waited, almost ready to return to the lifeboat. The mercy of the storm seemed better than the fierce welcome of the fiends who had awaited them.
As minutes passed, eyes strained through the darkness. Discarded lanterns had been extinguished by the wind and rain. There was no indication that the attackers intended to return. Staring seaward, the castaways saw no sign of the Maldah. The yacht had hoisted anchor to drive out into the storm.
A flashlight clicked. Jalway had produced it. The promoter glimmered the rays upon the lifeboat. Wading into the water, he began to bring out luggage. Hadlow aided him, Professor Marcolm remained with Francine while Dashler stood guard with the rifle.
Dragging and carrying their possessions, the little group advanced. Jalway, leading with the flashlight, came upon the body of Hoskins. The sailor was dead. Blood from his knife wound stained the dark, water-soaked sand.
The castaways moved forward. Jalway's light revealed no sign of any attackers. Evidently the fleeing men had taken their wounded along with them. Slowly, the little group neared the wide stretch of the long beach. Crossing it, they came suddenly to a fringe of trees.
They were on the edge of a thick Georgia woods, almost tropical in its density. Trees above were creaking as the wind sighed through heavy branches. Below, where the people stood, the shelter produced a lull. Voices could be understood without shouting.
Jalway threw his flashlight about the group. Francine had slumped upon the little steamer trunk; Hadlow had dragged it along from the sand bar. The professor was beside her, his hand upon the girl's shoulder.
Hadlow was extracting a cigarette from beneath his slicker, while Dashler was standing amid a cluster of luggage. The sailor had his rifle in readiness. He had brought along the two emptied weapons. They were lying on the fringe of the sand.
'These woods are our best refuge,' informed Jalway, in a voice that was steady in the lull. 'If we can find some sort of opening among them, we can make camp for the night. You hold the flashlight, professor. Francine can remain with you while we scout about.'
Professor Marcolm received the flashlight. He extinguished it as the other men moved off through the darkness. Then he flashed it with intermittent blinks. Five minutes passed. Suddenly Hadlow returned.
'Wave the light, professor,' he ordered. 'Bring in the others. I've found something.'
'A path?' questioned Francine.
'Better than that,' replied Hadlow. 'A house. I saw the lights in the woods.'
JALWAY and Dashler arrived while Hadlow was pointing out the direction in which he had investigated. The professor's waving of the flashlight brought them in. The sailor offered an objection when he heard Hadlow's plan to proceed to the house.
'Maybe that's their hang-out,' he insisted. 'They might get us like they got Hoskins. I'd like to get square with the fellows that killed my matey; but it ain't policy to walk into their camp.'
'The rogues fled along the beach,' reminded Hadlow. 'This house is in the direction of the inlet. In my opinion, it offers safety rather than danger.'
'That sounds likely,' put in Jalway. 'What is your opinion, professor?'
'The same as Hadlow's,' crackled Marcolm. 'Come, my friends. Let us fare toward this habitation.'
Leaving the luggage, the group followed Hadlow's lead. Using the flashlight, the sportsman picked out a path at the entrance to the woods. The glare showed a narrow but clean-cut passage. Hadlow turned out the light and spoke.
'There's the glimmer.' His voice was solemn beneath the shelter of the swaying, creaking oaks. 'Unquestionably a house. Suppose that Jalway and I go in advance. You follow, professor, with Francine.'
'What about me?' asked Dashler.
'Stay in the background,' ordered Hadlow. 'Cover with your rifle. If we run into trouble, you can open fire to protect us.'
SHOULDER to shoulder, Hadlow and Jalway advanced. They came to a clearing where the white tabby walls of an old building showed its spectral bulk among the trees. The lighted windows had been at the side. Here, only the whiteness of the house was visible. Reaching a stout oak door, Hadlow knocked.
A long pause. The wind sighed heavily through the trees, then whistled eerily as its angry gusts rose violently in the night. Hadlow rapped again. The drawing of bolts followed. The door opened.
Just within the threshold stood a huge, big-fisted man whose face was fierce and challenging. Light from the hall showed the water-soaked visitors. The big man eyed them with a glare that was not pleasant.
Close by the trees, Marcolm and Francine could see the man's face plainly. So could Dashler. The sailor shifted his rifle. The professor stretched out a hand to withhold him. Listening, they could hear the growled challenge of the man within the door.
'What you want here?'
The voice was thick and uncouth. Hadlow's reply was a quiet one that the listeners could not hear; but they caught snatches of Jalway's steady tone. The castaways were explaining their plight. Their story brought results. The big man stepped back and motioned them to enter.
Jalway turned and signaled. Professor Marcolm led the others to the house. They followed Hadlow and Jalway into a lighted hallway. The big guardian eyed Dashler's rifle in suspicious fashion, then closed the door and bolted it. He departed through the hallway, leaving the little group talking in puzzled whispers.
A few minutes passed. Then the big man returned from the rear of the hallway. He opened a door on the right, turned on a light and ushered the arrivals into a living room. Francine gasped in amazement. The others looked around in surprise.
They had expected to find small comfort in this island home. Instead, they discovered a living room that was almost sumptuous. Comfortable chairs and lounges stood upon handsome Oriental rugs. Heavy oak bookcases were filled with volumes; these stood upon either side of a fireplace.
EACH viewer studied a different portion of the room, admiring its contents. One pair of eyes, however, found a focal spot that others scarcely noticed. Those eyes were The Shadow's. Still maintaining his guise of a castaway, the master sleuth gave no expression that anyone could have detected.
The Shadow was looking toward a mantelpiece above the fireplace; he was viewing an object that hung from the wall over the mantel. To others, it was but an ornament - tasteful and inconspicuous. To The Shadow, it was a symbol that marked the end of an important quest which he had not yet undertaken.
The Shadow had left the Maldah knowing that all was safe on board. He had wanted to reach shore, that he might fare forth in search of George Dalavan, the murderer whom he had encountered near Miami; through finding Dalavan, The Shadow had hoped to uncover the supercrook whom the murderer served.
There had been murderers on this shore; but even to The Shadow, their presence had not signified a link to the coming quest. Until he viewed this living room, The Shadow had gained no inkling of connected crime. He had it here, the link he wanted. Above the mahogany plaque; upon its square surface was a design done in bronze.
The plaque represented a shield, supported on each side by a gryphon. The design was a perfect match for the embossing imprinted upon the sheet of paper that The Shadow had found in the dead hand of James Tolwig.
This house on the Georgia coast was the headquarters of the supercrook who controlled dozens of rogues like Dalavan; the man who managed a ring that dealt in international theft, wholesale smuggling, and open murder.
A voice spoke from the doorway of the room. With the others, The Shadow turned about to meet the owner of the house. Playing his role of a chance castaway, The Shadow was face to face with the master crook whom he had not expected to meet for a long while to come.
CHAPTER VI. THE UNSEEN GUEST
THE man in the doorway did not look the part of a master criminal. His appearance was quite the opposite; it ended any apprehensions held by The Shadow's companions. Pleasant of voice, friendly in attitude, the master of the lonely house was one who knew how to make his guests feel at home.
He was portly and bald-headed; his face was wreathed in a smile. He was attired in a green silk dressing gown; in his hand he held a meerschaum pipe that he had been smoking. There was nothing to connect him with the fray on the beach; but The Shadow knew that this genial individual was certainly responsible for all crime that
