Ben, faced by several routes, stopped to consider his movements.
"We can't do better than walk a little way along the waterfront, and drop in on Madame Roquierre," he said. "It's a little early for the cafés, but madame is always on hand night and day."
Dare, to whom even the name of Madame Roquierre was unfamiliar, nodded agreement, and they sauntered on their way. The waterfront presented a very animated scene. Scores of sailors strolled up and down, proprietors ofmagasinsand cafés stood outside their premises exchanging salutations with the passers-by and not omitting to call attention to the exclusive benefits patronage of themselves would bring, teams of oxen plodded slowly by, and gendarmes strolled on their rounds, keeping a vigilant eye on one and all.
Ben had little eyes for so familiar a scene, but to Dare every detail was foreign to anything in his previous experience and therefore worthy of interest and attention.
They eventually reached Madame Roquierre's café, a large square box of a building with a prevailing atmosphere of sour wine inside and out. The bar was empty except for an old manservant busy raising a cloud of dust. In response to Ben's inquiries after madame, he answered, "Elle est sortie."
Dare recognized the phrase and translated it for Ben's benefit.
"Out, is she?" said Ben. "Well, it's no matter; we can come back again." They returned to the waterfront.
"The madame," explained Ben, "is a wise old bird. She knows everyone and everything in St. Pierre. She's kept that there grogshop of hers for forty years and more. Although it's ten years since I've been here, I'm willin' to bet she can remember me. Aye, that's so. You might think I wouldn't want to be remembered as a bos'n of the cap'n's. But you'd be wrong. Madame ain't the one to blab, and when I tells her that I'm named Wheeler an' that I wants everybody who knows me to forget they've seen me before, she'll catch on as quick as anything. Nothin' can't surprise her. She's seen too much in her time. I'm countin' to hear a bit from her about this end of the smuggling game. And maybe she'll be able to give us a few names. We'll go to her fer our dinner and supper—she keeps a good kitchen, as I knows of old. It ain't convenient to eat aboard all the time."
Dare welcomed this plan and said so, it being likely to offer them diversion as well as benefit their mission.
They spent the morning sauntering from quay to quay in the manner of others of their kind. Now and then they were drawn into conversation, and on such occasions responded genially and with that seeming openness most likely to inspire confidences. At noon they went to the telegraph office and cabled the captain. They then returned to the quay and had a look at the boat. Then they wended their way once more towards Madame Roquierre's.
All was changed now. The bar was fairly crowded, and through the swing door leading to the kitchen came a delectable odour, and a burst of sound comparable to that attendant upon the feeding of a battalion.
Ben pushed through the crowd at the bar, Dare in his wake, and went into the kitchen. There, presiding over the distribution of an enormous tureen of soup, was Madame Roquierre. She was stout, possessed a heavy moustache, and very white teeth which were often revealed in an excess of geniality. She found time, amidst her other duties, to greet everyone who entered, and Dare and Ben were no exceptions. Ben called out a "bonjoor, madame," while Dare silently gave an imitation of a bow.
They took seats at a long table already well filled, and as soon as they were seated immense bowls of soup were placed before them. The soup seemed to Dare to contain nearly every known vegetable, but decidedly it was good. Ben attacked it with gusto, and before long Dare was following his example.
"Never anything else here in the kitchen but soup," said Ben. "If you want other things they're special. But after a bowl or two of this you don't want much. I come here because it would look funny our askin' fer a private room. We're not of that sort now. But later I'll have a talk with madame and we can have what we like here in the kitchen."
After the soup they ordered coffee, and sat so long over it that the room was practically empty when they rose to go. Before they could reach the door, madame confronted them.
"Bon jour, messieurs," she said genially. "Ah, I have seen you before, my fren'," she said to Ben, and wrinkled her forehead in an effort to remember. "So! It was with the capitaine——"
"No names, madame, if you please," interrupted Ben. "I'd take it as a favour if you'd fergit you've seen me before."
"Hein? Ah, so, I see! Eh bien, it is as you say. You stay long?"
"Two weeks, perhaps. Perhaps less."
"So! It is well. You shall come to see me again, is it not?"
"We was thinkin' of takin' dinner and supper here, madame."
"Good," declared madame. "But stay, you will drink a brandy?"
Ben, who looked upon the offer of hospitality as most favourable to his intentions, accepted.
"And you, m'sieu?" said madame, turning to Dare.
"Nothing, thank you," replied Dare.
"But a sirop," insisted madame, "a bon sirop." And Dare perforce could do no other than accept.
They seated themselves again at a table and madame, who was inclined to gossip, joined them.
"It is long, I think, since you came last," she said to Ben.
"Aye, madame, ten years."
"Ma foi! How the time it goes! And you sail no more with the capitaine who shall not be named?"
"That's so. I got a boat of me own, madame. Me and me nevvy here, we intends to run between St. Pierre and the mainland. Tobaccy is dear on the mainland. Savvy?"
Madame smiled wisely.
"There is light," she answered. "So, you also, hein? Well, and why not? The poor should not have to pay taxes."
"You said it, madame."
"Tobacco, you have said. And wine, yes?"
"Liquor, madame, is like tobaccy. If you got to have it, get it cheap."
"So you are wise. Now I—— Well, my fren', I have a large cellar. Vous comprenez? And you shall do as well by me as at that ol' thief Giraud's, who boasts he has all the trade of such as yourself."
"I've heard of Giraud," said Ben cautiously.
"A thief, my fren'. I have said it. And it is not true that he has all the trade, for, mark you, I, Roquierre, say it—Pierre has taken from me no less than one mille of the three-cross brandy since two years."
"And who might Pierre be, madame?" Ben made the mistake of inquiring.
Madame's expression changed the slightest bit. A curtain of reserve slowly descended.
"You know not Pierre?" she asked, a little surprised.
"Never heard of him," admitted Ben. "A smuggler, is he?"
Madame rose to her feet, smiling enigmatically.
"A smuggler?" she said. "But what is that? Here we name not such things. If one wishes to take a bottle or two quietly, ma foi, is he then to be called a smuggler?"
"What else, madame?"
"It makes nothing," madame quietly answered. "We talk of other things, n'est-ce pas?"
"But this Pierre feller?" insisted Ben stupidly.
Madame eyed him for a moment, then leaned forward impressively.
"Understand, m'sieu, one does not talk lightly of Pierre to those who know him not. So, enough. I have already said too much. Au'voir, messieurs. You are welcome always, and forget not what I have said of Giraud."
She gave them a guarded smile and left the room. Ben watched her go without a word, then, beckoning to Dare to follow, made for the street.
"Well, we didn't get much forrarder there," he exclaimed ruefully, as he stood in the street outside.
"You went about it in the wrong way," said Dare impatiently. "If you hadn't asked her who Pierre was, she would have been telling you all about him in a few minutes."
