They were approaching a wide bend in the river. Anchored launches and trim sailboats dotted the shadowy water like immaculate sentinels. Skippy’s restless eyes roved over the silent scene until he espied the graceful sweep of a yacht’s bow projecting out of the shadows into the line of its anchor light. Simultaneously he saw great gold letters spelling out the nameApollyonand it occurred to him how modest and neat was the brass lettering of theMinnie M. Baxterin contrast.
The white, dainty craft swayed ever so gently on the slight swell and Skippy was lost in envy. He bethought himself of the sprawling uncouth barge and for a moment wondered why things were like this; why a man of Josiah Flint’s sort could own this dainty, spotless yacht while his father who wanted so much to be honest had not even the worth of the hard-earned barge.
For the first time, he understood how bitter and revengeful his father must feel. He too felt bitter and revengeful as they got closer to theApollyon. Something began to smolder in his boy’s heart; something wholly alien to his cheerful, wholesome nature. But he was aware of nothing of this, save that he felt like sneering aloud at this proud, complacent craft swaying before his eyes. In a wild fancy he imagined her to be mocking his father and himself for daring to hope that Josiah Flint would make restitution.
A dim light shone amidships and save for the anchor lights the rest of the yacht was in darkness. Skippy stared hard at her and suddenly saw something skimming away from her port side.
He leaned far over the prow of the little motor boat until he saw that the object was a kicker like their own with its engine muffled. In whispered words he drew Toby’s attention to it.
“Wonder where she’s been and where she’s goin’ to, huh Pop?” he queried.
“That ain’t none uv our business, Skippy,” his father answered staring up at theApollyon. “Folks on the river don’t think uv them things this time uv night. They know a muffled engine’s one that ain’t carin’ ter be heard, same as I got one fer mine.”
“We could have ours taken off now, huh Pop? It ain’t any more use now, is it?”
“That all depends, Sonny. It all depends on Ol’ Flint,” Toby said softly. “Now here we are an’ the less said, the better.”
“Ahoy!” called a voice in deep, soft tones from above. “Who’s below?”
Father and son glanced up to see the head and shoulders of a burly man leaning over the glistening rail. Skippy saw Toby stiffen determinedly.
“Ol’ Flint aboard?” he asked.
“Yeah,” the man answered suppressing a yawn. “He’s in his cabin amidships. Lookin’ for him?”
“Yeah.”
“Move the kicker aft an’ come aboard. Old man was talkin’ with Mr. Skinner when I come on duty two hours ago. His light’s still on so he’s readin’ likely.”
The little boat moved aft with hardly a splash and the next moment Toby was scrambling up the ladder. Skippy listened intently as his father set foot on theApollyon’sdeck.
“Want me to tell him he’s got a caller?” the man suddenly asked.
“Nope. Thanks jest the same,” Toby was saying. “I even got half an idee that mebbe he expects me.”
“Awright, buddy,” said the man heartily. “You’ll find him ’midships like I told you. There where the little light is.”
Skippy heard the soft tread of his father’s step along the deck. A door closed and after an interval of silence he looked up to see that the man was still there, bending over the rail and apparently staring at him.
“Your Dad, hey kid?” he asked, catching Skippy’s upturned eyes.
“My Pop,” Skippy corrected, chuckling. He liked the man’s hearty voice. “You work aboard this yacht, Mister?”
“Second mate, that’s what. Easy job summers when the old man’s busy. All we do is to sleep and keep the old girl ship-shape.”
“Old girl?”
“Yeah, this scow.”
“Some scow!” Skippy laughed. “She’s pretty swell, I’ll say. Not much trouble keepin’hership-shape, huh?”
“Naw. There ain’t enough to keep us busy an’ it makes a swab lazy. Same’s me tonight. Here I am the only one on duty (there ain’t no need for more’n one, anchored here like we are) and things are so quiet what do I do but fall sound asleep! I’d sat me down and I hear the old man bawlin’ Mr. Skinner out fierce. Then I guess I was dozin’ a spell ’fore I heard the sound of a muffled motor aft. Dreamed it, I guess, and I dreamed I heard somebody comin’ out from the boss’s quarters ’midships. Anyways, I finally woke up and when I come to the rail I see you folks. Guess that’s what I was hearin’ in my dreams all the time, hey?”
