Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 166 - Crime Rides The Sea

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CRIME RIDES THE SEA
by Maxwell Grant
As originally published in "The Shadow Magazine," January 1, 1939.
The Shadow rides roughshod over criminals in another encounter with The
Hand.
CHAPTER I
SHADOW ABOARD
BULKY, blackish in the thick night fog, the steamship Ozark loomed beside
her North River pier, where busy stevedores were loading the last items of the
freighter's cargo.
Feeble pier lights were kindly to the Ozark. Dimmed by the fog, their
glow
did not reveal the scratched, unpainted portions of the steamer's sides.
Moreover, they gave the illusion that the Ozark was a mammoth vessel, whereas
she actually rated at only eight thousand tons.
Though a freighter, the Ozark carried passengers, a dozen or so, who were
bound on a vagabond cruise from New York. One of those passengers was standing
on a side deck, at a level with the roof of the pier shed. Elbows propped upon
the rail, he was watching the scene below.
That passenger's name was Harry Vincent. Quiet-mannered, clean-cut in
appearance, he seemed the very sort who would enjoy a voyage to foreign lands,
making many friends along the way. But Harry was not thinking of the coming
cruise. His thoughts had taken a drift, like the outward trend of the river's
tide. A drift that carried him to a definite past.
The rail upon which he leaned; the fog that hovered about him; the dark
water beneath - those were the elements that stirred his recollections.
Harry could remember a bridge rail, a fog that shrouded the deed that he
had intended: a suicide leap into dank water that awaited him. But he had
never
taken that fatal plunge. Instead, a hand had clutched him and drawn him from
the
brink.
The hand of The Shadow!
Years ago, but unforgettable. More vivid in Harry's brain than the shouts
and scuffles of the stevedores that came from the pier beside the Ozark. For,
on that night, Harry Vincent had entered the service of The Shadow, never to
leave it. (Note: See "The Living Shadow" Vol. I, No. 1.)
A strange being, cloaked in black, whose hawklike face had eyes that
burned through you, as they peered from beneath the brim of a slouch hat. Such
was The Shadow, master of darkness, who battled men of crime to their
destruction. Harry had met him often since that first night; yet, always, The
Shadow's ways were unfathomable.
That very thought brought Harry to a rigid position beside the rail of
the
Ozark.
Again in the present, he was staring at a stack of empty packing cases on
the pier. The boxes formed an angle from a large post that supported the pier
shed, and against that dull background, Harry fancied that he saw a
silhouetted
figure. For a full minute, he watched, expecting some motion from the spot.
None
came.
Harry decided that his imagination had tricked him. In thinking of The
Shadow, Harry almost believed that he had seen his mysterious chief.
Footsteps pounded the gangplank, drawing Harry's eyes forward along the
freighter's side. A ship's officer was coming on board; he glanced upward as
he
reached the gangway. That was when Harry noted the fellow's sallow face and
recognized it. The man was Robert Pell, the third officer, and he had shown
that suspicious-eyed attitude from the time that Harry had first met him.
Perhaps Pell was by nature nervous and overwatchful; but his actions had
aroused Harry's mistrust. Trouble was due aboard the Ozark; otherwise, The
Shadow would not have ordered Harry to take passage on the ship. If Harry's
guess was correct, when trouble struck, Pell would be deep in it.
THERE were lighter footsteps from the gangplank. This time, Harry saw the
last of the arriving passengers, a girl who had just started to board the
ship.
Harry knew her name, for he had seen the passenger list. She was Ruth Eldrey,
from Chicago, but that listing had given Harry no idea regarding her
appearance.
He was hoping that the girl would look up before she reached the gangway.
She did, when she had only a few steps to go. Peering over the rail, Harry
caught a quick impression of an attractive face, with bright eyes topped by
thin-streaked eyebrows that matched the girl's wealth of jet-black hair.
Unless her make-up was deceptive, Harry was willing to concede that Ruth
Eldrey was one of the most attractive brunettes that he had ever seen. But
with
that concession, he wondered why a girl of her charm had chosen a lone voyage
on
so unattractive a ship as the Ozark.