"Aye, I reckon that's so," agreed Ben, abashed. "What a dunderhead I be! Why didn't you stop me, Mr. Dare?"
"I didn't have a chance. Madame, as you've said, is a wise old lady," he added. "She thought it was queer your not knowing Pierre if you were a smuggler. Pierre, who took no less than a thousand cases of brandy from her in two years!"
"Aye, I reckon it seemed funny," said Ben humbly. "But anyhow, we got somethin' to go by, we can keep a look-out for that feller Pierre."
"That's so, of course. He must be a smuggler in a pretty big way, don't you think?"
"There's no tellin', but it seems so. A thousand of brandy from one cellar in two years is not bad work, not to mention what he might have had from Giraud."
"Of course, he may be running cargoes down the coast, and not in Saltern Bay at all."
"That's what we've got to find out. One of the first things we got to do is see Giraud."
"We might go up there later in the afternoon."
"Aye. And to-night I'll try and get on the right side of madame again. I don't believe she thinks I'm not what I give myself out to be."
"No," agreed Dare. "But you'll have to go carefully there. It's my belief it's no use trying to pump her now. She'll be on her guard. Still, it won't hurt to quieten down her suspicions if she has any."
"You said it."
In a few minutes they had reached the quay. TheNancywas lying almost level with it on a flood tide.
"What shall we do now?" asked Dare.
"I was thinkin' of takin' a nap," confessed Ben. "There's no use tryin' to see that feller Giraud till three o'clock."
"All right," said Dare. "As for me, I'm going across the square to that barber's shop you see there, to get a hair-cut. Then I'll take a stroll around and be back here for you at three sharp."
They parted on that understanding.
Ben overslept. That is to put it mildly. He woke with a start to discover that it was five o'clock. After magnifying his conduct in appropriate language he hurried on deck to look for Dare. But there was no sign of Dare either on board or ashore on the quay.
Ben, frankly, did not quite know what to do then. He thought it queer that Dare should not have roused him at the hour they had arranged to meet. Perhaps Dare had not come back at all. Or could it be that he had returned and, finding him, Ben, asleep, had gone ashore again? Ben was more inclined to think the former. And from thinking thus he began to wonder why Dare had not returned. Had he been prevented? Was he hurt? Ben turned cold at the thought of harm coming to the "cap'n's boy" while the latter was, in a way, under his care.
Well, there was no use in sitting still, he decided, and set out to make inquiries. The men hanging about the quay helped him little. They could not remember seeing anyone of Dare's description in their vicinity during the last hour or so. Ben, shaking off their negatives impatiently, plunged across the square in the direction of the barber's shop. It was possible the barber might have noted which direction Dare had taken when he left the premises.
The barber, an exquisite to his finger-tips, scented, hair curled, beard drawn silkily to a point, smiled professionally as Ben entered, but lost some of his interest when he discovered that Ben was there merely to ask questions. He could, as it happened, speak English, and he began to do so with those flourishes most Latins find necessary in their attempts at self-expression.
A youth? English? But no. But yes! It is to say, a young man, blond, sans barbe, with the air pleasing, and muscular, oh yes, muscular, most decidedly. The young man had come to his shop at two of the clock, but what he had come for it was not to be known, for to the most astonishment this young man after a reading of the journal short and inadequate, considering that it was the most admirable "Journal of the Débats," that young man had thrown down the journal with force and had run, yes decidedly, run from the shop with a manner excitable, l'air excité.
Ben listened with impatience, following the long rambling sentence with difficulty, due to the accent of the speaker.
"But what way did he go?" he demanded of the barber.
Oh, as to that, it was to be regretted, but it was not known. Tiens, no! The young man had gone so quickly.
Ben, seeing there was no more to be learned there, thanked his informant gruffly, and like an annoyed bear set off once again on his search, grumbling audibly at himself and the inadequacy of the information he had received.
Now what could have caused Mr. Dare to run from the shop like that? Something interesting, belike. Or it may have been no more than a dog fight or a fight between street boys, which was much the same thing, seen from the shop window. In any event the fight, or whatever it was that had had him out of the place so quickly, was long over now. That was no explanation of his failure to turn up at three o'clock. But had he failed to turn up? How did he, Ben, know? He didn't know and he had to admit it.
He crossed the square in a humour which was a mixture of chagrin and anxiety, though as yet he could not very well see in what there was cause for the latter. It was broad daylight, and St. Pierre wasn't Port Said by any means; and a boy ought to be as safe on its streets as in St. John's. Still, there was no denying that there were more facilities for trouble in the French town for a venturesome lad, and Mr. Dare was all of that.
He returned to the quay and took a look at theNancyin case Dare had returned, but the boy was still missing. Ben bethought him then of their intention to visit Giraud. What more likely than that Dare, not finding him waiting on the quay, had gone on to Giraud's alone? The boy might be there even now, still waiting for him.
At this thought Ben's mood lightened and he set out for Giraud's in the hope of reaching it before the store closed.
It was a comparatively easy matter to find one's way to Giraud's. Giraud had seen to that. From the harbour one could see the towering sign on his store, and once on shore, there was always to be seen round some corner or other, the one word, Giraud's.
The premises were next the dry dock on the opposite side of the waterfront. Dark, dingy, huge, lacking paint and adequate windows, the place was impressive only because of the vast quantities of merchandise it stored.
Huge butts of rum and brandy, seven feet in diameter, nearly all on tap, lay in the darkest regions. Piles of rope, mountains of paint tins, great anchors, barrels of tar, ochre, bales of oakum, etc., filled another section, and still another part of the premises was given up to lighter articles such as soap, tobacco, ship's biscuit, cheese, and margarine. All these commodities, each with a distinctive odour, gave the place an atmosphere indescribable. It was too strong to be attractive to most people, yet to some it was very pleasing, none the less.
Ben, who was not over delicate in such matters, wrinkled his nose in appreciation as he entered the store.
The entrance gave upon a small space which had the semblance of an office, with various merchandise as its walls. A cash register, a few account books, and a desk of polished wood on high rickety legs, together with an old clerk, deaf and shortsighted, completed the paraphernalia of the place.
Ben entered this space, gave "good day" to the deaf old clerk, and then looked about him for someone in authority—Giraud, if possible.
Down long lanes of merchandise he caught sight of several clerks and a number of customers. He hesitated which way to take, then was saved the necessity of choice by the appearance of the proprietor.
Ben recognized him from descriptions heard on the waterfront, and from a glimpse he had had of him in the old days. It was not a figure to be forgotten, once seen. Giraud was a man of commanding presence. His bulk alone inspired respect. He was enormously tall for a Frenchman, over six feet, and his immense girth, his great rounding shoulders, gave a suggestion of bull strength. On top of this great mass of flesh was set a head which, in proportion with the trunk, looked ridiculously small. The face was clean shaven, and under a low forehead were set two crafty-looking eyes which hid their cunning, under heavy half-lowered lids.
