THE GROVE OF DOOM
by Maxwell Grant
As originally published in "The Shadow Magazine," September 1, 1933.
Death lurked in this grove of beautiful trees - death that stalked an
estranged family. How did The Shadow learn the answer?
CHAPTER I
THE ARRIVAL
LONG ISLAND SOUND lay blanketed with a dense, sullen mist. From the shore,
the heavy fog appeared as a grimy mass of solid blackness. The scene was one of
swirling, impenetrable night, for not a gleam of light disturbed that
omnipresent darkness.
No eye could have discerned the spot where shore ceased and water began.
The rocks beside the beach were invisible, and so was the man who stood near
them. The only token of his presence was the sound of his slow, steady
breathing, broken by the low, impatient growls that came muffled from his
throat.
Beneath his feet, this man could feel the crunch of sand. Listening
intently, he could catch the faint lapping of the water as it gnawed the fringe
of the sloping beach. Every noise that came from the fog-covered reaches of the
Sound caused this man to stop his slow pacing.
The faint chugging of a motorboat; the distant deep-blasted whistle of a
passing steamship - these evidences of human beings far out upon the water were
not what the man awaited. He was watching uselessly, listening vainly, hoping
for a more subtle signal.
A dimly luminous circle showed upon the man's wrist. It was the dial of a
watch. It registered three o'clock. The man growled angrily. This vigil had
persisted for three hours, but no result had been obtained.
The fog that had imperiled navigation upon Long Island Sound was evidently
playing hob with well-calculated plans. No ray of light could reach this shore.
Even sounds were muffled by the shroud of never-ceasing mist.
The waiting man did not end his watchfulness. His slow, incessant paces
dug deep into the dampness of the sand. He scruffed the granular material with
his toes, as though to obliterate the marks that he had made. Suddenly, he came
to a standstill, listening once more.
Through the fog came a strange, awesome sound. It was a low, penetrating
whistle that carried a peculiar note. In this environment, that floating noise
was frightening as it came from the seemingly solid sand bank. But fear was not
the emotion that possessed the man who heard the whistle. That was the signal he
had expected. With fingers to his mouth, the waiting man emitted a similar sound.
A LONG pause followed. A chance drifting of the fog opened a momentary
space out beyond the shore. Glimmering lights, high up, cast a dull glare that