This was not the time to consider that question. A heavy rumble from the
pier announced an event that Harry had anxiously anticipated. He turned to see
an armored truck roll up beside the Ozark, flanked by four motorcycle police.
Dismounting, the officers stood with hands upon revolver hilts, while the rear
of the truck was opened.
Moving on special rollers, a massive strong box was warped slowly into
sight. The thing almost filled the truck, and Harry estimated that it measured
close to six feet in each dimension.
The front of the giant steel cube was formed by two large doors, with
interior hinges that could not be reached. The doors had a large combination
lock that would have suited a bank vault; and for added protection, it was
girded with chains clamped by heavy padlocks.
Across the front of the double doors, Harry could read the gilded legend:
HUGH BARVALE & CO.
Imports & Exports
The strong box was halted before it was halfway out of the truck. A
derrick was swung from the deck of the Ozark; workers began to hitch its hooks
to the chains around the strong box. A bellowed objection came from the rail.
Looking forward, Harry saw Pell gesticulating for the work to stop.
The third officer's argument was that the derrick couldn't hoist a load
heavier than three tons until equipped with a stronger chain. Despite his
mistrust of Pell, Harry was forced to mental agreement. The old chain had
broken a while before, when lifting a three-ton load. It was patched with a
link that was certainly no stronger than the one that had broken.
It was important too, that nothing go wrong when the strong box was taken
aboard. Like Pell, Harry knew what the great chest contained. It was filled
with bars and ingots of gold and silver, to a total value of two million
dollars. It would be a serious matter if such freight broke loose and splashed
between the Ozark and the pier.
Nevertheless, Harry still mistrusted Pell. He wondered why the third
officer hadn't seen to the matter of the new chain earlier. It looked very
much
like a stall to keep the strong box on the pier and delay the steamship's
departure. The cops apparently agreed with Harry, for they were tightening
their hands upon their holstered guns.
The men from the truck settled the argument. They shouted up to Pell that
the load didn't weigh over three tons; that they would take the blame if
anything went wrong. They were as anxious to get the cargo aboard as Pell was
to keep it off the ship. Fuming, Pell was forced to let them have their way.
THE derrick hoisted the great chest high above the deck, let it sink
gently into the open hatchway to the ship's hold. Detached by men in the hold,
the hooks came triumphantly up to sight again, clanking together like empty
hands warming themselves in congratulation over a job well done.
Climbing onto their motorcycles, the four policemen waited for Pell to
order the gangplank hauled aboard; Harry watched the third officer, expecting
him to give the command. Instead, Pell's mouth gaped open, his eyes took on a
bulging stare. Following the direction of the look, Harry saw the old packing
cases that he had observed earlier.
Creeping in upon the space beside the post were three rough-clad men who
looked like dock-wallopers. They were trouble-makers who had stayed well in
the
offing, waiting for the police to leave. Something, however, had lured them to
a
sneaky advance, despite the risk of a fracas with the law.
Both Pell and Harry saw what it was; that darkened patch that looked like
a human figure. It was still there; and this time, Harry knew that he had not
imagined it. The black silhouette, grotesquely like the head and shoulders of
a
human being, had begun to stir!
It was drawing away from the advancing trio. They spotted it and threw
aside their stealth. As one man whipped a long knife from his belt, the other
two bounded forward. With expert swing, the knife wielder flung his blade
between his driving pals, straight for the post that made a background for the
fading figure.
The flight of that knife seemed endless to Harry. Then the blade arrived,
point first, to dig deep into the post and hang there, quivering. The knife
had
found no human target, for such prey had vanished. Instead, it had come to a
useless goal, a splintery mass of weather-beaten wood.
While the knife still trembled, the other huskies reached the packing
cases. Their shouts told that they, at least, had found the foe they sought.
But the sequel was not the sort they expected. As they drove into the wooden
boxes, gloved hands gun-sledged for their heads. Amid a clatter of overturning
crates, the dock-wallopers went staggering, to finish with stumbly falls.
Guns began to bark from the inner end of the pier. Other thugs were
coming
up, to help the lone man who had thrown the knife and who was now trying to
pull
it from the post. Out from the scattered packing cases came answering tongues
of
fire from splitting shots of automatics - the same guns that had been used as
cudgels to drop the first attackers.