Ben was no more a match in duplicity for such a person than a new-born babe. He had the intelligence to realize this and decided that he would make the interview as short as possible.
Giraud's eyelids flicked once indifferently, and he felt that he knew all about Ben, his antecedents, his occupation, his very innermost thoughts.
"Mr. Giraud, I think," said Ben in his bluff, simple manner.
"Yes," admitted Giraud non-committally.
"I heerd of you from Sam Stooding," said Ben expansively. "I bought that there boat of his, theNancy. A good boat, too, in her way. Sam finds out one way and another that I'm likely to make a trip to St. Pierre now and then, so he says to me, you take my word fer it, Ben—Ben Wheeler, that's me name—you take my word fer it, Ben, says Sam, you can't do better than trade at Giraud's if you ever think of bringin' in a little brandy or tobaccy. I got a good respect fer Sam; Sam knows what's what. So here I be and right glad to meet you, mister."
Giraud's face remained expressionless during this garrulous introduction, but he acknowledged Ben's cordiality with a slight nod not to be mistaken for the courtesy of a bow. He did not remember ever having heard Stooding's name before. But then, there were scores of his customers whom he never saw, much less knew by name, and it was not the first time that the indirect recommendation of such had had good results.
He had little interest in Ben or Ben's needs. He knew that the order would be a small one, ridiculously small, he suspected, and as such it could very well be turned over to some subordinate. He was too good a business man, however, to show his feelings, whatever they were, and he proceeded with cut-and-dried flattering phrases to express his pleasure at Ben's having singled out his store for patronage.
Then he turned from Ben to call a clerk to attend to him. Ben, however, having guessed his intention, put up a deprecatory hand.
"I won't be tradin' fer a day or so," he said. "I just looked in to say howdy-do and to give your place a look over. Now I've done that and seen you, I'll be on my way. But I'll be back—oh aye, you can depend on that."
Giraud's eyelids flicked once again as though there were something in Ben's tone which he did not quite understand. Ben, who was looking as stupid as possible, noted this sign of aroused interest and proceeded to go. He had a feeling, rightly, that this big man was even more dangerous mentally than physically.
"Well, I reckon that's all," he pronounced heartily, and was about to turn away when he remembered what he had hitherto completely forgotten, that he was there to inquire about Dare.
"Now dang me! if I hadn't nearly forgot," he burst out. "My nevvy, you ain't seen my nevvy by any chance, I s'pose?"
Giraud, who was by now somewhat bored by Ben's presence, looked bewildered.
"Your what?" he asked.
"My nevvy," explained Ben. "A fine boy, gone eighteen, tall, with light curly hair and a laughin' face. He was goin' to meet me here, but blessed if I can see him."
"Oh, your nephew," said Giraud enlightenedly. "No, I have not seen him. But he may be here. The place is large. If you care to look around——" He waved his hand vaguely and indifferently towards the various departments with their mountainous barriers of merchandise, and taking Ben's acceptance of his invitation for granted, moved off.
He had not proceeded half a dozen paces, however, when a man nearly as impressive in appearance as himself entered the store, and sighting Giraud, exclaimed, "Ah, mon vieux, vous êtes là!"
"So, Pierre!" exclaimed Giraud, suddenly animated; "but enter. I have been waiting for you. The stores, they are safely on board, yes?"
"Mais oui," answered Pierre. "Ça va bien," and talking vivaciously he walked arm in arm with Giraud down one of the long aisles of goods leading to Giraud's private office.
Pierre is one of the most common names in St. Pierre, as it is in other French towns, yet, none the less, when Ben heard it pronounced by Giraud he did not doubt for a moment that the new-comer so called was the Pierre of whom Madame Roquierre had spoken. Considerably elated by his discovery, he determined to take advantage of this accidental meeting and his situation by hanging about and keeping his eye on Giraud's office and the men in it.
Pierre's appearance had, more than his significant name, convinced Ben that he was on the track of a redoubtable man. Pierre, like Giraud, was tall, but there all resemblance between the two ceased. Pierre was lithe as a tiger, walked with a pronounced swagger, and had a shrewd open eye and an easy facile smile which, strangely enough in one who seemed to be a Frenchman, showed between moustache and beard of a glaring red.
He was like no Frenchman that Ben had ever seen, and come to that, like no man of any other nation he had met.
Less formidable mentally than Giraud, he was, as Ben was old and wise enough to judge, more to be feared than the proprietor where action was required, or in times when passions ran riot. Extreme caution would certainly be needed in dealing with either of them.
Keeping an eye on the clerks and the customers, and taking care always to be in sight of the office door, Ben strolled about, stopping now and then to finger a piece of yarn or a boat-hook or some such thing, as though contemplating purchasing. He had kept watch for about half an hour when he was rewarded by the sight of the office door opening and Pierre and Giraud emerging.
As he was within their range of vision he made haste to slip behind a high bale of goods, and as he did so he very nearly exclaimed aloud, for facing him was Dare!
Dare was nearly as much excited by Ben's presence as Ben was by his, and would probably have expressed his feelings in speech if Pierre's voice, speaking French, had not suddenly reached their ears.
They stared at each other and realized that they were on the same quest, then without a word spoken they flattened themselves against the bales in case the two men should pass that way.
But Pierre, they soon learned, was leaving the store. They heard Giraud say "à demain," then heard him retreat in the direction of his office. Immediately they both headed for the street. They reached it just in time to see Pierre's rangy figure turn a corner, and followed hot-foot after him.
They had no time to exchange confidences or to give explanations at the moment, so concentrated were they on the affair in hand.
Pierre, they observed, was making by an indirect route for Treloar's wharf. And sure enough, at the end of ten minutes' walk, the trail ended there. Pierre, who had not, it seemed, the slightest suspicion that he was being followed, whistled for a boat and in a few minutes was being rowed towards the shipping in the centre of the harbour.
Dare and Ben ran on to the wharf and whistled for a boat also, but there was not one to be had. All they could do was to wait and see if possible what ship Pierre was boarding. They were fortunate in this, for Pierre boarded a small schooner on the edge of the shipping.
"Now we've got to row out there and find out her name," declared Dare, speaking to Ben for the first time since their encounter, "or we may not know her again."
"I'd know her," stated Ben, who had been eyeing the schooner closely and expertly.
"All the same, we ought to know her name," insisted Dare, "and the best time to find it out is while she's under our eyes."
"Aye, perhaps you're right," said Ben, "but I wouldn't want them on board to catch us at it."
"Who's going to notice a rowboat passing astern?" asked Dare, and certainly in such a maze of shipping not much attention was likely to be paid to them.
They hurried on board theNancy, and drawing up their dory, proceeded to make their way out into the harbour where lay their objective.
