CHAPTER XXXCAPTURED BY THE ENEMY.

CHAPTER XXXCAPTURED BY THE ENEMY.

“I think we’ve checkmated that lad for once,” said Bill Brady, with much satisfaction. “Good thing I thought to come ashore and see what happened. Not that you needed any help—you’re a pretty handy lad in a scrap, James. But if I hadn’t been on hand, there wouldn’t have been any witness to the assault, and I don’t suppose we could have had him arrested just on your complaint, without some sort of evidence to back you up.”

“I guess not,” said Jim. “I’m certainly glad you came along. I can’t make out what his game is, but I don’t believe he can do much of anything without being here himself. And, if he comes back, we can have him locked up and get rid of him that way. We want to keep our eyes open, though, so that he can’t sneak back without our seeing him.”

In the morning they reported their adventure with Harding to Dick Merriwell. The universal coach was thoughtful, but he was very pleased.

“It seems to me he quit too easily,” he said. “Harding usually puts up a pretty good fight—a better, longer one than that. However, I suppose he thought it would rather spoil his reputation among his friends, who have peculiar standards for judging their associates, if he landed in jail, even on such a charge. The only law those people observe is the one about not being found out. They don’t mind breaking all the Ten Commandments themselves, and they don’t care how often their friends break them, as long as they don’t give any one else a chance to punish them for it. I’m glad he’s gone, anyhow.”

“We ought to be able to tell something after the men get out and row to-day,” said Brady. “I understand, of course, that there won’t be any regular time trials, but the shells could speed up a bit, I suppose, and see how it went.”

That test was eminently satisfactory for both Harvard and Yale. There was a representative from each college in the other’s launch when the crews went out, and the shells swept along at high speed for a while or so of hard rowing, enough to show that whatever had made the trouble before was not any longer in evidence.

“If it is over,” said Dick Merriwell, to Benton, “it’s certainly a good thing. I don’t think it’s worth while, as matters are now, to say anything to Harvard about it. There’s really nothing we can tell them, except a lot of vague suspicions, and, even to explain those, we’d have to go into a lot of ancient history that it’s better not to mention at all.”

Benton was still doubtful. He knew the methods of Harding of old, and, like Dick himself, he was inclined to think that the gambler had surrendered too easily.

“We haven’t accounted for it having happened at all yet,” said Benton nervously. “If it’s happened once, it may happen again. That’s the rub. If we knew exactly what had been done, and how they had managed it, we could guard against anything of the sort in the future. As it is, we are helpless. It’s as plain as daylight. If some one, outside of the boat, and outside of the two training camps, can affect the speed of those shells, so that no matter how well the men row they can’t get the speed out of the boats, that race can be settled just as the man who’s doing the dirty work likes. And the profitable thing for any one of that sort to do would be to make Harvard win. The heavy betting, at long odds, is all on Yale.”

“You’re right there, Benton,” said Dick anxiously. “But I don’t see just what we can do. You see, the trouble is that we haven’t got the slightest sort of a clew to what agency they’re employing to check our speed. I’ve been over every foot of our shell, and, if I thought it would do any good, I’d tell Neilson, and examine the Harvard boat with him.

“But, unless they show their hands a bit more openly than they have done, I’m afraid we’re doomed to trust to luck and the fact that Harding had to leave town. It’s certainly a good thing that Phillips and Brady got rid of him. Even if he still tries to carry out any plot, he’ll have to trust to his assistants to do the work, and they’re not at all likely to be as clever as he is himself.”

But in all that day and the next there was no sign of any further activity. Even the betting in New London fell away. The Harvard men were by no means ready to put up their good cash when, as they were convinced, their boat had no chance of winning, and the activity of the gamblers who had infested the place, seizing at once the chance to cover the bets at long odds, which enthusiastic Yale men offered, was apparently at an end.

On Tuesday night, too, Brady learned something that reassured him mightily. He was in the lobby of the Iroquois when he saw a familiar face, that led him to sit up and take notice. It was Barnes, Harding’s agent and companion in two or three nefarious plots that had come to nothing. But Barnes, though he had a big wad of money, was not trying to bet on Harvard. Instead, he was offering liberal odds on Yale, and finding it hard to get any takers.

“Hedging their bets,” commented Brady, to himself. “They must have made up their minds that they can’t work their scheme, and they’re trying to make sure that they won’t lose, by betting enough on Yale to offset their losses if Yale wins a square race—which we probably would. I bet he’ll find it hard to cover, too, even if he does offer to bet five to one.”

This was, as a matter of fact, the most convincing evidence that had yet been obtained as to the probable course of Harding and any allies he might have, and Dick Merriwell was almost satisfied.

“That certainly looks as if Harding had decided to keep his hands off this time,” he said. “But I would certainly like to find out just what they were up to. And, by the way, Bill, have you noticed that that big schooner, the Marina, that Harding was going ashore from when we spotted him, is still in the harbor? We know that he had friends aboard her. And I must confess that the fact that they are still around New London makes me feel uneasy. Harding is a dangerous customer. I think we ought to make sure that he’s not on board of her now. He might have managed to sneak back in the dark, or even have come in on a small boat of some sort, without being observed.”