The Shadow was in action. Harry knew it from the way that his foemen
spilled, even though he could not see his chief among the boxes that served as
The Shadow's improvised entrenchments.
Stopped short by The Shadow's sudden counterthrust, crooks were due for
utter rout. Before they could scatter, motorcycles were roaring down upon
them.
The thugs became a medley of flying human forms, landing dazed and wounded. A
few managed to jump from the pier, among them the fellow who had tried to
reclaim his knife.
Harry Vincent saw all that. He knew that The Shadow had conquered foemen
on the pier. But Harry spied danger from another quarter. Only fifty feet
away,
Pell was aiming a revolver in the direction of the packing cases. Before Harry
could reach him, Pell had opened fire.
Fortunately, Harry did not have to show his own hand. After a few wild
shots, Pell saw the ship's captain coming and pocketed his gun. He muttered
something about "helping the police," to which the captain responded that they
had taken care of matters on their own. He ordered the third officer to have
the gangplank pulled in.
TURNING away to escape attention, Harry Vincent happened to glance toward
that very gangplank. In so doing, he glimpsed something that no one else saw.
In those last moments of chaos along the pier, while the attention of persons
on the Ozark was directed toward the police roundup of the vanquished crooks,
an elusive figure glided up the gangplank.
It disappeared into the blackened gangway, a cloaked shape that even
Harry
would not have recognized, had he been other than an agent of The Shadow. A
whispered laugh was audible to Harry's ears alone. It persisted in his memory,
a full two minutes later, when the gangplank rattled as it was hauled aboard.
The laugh of The Shadow!
To Harry Vincent, that tone meant more than triumph. It signified that
future crime, directed against the two-million-dollar shipment, would surely
come to grief. Criminals, whoever they were, would find matters unpleasant on
the Ozark.
The Shadow was aboard!
CHAPTER II
THROUGH THE FOG
DESPITE the fog, the Ozark was creeping slowly through the Lower Bay,
with
hope for better progress ahead. It had been bad in the North River. There,
Harry
Vincent had heard the strident screech of sirens at the ferry slips, invisible
in the mist. Even the mighty torch of Liberty's statue had been a mere flicker
when they passed Bedloe's Island.
But the Ozark, at last, was nearing the open sea; and Harry had found his
chance to go forward from the cramped quarters that housed the other
passengers. Close by a hatchway that led down into the hold, he awaited an
important meeting.
A man sidled across the slippery deck. Harry recognized him, gave a low
hiss. A few moments later, he and the arrival were crouched together
exchanging
comments on all that had occurred.
Harry's companion was Cliff Marsland, another of The Shadow's agents.
Husky of build, poker-faced in expression, Cliff had shipped as a member of
the
Ozark's crew. He hadn't seen the battle on the pier, for Cliff had been in the
hold watching the delivery of the strong box. After hearing Harry's account,
Cliff gave a low grunt.
"Pell looks fishy," he agreed. "But so does that fight. Those birds
didn't
have a chance to snatch the strong box."
"That sizes it," admitted Harry. "They'd have laid low, probably, if they
hadn't seen The Shadow. But why were they around in the first place?"
"To bluff the cops," returned Cliff. "They wanted to cover the fact that
the real mob is aboard this ship!"
Harry suppressed a low whistle. This was real information, from a sound
source. Of all The Shadow's agents, Cliff Marsland was closest to affairs in
the underworld. Placed among a group of crooks, he could invariably spot faces
that he knew.
"There's plenty of gorillas in this crew," assured Cliff. "They can't
grab
that strong box, but they can sink this tub like they did those other packets
that carried exports from Barvale & Co. With Hugh Barvale collecting insurance
on every lost shipment, it looks like a hot racket."
"But how does Barvale manage it?" queried Harry. "He'd give himself away,
dealing with a mob."
"He doesn't give the orders," returned Cliff. "Some big-shot is in back
of
it. Who he is, I haven't found out. But he's got to be reached before anything
can be done about Barvale."
"It's funny that the underwriters still insure Barvale's shipments."
"They can't get around it. Nothing has been proven against Hugh Barvale.
