another blow struck in the cause of justice. Joe Cardona understood and thought
that he knew all.
Cardona was wrong. He did not know that Hawk Forster was a rat who had
tried to squeal; that the murderer had known the schemes of more potent crooks,
and had been about to blab them to The Shadow when the detectives made their
premature entrance.
Cardona suspected nothing. Only The Shadow knew that some great crime was
brewing. Yet he had gained only an inkling from Hawk Forster before
circumstances had forced him to make a rapid exit.
Danger threatened Daniel Antrim, a lawyer who dealt with criminals. When
that danger struck, it would mark the beginning of rampant crime.
Vile plans were under way! With Hawk Forster dead, none but the schemers
themselves knew what the details were.
Only The Shadow could meet these enemies of the law. To do so, he must
learn both source and nature of the contemplated crime which Hawk Forster's
sealed lips could never tell!
Could The Shadow uncover the plot, wherever it might be brewing?
CHAPTER II
MAN WITH A MISSION
THE trim yacht Vesta was plowing smoothly through the mild blue waters of
the Gulf Stream. Upon the rear deck, beneath a widespread canopy, sat four men,
dressed in suits of cool pongee.
Glasses clinked in their hands. Often their conversation was broken with
ribald laughter. The four appeared a typical group of pleasure-seekers, with
nothing more to do than enjoy to the fullest the luxurious life of tropical
seas.
There was a definite ease of equality about these men; each seemed to
possess poise and leadership. In action, manner, and deportment, they were much
alike. Yet in facial appearance and physical proportions, there were noticeable
differences.
The difference became particularly evident during a peculiar ceremony
which the men performed. They were drinking to the health of each in turn -
apparently a regular procedure. One man would keep to his seat as the other
three stood and lifted their glasses.
"To George Ellsworth," those drinking the toast first recited in unison,
"the best of luck and health!"
They drank and sat down, plopping their empty glasses before the man whom
they had toasted.
"Fill them up, Butcher. Fill them up!"
The one called George Ellsworth complied. His manner was characteristic of
his nickname, "Butcher." He was a big, bluff fellow, some forty odd years of
age. His face was full, his lips jocular. His fat, beefy hand gripped the
bottle and filled the glasses.
Then Ellsworth rose, and two others got to their feet with him. The fourth
of the group remained seated.
"To Howard Best," came the chant, "the best of luck and health!"