The schooner Pierre had boarded was a swift-looking little craft of about sixty tons, neatly rigged, painted dead black, with her deck bare of the fishing dories which most of her type in the harbour carried. Her deck seemed deserted.
It was growing dusk when Ben and Dare neared her, and they could not read her name on her bow, it being very faintly painted. They made a detour and passed under the stern, and there they read plainly enough the legend: "Mary Lee, St. John's, Nfld."
"Well," said Ben in a harsh whisper as they rowed quietly by, "she's St. John's registered, but the feller who went on board her is a Frenchman or I'll eat my boots, though I do say he's the queerest lookin' Frenchman I ever seed."
"Partly," said Dare.
"Partly what?" asked Ben, not quite clear about what Dare was alluding to.
"Partly French. He's half English."
"How do you know?" asked Ben, surprised.
"I heard someone say so."
"You heard somebody say so!" repeated Ben.
"Yes. Ben, do you know who that fellow is?"
"I sartainly do," declared Ben, relishing his triumph. "That's the feller Pierre, that madame was talkin' about."
"It's Pierre all right," admitted Dare, "but, more than that, it's Payter!"
Dare related the events which had culminated in his dramatic meeting with Ben, when they returned on board theNancy.
"When I left the quay I went straight across to the barber's," he told Ben. "He's a funny chap; smells like anything of scent; and talk—my word! he gets round a subject in the most complete way."
"I know," put in Ben; "I went over and asked him if he'd seen you."
"Ah, you did. Well, when I entered the shop he was busy shaving a sailor; American, I think. I sat down to wait my turn, and began looking at a paper to pass the time. While I was doing that and having a look round in between whiles, I began to listen to the barber, who was talking at a fearful rate.
"He talked about the weather, the town, the number of ships in the harbour, the state of his trade, and gradually he got more personal and began to try and pump the sailor. But the sailor wasn't having any. All he answered was yes and no, and sometimes he didn't even bother to say that. But the barber didn't mind; he kept on. And finally he began to talk about hair; that was when he had finished shaving the man, and had suggested a hair-cut. The sailor told him to go ahead, and go ahead he did, cutting the hair and talking about it at the same time.
"'Mais it is the hair most distinctive,' he said, in that funny way he speaks English. It certainly was distinctive, that hair; like a carrot for colour, and as wiry as nails. The sailor grunted.
"'Yes, it is the hair distinctive and original!' went on the barber; 'the colour, ah! it is not often one sees such in St. Pierre.'"
Knowing how red-headed chaps hate to have anyone mention the colour of their hair, I was half expecting that sailor to punch the barber one in the jaw. But all he did was grin.
"'Only one head is there to compare it with in St. Pierre,' went on the barber, who seemed really enthusiastic. 'Only one head, and that of a Frenchman.'
"'Never heard of a Frenchman with red hair before,' said the sailor.
"'There are many such in Normandy, oh yes. But this man I speak of he is only half French. He is part English, is the excellent Capitaine Pierre,' said the barber.
"When I heard that name I pricked up my ears. You never can tell, I thought; this might be the very Pierre Madame Roquierre was talking about.
"'That accounts for it,' said the sailor and I waited to hear what the barber would say. If he'd known how curious I was he couldn't have been more provoking, for what does he do but jaw about racial characteristics as revealed in the colour of complexion, hair, and so on, talk which the sailor couldn't understand even if he'd been listening. I got tired of hearing the jabber, and began to look at my paper again. By and by the sailor left, but there were two others before me. I didn't mind, as I had nothing to do, so I killed time by looking at my paper and looking out of the window alternately. The window, as you may have noticed, overlooks the square. And while I was looking out over the square I saw a tall man swaggering down the middle of it. And he had red hair!
"I know it was jumping to conclusions, but no sooner did I see him than I thought, 'That's Pierre!' and I made a bee-line for the door.
"Once out in the square I set about dogging the fellow, and a pretty chase he led me. He crossed the square, taking his time, visited a dock, two cafés, and finally he walked along the waterfront towards Roquierre's. He stopped to speak to a man on Buyez's wharf, but didn't stay long before he was off again. I was getting fond of the game by that time, and I forgot the hour, my hair-cut, and my appointment with you, so keen was I on finding out something about the fellow before I lost him.
"I thought he was bound for Roquierre's at first, but he turned off the waterfront into a side street, and pulled up in front of a grog-shop called Boitet's. I don't know if you know it?"
"Aye," said Ben, "I've been there. Well, what then?"
"He went in," continued Dare, "and after awhile I followed. It was easy enough. There was quite a crowd there drinking, and although I look pretty young, no one stared because there were Frenchmen there who looked no older than I did.
"This Boitet place is not like Roquierre's, as you know. It's smaller and it's divided into two or three sections by thin partitions, which don't go as high as the ceiling and not quite as far along as the bar. The sections look like cubicles with one end knocked out.
"I couldn't see the red head in the section I entered, but as it was the closest to the door and I knew that he would have to pass by it on his way out, I didn't bother to look in the other cubby-holes to see where he'd got to. Besides, it would have looked too suspicious to go about staring into places.
"I sat down at a table set against the partition separating the first section from the second, and ordered one of those sirops, like I had at Madame Roquierre's, to pass the time.
"While I was sipping it and taking a look round, the red head turned up at the bar and began talking to the proprietor. His back was towards me. He stayed there talking quite a while, and every now and then he would look towards the door as though he was expecting someone, and sure enough he was.
"The door opened to let in a little bow-legged man with wide flaps of ears and a mouth that looked like a big slash right across his face. As soon as he saw Pierre he went up towards him, and touching his sou'wester said something that I couldn't hear. Pierre didn't say a word, but led the man to a seat in the cubicle next mine. By the greatest good luck they were not far away from me, and they spoke English. I took advantage of my position to lean back against the partition, and although there were some words I missed, I heard enough to gather the sense of all they said.
"Pierre started it.
"'When did you get in, Bagley?' he asked.
"'A half-hour ago,' answered the man. 'Thurlton come with me—he's mindin' the boat. I come right ashore and walked straight here.'
"'How is everything?'
"'Couldn't be bettered,' declared Bagley. 'Sure, the coast is as quiet as an old maid's backyard.'
"'That fellow hasn't been making any more trouble, I hope?'
"'Not he, cap'n. Sure, he's a sick man. He'll know better than to be pokin' his nose in other people's business again, I warrant.'
"'Don't be too sure. I know that fellow by reputation. He's dangerous, whether he's got a cracked head or not. But let him look to himself if he interferes with me.'
"I tell you what, Ben, it made me think a bit the way he said that. I didn't feel a bit too comfortable myself. The man called Bagley laughed.
"'That's the talk, cap'n. But there's little chance of that fer a while, anyhow.'
"'Good. Now what about the tides?'