“Maybe,” said Skippy. “Our motor’s muffled, I guess you noticed already, but you might ’a’ heard another kicker like ours too because one was aft when we came along.”
“Guess maybe that’s what it was then,” said the second mate pleasantly. “Just somebody bein’ a little cautious, like. Still I got to quit bein’ so lazy nights and do my duty byPollylike the old man pays me for.”
“Polly?”
The second mate laughed softly and Skippy fancied that his mischievous wink penetrated the darkness.
“Apollyon—Pollyfor short, kid!Apollyonis too highfalutin for able seamen, hey?”
“That’s what I thought, Mister. I never heard it before. Gee whiz, what’s it mean anyway?”
The second mate paused a moment.
“From what I could make out from the Cap’n it was the name of a Greek story or somethin’. You know—one of them real old Greeks thousands of years back. And thisApollyonwas a evil spirit or somethin’ like that, and folks called ’im the Destroyer! Ain’t that a name for you?”
Skippy nodded and looked at the graceful ship with a new interest. Evil spirit? Destroyer? A queer name indeed for such a dainty craft. Why should Josiah Flint give that beautiful hull such an evil name? The sound of a dull thump interrupted his thoughts.
“I couldn’t work on a ship with a name like that,” he said to the second mate at length.
“Why?” the man laughed. “Superstitious?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Skippy answered seriously. “At least I never thought I was sup-super-superstitious more’n most kids. But it don’t seem exactly fair callin’ a nice ship like that the destroyer or an evil spirit or whateverApollyonreally means. Gee, I’ve heard my Pop say that a ship kinda gets lookin’ like its name an’ actin’ like its name after a while. That’s why he named the barge he bought from Mr. Flint after my mother; theMinnie M. Baxtershe’s called. He said she’d be the nicest barge on the river if she took after my mother. But so far it ain’t worked out,” he added wistfully.
“No?” the second mate inquired sympathetically.
Skippy summed up the whole story of his father’s misfortune in a few words. Particularly did he stress Toby’s grief over Josiah Flint’s wilful deception in the transaction.
“And so your Pop’s come to make the old man come across, hey? Well, I don’t blame him.” The man lowered his voice to a mere whisper. “I only hope he don’t get the boss in a nasty temper ’cause he’s not one to give in and he sounded like he was good and sore when he was bawlin’ out Mr. Skinner. Besides, he ain’t the one to admit he cheated your pop either. Still....”
A low moan startled them both and suddenly a door slammed, followed by the sound of someone running along the deck. Skippy stood straight up in the motor boat and listened intently.
He knew those footsteps and he knew what was in the mind that directed them with such force. His father never hurried, much less ran, unless he was terribly angered or pained or....
He dared not complete that thought, nor did he have need to, for his father’s drawn, white face was already looking down at him from above the rail and Skippy read there all that he needed to know.
Something terrible had happened.
The little motor boat had left theApollyonfar behind, ignoring shouts from its deck to halt, before Skippy dared break the tense silence.
“Gee, Pop,” he stammered fearfully, “what happened between you and Mr. Flint anyway, huh? Because you didn’t even say goodnight to the mate an’ you got in the boat an’ told me so cranky an’ all to push off before I got a chance to say goodnight to him, either—gee whiz! I never seen you act so funny before in my life. What’s the matter, huh?”
Toby Dare groaned and buried his face between his hands. Then, for what seemed to Skippy an interminable time, he rocked to and fro and the groans that escaped him were distressing to the waiting boy.
Finally Skippy could stand it no longer.
“Pop, you gotta tell me what’s the matter! Gee, it’s somethin’ terrible the way....”
“Sonny,” Toby interposed brokenly, “git back ter theMinnie M. Baxterjest as quick as yer kin! I got ter put as much water between me—me an’—an’himas it’s possible ter put.”
“Pop?”
“It’s like a dream, Sonny—a bad dream—a terrible dream. I can’t make head or tail uv it yet. I went ter his cabin ’midships like that mate told me....”
“Yes?” Skippy encouraged.
“I knocked on the door an’ I could uv sworn I heard a kinda grunt like Ol’ Flint does. He’s a man uv few words. Anyways, I goes in an’ there he’s sittin’ in a big chair with a funny grin on his face.”
“Grinnin’ atyou, Pop?” Skippy asked clenching his straight white teeth.
