The Plot Master s-71

by Maxwell Grant

  fellow who had accompanied Dadren on other flights. He seemed impatient to start the trip.

  Dadren, too, appeared anxious to be off. He beckoned Harry to hurry up. When Harry

  reached his side, Dadren spoke in a querulous, testy tone that all could hear.

  "What kept you, Vincent?" he demanded. "I told you to be up at dawn. I wanted to see those

  expense sheets."

  "I have them here, sir," apologized Harry, exhibiting the briefcase. "I have corrected the

  expense errors; and I have arranged the letters for the files."

  "I don't have time to go over them now," returned Dadren. "Half an hour would have sufficed.

  You have been neglectful, Vincent. You have caused me a great deal of trouble."

  "Sorry, sir."

  "That doesn't help. However, I shall give you another chance. Get busy this morning.

  Complete your work here. Then bring all your papers to Washington."

  "By train, sir?"

  "Yes. Wilkins will drive you into town in time to catch the afternoon express. I shall need a

  secretary after I reach Washington. Meet me to-morrow, at my hotel."

  Dadren stepped to a wing of the ship. He drew a small portfolio from beneath his arm and

  stowed it in the pilot's seat. The commander took the controls, with Hasker perched in the

  open seat behind him.

  A few minutes later, the propeller of the amphibian was whirling. The plane started across

  the blue-watered cove, heading in the direction of the inlet. It gathered speed; its glistening

  wings rose above the water. Rising, the plane headed seaward, then banked and swung

  along the coast. Commander Dadren had begun his flight to Washington.

  HARRY VINCENT left the boat house while the other men were standing about. Returning to

  headquarters, he entered the empty building and made directly for the telephone. He put in a

  call to the hotel that was located five miles from Cedar Cove.

  Over the wire, Harry Vincent talked briefly with a man named Cliff Marsland. In guarded

  tones, Harry indicated what had happened at Cedar Cove. No one listening could have

  caught the gist of his remarks. For Harry was talking to another agent of The Shadow.

  Cliff, waiting near Cedar Cove, would put in a long-distance call to Burbank. Unless

  instructions came back to the contrary, Harry Vincent would follow Commander Dadren's

  order. He would leave for Washington, taking along the set of plans that the skipper had

  given him.

  Harry was sure that no danger remained at Cedar Cove. Last night's episode had been of

  his own doing. As yet, there was no indication that a spy actually was in camp. Harry had

  acted only at The Shadow's bidding; and even now, Harry wondered what had inspired The

  Shadow to send his emergency order.

  If outside persons were trying to learn the secret of Commander Dadren's model submarine,

  they could learn nothing at Cedar Cove. Dadren was canny; he had tested different devices

  at various times. The submarine, now beneath the boat house, was incomplete. An

  inspection of it would reveal nothing to spies.

  Only the plans were complete. They held the secret of an invention that was apparently

  destined to revolutionize naval warfare.

  Entering his own room, Harry Vincent stowed his precious briefcase in the closet. He locked

  the door; then sat down at the table and began to work on detailed report sheets. He was

  determined that no one would learn that the plans were in his possession.

  COMMANDER DADREN'S amphibian was a slow ship. Its heavy landing equipment

  handicapped it. That was why Dadren had taken off so shortly after dawn. He wanted to

  arrive in Washington before noon, and he needed an early start to accomplish his desire.

  Plodding through a head wind, the cumbersome plane jounced north across the Carolina

  coastal region. Dadren was a stolid pilot; Hasker, behind him, seemed accustomed the

  monotony of the journey. As slow hours moved by, the ship reached Virginia and continued

  onward. Washington was not far away.

  All the while, the commander had his portfolio close beside him. It was wedged between his

  body and the side of the pilot's seat. With his goal almost reached, Dadren smiled beneath

  the goggles that he had donned. He felt sure that Harry Vincent had been

  over-apprehensive, so far as danger was concerned.