Underwriters don't take stock in Jonahs, the way crews do. But I'm telling
you,
Harry, there are plenty of honest chaps in the fo'c's'le of this ship who
believe she was jinxed from the moment when Barvale's strong box came aboard!"
Crew members were coming along the deck. It was time for Harry and Cliff
to go their separate ways. As they parted, Cliff undertoned a final bit of
information. Just below the hatchway where they huddled was a telephone that
Cliff had wired to an unoccupied cabin. That instrument would serve both
agents, when they made reports to The Shadow.
THE cabin that Cliff mentioned was no more than a square-walled box, the
least desirable of all the cramped passenger accommodations aboard the Ozark.
At the moment when Cliff and Harry separated, to keep tabs on crew and
passengers respectively, that cabin was a mass of stuffy darkness.
Some minutes later, however, air stirred within those square walls, as
though a door had been silently opened and shut again. A peculiar swish moved
through the darkness. Then came the twinkle of a flashlight, tiny pointed
against the surface of an old table. A hand adjusted a lamp shade that
projected from the cabin wall. Fingers clicked a switch.
There was a focused glare upon the table's rough surface. Into it came
long-fingered hands that moved like detached creatures. From the third finger
of the left glimmered a strange gem that ran the gamut of myriad hues from
deep
crimson to scintillating violet. That jewel was The Shadow's girasol, a rare
fire opal that identified its owner.
Keen eyes were peering from the darkness above, as the hands drew papers
into the light. First, The Shadow methodically separated clippings that had to
do with Hugh Barvale. Culled from many newspapers during the past few months,
those items formed a definite sequence.
For years, the firm of Barvale & Co. had carried on a well-balanced trade
in imports and exports. Some months ago, the imports had shown a heavy excess.
Rather than send cash abroad, Hugh Barvale had sold several lots of expensive
machinery to foreign concerns.
Those shipments had totaled half a million dollars. In addition, Barvale
had imported platinum valued at a quarter million, from Colombia, only to
reship it to Europe at a small profit. But the platinum, like the machinery,
had never reached its destination.
Every ship that carried one of Barvale's compact cargoes had gone to the
bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.
Four boats in all had been lost - an unparalleled series of sea
disasters.
They had sunk too far at sea to permit their salvage. Survivors from the lost
freighters had told conflicting stories; and in every instance, there had been
some element of mystery in the disaster.
Hugh Barvale had shown increased distress, as the clippings on The
Shadow's table told. True, he had collected insurance money on his losses, but
he contended that the sums did not come to two thirds of the full amount. He
claimed that his business was almost ruined, and foreign creditors seemed to
believe it, for they had raised a demand for prompt payment of all
obligations.
Thanks to a provisional lifting of the gold embargo, Barvale was sending
two million dollars to Mediterranean ports. How much gold was in his giant
strong box, now tucked safely aboard the Ozark, no one knew exactly, because
Barvale was satisfying some of his customers with silver payments. The strong
box, however, was insured to the full value of its content: two million
dollars.
Despite certain unproven doubts regarding Barvale's integrity, no one
seemed to think that anything could happen to the cargo on the Ozark. It was
possible that Barvale could have secretly profited through the loss of the
machinery shipments; and even the platinum loss could have helped him, since
the value of that metal had undergone heavy fluctuations.
But silver and gold were a different story. This time, the operations of
Barvale & Co. seemed decidedly on the level.
One person had alone foreseen other possibilities. That person was The
Shadow.
A whispered laugh crept through the tiny cabin. The Shadow had finished
with the Barvale clippings. He laid them aside, reserving only one. It was a
photograph, showing Hugh Barvale and his daughter Edna with a group of
friends.
Portly, with a long face that hung with heavy jowls, Barvale had the
solemn look of a man who expected ruin, although the picture was a year old.
Edna's face was a real contrast to her father's. She seemed a smiling,
carefree girl, with stubby nose and determined chin. Her hair was blond and
fluffy, her light-hued eyebrows barely discernible in the photograph.
Several men were in the picture. Comparing their names with those on the
Ozark passenger list, The Shadow found no duplicates. Nevertheless, he placed
the photo in an envelope that he marked for Harry Vincent. It was possible
that
Harry, covering the passengers, might find some that resembled Barvale's
friends.