“That’s what I thought an’ right away I got wild,” Toby answered running his hands nervously through his disheveled hair. “I forgot what I promised—I forgot everythin’ ’ceptin’ the way he’d cheated me an’ I got tellin’ him so but he didn’t say nothin’, but jest kep’ sittin’ there a-grinnin’ that funny way. Well, I knowed as how he always was a man uv few words but I thought he could stop grinnin’ an’ at least saysomethin’. But he didn’ an’ that’s what made me see red—I thought he was a-makin’ fun uv me, sorta, an’——”
“You didn’t go for him?” Skippy interposed fearfully.
“Sonny, I jest sorta lost my head,” answered Toby brokenly. “I kin hardly remember what happened ’ceptin’ I realized all uv a sudden that I had my hands ’round his throat an’ I was chokin’ him.”
“And didn’t he make any noise or anythin’?” Skippy was horrified.
“That’s what made me let go. I got wise right then that somethin’ was funny ’cause he didn’t let a sound outa him all the time. His eyes seemed ter git funnier lookin’ though, but he kep’ on grinnin’ jest the same. Then I let go quick an’plop—over he fell, head first he fell an’ that’s when I saw it——”
“What?”
“That he’d been shot in the back,” Toby whispered looking about uneasily.
“Pop!”
“Sure as guns, Skippy,” Toby moaned pitifully. “Then I knew he musta been dead all the time—even before I got in the room.”
Skippy too groaned.
“How—how could he sit up like that then, if he really wasdead?” he asked with an audible gulp.
“That’s what I’ve been wonderin’ an’ all I kin think is that whoever did it, sat him up that way after it happened. I could see in his bedroom off uv the room he was sittin’ in an’ papers was lyin’ all ’round like as if there’d been a scrap.”
“With somebody else,” Skippy murmured as if to himself. Then, in a frightened whisper: “What then, Pop?”
“All I could do was stand there like a crazy man,” Toby groaned. “I don’t even remember how long I stood there. It’s all like part uv that nightmare so I can’t remember.”
“I know, Pop.” Skippy tried to sound comforting. “Who—what groaned that time? The second mate and me heard it plain’s anythin’.”
“Me. That was when I knew he was dead! It jest sorta come ter me full in the face an’ I was so full uv fright that I had ter let it out some way.”
Skippy turned around and for a few moments searched the face of his unhappy father.
“Pop—Pop,” he faltered, “just one thing I can’t understand—why—why didn’t you tell the second mate, an’ me, right then? Why—why didn’t you spurt it right out an’ not run away when you know you didn’t do it?”
“Who’d believe it?” Toby answered hopelessly. “There was the mark uv my fingers on his throat—there they was! I’d even have ter admit ter that mate that I was mad enough ter choke Ol’ Flint ter death—he could see my fingers there ter prove it, couldn’t he? Well, why wouldn’t he think I give him an automatic in the back afterwards, hey? Why wouldn’t he?”
“But, Pop!If you only had saidsumpin!”
“I wanted ter git away from that awful grinnin’ face. As far away as I c’d get. I—I couldn’t stay there ter tell nobodynothin’, Skippy. Besides, do I know I didn’t choke him ter—ter...” He sobbed a moment, then looked up. “Mebbe ’twasn’t the automatic what really got him, Skippy—mebbe ’twasme, hey?”
Skippy reached out and grasped Toby’s damp flannel shirt sleeve in agony.
“Pop, it wasn’t you—I know it—I just feel it!” he cried. “I can tell from all you told me about him grinnin’ like from the time you got inside the room.” He hesitated a moment, then: “You don’t remember him makin’ a sound at all?” he asked, anxiously peering into his father’s face.
“Not one sol’tary sound, Sonny—I didn’t hear a one!”
Skippy sighed and again took up the task of steering the little motor boat upstream. His tired young face, however, had taken on a new look of resolution.
“You’re tired, Pop, an’ I’m gonna take you back to theMinnie M. Baxter. Then I’m gonna turn this kicker straight back and head her downstream again an’ I’m goin’ aboard thatApollyonan’ explain the whole thing. I’ll tell ’em everythin’ like you told me an’ I bet they’ll believe it all right ’cause they’ll see that my Pop couldn’t kill anybody.”
Toby said nothing but continued to rock back and forth with his head in his hands.
“Maybe—maybe you’re not so tired an’ you’d turn ’round with me an’ go back an’ tell ’em, huh Pop?” Skippy returned anxiously.