  Then came a break in the monotony. Dadren was flying at an altitude of five thousand feet.

  Nearly a mile below, lay a wooded acreage; beyond it, the spread-out buildings of a small

  town. The chart showed the place to be the village of Tarksburg.

  Between the woods and the town was an open stretch that looked like a flying field. Two

  biplanes were in sight; as Dadren passed above, one of the ships took off. It ascended with

  surprising speed. Watching the plane, Dadren was sure that a stunt flier was at the controls.

  For a dozen miles, the commander kept his amphibian ahead of the biplane. He had almost

  forgotten the stunt flier when he suddenly became aware of the fact that the ship was above

  him. The biplane was passing the amphibian, traveling at the higher altitude of six thousand

  feet.

  As the commander stared upward, the first inkling of danger came. Something cold was

  thrust against the back of Dadren's neck. Turning to glance over his shoulder, the

  commander looked into the muzzle of a revolver held by Hasker.

  WITH his free hand, the mechanic pointed upward. His face assumed a grim scowl. His lips

  framed words that Dadren could not hear; but he easily made out Hasker's statement. The

  mechanic was stating:

  "Follow that ship."

  Stolidly, Dadren turned to look ahead. Again, the gun muzzle pressed against his neck. The

  danger had arrived. As Harry Vincent had warned him, there was a traitor in camp. Hasker,

  the mechanic, had been delegated to gain the submarine plans.

  Dadren delivered a smile that Hasker could not see. Under other circumstances, the

  commander might have ignored the traitor's order. By killing Dadren, Hasker would risk his

  own life.

  For a moment, Dadren was on the point of banking the amphibian. Fancy work at the

  controls would put Hasker in a sweat. Dadren doubted that the man would have nerve to

  shoot once the straight course ended, for he would be fearful about reaching the controls.

  Then Dadren changed his mind. Here was adventure to his liking. He had prepared for such

  an emergency as this. The envelope now held by Harry Vincent would nullify the theft of the

  portfolio that Dadren held. Nodding to indicate his willingness to obey Hasker's order, the

  commander took up the course set by the biplane.

  The two ships deviated from the route to Washington. They passed over hilly terrain that

  took them on a northwest course. Then the biplane, a mile ahead, began to circle for a

  landing. Dadren conformed. He saw the other ship glide downward toward an obscure

  landing field, just west of a wooded hill.

  Hasker's pressing gun was firm. Again, the commander nodded. Banking, he duplicated the

  biplane's maneuver. He brought the amphibian to earth one minute after the other ship had

  landed.

  As he came to a stop upon the old field, Dadren saw men scramble from the grounded

  biplane. He stopped the motor.

  "Climb out!" came Hasker's growl. "No funny business, or you'll get a bullet in your neck!

  Leave that pa
ckage you've got with you."

  Dadren stepped from the plane; all the while, Hasker covered him. Three men approached;

  their leader was dressed like an airplane pilot. He also had a gun. He gave a nod to Hasker

  and the mechanic alighted, bringing the portfolio.

  "Stay here," growled the pilot of the biplane, turning to his men. "We'll take care of this mug."

  The pilot and Hasker marched Commander Dadren toward the trees. They came to the

  marks of an old dirt road and continued into the woods. There they saw a man waiting. He

  was tall, his face sported a heavy black beard.

  "Who's that guy?" questioned Hasker, suspiciously. He was speaking to the pilot of the

  biplane.

  "The chief," was the reply.

  "Don't look like him," stated Hasker, still suspicious. "He never had a beard when I met him."

  "It's phony," chuckled the pilot. "That's where the chief is smart. He wears one rig when he

  meets me—another when he meets you. Different rigs at different times -"

  THEY had arrived beside the bearded man. Commander Dadren stopped. He was face to

  face with Eric Hildrow; but the master plotter was wearing another of his rough disguises.

  Dadren, eyeing the beard, could not trace Hildrow's features.

