one chap who is a
square-shooter!"
Sid tried to smile away the compliment. Roy clapped him on the shoulder.
"The terms are fifty-fifty," declared Roy--"on our share. Whatever I get, you get."
"On our share?" Sid was puzzled. "I thought you said that no one else was in on it."
"Someone else might be."
"The person who owns the island?"
Roy shook his head. "I thought of that." he said. "From inquiries that I made, I don't think anyone owns
the island. There's an old guy--a hermit, or what have you--who lives on the eastern end of it, but he has
no title to the island. His name is Pete Quilton, and they say he's a nut. Nobody bothers about him."
"Then who--"
"The person I am thinking of," interposed Roy, in a serious tone, "is The Shadow."
"The--" Sid stopped, the name half uttered. Then, incredulously, he asked: "The... who?"
"The Shadow," repeated Roy. "I don't know who he is, but I found the map through him. If he shows up,
or if we can trace him, he ought to have his share."
Sid tossed his cigarette into the ashes that had settled in the fireplace. He strolled to the broad window at
the back of the living room, sat on the ledge and looked at Roy.
"I was just wondering" said Sid, at last, "if you'd gone cuckoo, like that hermit you were telling me about.
But you look sane enough."
"I'm sane, all right!" assured Roy, with a laugh. "But there is a chap called The Shadow; at least, that's the
only name that describes him--and he helped me out of a bad jam. If he wants a share, he can have it."
"Fair enough," agreed Sid. He flicked his lighter and applied it to another cigarette. "You're boss, Roy.
But tell me about this jam that you were in--"
Roy's sharp tone interrupted, bringing Sid full about. The flame had gone from the cigarette lighter, and
the extinguishing of that tiny glare enabled Roy to see clearly through the window as he approached it.
Relieved of the reflected flame, the glass pane revealed a sight across the courtyard that backed the
apartment house.
There, the low edge of a garage roof was visible against the glowing multi-tinted sky of Manhattan, and
rising from that cornice was a half-crouched rough-clad figure that reminded Roy, only too graphically, of
the thuggish murderers who had been at large three nights ago.
Crimson splotches from the sky revealed the man as an assassin equipped for long-range action. His
hands were lifting when Roy saw them; there was a glimmer from the long barrel of a rifle, as the killer
placed the butt to his shoulder. Roy could imagine the squint of the marksman's eye as it trained along the
sights!
The rifle was pointing straight toward the apartment window, where the killer had the choice of two
human targets--Roy Orwin and his friend, Sid Bayne--and from the slight shift of the muzzle, Roy fancied
that the murderous foe was coolly deciding which victim should be the first!
SID had turned about when he noticed Roy's stare. But Sid, apparently bewildered, did not view the
menacing sharpshooter. Though Roy had the mad desire to dive instantly for cover, he realized, as he had
in the case of the silver-clad girl, that he would be leaving Sid in a spot exposed to danger.
There was only one course: to bowl Sid to safety. As Roy swung about he knew, as positively as if he
had seen it, that the assassin had chosen him as the target. Beginning a frantic lunge, his arms extended to
grab Sid's shoulders; Roy had the wild hope that the marksman's trigger finger might be stayed a mere
half second longer.
At that instant, the rifle crackled. The window was shattered by the bullet. Amid the crash of flying glass,
Roy's whole weight landed upon Sid's shoulders.
Together, the pair pitched to the floor.
CHAPTER IV. TREASURE QUEST.
COMING up from the corner to which Roy's plunge had sent him, Sid Bayne looked toward his friend.
To Sid's amazement, Roy was rising on hands and knees. He threw a shoulder glance toward the ruined
window and gave a grim grin.
"I'm all right," panted Roy. "The devil missed me! His aim was high."
"That sounded like a rifle shot!"
"That's what it was, Sid!" Roy began a crawl toward the window. "I got a look at the sniper while he was
taking aim."
Then, despite Sid's warning gasps, Roy was at the window edge peering to see what had become of the
marksman. A moment later he was springing to his feet, beckoning for Sid to join him.
Apparently, the menace was ended, for Roy was squarely in the danger zone, as represented by the
broken window. Sid hurried over and stared, while Roy pointed.
Sid had expected the sniper to be gone. Instead, there were two figures on the roofs: one, the thwarted
killer, the other, a tall fighter clad in black, whose cloaked shoulders were entwined with those of the
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THEISLEOFGOLDMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.MANHATTANMADNESS.?CHAPTERII.ROYMAKESPLANS.?CHAPTERIII.CRIMEMOVESAGAIN.?CHAPTERIV.TREASUREQUEST.?CHAPTERV.HAWKISLAND.?CHAPTERVI.NIGHTBRINGSAKILLER.?CHAPTERVII.VANISHEDFIGHTERS.?CHAPTERVIII.ANOTHERCLAIMANT...

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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：69 页 大小：178.26KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-22

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