Zelva opened a small closet and discovered a bottle of liquor. He extended it to Ellsdorff, who filled two
glasses that lay on the table.
“Thanks to you, my friend,” said Zelva to Legira. “It is too bad that you cannot have so good a drink
with us. It would be too difficult for you to hold the glass.”
Minutes went by. The idle boat barely moved with the motion of the swell. Zelva began to look
perplexed. He wondered why Pesano had delayed. He was about to rise, when Pesano came in the
door.
“It could not be,” he said. “He was wide awake. It was too difficult, in that stateroom. He is coming here,
soon. I told him you wished to see him.”
Ellsdorff uttered a grunt of contempt. He drew his automatic.
“It iss my turn,” he said in a guttural voice. “My turn, yah?”
Zelva nodded with the solemnity of a judge. Pesano shrugged his shoulders and helped himself to a drink.
He stood close beside Ellsdorff.
“This will be good to watch,” declared Zelva to Legira. “You shall see this man die. Will that not be good
to watch?”
Legira did not reply. He was staring grimly at the door. Ellsdorff was holding the automatic, calmly in
readiness.
There was a knock at the door. Rodriguez Zelva smiled as he looked at Ellsdorff. The German raised the
gun. He was covering the door, his gun hand half hidden by the form of Pesano.
“Come in,” called Zelva, pleasantly.
The door began to open inward. Ellsdorff's finger rested on the trigger of the automatic. Pesano, standing
beside Ellsdorff, was gripping the knife which he had not used. His eyes were staring toward the German,
as though in envy of the part Ellsdorff was to play.
The double cross was ready for its climax!
Death awaited the man who was to enter!
CHAPTER XXVI. THE COMPROMISE
THE door of the cabin swung suddenly wide. Rodriguez Zelva stared in amazement. It was not Frank
Desmond who stood there; it was a man garbed in black, his shoulders covered by a flowing cloak, his
head hidden beneath a broad-brimmed hat.
“Shoot!”
Zelva blurted the command to Ellsdorff. The German, momentarily surprised, was about to obey. But
Pesano was quicker. With a wild, sudden swing, the swarthy man hurled himself upon Ellsdorff and
buried his knife to the hilt in the German's body.
A guttural cry came from Ellsdorff's lips. With wide mouth and staring eyes he turned his automatic
toward his attacker and pressed the trigger three times. Then he rolled to the floor and Pesano crumpled
forward upon him.
Rodriguez Zelva made a quick leap for the automatic. A voice from the door stopped him. Zelva looked
at the man in black. He saw the burning eyes of The Shadow. He also saw the muzzle of an automatic
that extended from a black-gloved hand.
Zelva moved back to his chair and sat down calmly. In this moment of unexpected adversity, he was, as
ever, a schemer.
“Who are you?” demanded Zelva.
“One who came here as Frank Desmond,” returned The Shadow, in a whispered voice. “I learned his