  "Good work, Wenshell," said Hildrow, to the pilot of the biplane. "I shall need you no longer.

  Take care of Commander Dadren's plane; then return to the Tarksburg field. Be ready to

  disband the air circus - or what remains of it— after you have heard from me."

  "All right, chief," returned Wenshell.

  "You also have my commendation, Hasker," said Hildrow, smugly, while Wenshell was

  walking away. "Inasmuch as you came with Commander Dadren, I shall have you remain

  with him. You have the plans?"

  "In here, chief," returned Hasker, showing the portfolio.

  "Good," said Hildrow. Then, to Dadren: "Come, commander. We are awaiting you."

  "Come where?" questioned Dadren.

  "To the machine that I have waiting," chuckled Hildrow. "A short motor trip will take you to the

  comfortable place that I have provided for your stay with us."

  "Who are you?"

  "That is difficult to say." Hildrow chuckled again as they walked along, with Hasker bringing

  up the rear. "To Hasker, I am known as Philip Pelden. To Wenshell, I am Carl Ostrow.

  Korsch—the man we are about to meet—also knows me by that name. But others have met

  me in various identities."

  A turn in the dirt road revealed a stocky, hatchet-faced man standing beside a parked

  sedan. Commander Dadren knew that this must be Korsch.

  Smiling within his false beard, Hildrow introduced the rogue to Dadren; then pointed out

  Hasker, whom Korsch had never met before. Hildrow motioned Dadren toward the machine.

  "Wait a moment," objected the commander. "It is time that these high-handed methods were

  ended. You have the portfolio which contains my submarine plans. Why do you intend to

  keep me prisoner?"

  "For reasons of my own," snarled Hildrow, half forgetting the smug tone of the part that he

  was playing. "You are coming with us, commander. By force, if necessary."

  "And you intend -"

  "To do with you as I see fit. We have your plans; I intend to hold you so long as you may

  prove necessary."

  "And after that?"

  "I shall hold you longer, if you are not troublesome. But if risk is involved, I shall do away with

  you."

  Hasker was close with his revolver. Korsch had also drawn a weapon. Hildrow stepped up

  to the commander, found an automatic in his pocket and took the weapon. Dadren knew

  that a fight would be hopeless. With a shrug of his shoulders, he entered the machine.

  Hasker followed. He and Dadren occupied the rear seat, while Korsch took the wheel.

  Hildrow, carrying the portfolio, stepped in front with Korsch. He looked around to make sure

  that Hasker still had his revolver trained on Dadren.

  AS Korsch started the car, Hildrow opened the portfolio. He found an envelope and tore it

  open. He drew out a sheaf of diagrams. They were inscribed in India ink, on sheets of

  tracing paper. Sight of the tough cloth sheets brought a snarl from Hildrow. The fact that the

  diagrams were on transparent material aroused suspicion in his mind.

  "Are these the originals?" he challenged, turning to Dadren.

  The commander made no reply as he met the plotter's glare. Again Hildrow glared.

  "You have tried to trick us," he declared. "Professor Whitburn had duplicate plans. Those

  have been destroyed. Possibly they were the originals. It is also possible that another set

  exists. These tracings do not satisfy me."

  Dadren remained unresponding. Hildrow recognized that he could not combat the

  commander's iron will. Turning to Hasker, Hildrow snapped a new question.

  "Where are the originals?" he demanded. "Back in the office at Cedar Cove?"

  "I don't think so, chief."

  "Why not?"

  "Because the skipper—Dadren, here—told Wilkins to end the patrols while he was away.

  Last night somebody—I don't know who it was—tried to break into the lab. If the originals

  were back at headquarters, Wilkins would still be patrolling -"

  "That's enough. It is apparent that nothing can be learned at Cedar Cove. Do you think that

  these tracings are the only plans?"

  "I guess they are, chief. Unless they -"

  "Unless what?" demanded Hildrow, as Hasker paused.