A BUZZER sounded beneath the table. The Shadow reached for earphones, to
receive a low-voiced report from Harry Vincent. In giving it, Harry emphasized
his suspicions of Robert Pell, the third officer. While listening, The Shadow
ran his finger down the passenger list. Then:
"The girl on board," spoke The Shadow in whispered tone, "is Ruth Eldrey,
from Chicago. You have seen her?"
"Yes," came Harry's reply. "She arrived just before the trouble started."
"Describe her."
Harry gave an effective sketch of the ravishing brunette who had looked
upward from the gangplank. Ruth Eldrey did not answer the description of
anyone
listed in The Shadow's report sheets; nevertheless, The Shadow evidently
shared
Harry's opinion that so attractive a girl was an unlikely passenger aboard a
freighter. His final instruction to Harry was specific:
"Watch the girl!"
Right after Harry's report, Cliff's came in. It provided The Shadow with
important information. Cliff had sized up the crew quite thoroughly,
estimating
the probable number of thugs on board. Moreover, he had overheard conversation
between members of the gang.
From those snatches, Cliff had learned that no important moves were
scheduled for tonight. That, perhaps, was due to the late departure of the
Ozark; also to the fact that the freighter's progress was being slowed by fog.
It fitted with The Shadow's theory, that crooks needed to be far at sea before
they started trouble.
For The Shadow had made observations of his own, quite as important as
any
that Harry or Cliff had supplied. Proof of that was given when he drew a
folder
into the light. The casebook was stamped with a life-size human hand, with
extended thumb and fingers.
Opening the casebook, The Shadow studied two names, all that remained of
an original five:
Thumb Gaudrey
Pointer Trame
Those were the names of crooks, lone wolves who had once been the
"fingers" of a combine known as The Hand. Masters of many rackets, they had
separated to build up their individual organizations. One by one, starting
from
the little "finger," The Shadow had finished the careers of three.
Next in order was Pointer Trame, last heard from in Havana, just before
the first of Barvale's carriers had vanished in mid-ocean. All during his
investigation of that sea disaster, and those that followed it, The Shadow had
gotten no trace of Pointer Trame.
He had proof, however, that certain small-fry crooks mentioned by Cliff
Marsland were thugs who had once served Trame. From that link, The Shadow
supplied the answer to a most perplexing question; namely, why no one had been
able to connect Hugh Barvale with the crimes at sea.
No matter how crooked Hugh Barvale might be, nor how devious the ways by
which the millionaire exporter might be making profit from supposed loss, it
was certain that Barvale would not have to manage the actual crimes. True, he
would be keeping close check upon all doings, if he had a financial interest
in
them; but Barvale could manage that covertly.
The actual control of criminal underlings lay in the hands of Pointer
Trame, a big-shot in his own right. As Cliff had said to Harry, a certain man
would have to be reached before anything could be pinned on Hugh Barvale. The
man in question was the fourth member of the well-depleted band that had once
styled itself The Hand: the hiding big-shot, Pointer Trame.
First, however, there was other work more imperative at the moment. That
was to block whatever crime was intended aboard the freighter, Ozark. From his
analysis of the circumstances, plus his knowledge of the freighter's cargo and
the parts played by certain persons on board, The Shadow knew how trouble
might
be spiked.
The light clicked off. The darkness of the tiny cabin was stirred by the
low tone of the whispered laugh. The following silence told that The Shadow
had
set forth upon ventures that were entirely his own.
CHAPTER III
BEFORE DAWN
UNDER circumstances other than those aboard the Ozark, the task assigned
to Harry Vincent would have been most pleasurable. In fact, watching Ruth
Eldrey was something that anyone would find it difficult not to do. Harry
Vincent was merely one of a half dozen male passengers who were all engaged in
the same process.
Some of the passengers were playing cards in a corner of the small
lounge,
but they, like the ones who chatted with Ruth, were glancing often toward the
girl. It was obvious that the longer the voyage continued, the more would she
occupy their attention.
The brunette seemed oblivious to the fact that she had become the main
attraction. She listened a great deal to what the others said, but stated very
little regarding herself. Her bluish eyes, unusual for a girl with such
jet-black hair, had sympathy for everyone. Gradually, Harry became positive
that she, of all persons aboard the Ozark, must be the most innocent of any
double-dealing.