Brady saw the possibility of that.

“We might try a little search party,” he said. “If it’s cloudy to-night, as seems likely, we might be able to get hold of some pretty valuable information without their knowing we were anywhere near them. It’s worth trying, it seems to me, anyhow.”

So, late that night, after all the oarsmen at quarters were in bed, and, presumably, asleep, Dick Merriwell, Bill Brady, Benton, and Jim Phillips in theElihu Yale, slipped quietly away from Gale’s Ferry, and went silently down the river, to where the black bulk of theMarinaloomed up ominously at her mooring, below the railway bridge, and in the very heart of a fleet of pretty white yachts that formed a sharp contrast to the dingy, slovenly craft that was such a fitting setting for the dark deeds that were being planned by Barrows, Svenson, and their associates.

Hargreaves had been indignant when he was told that he was not to be one of the party, but Dick had persuaded him to stay behind.

“We’re going to try to clear up this whole mess to-night,” Dick told him, “and there’s no telling what sort of trouble we may run into before we get through with it. The crew has got to row Harvard the day after to-morrow, you know, whatever happens, and some one has got to stay with them and take charge. I’ve picked you for that because you’re older than Benton, and understand what’s needed better than he, not because I think there’s any choice between you if it comes to trouble. So that’s your part of the job.”

Hargreaves was a good coach, in the making, and he saw the wisdom of what his superior said. Before a man can enforce discipline and induce others to obey his orders, he must submit to the orders of those above him, and Hargreaves, though he was bitterly disappointed, stayed behind, and wished them “good luck” with a cheery wave of his hand as theElihu Yaleslipped quietly off through the dark water, on the errand that they all hoped would solve the perplexing mystery that had bothered them so much.

Only the harbor lights showed on theMarinawhen the launch slowed down abreast of the schooner. Her sails were untidily furled, and there was no sign of a watch on deck. Moreover, this time, as they approached, there was the silence of the grave on board. No sounds of revelry came from the dark cabin, and there was no boat alongside. The whole fleet was wrapped in silence and in darkness, for it was after midnight. The parties on the other vessels had long since come away from whatever festivities they had been attending on shore, and, as they looked over to Point Griswold and Pequot Cove on the other side, there were only a few scattered lights to be seen in the cottages, where tired youngsters, already keyed up to concert pitch in anticipation of the great spectacle of Thursday, were getting ready for bed.

“It’s too quiet,” whispered Merriwell to Brady and Benton. They were in the stern, and Jim Phillips, with sharp eyes peeled, was in the bow. “It’s too quiet,” Dick repeated. “I have a feeling that these people on theMarinaaren’t as sound asleep as they want us to think. They may try to spring something on us.”

“I’m going aboard her,” Dick said, when theElihu Yalefinally touched gently the black side of the schooner. “You can come along, Jim. Benton, you and Brady stand by in the launch and be ready to make a quick start if you see us coming. You can tell better what to do, if anything goes wrong, after it’s happened. There’s no use making plans now, because they wouldn’t be a bit likely to fit whatever happened.”

And a moment later, his feet cased in rubber shoes that made no sound, he swung himself lightly up the rope ladder that dangled from theMarina’sside, and, with Jim at his heels, dropped lightly to her deck.

They looked around at the litter that covered the deck, hoping to find some clew, but there was nothing to be seen. The only thing at all out of the ordinary was the sight of three small motor boats, lashed insecurely to the deck, a surprisingly large number of tenders for any yacht, and especially for one of the size of theMarina. There was a big whale boat, too, and Dick, looking into her, saw that she was equipped with an engine. That boat alone would have served amply as a lifeboat in case of any accident to the vessel. She was big enough to carry a dozen men comfortably, and Dick thought it most unlikely that theMarinawould have a larger crew. She was an easy vessel to handle, and, knowing what he did of Svenson, Dick thought that the mess on her decks indicated that she was very short-handed.

Jim was peering into the little motor boats, while Dick examined the whaleboat.

“Look here,” he said, holding up a coil of wire that he had found in one of them. “What do you suppose this is?”

Dick looked at it curiously. The wire was very thin, and was wrapped around a core of some solid metal.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Queer-looking thing to have in a boat like that. Looks like a regular coil—but I don’t see what it’s used for.”

They looked in the other motor boats, and each was similarly equipped. Otherwise they were very ordinary boats of their type.

Suddenly, from above, a flash of blue flame attracted their attention, and in the same moment a crashing splutter of sound assailed their ears.

“Wireless!” cried Dick, and Jim, all attention, listened intently to the crashing of the heavy spark. They had not noticed a wireless installation on the vessel before.

“Specially tuned,” said Jim, as he listened. “Marconi and United Stations wouldn’t catch that spark at all—not so they could read it. It would mess up their receiving if they were in the right area, but that’s all. Some one’s calling this tub, too. I can read the call—Ma, Ma, Ma.”

“Look out,” called Dick sharply. “They’re coming up to answer.”