"'It's low water as near as you wants it at eleven o'clock to-morrow night.'
"'And smooth water?'
"'Aye, with the wind drawin' more off shore. That easterly kicked up a bit of a lop, but it's gone now.'
"'Well, we're loaded and ready,' said Pierre, 'and waiting on the weather. If it's in our favour you can expect us at eleven to-morrow night. Have all the shore hands ready. There's a heavy night's work in front of us. I'm going to run two or three bumper cargoes and then lay off a bit, to give the Revenue snifters time to get tired of laying for us. Once we have the stuff cached there's nothing to worry about. For although you trapped that Nosy Parker on the Spaleen road there's not a chance in a thousand of anybody ever happening on the place.'
"'Aye, that's so, cap'n. Sure, it was made for the business. The fools could pass us by sea and land and never know we was there.'
"'Now look here, Bagley, there's one thing I'm not easy about. Are you sure the shore gang is on the square?'
"'As sure as you're sittin' there, cap'n.'
"'Then how came there to be six cases missing in the last accounting?'
"'Sure, there's always a few breakages, and you knows yourself how many a bottle goes to wet a customer's whistle at the time of selling him the stuff.'
"'Admitted,' said Pierre, 'but let there be less breakages in future. Understand me, Bagley?'
"'Aye, I'll see to it, cap'n.'
"They were silent for a while, as though they were drinking deeply; then Pierre started again.
"'Mind you,' he said, 'I'm not the man to bother about a case or two going the usual way—but no more than that. There's not a better paid crew on the Island than my lot, not to mention their shares of the profits. And, after all, who takes all the risks? I do. And who plans the business, and buys the stuff and gets a good cut off Giraud? Why, I do. It's easy enough to peddle the stuff when it's ashore, but it's no easy thing running along that infernal coast on dark nights with no lights showing, and making in with no more than a few inches of water to spare under the boat's keel.'
"'Aye, you've reason to say so, cap'n,' agreed Bagley. 'But it ain't all fun fer me ayther, keepin' the shore gang bunch up to the mark. And if one of 'em was to squeal, where would I be?'
"'Where you'd deserve to be,' said Pierre. 'Hang me, do you think I'd put up with you a minute if you couldn't keep their tongues still in their heads? And what do you mean by talking of squealing, anyhow? Do you mean to say there's a chance of them doing so? For if there is, by the living image, I'll put the fear of the old 'un into them to-morrow night.'
"'Be aisy, cap'n, be aisy,' said Bagley, as though he was half scared. 'Sure, 'twas only a supposition of mine. There's no one goin' to squeal.'
"'You'll be the first to pay if anyone does, I tell you that, Bagley.'
"'Ah, sure, don't I know? Be aisy, now, cap'n, be aisy.'
"'All right. I hear you. Now get back to the coast and be ready for us. And double the look-outs at the cache. I don't feel too safe since that nosy beggar turned up.'
"'I'll do it, cap'n. I'll be leavin' in a hour at most.'
"'And why not now?'
"'Sure, cap'n, a man must needs eat at times,' protested Bagley.
"'Well, hurry up then,' said Pierre, and I heard them push back their chairs. They both came out and made for the door. A man waved to Bagley as he passed, and Bagley, with a glance at Pierre, went up to him.
"The man must have asked him to stay and have a drink or something, for Bagley answered: 'Sure, I've no time. I have to be gettin' back. Payter is in a bad temper.' And then he followed Pierre.
"I realized then what I'd half guessed since the beginning of their talk, that Pierre was Payter. The English for Pierre is Peter, but an Irishman like Bagley would naturally pronounce it Payter. I followed the two till they separated at the quay, then I tagged on to Pierre again. I wanted to find out as much as I could while I had the chance. As it happens, he made straight for Giraud's. I waited till he'd been in the shop a few minutes, then I strolled in myself and stepped right into your arms. The rest you know."
Ben was considerably impressed by Dare's story, and when it ended he gave expression to his feelings in his own peculiar way.
"That's what you might call a stroke of luck," he declared enthusiastically. "Here's news for the cap'n."
"Not yet," said Dare.
"An' why?"
"Well, what have we got to tell him, except that we've found out who Payter is?"
"Not much, 'tis true."
"Exactly. We knew there was a cache before, and that's all we know now. It's no good telling father about Pierre unless we can manage to have him caught red-handed. And before we can do that we must know where that cache is. That's our job and we've got to do it. I'd give anything to be able to make father's coup possible."
"Same here," declared Ben. "The question is, how?"
"Well, we've got to think about that. We've not done so badly so far."
"Aye. But there was luck in it. Still, the luck may hold."
"I very nearly boiled over when I heard them call father a Nosy Parker. Well, Mr. Pierre, look out for yourself, that's all I can say."
"He seems a bad lot," remarked Ben.
"He's a dangerous man," declared Dare.
"There's no doubting it," admitted Ben. "If we knowed where he was going to land we could telegraph the cap'n and have him behind the bars pretty quick."
"If——" said Dare. "From this time on," he added, "we've got to keep watch on theMaryday and night."
"And what about when she leaves harbour?"
"We'll follow her. Are you willing, Ben?"
"More than willin'."
Their watch began next day. There was not much activity on board theMary, and Ben rightly conjectured that the crew was sleeping in preparation for the night's work. The weather continued mild, and favourable to the smugglers' purpose, and there seemed no reason to doubt that she would leave harbour that night. Dare and Ben made their preparations accordingly.
"There's one thing knocks me," said Ben, "and that's the talk about the tide. Why wait fer low water when low water means, as Payter said, that there'll only be a few inches under her keel?"
"I was thinking of that too. It doesn't seem reasonable, does it?"
"Nary a bit," declared Ben with conviction.
"That's another mystery we've got to solve. And that reminds me, Ben, we didn't say anything to dad about the ovens."
"What ovens?"
"You know what that fellow said on board theGlenbow—that there'd be smuggling in Saltern while there was an oven in the Bay."
"Oh, aye. I remembers now. But it's my belief that man was drunk. What can ovens have to do with the matter, as I said to him?"
"I don't think he was joking or drunk, now. You said yourself he seemed to know something. I wish we'd mentioned it to dad. It might have been a good clue."
"You could write him a line."
"We'll wait until we get back from our trip to-morrow. We might have bigger news to write then."
"Here's hoping. There's only one thing bothers me and that is, will theMarybe the beat of theNancy? If so, we ain't got much chance of keepin' in her company."
"Well, as it's a short trip and she's not due till eleven p.m. it's not likely that they'll drive her much. That ought to give us a chance to keep in with her."
"It won't be easy," said Ben, "and that's a fact. But there, we've had the luck so far, and it may hang on to us. I expect she'll leave around dusk," he went on to say. "That'll give her plenty of time. Payter won't risk not turnin' up on the hour. Like as not he'll be ahead of time. He'll draw in to the land, douse his lights and stand by."