  "When we were ready to hop off," remarked Hasker, in a reflective growl, "Dadren here said

  something to his secretary. Told him to come up to Washington. To bring papers with him.

  Vincent is leaving on the afternoon express. I was just thinking, chief, that maybe Vincent -"

  "Never mind the 'maybe', Hasker," sneered Hildrow, still staring squarely at Commander

  Dadren. "You told me all I need to know. That fellow Vincent is the man we want."

  Turning, Hildrow buzzed instructions in Korsch's ear. The hatchet-faced man nodded, as he

  turned the car on to a main road. One mile further on, he took another side road and pulled

  up beside an old house where a coupe was standing.

  As Hildrow alighted from the sedan, Korsch gave a signal. A couple of tough-looking aids

  stepped from the coupe.

  Hildrow beckoned Hasker from the sedan. One of Korsch's men entered the back and took

  his post beside Commander Dadren. The other took Hildrow's place in front. Hildrow gave

  an order to Korsch.

  "Take this man up the river," ordered Hildrow, indicating Dadren. "Hold him there until you

  receive further orders. I am taking the coupe. Send a man in to get it from the usual

  Washington garage."

  THE sedan pulled away. Hildrow watched until it was out of sight. Then the false-bearded

  plotter beckoned to Hasker. The two entered the coupe. Hildrow took the wheel; as the car

  started toward the main road, he spoke to Hasker.

  "I am taking you to Tarksburg," declared Hildrow. "There we shall make new contact with

  Wenshell. You will operate with him. We are going to capture those missing plans."

  Hildrow continued to talk in a cold, harsh tone as he guided the coupe along the high road.

  As the plotter talked, Hasker listened, signifying his understanding by occasional nods.

  Spellbound by Hildrow's cleverness, Hasker was hearing the scheme whereby his evil chief

  expected to gain new success.

  CHAPTER X
. THE SHADOW'S TURN

  WHILE Eric Hildrow was planning to follow up the capture of Commander Joseph Dadren,

  he was doing so with the confidence that, thus far, his methods had been entirely successful.

  Hildrow was sure that he had disposed of troublesome persons on the night before.

  The arch-plotter would have been astounded could he have looked in upon the house of

  Professor Arthur Whitburn. The building on the wooded isle stood serene amid the morning

  daylight. Death Island had lost its sinister aspect. Within the house itself was a scene of

  quiet comfort.

  Professor Whitburn was in his study. The white-haired inventor was working at his

  flat-topped desk. He had cleared away books and papers in order to make room for Quex.

  The big tiger-cat was lapping up the contents of a large bowl of milk.

  Bragg had returned that morning. He had found the note on the cat's collar when he had

  discovered Quex at the front door. Bragg had descended to unlock the door of the

  submarine chamber. Professor Whitburn and Stephen had accompanied him up the stairs.

  Bragg had not seen The Shadow. That spectral visitant had remained silent and motionless

  in his place by the torpedo tube. His keen eyes had been fixed upon Bragg when the man

  entered; but Bragg, horrified at the sight of dead bodies, had never glanced in The

  Shadow's direction.

  Professor Whitburn had left the door open after he and Stephen had joined Bragg. Up in his

  study, the old inventor had given Bragg a brief description of what had occurred. He had

  given credit to himself and Stephen for thinking out the scheme of putting Quex through the

  periscope tube. Furthermore, he had motioned to Stephen to say nothing to the contrary.

  Stephen had gone to the laboratory. Bragg had returned to the motor boat to get some

  packages that he had brought from the mainland. Professor Whitburn had said that he

  wished to be alone. The old man had an idea that he would soon receive a visit from The

  Shadow.

  A SOUND from the door caused Quex to look up from the bowl of milk. The professor stared

  in the same direction. His face showed annoyance when saw Bragg standing in the

  doorway.

  "I did not tell you to come back here, Bragg," declared Whitburn. "Moreover, you must knock