'We'll be leaving Cuba soon,' declared Francine. 'I wish we could stay longer here, Seth.'
'So do I,' agreed Hadlow.
Sailors were coming to the deck. They began to prepare the yacht for departure. It was Francine who spoke suddenly. The girl was looking across the rail. She laughed as she pointed.
'There goes Professor Marcolm, Seth.'
An elderly man was jogging toward the pier, panting as he ran. His chin was tilted against his chest; his white hair was shaggy beneath the old felt hat he was wearing. In one hand he had a large carpetbag; in the other, he was lugging a cylindrical bundle rolled in oilskin.
Professor Marcolm gained the top of the gangplank. The old man smiled as he nodded to Hadlow and Francine. Puffing, he went below.
VARIOUS delays prevented the prompt departure of the yacht. The sun had set when the Maldah finally started from its pier. Hadlow and Francine went below, for the girl said that she felt unhappy about leaving Havana and did not care to be on deck when the yacht cleared port. They came to the door of the main cabin. It was closed. Francine knocked; she heard her uncle give the word to come in.
Entering, Francine and Hadlow found Kingdon Feldworth seated in a chair at the end of the elegant cabin. His back was toward a wall that displayed a series of heavy oak panels. With the grizzled yacht owner was Bram Jalway. The sharp-eyed promoter was puffing at a briar pipe; his lips, as they held the pipe's stem, still kept their half-smile.
Francine looked anxiously toward her uncle. She noticed that his face was grim.
'What is the trouble?' inquired the girl. 'You look worried, uncle.'
'Nothing at all,' protested Feldworth.
'I don't believe you, uncle.'
Feldworth seemed at loss for another statement. Bram Jalway supplied one. Removing his briar pipe from his lips, the promoter remarked:
'Your uncle has reason to be worried, Francine. Storm warnings are being posted. The captain gave us the news a short while a ago.'
Feldworth managed a pleased smile.
'Yes,' he agreed, 'that is the trouble, Francine. We may run into a hurricane. I did not want to tell you, to alarm you. That is the real trouble.'
The statement satisfied Francine. Kingdon Feldworth looked relieved; to Bram Jalway, he nodded his head in appreciation. The promoter smiled in response and went back to puffing his briar pipe.
IN proof of the weather prophecies, the Maldah encountered heavy swells just a little before dinner. When the meal was over, passengers retired somewhat early.
Kingdon Feldworth, however, remained in the main cabin. He stood there alone; his face showed signs of nervous twitching. Finally satisfied that he was unwatched, the yacht owner went to the heavy oak panels at the end of the room; he found a catch and opened the woodwork.
A fabulous sight was revealed. Hanging within the compartment were jeweled tapestries - shimmering decorations done in cloths of gold. Feldworth opened a small chest; the raised lid revealed gold itself, in the form of coins. Feldworth opened another box; jewels sparkled. Suddenly, the yacht owner turned about; he eyed the door suspiciously.
Feldworth had fancied that he heard a noise at the door. Finally satisfied that it was his imagination, he closed the boxes. Shutting the panel, Feldworth eyed it; then, reluctantly, he turned out the light. He opened the door in darkness and went through a dimly lighted passage.
A few minutes after Feldworth was gone, a blackened shape materialized from a corner of the passage. A cloaked figure came into view. There, in this portion of the heaving yacht, stood The Shadow.
With a gloved hand, The Shadow opened the door of the main cabin. He entered, closed the door behind him. Using a flashlight, The Shadow approached the panels at the end of the room.
The woodwork clicked under the touch of a skilled hand. The panels came back; The Shadow's light revealed the interior of the secret compartment. The Shadow eyed Feldworth's treasures; he studied the contents of the boxes. A brief estimate told him that these belongings were worth in excess of a million dollars.
There was a small, flat box that Feldworth had not opened. In it, The Shadow found letters and other documents that carried signatures. He studied these carefully; he was satisfied with his scrutiny. The papers explained the wealth that Feldworth had brought aboard.
All these valuables had belonged to a Cuban who had fled Havana at the time of the revolution. The Cuban had sold them to Feldworth for two hundred thousand dollars. With the sale, the Cuban had supplied information, telling where the wealth was hidden in Havana. Feldworth had managed to obtain the valuables, but only after an enforced delay.
With the documents were customs blanks. It was plain that Feldworth intended to follow an honest course to declare his wealth once the Maldah reached New York. He had bought the property in good faith; his reason for keeping it hidden was to avoid any trouble on the yacht.
Feldworth trusted his guests. The Shadow knew that fact, for he was one of them. Evidently, Feldworth feared followers from Cuba; or possible trouble from the crew, if it should be learned that a million dollars' worth of valuables happened to be on board. Therefore, to The Shadow, Kingdon Feldworth was a man who needed protection.
THE SHADOW had known this for a long while; from the time when he had come aboard the yacht in New York, for a cruise to Havana and return. He had not, however, learned what Feldworth planned until tonight.
That was why The Shadow had decided to return to New York on the Maldah; why he had made a hurried flight back to Havana from Miami, instead of taking up the trail of the murderer, George Dalavan.
The Shadow extinguished his flashlight. He moved in darkness from the main cabin. He followed the dim passage, then merged with other blackness. Soon, a door closed behind him. The Shadow was in his own quarters. His visit to Feldworth's treasure chest would never be known.
The Maldah was ploughing northward through heavy seas, carrying its secret cargo of wealth. Where treasure lay, intrigue could always follow. Perhaps there was someone on board who planned to capture Kingdon Feldworth's newly acquired wealth. That could be a matter of speculation. One fact, however, was evident.
The Shadow was aboard the Maldah. Camouflaged as a guest, he had undertaken a campaign of vigilance. Once he was sure the treasure was safe, he would be willing to leave and undertake other tasks. Should crime come, either on the yacht or elsewhere, The Shadow would reveal himself.
Until that hour, he would remain in the disguise that he had chosen for this adventure. No one would suspect his presence. To the world, The Shadow was a being cloaked in black. When he chose to appear in some ordinary guise, he did so without the knowledge of enemy or friend.
Should strife strike aboard the Maldah, The Shadow would be prepared for it. There was one peril, however, against which The Shadow could not cope. That was the hazard of the hurricane that threatened the yacht's course.
CHAPTER IV. THE STORM STRIKES
SLEEK and speedy, the Maldah kept ahead of the rising hurricane for many hours. Kingdon Feldworth congratulated himself as the next day passed. He was confident that the yacht would escape the worst weather. His surmise, however, proved wrong.
Sweeping up from the West Indies, the storm overtook the Maldah off the Florida coast. The blow increased; from then on, it was a battle for existence. The crisis came when the Maldah was swept in toward the Georgia coast. Surrounded by darkness, pounded by huge waves, the yacht was making a last struggle.
The fact that the Maldah had neared the shore was proven by a strange phenomenon. The captain believed that his ship was near a desolate location. The wireless was out of commission; it seemed impossible that anyone would sight the rising and falling line of the yacht's lights, as they glimmered pitifully above the waves. It was a sailor, stationed at the bow, who first learned otherwise.
A sudden line of sparks flashed from a mile distant on the lee of the yacht. A sizzling rocket whizzed upward from the shore, to burst into a myriad of colored sparks that were swept into instant oblivion. Word went to the captain of the Maldah; he ordered an answering signal. Soon, a streaking rocket shot up from the yacht's deck into the night.
