He was going there as Kent Allard, and because Margo Lane would probably
escape suspicion, he was taking her along as an unwitting helper.
LIKE a great bowl of bluish chalcedony, the Caribbean Sea lay beneath the
speeding wings of Allard's cruise plane. Other members of the party, half a
dozen in all, were chatting about the fog-tinged weather, while Margo Lane was
watching the pilot.
In one of those vague ways, which couldn't be explained, Kent Allard
reminded Margo of Lamont Cranston. When she tried to reason out the
resemblance, Margo decided, smilingly, that it was because the two were so
different.
Allard's face was thinner than Cranston's; in a sense, it was almost
gaunt. His eyes were set, rather than steady. His motions, though deliberate,
were done with a precision, whereas Cranston's were leisurely to the point of
indolence.
It seemed that Allard must have acquired his manner from association with
the Xinca Indians, just as Cranston had learned a placid philosophy from the
lamas of Tibet. Those things became ingrown with a man who experienced them.
Margo didn't begin to realize that one background could be dropped at
will, and the other taken up. Few people could have done it, however, though
The Shadow did.
He'd found, though, that people would compare Allard with Cranston, as
Margo was doing at present. It didn't matter, because the longer the comparison
continued, the more they would argue themselves into deciding that the two were
different.
The thing that served The Shadow best was his ability to render each
character unique. No two things can be unique and at the same time alike. Thus,
Allard and Cranston, twinned at first impression, veered from each other, never
to be reunited in any person's mind.
Where the ship was at present, Margo hadn't an idea. She knew that it
planned to swing from island to island, and also follow the coast of the
continent, for it was a land plane.
Allard hadn't announced the exact itinerary, but the passengers were
talking in terms of Panama. Then, very suddenly, came the cry that land was in
sight, ahead.
From the cabin window, Margo saw a low-lying coast, with a sprawling town
stretched back from banana docks where white steamships were loading cargo.
If there happened to be a landing field, Margo didn't see it, and Allard,
for some reason, ignored it. He was giving the ship altitude, as he headed for
high-rising mountains that formed a background behind the seaport setting.
Someone was talking about fog above the mountains. Then laughter followed.
The "fog" was smoke, issuing from a live volcano. Of a sudden, laughter ceased
when one of the passengers exclaimed:
"Centralba!"
The very word cast gloom. It produced too graphic images of Castenago and
his gatomontes. Out of the buzz, it became evident that everyone wanted to
question Allard as to his choice of destination.
Recognizing the low chatter, Allard turned from the controls and spoke to
Margo, the nearest passenger.