"All the better for us if he does. If the place is near Saltern we might get a chance to slip into the harbour and give the warning."
"And the cap'n laid up in his bed!"
Dare's face fell.
"It had slipped my mind. Well, there's no use in meeting trouble half-way. The thing to do is to manage by hook or by crook to get some idea of where that cache is. We can think about what we'll do then afterwards. Our best chance is in trying to dog theMarylike we did her skipper."
"Not a doubt of it," agreed Ben.
"There's nothing we've forgotten? We're all ready to leave harbour?"
"We're all set," said Ben.
"Well, we haven't got much longer to wait."
They kept to theNancyall day. During the afternoon there was some slight activity on board theMary. Pierre was seen to go on shore and to return twice in three hours. Then there was once more a cessation of movement, and the calm that precedes action lay over the ship. Not over the harbour, however. A nice breeze from the south-west kept up its strength and showed no sign of dying out with the approach of night.
At six o'clock Dare, watching theMary, saw a haze of smoke issuing from her quarter, about half-way down to her waterline. This puzzled him at first. Then he turned to Ben, enlightened.
"She's got an engine, petrol-burning," he said. "That'll make it hard for us if there comes a calm."
Ben sniffed at the weather, lifting his nose to the sky dog-fashion. "Rest easy," he said, "the wind will last."
"I've a hunch she'll leave soon," returned Dare, and went below to put on a jacket. He had not been there three minutes when Ben showed his head down the companion-way.
"The crew's on deck, breakin' out the anchor."
Dare went up, and looking to where theMarylay, saw the foresail being hoisted by a deck engine.
"You're the skipper, Ben," he said. "Give the orders."
Ben, fastening down the flap of his sou'-wester, nodded.
"We don't want to tag her too close. We'll give her a mile or so to start with. In this light wind theNancycan keep up with her easy, unless they start that contraption of an engine."
"Why not leave ahead of her?"
"That would never do. No, we got to take our chance and trail her. There! She's driftin'. Now the wind's got her sails. Stand by to cast off."
Half an hour later the two boats had passed the harbour rock and were heading for Saltern Bay.
Once clear of the harbour theMaryset out on a course which would find her some miles off the Saltern coast by ten o'clock, if she kept to it. Ben and Dare were nowise put out by this. They had expected some such tactics. With the falling of night theMarywould draw in to the land, there was no doubting that. So they sailed resolutely on the same course.
TheNancy, as Ben had prophesied, had little difficulty in keeping in sight of theMary, partly due to the fact that Pierre's boat did not use her engine and thus the propeller acted as a drag, and partly due to the light wind which was in theNancy'sfavour.
The wind was south-west and the course theMaryhad taken meant she would have to beat her way back to the land, when she changed her course. Up to nightfall they had no difficulty in keeping theMaryin sight, and they did it without getting near enough to her to excite too close an inspection. When dusk deepened into night, however, their task became more difficult, for the stay lights of theMarywere not visible from behind, and they had to rely on the light in her cabin to guide them.
The wind also began to show signs of freshening, and this adding to theMary'sadvantage, threatened to take her so far ahead that she would be lost sight of in the growing density of the night.
At this period of their chase Ben was in the bow and Dare at the helm, both straining their eyes in the effort to keep the light in view. They wisely carried no lights themselves.
Gradually the form of theMarywas entirely hidden from them and the will-o'-the-wisp cabin light was the only evidence they had of her existence. The night was as black as can be imagined, due to the lack of a moon, and the wind was coming off shore in increasingly bad squalls.
They managed to keep the light in view for an hour or so, then what they had dreaded happened and they lost sight of it. It was now ten o'clock.
To their great joy, however, theMary'sport light suddenly came into view and realization of what had happened dawned on them. TheMaryhad swung off her course and was heading for the land.
They were about to imitate her when the port light suddenly went out and left them completely lost now as to the schooner's position.
Ben came running aft to Dare.
"She's doused her lights," he shouted. "We might have known they'd do it 'fore beatin' in to the land. We're done for."
It certainly seemed as though their chase had ended for that night. The blackness was such that without some kind of beacon it was impossible even to guess where theMarylay. When this happened theNancyhad been about half a mile or so to the windward of theMaryand about a mile behind her; for Ben had had a thought for the necessity of beating in to the land later, and had kept as much to the windward as possible.
It became necessary to decide how they should now act. Dare, frankly, was at a loss to know what to do, but Ben was not without hope that they might pick up theMaryagain if they hauled in a little to the land.
TheMarywas on her port tack. TheNancywas half a mile to the windward of her. By laying in on the starboard tack they might come near enough to theMaryto pick up her cabin light again.
Curiously enough, neither Ben nor Dare thought of the obvious thing—that theMarywould use her engine and head straight for the land. They kept to their course.
They showed no lights, and as there was now in their vicinity another boat without lights, both were a menace to each other. Ben recognized the risk, but as they were on the look-out for theMaryhe thought it was obviated by their preparedness. And so it might have been if theMaryhad been on her port tack, as they thought. Instead of that, the schooner had lowered her sails and was heading for the shore in almost complete silence under the power of her motor.
Ben, in the bow of theNancy, kept a sharp look-out, as did Dare at the tiller. Both ears and eyes were serving them. But the rising wind was a perfect cover for the movements of theMary. Even if she had been to the windward of them it is difficult to say if they would have heard her quiet exhaust. As it happened she was to leeward, and heading such a course that in less than twenty minutes she was to bring a swift doom to theNancy.
It was Dare who first became aware of the impending catastrophe. He had given a glance to leeward and there saw nearly on top of them the black mass of the oncoming ship. He gave a shout of warning and thrust the tiller hard down at the same time, but neither move served his purpose. The cry was too late to be acted upon, and before theNancycould answer to her helm the bows of theMarycut her relentlessly in two.
Dare at the impact was flung off his feet and momentarily stupefied. He retained enough of his senses, however, to reach up a hand instinctively for support, and fortunately he found theMary'shead rigging.
He felt theNancysink under his feet, and drew himself up towards theMary'strembling bowsprit. He lay there a minute or so, breathless, and dazed by the suddenness of the catastrophe, his ears filled with the rush of a great wind and the intermittent shouts of alarm voiced by theMary'screw. Then, once more clear in his mind, he bethought him of Ben, who must have gone down with the boat. His heart sank at the thought, and considerably sobered by the tragic ending to their adventure, he began cautiously to make his way towards theMary'sdeck.
The collision had almost as startling an effect on theMary'screw as it had on Dare. At first they thought their own ship must be fatally hurt and there was a great rush on deck. Pierre, who had been below, was one of the first to reach the scene.
"What is it? What's happened?" Dare heard him shout.