He was convinced, too, that if a crisis came, his task of watching Ruth
Eldrey would become a matter of protection. That thought pleased Harry
Vincent.
Meanwhile, he had no difficulty in studying the other passengers, for
they
had forgotten everyone but Ruth. Harry had hopes of identifying some of them,
but they soon faded. Not one of the crowd remotely resembled any of the
persons
in the photograph that Harry had found in his cabin, where it had been left by
The Shadow.
Friends of Hugh Barvale seemed completely absent from the Ozark. Probably
none of them would think of taking a cruise on a dingy freighter, any more
than
would Barvale or his daughter.
From the photo, Harry had mentally classed Hugh Barvale as an overbearing
financier; his daughter Edna as a dizzy blonde. Perhaps that latter prejudice
explained why Harry had taken such a liking to Ruth Eldrey. Certainly, all
blondes would have suffered by contrast with the vivacious brunette who had
monopolized the entire passenger list of the Ozark.
Of one fact, Harry was certain. Nothing would happen to Ruth while she
chatted with the other passengers. That made Harry quite desirous of learning
what might be going on outside the lounge, while he had the opportunity.
Finding himself unnoticed, he stepped to the lounge door and sidled out to the
deck.
Fog still hovered about the Ozark but the big searchlight was cleaving a
long path ahead. Above, Harry could see the black smoke steaming from the
ship's single funnel; at intervals, the misty atmosphere quivered with the
rumble of the deep-throated whistle.
No answers came from the fog-blanketed waters. The Ozark was plying an
unobstructed course out into the Atlantic.
With the dying echoes of one whistle blast, Harry caught a creaky sound
close by. He stepped promptly into the shelter of a corridor-doorway, just as
a
man in uniform moved from another. A deck light showed the fellow's face,
yellowish in the gleam. Harry recognized Robert Pell.
MOVING to the rail, the third officer nervously unfolded a small sheet of
paper that he held in one hand. Lifting it toward the light, he scanned
written
lines. A twitchiness came to his face; he began to look nervously along the
deck.
Forced back into hiding, Harry never had a chance to glimpse Pell's
message. The third officer crumpled the sheet and tossed it over the rail.
Loss of one opportunity never fazed Harry, when he could find another.
Pell was sneaking forward, keeping close to the cabins, which made it apparent
that he was following instructions received from the note. A few moments
later,
Harry was copying the third officer's mode of locomotion.
The course led to the ship's bridge. Harry was venturing into territory
where passengers were not permitted; but he could see no risk. Pell, too, was
anxious to avoid observation, which made it simple for Harry to follow. But
when they reached the bridge, Pell's manner changed.
After one quick glance, he confidently mounted the steps and strolled in
to chat with the officer who was on the bridge watch.
His head poked on a level with the floor of the bridge, Harry caught
snatches of their conversation. Pell was cagily fishing for an excuse to take
over the trick, and the other officer finally consented to allow him a short
shift.
Harry ducked away from the steps when the man came down from the bridge.
A
few seconds later, he poked his head above the steps again and watched Pell.
Pell had, on some pretext or other, dismissed the quartermaster who had been
at
the wheel. He was alone now.
The third officer wasn't concerned with the fog or anything else outside.
He was working feverishly near the binnacles that contained the ship's
compasses, with his eye on a panel that held the automatic steering indicator.
While Harry knew very little about ships' controls, he soon guessed what Pell
was doing.
Veering slightly through the sea, the Ozark was taking a new course under
Pell's guidance; and while the freighter shifted, the third officer was
adjusting the indicator so that the change would not be noticed.
Harry needed to know no more. He moved away before the other officer
returned. Reaching the hatchway that he had before, Harry hurried down the
ladder and found the telephone that gave him contact with The Shadow.
It was fully ten minutes before Harry received a reply to the
intermittent
pushes that he gave a button beside the telephone. The interval indicated that
The Shadow had not returned to his cabin until the moment he finally answered.
Harry's tenseness ended when he heard his chief's whispered tone. He gave a
terse account of what he had witnessed.