There was a rush of feet from below.

The two Yale men made for the side, where the two they had left in the launch were looking up anxiously.

“Get into the launch and away,” whispered Jim, “I’m going to drop into the water and listen to whatever message they get. I can read that stuff if I can hear it. I’ll swim toward shore when they get through, and you can pick me up. It’ll be better if they don’t know we’re here.”

He dropped silently over the side and into the water as the launch stole away, her engine muffled, so that no one should hear her. And then, supporting himself in the cold water by hanging to a rope, while he kicked off his shoes and rid himself of his coat, Jim stayed under theMarina’sside and listened to the crashing of the wireless spark while a message from Harding to Barrows—a name unknown to Jim—was received.

Shivering in the water, which was far from warm, though not so cold as it would have been had the tide been coming in instead of going out, as he reflected, Jim grasped the sense of the message. Fortunately for him, the senders had relied on the tuning of the wireless apparatus on theMarinafor secrecy, and the message was sent in plain English, although, of course, in Morse.

When a wireless message is sent through the air, the pitch may be determined at the sending station. The principle is the same as that of tuning a violin. In an orchestra, all the violins are tuned to the same pitch, or else discord is the result. It is the same with wireless. All regular, legitimate stations are attuned to the same pitch, so that each can receive any message sent by any of the others. For their own evil purposes, the owners of theMarinaand those who were sending the message had chosen a different pitch.

“Tell Barrows,” the message ran, as Jim spelled it out, “Barnes betting on Yale to make Merriwell think O. K. Tell him to be careful—think chances for killing good. Can make big bet New York morning of race—will not then arouse suspicion. Know of Yale syndicate offering five thousand at five to two. Ask Barrows if he can cover.”

There was a moment of delay, while, as Jim supposed, the message was being translated to Barrows, whoever he might be. In the sudden silence, he heard sounds of activity on one of the near-by revenue cutters, and also the wash of the water against theElihu Yale, which was not far away.

Cra-a-sh! The wireless was working again.

“Barrows says O. K. Thanks. Will cover Thursday a.m.”

Deep silence succeeded the roar of the wireless spark. It was broken only by low voices from the deck of theMarina, and the soft wash of the waves as the tide ran lazily out. Jim, making sure of his bearings, let go of his rope and began to swim as quietly as he could for the launch, where, he was sure, Dick and the others were anxiously waiting for him. But suddenly he found himself in the midst of a glare of white light. At the same moment, a cry arose from the deck of the schooner he was leaving behind—then not more than twenty feet behind him.

Jim realized at once that he was detected. An inopportune flash of the searchlight from the cutter, disturbed by the sound of the wireless, which did not make sense to her apparatus, had given him away. Even as the light winked away from him, he struck out vigorously, hoping to get to the launch, but in that instant a rope struck him, and, a noose, settling about his shoulders, he was dragged back through the water to theMarinaand pulled up to her deck.

“What are you doing here—spying on us?” asked a man Jim had never seen before. It was Barrows. The gambler was furiously angry, and the glaring countenance of Svenson, who had been drinking, convinced Jim that he was, as Harry Maxwell would have said, “strictly up against it.”

But in the fact that he was unknown to Barrows lay his temporary salvation. Barrows himself would not in any case have sanctioned violence, but Svenson was of a different mold. The skipper, inflamed as he was with drink, might have perpetrated some great villainy had he known who Jim really was and what he had been about to tell Merriwell.

But Jim held his ground. He saw that Barrows was puzzled as well as angry.

“I fell overboard from a launch,” he said, “and I was trying to find a boat with some one on board awake when you picked me up. Would it be troubling you too much to ask you to put me on shore?”

Barrows hesitated a moment. He did not know what Jim might have heard. He knew that he had been incautious in talking to Svenson—but Jim, as a matter of fact, had heard nothing of that. The gambler finally decided to treat Jim pleasantly, for the moment, at least.

“You’d better stay with us till morning,” he said. “I can’t very conveniently put you ashore now—and you’d better turn in, anyhow, after your ducking, with a hot whisky, and get between some blankets. I’ll show you to a cabin.”

There was no fault to be found with the man’s manner. It seemed pleasant and hospitable. Jim thought, too, that he might, if he stayed aboard, get some more valuable information. But he wished there was some way in which he could get word of his safety to his friends. However, there was no help for it. He went below, and found himself in a roomy cabin, practically a prisoner.

He had to laugh, however, as he thought of the expressions that had chased themselves over the face of Barrows as he stood looking at him. He gave little heed to Svenson, estimating, and rightly, that the Scandinavian skipper’s interest in the affair was the use of his boat. Then he went to the window and looked out. And, stealing along, not far away, he saw theElihu Yale, and Dick Merriwell’s anxious face. They had come to try to rescue him.

“I’m all right,” he called softly. “I’m going to stay here and see if I can’t find out what the game is. They don’t know who I am. Keep away—they may be keeping a watch now. I’ll get away without any trouble whenever I want to. Harding was bluffing—the wireless was from him. He isn’t in this—not directly.”

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