“Skippy,” Toby cried hoarsely, “jest now I wanta go back ter theMinnie M. Baxteran’ think. Like a good boy don’t talk about it no more till we get there, hey?”
Skippy, bewildered, promised that he wouldn’t, and let the little kicker out to the best of her ability. From time to time he heard the miserable sighs of his father, and over and over again he told himself the story of Josiah Flint’s strange death just as Toby had told it. But with each recurring thought, a strange suspicion asserted itself and clamored so hard in the boy’s conscious mind that he was forced to recognize that it was a doubt, a small one, but nevertheless a doubt of his father’s story.
And by the time they were once more on board theMinnie M. Baxter, Skippy was fearful that possibly, after all, his father might be the actual murderer of Josiah Flint!
Skippy washed the dishes and cleaned up the cabin, then made some fresh coffee. He put the two cups on a little tin tray and carried it out on deck where his father sat disconsolately puffing a pipe.
“I made this good an’ careful, Pop,” he said, handing Toby a cup of the steaming beverage. “Maybe it’ll make you feel better, it’s so hot.”
Toby took the proffered cup and smiled wanly.
“Yer think your Pop’s a coward, takin’ on this way?” he asked anxiously.
Skippy flushed and, to cover his embarrassment, sat down on a stool a little distance away.
“Nah, I don’t think that, Pop,” he said at length. “I guess I know how kinda crazy an’ different you’d act after seem’ that. Gee, it musta been pretty awful to make you act so different.”
“I know how yer mean by different, Sonny, but I ain’t blamin’ yer. I know it must look funny, but it ain’t. Besides I ain’t a coward ’bout it. If I’d told the mate right on the spot, he’d had ter keep me till the police come. Then what would happened teryou? Even if I give myself up now they’ll hold me on charges an’ the law’s that slow, it’ll be months mebbe ’fore I kin clear myself.”
“But that’d be better’n lettin’ ’em think you was the one that killed Mr. Flint, wouldn’t it?”
“I thought mebbe we could run somewheres out west or the like, hey Skippy? Yer don’t know what the law is once yer git in its fist. If they can’t find nobody else they’ll pin it on me no matter what we say—I know it! So we might’s well take our duds an’ beat it now.”
“Pop, you’re not talkin’ like yourself. You got sorta crazy on accounta thinkin’ how all this’ll hurt me. Gee whiz, forget about me, because you can’t have the cops thinkin’ you did it, when you didn’t! Gee, I’ll get along somehow, honest I will, Pop. I’ll get along better to know you did what was right an’ told the truth. An’ even the law I bet can see when a man’s tellin’ the truth an’ they’ll let you out quick—so will you go for my sake, Pop?”
Toby brought a hairy fist down on his bony knees.
“It’s fer yer sake that I didn’t want ter go near ’em, Skippy,” he said vehemently. “But if yer promise yer Pop ter stay good an’ all till they let me out, I don’t care. Fer my sake Iwantago!”
“Gee, Pop, I’m glad!”
Toby drank his coffee with a determined gulp, then got up and stalked into the cabin with the empty cup. When he came out, he held out his hands to Skippy.
“C’mon, then, Sonny,” he said gripping the boy by the shoulders, “we’ll be a-gittin’ back ter theApollyon’fore too much water slips inter the bay, hey?”
“Just what I was thinkin’ of, Pop,” Skippy answered and averted his head so that his father should not see the tears swimming in his eyes. “And, Pop, you’re kinda calm now, ain’t you? Calm enough to remember better’n when we were comin’ down?”
Toby Dare nodded wearily.
“What yer wanta know, Skippy?”
“Just that you’re good an’ sure that you didn’t hear him make a noise from the time you first seen him till you ran outa the room?”
“Sure, I’m sure, Sonny. And like I told you, the grin was the same too.”
“Then hewasdead, Pop—dead all the time, an’ somebody with an automatic did it because the second mate said he dreamed he heard somebody runnin’ an’ then he heard a muffled kicker shoving off aft like I saw when we come along. Whoever had that automatic was in that kicker, Pop. I got a hunch about it.”
“I hope the coppers believe you, Sonny. But c’mon, we’ll take the chance. Anyways, I’ll tell what I know.”
They walked forward together and were just about to descend when they saw a long, dark painted launch shoot alongside of theMinnie M. Baxter. As Skippy and his father leaned over to get a better view they were blinded with the glaring rays of a searchlight.