"We've run down a boat," answered half a dozen voices. "We're sinking!" "Show a light!" shouted the more fearful.
"The first man that shows a light goes to the fishes!" roared Pierre. "For'ard there, confound you, and see what's the damage. We can't be hurt or we wouldn't be driving ahead like this."
Strange to say, the engine had not been stopped. There was seemingly no thought of attempting to salvage boat or men, even if it had been possible. A callous lot, thought Dare bitterly.
Pierre's voice gave the crew confidence and three or four of them went into the bows to investigate, followed by their captain. Dare, climbing cautiously along the bowsprit, could hear them although he could not see them.
As he reached the bow and put a foot on the deck he collided with a moving body. There came a burst of vigorous speech. Dare interrupted the tirade with a shout of joy. "Ben!" he cried, "is it you?"
"Aye, it's me," replied Ben, wringing Dare's hand and gasping painfully for breath. "It's me, what's left of me, and mighty glad I am to see you. I thought you'd gone down with the boat."
"And I thought you had gone."
"'Tis a great mercy."
Further conversation was interrupted by the surprised shouts of the crew.
"There's two of 'em on the bowsprit!" someone cried.
"What's that?" Pierre himself came running at the surprising information.
"They're a-comin'," said Ben in a whisper to Dare. "Keep your head and leave everything to me."
"Hello!" they heard Pierre shout, "is anyone there?"
"Aye, we're here right enough," answered Ben as though he were in a passion, "we're here right enough, what you've left of us. And what we wants to know is this—what do you mean by runnin' without lights, eh? You've lost us a boat and nearly our lives, not to mention as nice a lot of liquor and tobaccy as ever you'd wish to see in a day's walk. What're you goin' to do about it, eh? I'll have the law on you—aye, I will, you cold-blooded bunch of deep-water murderers!"
"Close his mouth, somebody," shouted Pierre, incensed, "or he'll have every boat within five miles coming to see what's the matter. Bring them aft. Hey, you, how many are there of you?"
"Two," shouted back Ben, "and it's a good job for you there ain't more."
"Bring them aft," repeated Pierre impatiently.
"We don't need to be brought," said Ben. "We'll come quick enough. We wants a word or two with you, mister."
And stumbling along in the dark as best they could, led by the crew, now thoroughly recovered from their scare, they eventually reached the cabin where Pierre had preceded them.
The scene held a certain dramatic quality. Pierre was seated on the cabin table, one foot swinging slightly, his arms folded, a scowl of disapproval on his high-boned face. Ben stood before him truculently, a bit shaken by the shock of the accident and more than a little angry in consequence.
Dare kept in the background as much as possible, as Ben had directed.
"Well?" rasped Pierre.
"No, it's not well, mister," burst out Ben, indignant at this insolent reception, for Pierre, far from expressing any regret for the accident, seemed to expect regret to come from the other side. "No, it's not well, and if that's all you've got to say there'll be trouble."
"What's your grouch, anyhow?" demanded Pierre. "I didn't run you down. You ran under my bows, didn't you, when I had the right of way?"
Ben gasped at the impudent assertion. "But you wasn't showin' no lights," he shouted. "How'll you account fer that?"
"And what about yourself?" demanded Pierre. "Where were your lights? My men didn't see them."
"That's got nothin' to do with it. I was runnin' a small punt. Expect me to have port and starboard lights on a fishin' punt? It's you, mister, who'll have to answer that question, and before a court, and right soon."
Dare, who was observing the growing blackness of Pierre's face, thought Ben was going a little too far. The moment was inopportune to interrupt, however.
"What do you mean by talking about a court?" asked Pierre, ominously quiet.
Ben did not hesitate.
"What do I mean? Well, I like that. Mean to say you think I'm not goin' to report this and get damages?"
"I wouldn't advise you to," said Pierre simply.
Dare began to get uneasy.
"Oh, aye," said Ben. "Maybe you'll tell me how to get me money back fer the boat? It warn't insured."
"I'll tell you this. You won't get any money at all if you don't drop that tone. Do you know who you're talking to?"
"No, I don't. But I'd like to know—aye, and to have the name of your boat, too."
"You'll get it—perhaps."
Ben, having sufficiently worked upon Pierre's feelings to divert any suspicion there might have been as to their real identity and their object in these waters, began to speak in a milder manner.
"Look here, cap'n. I know I'm a bit hot under the collar, but wouldn't you be if you was in my boots? That there boat had most everything I own in the world on board her, and when you sunk her you very nearly sunk us with her. I'm standin' on me rights, that's all. I'm askin' for a square deal. And I don't want to go to no court if there's a chance of settlin' outside."
"You're talking more sensibly now," said Pierre. "A minute ago I thought I'd have to throw you overboard. Don't you suppose I've got a grievance, having a clumsy idiot like you fall afoul of me on this night of all nights? Man, what's your boat to me, or you, compared to my business? Bah!"
"That's a high an' mighty tone to take, cap'n," said Ben doggedly. "But you can't help admittin' you was in the wrong, runnin' without lights."
"Wrong! Can I help it if my lights fail me at the moment you were crossing my bows?"
"Well, I ask you, could I help it, cap'n? Be fair now."
"It doesn't matter to me what you could help. I'd like to help you ashore with the toe of my boot. Falling foul of me like that! What am I going to do with you, that's what I want to know?"
"You can pay me for my boat and put me ashore, that's what you can do."
"Oh?"
"Aye, and that's fair enough, too. If I had me rights you'd pay for the brandy and tobac——"
Ben stopped suddenly as though he had said too much. Pierre eyed him closely.
"What's that about brandy and tobacco?" he demanded sharply.
"Never you mind," said Ben secretively.
"But I do mind," said Pierre, smiling maliciously. "Smuggling, eh?"
"Prove it," defied Ben.
Pierre shrugged his shoulders indifferently. Ben's hint at his feigned activities had evidently changed the current of his thoughts. His mood lightened, though annoyance still showed on his face. Dare and Ben, knowing his business, could guess at its cause.
Their appearance on board was in the nature of a dilemma, for he had neither the time nor the inclination to land them forthwith, even though they could come to an agreement over the damages due to Ben for the loss of his boat. He eyed them gloomily.
"How much was that tub of yours worth?" he asked.
"She warn't no tub, cap'n. She was a smart-lookin' fishin' boat in prime condition, and I paid sixty-five dollars fer her to Sam Stooding in Shagtown a few days ago, and five dollars fer the fo'c'sle fittings."
"I'll give you seventy-five dollars," said Pierre; "that'll cover her fully."
"Aye, it'll cover the boat."
"You're not thinking of trying to get me to pay for your liquor, are you?" sneered Pierre. "Try it in a court. Be funny, wouldn't it, to hear you explain what you were doing with the stuff in Saltern Bay?"
"I ain't sayin' nothin'. I'll take the seventy-five, cap'n."
