'I know,' admitted Lois. 'But I did not read it until the plane had almost landed-'
'Which would have been too late,' interposed Scorpio. 'Your star'-he raised a forefinger-'foretold death! I can only account for your good luck through the power of some intervening planet.'
Looking about the group, Scorpio found his impressive gaze met by eyes as steady as his own. Those eyes were Cranston's: they held the professor rigid. Then came Cranston's quiet tone.
'Perhaps it was the influence of my lucky star,' spoke Cranston solemnly. 'I have been advised, by very good authorities, to always travel on the eleventh of the month.'
Some of the listeners smiled, sensing a jest at Scorpio's expense. But the bearded professor proved himself equal to the test.
'Such things do happen,' he affirmed. 'I regard Drury's death as sufficient proof of my prophecy that danger would threaten Miss Melvin. All persons'-he threw a gaze around the group-'do well to heed the revelations of Professor Scorpio!'
CRANSTON'S eyes were watching other faces when Professor Scorpio strode away. He noted that most of the people present did heed the words and wisdom of Professor Scorpio. It fitted precisely with rumors that concerned the colony on Lake Calada.
As The Shadow, the being who hunted down unusual crime, Lamont Cranston had heard that Professor Scorpio had surrounded himself with many dupes. This scene was proof of it. Yet there were scoffers in the group; one was Niles Rundon. The Shadow could tell it from the smile that Rundon gave to Lois Melvin.
But the girl did not return the smile. Perhaps she would have scoffed at Professor Scorpio a few days ago; but recent events had made her wonder.
Looking out from the community house, The Shadow saw Professor Scorpio step into a motorboat that two servants had loaded with boxes of supplies. Harry Vincent side-toned that the commissary department was located near the community house; that everyone came there for supplies.
'Denwood's boat is waiting,' added Harry. 'He is expecting us, right away. He has much to tell you, Mr.
Cranston.'
They walked from the community house, past Drury's plane, where the physician was still waiting for the coroner. Denwood's boat was waiting at the dock, as were others.
The Shadow saw Rundon and Lois leave with a small party of friends. But there was no sign of Edward Barcla among any of the groups that were entering the boats. The Shadow inquired where the plane passenger had gone.
'Off by the road,' explained Harry, as they stepped into Denwood's boat. 'Barcla doesn't have a lake-front property. He lives in one of the back cabins.'
They were in the boat; Harry was at the wheel. With no other persons present, Harry was no longer disguising the fact that he was well acquainted with Lamont Cranston. Remembering The Shadow's query, Harry began to wonder if Barcla had actually gone along the road. As the boat pulled away from the dock, Harry thought of a possible link between Barcla and the dead pilot Drury.
As a secret agent of The Shadow, Harry Vincent seldom put questions to his chief. This time, he could not restrain himself. Too much seemed at stake.
'What about that heart attack?' queried Harry. 'Did Drury really have one? Or do you think that-'
The Shadow interrupted. His tone was no longer Cranston's. His voice was whispered; it carried a sinister sibilance.
'Drury was murdered!'
It was not a completion of Harry's unfinished question. The Shadow's words were a statement of fact. It meant that his presence at Lake Calada was known; that measures had already been taken to end his career before he began an investigation of mysterious crimes that had lately troubled the mountain colony.
Harry was staring straight ahead, guiding the speedboat through the darkening water. In the murk ahead, be could visualize a picture from the past-that of a diving airplane which only The Shadow could have pulled from destruction.
It was lucky that Drury's murderer had not guessed that Lamont Cranston, otherwise The Shadow, was a skilled aviator in his own right. Otherwise, different measures might have been taken to prevent The Shadow's arrival at Lake Calada.
ACROSS a narrow stretch of lake, another boat was pulling into its dock. It was the boat that carried Professor Scorpio and the servants who had loaded the boxes. The Shadow reached for a pair of field glasses that lay on the seat beside Harry.
Last streaks of sunlight showed Scorpio's dock more plainly than the professor supposed. Lifting the glasses, The Shadow held them trained upon the dock. He saw Professor Scorpio step from the boat and take a path to his bungalow in the woods. The servants followed, leaving the boxes as they were.
Still watching, as his own boat sped along, The Shadow saw the boxes stir. A figure crept from them, rolled to the dock and crouched there. A few moments later, bunking lights from the bungalow announced that the stowaway could follow. As the crouched man rose, his face was plain in the glass.
The Shadow recognized Edward Barcla. Then the crouching man had crept along the path. Barcla had not gone to his cabin. He was keeping a rendezvous with Professor Scorpio.
Like the lake, the sky had darkened, when The Shadow stood on Denwood's dock, waiting for Harry to moor the speedboat. Off beyond the line of mountain summits, The Shadow saw the sparkle of early evening stars. The sight reminded him of Professor Scorpio, the bearded prophet who claimed to consult the stars in making his predictions.
According to Scorpio, the stars could foretell. Perhaps the bearded professor was right. For The Shadow, as he gazed, could gain an inkling of the future himself.
The Shadow foresaw that crime was due at Lake Calada; that the death of Drury was scarcely more than the beginning of a heinous campaign. Crime that could be as deeply hidden as the vast depths of the blackened lake.
But that was not the limit of The Shadow's forecast. However deep crime might lie, it could be solved.
Already, The Shadow had gained certain inklings that would prove useful, later.
Harry Vincent, rowing in from the mooring buoy, heard the soft whisper of The Shadow's laugh issuing from darkness.
CHAPTER III. NIGHT OF CRIME.
DINNER was ended and Henry Denwood sat alone with his friend, Lamont Cranston. Through the cigar smoke, Denwood watched his guest's face, and its impassive expression pleased him. For Denwood was quite confident that this man who called himself Lamont Cranston was actually The Shadow.
In his turn, The Shadow was quite pleased with Denwood. He knew Denwood as a man of absolute integrity. More than that, Denwood owed a great debt to The Shadow.
Only a few years before, Henry Denwood had been on the verge of disgrace and ruin. Crooks had not only tried to steal his fortune; they had planned to blame Denwood for their crimes-when The Shadow intervened. (City of Shadows, Vol. XXX, No. 2.)
Since then, Denwood had sworn to aid The Shadow in any way he could. Here, at Lake Calada, where he was living in comfortable retirement, Denwood had observed the oncreep of subtle crime that threatened to rise to huge proportions. Therewith, he had notified The Shadow, through a message to Cranston.
Unable to arrive immediately, The Shadow had sent Harry Vincent in advance. His agent had seen evidence of the very things that Denwood reported. At present, Harry was on watch outside of the room where Denwood and Cranston were talking matters over.
A kindly man, white-haired and dignified, Denwood was the sort who often trusted persons too far.
Experience had taught him to be more careful; but he had not profited enough. At dinner tonight, one of Denwood's servants had been missing, along with cash that belonged in Denwood's desk.
That was why The Shadow had posted Harry outside the study. He was quite sure that the missing thief had served as an eavesdropper on previous evenings when Denwood talked with Harry.
So far, The Shadow had not mentioned Drury's death in terms of murder. He wanted to hear Denwood's story first, and the white-haired man was giving it. A large map of Lake Calada was spread on the desk: Denwood was pointing out the homes of certain residents.
'One month ago,' stated Denwood, 'the Gillespie house was robbed. The bonds that were taken were valued