“Coppers, Pop!” Skippy hissed. “It’s the coppers!”
“COPPERS, POP!” SKIPPY HISSED. “IT’S THE COPPERS!”Frontispiece
“COPPERS, POP!” SKIPPY HISSED. “IT’S THE COPPERS!”Frontispiece
Toby gripped his son’s trembling fingers in his own.
“Don’t move, Dare!” a deep voice commanded from the police launch.
“I’m not,” Toby answered hoarsely.
“We’ll be right up. Stay right where you are.”
“Pop an’ I were just comin’,” Skippy cried to them, “that is, we were just goin’ back to the yacht—theA—Apollyonan’ tell them how it all really happened. Pop ran away on accounta me, but after we talked about it he decided to go back an’ tell.... Mr. Flint was dead before Pop got there—he was; honest!”
“Oh yeah?” laughed the first officer to reach the deck. “Now that’s interestin’. But I’d wait till the rest of the gang gets up, kid, because they all got ears too.”
Skippy watched them troop up until the last man set foot on the barge’s worn deck. Six men, he thought, with not a little fear. How weak would his father’s story seem to these frowning cops? Would they believe him as he had believed him?
His fingers were entwined in his father’s in a tight grip and yet he had the feeling that Toby was already snatched away from him. Now that the police confronted them he was terribly afraid and in that instant his hopes fled as quickly as the stars in the face of gathering storm clouds overhead.
Then Toby spoke in his hoarse, broken voice....
Skippy’s hopes were somewhat rekindled during Toby’s recital of his visit to the yacht. The story sounded so straightforward as he told it, that it did not seem possible that these representatives of the law could find a single flaw in it. And yet to his utter dismay they found more than a flaw in it; they found it sufficiently damning to threaten his unhappy father with certain conviction.
They had already seen Inspector Jones and had had his word for it that Toby Dare had threatened to “fix Josiah Flint,” and there was also the corroboration of the inspector’s men. There was also the strongly incriminating statement of the second mate of theApollyonand the charge that Toby refused to stop when called to from the yacht by Skinner.
“My Pop never carried a gun!” Skippy cried in protest. “You can’t say that he did!”
“There’s a robbery charge too,” said one of the officers sternly. “You went to Flint’s yacht because you were sore and Inspector Jones heard you crack that it would be bad for Flint if he didn’t kick in for the loss of the barge. It adds up swell for a jury.”
“Yeah,” said another, “and when Flint give you the razz like you’re trying to tell us, you burn up, shoot him, then you choke him and frisk him to get that three hundred with plenty interest back. Your fingerprints on his throat are the only fingerprints we found. What did you do with the gun—throw it in the river?”
Toby denied it all with a groan, and Skippy sidled up to his father and held on to his arm with a gesture of protection. The officers frowned for there is neither time nor place for sentiment in the progress of the law. They had come to arrest Toby Dare for the murder and robbery of Josiah Flint and all Skippy’s pleading would not thwart them.
The faint boom of thunder sounded as Toby was led into the police launch and a flash of lightning streaked the black sky just above theMinnie M. Baxter. But Skippy was indifferent to everything save the hopeless, staring look that his father gave him as their eyes met.
He fought back the tears bravely and smiled his bravest.
“Now, Pop, stop thinking about me again, huh!” he cried desperately. “Gee whiz, I’ll be swell—I promise I will so will you cheer up an’ everythin’, huh? Because you gotta prove you’re tellin’ the truth an’ never had a gun so how could you do what they say you did? So will you cheer up if I tell you I’ll be all right, no matter what?”
Toby Dare’s troubled face lighted with a smile.
“Skippy, boy,” he gulped, “I kin do anythin’ when I hear yer talk like that. Jest hearin’ yer say yer’ll be a good boy’s enough fer me.”
“All right, then, Pop,” Skippy said, forcing a laugh. “So we won’t even say so long ’cause they’ll let you come back in a day or so, I bet.”
“Sure,” Toby assured him. “They’re bound ter let me.”
And that was all, for the launch chugged off leaving Skippy strangely numb and bewildered. He watched the snakelike movements of the trim craft as she darted through the inlet but soon the darkness enfolded her from view. After a few moments they switched on their running lights but there was too much distance between them for the boy to see his father and so he turned his back to the inlet and slowly walked toward the little cabin.
