hotel, first, for more clothes."
"The bathing is fine at the Isle of Pines," snapped Nayre. "It's south of
Cuba, you know. You can finish your swim there."
"All the way back to Miami?"
Nayre laughed, indulgently.
"Brady has friends on the Isle of Pines," he declared. "They owe him
money, like everybody does. We'll stake you to a whole new wardrobe, and a
Clipper trip back here."
"Sure we will," added Brady, "and there are a lot of wraps in the plane.
You can bundle up in those. It will be a nice trip by moonlight. The crate will
hold out that far."
ARGUMENT wouldn't help, and Margo knew it. Meekly, she accompanied Nayre
and Brady out to the hangar, and stood by while they hurriedly put the plane in
readiness. It was a cabin ship, though of a very antiquated model. Standing near
the propeller, Margo watched Nayre spin it when Brady called "Contact."
Then, before Margo could make up her mind toward the next step, Nayre
brought out his revolver and pointed her toward the cabin.
Only a gesture was needed, for Margo seemed quite resigned to the coming
trip. She would have stepped into the ship if she hadn't chanced to glance
toward the highway, where she saw a pair of headlights turn suddenly into the
sand road.
With a quick turn, Margo darted across the wide stretch that formed
Brady's rough landing field. She knew that she was a perfect target in the
moonlight, but she felt sure that Nayre wouldn't aim for her. She heard his
revolver speak, and the mere report shuddered her, but she kept on running.
Another gun responded. It stabbed from the newly arrived car, which Margo
recognized as a taxicab. Stumbling over a hump in the sand, Margo landed with a
half somersault that ended with a roar.
The roar came from Brady's plane, as it took off. More shots were spurting
from the cab, but Nayre wasn't answering them. Margo knew that he must have
hopped into the plane with Brady.
Then strong hands were lifting her from the sand. The lights of the plane
were twinkling high, but the burning eyes that Margo saw were close. They were
the eyes of The Shadow, peering from beneath the brim of a slouch hat that
matched the blackness of his cloak.
He was walking toward her car, and on the way, Margo was panting every
detail of her adventure.
When they reached the roadster, Margo heard The Shadow's whispered laugh.
It denoted full understanding.
"Drive back to the Equator," he told her. "I shall return later, with the
cab. You will have time to finish your swim -"
"Before you arrive?"
Again, The Shadow laughed, in response to Margo's eager question. His next
words corrected her.
"You won't find me at the Equator," spoke The Shadow. "But I think you
will meet your friend, Lamont Cranston, if you look for him. I believe that he
has been looking for you most of the evening."