"On this condition—that you take to my rowboat, row to land, and keep your mouths for ever shut."
"Take to a boat on a night like this!" exclaimed Ben in dismay. Now that he and Dare were on board theMarythey were not in a hurry to leave her until they had gained some idea as to her destination, and the exact location of the cache.
"Why not?"
"Why, before we knowed where we was the wind would blow us across the Bay and wreck us on Brunette."
"I'll give you a sail. By taking a straight course you can lie easy to Shagtown."
"But, cap'n," protested Ben, "that ain't no way to treat a man you've runned down."
"You can go in the boat or swim," burst out Pierre impatiently, and hurried on deck to consult his mate.
Ben and Dare, left alone in the cabin, stared at each other, not daring to speak their thoughts for fear of being overheard. They heard a brief vivid argument between Pierre and another on deck; then, before they could comment on it, Pierre returned to the cabin.
He was seriously put out now. The mate had vigorously protested against turning the two men adrift in the boat. And he had produced two good reasons why it should not be done. In the first place it was their only boat and they might need it themselves. In the second place, if the two men were turned adrift and later rowed into some harbour in a boat with theMary Lee'sname on it, there would be talk, whether the men promised to keep their mouths shut or not. Pierre could not deny the truth of this, and the mate won the day.
When Pierre returned to the cabin he ignored Ben and Dare, while he considered the problem their presence presented.
"Who are you?" he demanded at last. Ben told him. "Me name's Ben Wheeler. This is me nevvy, in a way of speakin'."
"Where do you come from?"
"Me home's wherever there's a honest penny to be turned. TheNancywas me last. I don't know where me next will be."
"Nor I," said Pierre grimly.
Up to this time Dare had been silent, but now he boldly turned on Pierre.
"Why can't you land us at the port you're making for, captain?" he asked.
"Ah, why!" said Pierre sarcastically. "Because I don't choose to."
"That's not much of a reason."
"It's all you'll get."
Pierre seemed to be talking in order to gain time to puzzle out the affair. Hesitation of any kind was foreign to his nature, but in this case he was forced to vacillate. He was completely at a loss as to how to deal with his unwanted guests. To land them on the coast in the vicinity of theMary Lee'simpending operations would be the height of folly. To turn them adrift in the boat would be far from wise. The best plan of all was to take them back to St. Pierre, but that would mean their presence on board during the landing of his illicit cargo. He did not care to decide on either course, yet could not see another way out of his difficulty.
In the end action was forced upon him. There came the subdued sound of voices on deck, the soft patter of feet overhead; then a face was thrust down the companion-way of the cabin. It was that of the mate.
"We've just picked up the shore signal, cap'n," he warned.
Pierre jumped to his feet.
"Lower the spars," he ordered. "I'll be on deck in a minute."
He turned to Ben and Dare.
"This way," he said, and led them to his own private stateroom; a box of a place with a bed, a desk, a few charts, a chair, a dory compass, and other small articles.
Dare and Ben entered the room, wondering what Pierre's intentions were. They soon found out. When they were fairly inside, Pierre slipped behind them and before they could make a move had darted out of the room and shut the door. The key turned in the lock and they were left virtually prisoners.
Ben and Dare found themselves in complete darkness. Their surprise at their sudden imprisonment robbed them of speech for the moment, then found expression.
"Here's a mess!" exclaimed Ben.
Dare nodded, then remembered that Ben could not see him in the dark. "We might have expected something like this," he said.
"Well, there'll be a reckoning, no fear of that," growled Ben angrily.
"So long as it's a reckoning we don't have to pay, I don't mind," said Dare, for Pierre's personality had impressed him and he could not help remembering the summary treatment handed out to his father.
"Never a fear. It won't be us who'll pay. Keep up your pecker, Mr. Dare."
"Not so loud, Ben," warned Dare in a whisper. "We don't know if anyone can hear us or not."
"Aye, that's so. A word in season. Well, we won't stay in the dark anyhow; I've got some matches."
Striking one of them, he looked round for a lamp. One was discovered hanging over the bed. It took only a moment to light it. By its glow they were enabled to examine more completely the room in which they were confined.
It had but one outlet: the door through which they had entered. One side of the room gave upon the hold; the other three walls were formed by the side of the ship and two strong partitions. The door was of mahogany and too strong to be forced. There were perforations above it, but that was the only way air could get in or out, for there was no port-hole or fanlight.
"As watertight as a coffin," was Ben's estimate of their quarters. "We'll get out when he's a mind to let us out, and not before." He tried the door, just to substantiate his estimate of its solidity. It did not budge.
"Well, here we are," he declared philosophically, and sat down on the bed.
Dare followed his example. Their minds went back simultaneously to the moment of the accident.
"We found theMaryall right," said Ben grimly, "but I never thought we'd learn where she was like we did."
"I happened to look to the leeward," said Dare, "and I saw her on top of us, I gave a shout."
"Aye, I heard it just before the crash. I was wellnigh throwed overboard by the shock. But it so happened that when I flung out me hand I found theMary'sbob-stay, and hung on to it. Our boat sunk in two minutes."
"She must have been cut right in half," said Dare.
"Aye."
They both considered their marvellous escape for a few minutes, then relegated it to the back of their minds as a subject for future discussion. There were other things to be considered now.
"I don't think there's any suspicion as to who we are," whispered Dare close to Ben's ear.
"Nary a bit," agreed Ben. "You noticed how quick he was to believe we was smugglers like hisself?"
"Yes. You did that well. First and last you've had to tell a lot of whoppers, Ben."
"Ah, sure, they is not black lies, they is just white lies. There's no one goin' to think the worse of me fer them."
"Not at all. I wonder what's going to happen now."
"There's no sayin'. Dear knows what he wouldn't do if he got an inklin' of our business."
Dare agreed. "We've got to try and get more in his confidence," he said.
"That'll take some doin'."
Their conversation was interrupted suddenly by the hurrying of feet overhead and the distinct roar of breakers.
"Heavens! he's driving her ashore!" exclaimed Dare.
"He's certainly taking her near the land," admitted Ben anxiously.
They listened to the light, running footsteps overhead. Except for that sound, considerably deadened by the roar of the breakers, no other noise reached their ears. TheMarywas making port with a minimum of disturbance on board. Dare and Ben tried to visualize the conditions of the ship's approach to the land, but only succeeded in being puzzled. They were off a straight and precipitous coast intersected here and there by coves, but so far as they knew with nothing in the way of a harbour. Yet here was theMarypractically among the breakers, and still going ahead! It seemed that there was a secret harbour of some sort. Otherwise, how account for the schooner's nearness to the shore?—unless Pierre had overestimated his distance from the land and had suddenly found his ship among the breakers. But that event would surely have produced more alarm and accompanying noise than was evidenced on deck now.