Not a light had appeared the length or breadth of the whole barge colony since the police launch slipped up to theMinnie M. Baxteryet Skippy knew that every man and woman in Brown’s Basin was awake and watching all that had transpired. His father had told him that these strange, lawless people had a surprising faculty for learning of the law’s arrival in the inlet. And hating the law as they did, they kept silently out of its sight, nor did they want to be drawn into it through another’s troubles.
Notwithstanding this knowledge, Skippy had the feeling that he had only to call out and ask for help for himself and his father, and his lawless neighbors would immediately respond. Yet that is just what Toby had warned him against. Moreover, his promise to avoid dubious company was not ten minutes old.
And so he resolved to bear his troubles manfully and alone, though never in his life had he so wanted the warmth and sympathy of human companionship. He was young enough to be afraid, yet old enough to feel ashamed of it. But the events of the day and his father’s unhappy plight finally proved too much for him and with trembling under lip he sought the shelter of the cabin.
A few minutes later a terrific storm broke over the river and swept through the Basin relentlessly. Rain lashed against the tiny windows of the cabin on theMinnie M. Baxterand the wind moaned eerily in and out of the inlet.
Skippy buried his tousled head under a pillow in his bunk and tried to stifle the sobs that would not stop. His heart raced madly in his breast every time he thought of his father and his fears increased with every crash of thunder. Could it possibly be that his father wouldn’t come back?
He squirmed farther under the bedclothes. He would have shut out his thoughts if that had been possible. Presently he heard a muffled knocking at the cabin door.
Skippy sat up instantly, threw off the bedclothes and slid to the floor. Then he hurried to the little table and lighted the lamp, meanwhile glancing toward the door uneasily. The knock sounded again; this time insistently.
He rushed to the door and swung it open. A man stood before him in the pelting rain, the tallest, broadest man he had ever seen in his life. He could not have been out of his twenties and had a large, rather amiable looking face; so large, indeed, that it made his blue eyes seem small and insignificant.
A MAN STOOD BEFORE HIM IN THE PELTING RAIN.
A MAN STOOD BEFORE HIM IN THE PELTING RAIN.
As Skippy waited questioningly, he moved his ponderous neck above his upturned coat collar and smiled, a slow, secretive smile. Then he half turned and glanced quickly toward the inlet, before he spoke.
“Sure and be ye Toby’s kid?” he asked with a slight brogue. “Can I come in? And where’s Toby bein’ at this hour?” He walked into the cabin quickly.
The ghost of a smile flitted across Skippy’s tear-stained cheeks as he closed the door.
“Sure, sure, come in!” he said hospitably. “Pop ain’t here. He’s....”
“’Tis all right, so ’tis,” the stranger interposed pleasantly, and calmly divested himself of his wet clothing. “I got nothin’ but time. Your ould man told me I’d always be welcome in his diggins so here I be. ’Tis too bad ’bout this scow, though. I only got wise tonight that the inspectors told Toby theMinnie M. Baxterwas junk. Bad cess to ’em. So Flint gypped Toby on it, did he?”
“An’ how!” Skippy answered dismally. “Gee, gee....”
The man got up and waving his hands deprecatingly, made a quick movement toward one of the windows on the inlet side. He bent his huge frame in a stooping posture and after rubbing the steam from the diminutive pane, he peered out intently.
Suddenly he turned back and smiled his slow, secretive smile.
“I ain’t exactly aisy in me mind, kid,” he explained with a low chuckle. “I be keepin’ a weather eye on thim coppers. They’re curious like ’bout some stuff and I ain’t in the spirit to answer thim. They got me barge and that’s enough, so ’tis.”
“You ain’t Big Joe Tully?” Skippy asked.
“That be callin’ the turn, kid. S’pose your Pop give ye an earful ’bout me. Well, I started out shootin’ straight like he did, but whilst Flint’s got the monop’ly on shippin’ and the like on this river, a guy’s a million to one, so he is.”
“Mr. Flint won’t have it no more,” Skippy gulped. “I guess you ain’t heard....”
“What?” asked Big Joe Tully reaching in his pocket for a cigarette.
“He’s dead—he was killed tonight.” Tears rushed to Skippy’s eyes again. “An’ my Pop’s been sorta accused, Mr. Tully,” he added, and blurted out the whole story.