Two words constituted The Shadow's answer:
"Report received!"
Those were enough. Harry went aft to the passenger lounge, confident that
The Shadow would rectify any damage done by Pell.
DURING the next few hours, Harry noticed no alteration in the freighter's
course. That was not singular, for he knew if The Shadow nullified Pell's
action, he would certainly do it as artfully as the third officer had
performed
his own deed. What bothered Harry was the fact that he couldn't see any reason
for Pell's original action.
There was no island to which the crooks could sail the Ozark, there to
rifle her two million-dollar strong box. As for a possible rendezvous with
some
modern pirate ship, it would be more sensible for the other craft to cut
across
the freighter's path.
The whole thing baffled Harry to such a degree, that he took little part
in the merriment among the passengers.
They were making the most of this first night, and from their chatter, it
seemed that they intended to stay up until dawn. Maybe the fog would be gone
that time, they agreed, and that would allow them a look at the ocean. Harry
noticed, however, that Ruth Eldrey seemed very tired. She was seated deep in
her chair, staring at a corner window.
A sudden sparkle came from the girl's eyes. Her lips went momentarily
tight. She had seen something at that window; but it was gone, when Harry
looked.
Had it been a face? Perhaps Pell's?
Harry could picture the sallow-faced third officer sneaking along the
decks, peering into cabins to see what the passengers were doing. Perhaps the
girl had sensed a menace, for Harry noted that she had gone pale. But she had
rallied when he turned toward her again.
Vincent saw her slip her hand into a small bag that she carried. He could
tell by the tightness of her fingers that the girl had a gun at hand.
Ruth's next move compelled Harry's full admiration. Rising from her
chair,
she politely said good night to the other passengers; then, smiling as they
protested her departure, she started for her cabin.
Harry couldn't follow at that moment; it would have attracted too much
attention. He hoped that the girl could take care of herself for the three
minutes that he intended to wait. By that time, Harry calculated, he could
slide out unnoticed.
The moment came. While the other men were planning to begin a poker game,
Harry lighted a cigarette and strolled out, without comment. He listened for a
moment, beyond the lounge door; satisfied that no one was worrying about his
departure, he ducked down a companionway and followed a corridor to Ruth's
cabin.
There, he observed a light beneath the door. He was contemplating his
next
move when, suddenly, he was forced to a single decision. From back along the
passage, he heard the low scuffle of footsteps, the mutter of voices. The
arriving men couldn't be passengers; they must be crew members, and perhaps
Pell was with them. Harry had to get out of sight in a hurry.
As he slid one hand instinctively to his gun pocket, Harry placed the
other on the handle of the cabin door, in the hope that it was unlocked. The
knob yielded; the door swung silently inward at Harry's touch. He side-stepped
into the cabin, pushed the door shut behind him. Immediately, Harry turned
about, hoping to explain his presence to Ruth Eldrey.
What Harry saw left him motionless.
The girl was seated at a little table in front of a mirror. She had
loosened her dress, so that it hung below her bare shoulders while she smeared
her face and neck with cold cream. There was a whiteness to those shoulders
that puzzled Harry, because it contrasted sharply with the brunette's rather
dark complexion.
Then Harry saw the girl's face, emerging from the towel that she used to
wipe away the cold cream. The darkness had gone entirely, and with it, Ruth
had
lost those thin, black eyebrows that matched her hair.
Still too intent to notice Harry in the mirror, the girl reached both
hands upward and gave a tug. Her dark wig came away, leaving a shower of
fluffy
blond hair. That final transformation was so complete, that her whole face
seemed to change.
Instantly, Harry gauged the tilt of her nose, the slight thrust of her
chin; features that had previously escaped his full notice.
Coolly, Harry spoke from the doorway: "Good evening, Miss Barvale!"
摘要：

CRIMERIDESTHESEAbyMaxwellGrantAsoriginallypublishedin"TheShadowMagazine,"January1,1939.TheShadowridesroughshodovercriminalsinanotherencounterwithTheHand.CHAPTERISHADOWABOARDBULKY,blackishinthethicknightfog,thesteamshipOzarkloomedbesideherNorthRiverpier,wherebusystevedoreswereloadingthelastitemsofthe...

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