Tully was puffing energetically on his cigarette when Skippy finished.
“Now don’t ye be worryin’ kid,” he said sympathetically. “If that ol’ rat was dead when Toby got there they can’t do nothin’ to him. Toby’ll be home tomorrow, so he will, I bet.”
Skippy felt instantly cheered. He was beginning to feel glad of Big Joe’s comforting presence when he bethought himself of the man’s dubious activities on the river. Wasn’t it this man and his ilk that his father had warned him against? Men who weren’t honest? The boy sat down on his bunk to think it over.
To his surprise, Tully had got up and was putting on his coat and hat. Immediately, Skippy forgot that he was considering the moral aspect of an invitation to the man to stay; he forgot all his father’s warnings against association with the river gentry, and thought only of the void that Tully’s sudden departure would make in the long night.
“I thought you said you were gonna stay, Mr. Tully?” he said with evident disappointment. “Gee, now you ain’t, huh?”
“’Tis sorry I be, kid,” said Big Joe with a friendly wink. “I did think along thim lines when I come in, but since the coppers been nosin’ ’round here tonight, I’ll be mosyin’ along. They might come back and spot me here so I’d better be takin’ the air.”
“Did they catch you carryin’stuff?” Skippy asked, interested. “Is that why?”
“Sure and they did that. Somewan tipped off the police—somewan what was jealous I wasn’t carryin’theirstuff.” He laughed lightly. “The coppers hook ye either way, so they do. Look how quick they come after Toby and they knew he was on the up and up! So I says, does it pay?” Then, seeing the shadow on Skippy’s face, he added: “But sure you’ll be seein’ Toby back tomorrow, kid. They can’t be keepin’ him when he didn’t do it.”
“He didn’t do it, so they can’t!” Skippy echoed.
“’Tis a cinch, so ’tis,” said Big Joe Tully with an awkward attempt to sympathize. “Be hittin’ the hay now, kid, an’ ye’ll be seein’ Toby tomorrow or me name ain’t Joe Tully. Now I’ll be swingin’ into me kicker and chug her up the river till daylight. I’ll be layin’ low a while and some day I’ll be seein’ ye and Toby. Be watchin’ the old step. S’long.”
He went out like a breeze and Skippy soon heard the chug of his engine. Another craft muffled so that the ears of the law would not hear its approach! The boy made a mental grimace at the thought of all this muffled life on the river, Big Joe Tully included. His inherent love of clean living and honesty had come to the fore as his father had wanted it to. And honesty and clean livingdidpay despite what Tully had said. Certainly it would pay his father tomorrow! He lay back on his bunk and closed his burning eyes.
Tomorrow was almost here ... almost....
Many tomorrows had come and gone before Skippy saw his father again and then it was under circumstances that the lonely boy had not contemplated. The shadow of prison walls already threatened Toby Dare for the rest of his natural life; conviction was certain.
Skippy returned to theMinnie M. Baxtertoward noon. It threatened to be a sultry day; the air was heavy and still, and a sickening blue haze hung over the inlet. Brown’s Basin, always more or less apathetic under the glare of noonday, was unusually silent and Skippy listened in vain for the cheering sound of a human voice.
He set about preparing lunch, but it was a half-hearted, pathetic attempt, for the Dare larder was getting dangerously bare. He had been living on an almost exclusive diet of pancakes for more than a week past and Nature was beginning to retaliate for Skippy was far from being a robust boy.
He pushed back his plate after a time, hurried out of the cabin and got into his motor boat. It was his only consolation during the interminable days and nights of his father’s continued absence and on this particular day his heart warmed toward it with a new, affectionate thought.
His fishing tackle was assembled at his feet and he set the nose of the little boat downstream as soon as he reached the river. Fog horns pierced the still, hazy air with their dismal warnings and the screams of steam winches and tooting whistles echoed and reechoed about the boy’s tousled head.
He watched the passing river traffic abstractedly, particularly the lumbering and heavily-laden barges moving along in the wake of chortling tugs. The sight of them always made him think of his father and of what might have been, and the more he saw of them the more did the feeling grow within him that it was a strange and unjust law that could take his father away from him. Moreover, he could not understand why a jury would not believe his father’s straightforward story, which proved so clearly to him that another hand had taken Josiah Flint’s life.
Hadn’t the police found that the rich man had been robbed of a considerable sum of money and hadn’t they admitted that it was neither on Toby’s person nor on the barge? Skippy remembered only too well the day when the police ransacked theMinnie M. Baxterfore and aft for Josiah Flint’s money. But their search was futile, as he knew it would be, and although they now had ample proof that poverty threatened him, they still insisted that the stolen money had been hidden by his unhappy father.
But Skippy did not consider the testimony of Marty Skinner that he, on returning to his employer’s stateroom, saw Toby Dare with his arm out the porthole (from which a clever and venomous prosecuting attorney drew the inference for the jury that Toby was disposing of the pistol from which the fatal shot was fired). Skinner did not swear he saw any weapon, but his testimony, linked with the other evidence, made for a strong circumstantial case.
Skinner also testified that he had rushed to his employer’s side as Toby raced from the room; that upon discovering that Josiah Flint had been shot he chased after the squatter and shouted to him, as he made off in his kicker, to no avail. The second mate corroborated the testimony that Toby failed to heed the cries for him to halt.
While the pistol had not been found, Inspector Jones and his men testified that Toby had threatened to fix Josiah Flint because he felt he had been cheated of his life savings of $300 in buying a rotten barge from Flint. That, the prosecutor insisted to the jury, furnished the motive for the crime. Altogether he made a case which convinced the twelve men, but it did not convince Skippy for he could not be convinced that his father was guilty.
Skippy was deep in his bitter reflections and did not see the familiar launch of the harbor inspectors until it was almost upon him. Inspector Jones’ bright and smiling face came alongside of him with startling suddenness.
“Well, Skippy!” he said pleasantly. “How’s the boy?”
Skippy winced and a frown darkened his face. He could not forget that Inspector Jones’ testimony had helped to take his father from him.
“I feel sick on accounta my Pop, that’s what,” said he bitterly. “You helped make things worse for him too, Mr. Jones, on account of the things you told about what he said that day after you inspected theMinnie M. Baxter.”
Inspector Jones’ bland countenance looked immediately troubled.
“I told the truth, Skippy,” he said kindly. “I told only what your father had said and my men were there to prove it.”
“You needn’t have said that Pop said he was gonnafixMr. Flint ’cause you mighta known he really didn’t mean it. Pop was mad then, but he promised me before we left for theApollyonthat night that he wouldn’t lose his head. Gee, he’s even sworn since he didn’t take Mr. Flint’s life an’ don’t you suppose I know when my Pop’s tellin’ the truth?”
“I guess so,” Inspector Jones answered with real feeling in his voice; “I guess you know your Pop better than anybody, Skippy. I’m sorry, the law required me to testify against him. But it was my duty—can’t you see?”
“Then you believe they’ll be keepin’ my Pop in jail when he’s innocent, too, huh?” Skippy asked excitedly.
“I’m rather inclined to believe that your father didn’t shoot Flint,” answered the inspector. “But I can’t do anything about it, Skippy, and I doubt if my testimony alone would convict him. It’s that District-Attorney and Marty Skinner that’s made it so tough for your father. You know Skinner swore he saw Toby at the porthole and the D. A. put it over to the jury that he was dropping the gun which did the job.”
“Yeah, but that diver didn’t find no gun,” Skippy replied, “an’ my Pop swore he wasn’t near no porthole an’ besides nobody tried findin’ out about that kicker that was around when we come up. I’ll betcha the feller what did the killin’ got away in it.”
“You’re right about not finding the gun, Skippy,” Inspector Jones nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll look into the kicker angle some more.”
“Say, thanks, Mr. Jones, me’n Pop we’d be so thankful, we would. Maybe if I went to see Mr. Skinner he’d help us ’cause I guess hard as he is he’ll see I don’t tell lies even to get my Pop free. Maybe I oughta go right away to see him, huh?”
Inspector Jones nodded thinking how futile the boy’s errand would be. But he had boys of his own and he did not want to jolt the lad out of his pleasant dream. So all he said was: “The sooner the better, because I hear he’s going on theApollyonfor a week’s cruise. You know Buck Flint has gone to Europe and now Skinner, who was only Josiah Flint’s yes-man for years, is ruling the roost and living high on a millionaire’s yacht. Buck says he won’t ever board her so it’s pretty soft for Skinner. He’s got the boat anchored just outside in the bay, ready to nose her out to sea after nightfall. If you get right on down there, you’ll catch him aboard, sure.”