“Why not kill two birds with one stone and run into Cardinal? We could find out there how our young friend is getting along, and also do what you suggest. But what makes you think the authorities would be interested in the matter?”
“Why, just this. That craft is engaged in some sort of nefarious business, probably smuggling. It’s the only plausible explanation for the conduct of those on board her, and all their devices to throw pursuing craft off her track.”
“Smuggling! I guess you’ve hit the nail on the head, all right, Ralph. But why should she have been seen off this island?”
“That is exactly what I want to find out,” was Ralph’s rejoinder. “In fact, if I wasn’t so certain that some link exists between that queer, night-roving boat and Dexter Island, I wouldn’t take so much trouble to run all possible clews down.”
“Hark! What was that?” exclaimed Harry Ware suddenly, stopping and wheeling right about face.
“What?”
“I heard a rustling sound in that clump of bushes,” explained the boy.
“Gracious! More spooks. You’ve got ’em on the brain,” scoffed Percy Simmons loudly.
“Say, just can that comedy stuff of yours, will you?” demanded Harry Ware. Then turning to Ralph, he said, “It wasn’t my imagination, Ralph. I sure heard something in there.”
“Probably a squirrel. There are several on the island,” rejoined Ralph.
“Yes, make a noise like a nut and maybe he’ll come out,” kindly suggested Persimmons.
“Thanks for the suggestion, but I’ll leave that to you. You see, you could do it more naturally,” parried Harry Ware, to Percy’s discomfiture.
“We’ll take a look in there just to satisfy ourselves,” said Ralph, who, for some reason, appeared to take Harry Ware’s report more seriously than did Persimmons.
But a search of the clump revealed no sign of life, human or animal.
“Score up another one to the spooks,” chuckled Persimmons.
But it was no spook or animal, either, that had made the rustling sound which Harry’s sharp ears had detected. It was a man; Malvin, in fact. He had glided like a weasel from the boat the instant the boys left it. Following a circuitous track, veiled from the main path by flowering shrubs and ornamental bushes, he had secreted himself in the clump of plants to which Harry had drawn attention.
He had heard almost every word of the latter part of their conversation, and an evil smile mantled his face as he listened. When the boys stopped short he had glided off like a snake through the screening shrubbery, and as he went he muttered words that boded no good to the boys, should they put into effect their intention of informing the Canadian authorities of the “ghost craft” and its ways.
Clearly Ralph had not guessed wrongly when he hazarded the belief that a link existed between Dexter Island and the mysterious men of the night-roving motor boat.
The link was Roger Malvin.
Following out his prearranged plans, Ralph ordered theRiver Swallowto be made ready for her run to Cardinal that night. After a good supper the three young Border Boys, now changed to motor boatmen, sauntered down toward the dock somewhat ahead of the time they had decided on leaving.
Harry Ware was in advance of his comrades, and as he turned an angle in the patch he came into full view of theRiver Swallowlying at her dock.
“What a pretty picture she makes lying there,” he thought. “My, to look at her you’d never think she could hustle over the water the way she can!”
Malvin and Hansen were standing near the craft, and the former turned as Harry came round the corner.
Instantly a long, low whistle came from the fellow’s lips, and Harry could have sworn that at the same instant a third figure arose from the deck of theRiver Swallow, where it had seemingly been lounging, and vanished down the forescuttle.
Harry Ware rubbed his eyes.
“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” he exclaimed. “Am I seeing things, or what? There are Malvin and Hansen on the dock. Besides the servants, they are the only men on the island, and that man on the deck—or the man I thought I saw on the deck—is most assuredly not one of them.”
He stood there puzzled exceedingly by what he had seen, for he was almost certain that his eyes had played him no tricks. Yet if he had really seen a third man on theRiver Swallow, how had he come there? No boat had come into the dock that afternoon, and there was no other way of landing on the island except at a point which was commanded by the house. It was another mystery to be added to the strange events that appeared to be piling up around the boys in baffling confusion.
“Shall I tell the others about it and risk getting the life joshed out of me?” thought Harry to himself, as his comrades’ steps drew nearer.
After a minute’s cogitation, he decided to remain silent about what he had seen—for that it was no optical delusion he was certain.
“But I couldn’t convince them of that,” he mused. “They’d say I had been seeing spooks again, and Persimmons would kid the life out of me. No, I guess I’ll keep my mouth shut and do some detective work on my own account.”
With this resolution in his mind, he joined his chums, and, arm in arm, the three strolled down to theRiver Swallow.
“All ready, sir,” declared Malvin, “but you’re a little bit ahead of the time you said, sir. I wasn’t expecting you.”
Harry looked sharply at the man.
“No, I’ll bet you weren’t expecting us,” he thought.
“All right,” responded Ralph to Malvin. “Percy, get below and tune the engines up. It is almost dusk. I would like to get under way before dark.”
Persimmons dived below, donned his engineer’s overalls and began to test up his engines for the night run. To his surprise, they responded sluggishly to his efforts to get them in working order.
“The first time they’ve laid down on me,” he muttered, as, monkey wrench in hand, he tried to locate the source of the trouble.
“What’s the matter?” hailed Ralph impatiently down the tube. “Aren’t you ready yet?”
“Not yet. There is some trouble here I can’t locate.”
“Bother! I wanted to get under way as soon as possible. What do you think is the matter?”
“Impossible to say yet.”
“Well, hurry up and do the best you can.”
“You bet I’ll do that. It may take some time, though.”
“But they were working all right when we tied up this afternoon.”
“That makes it all the more puzzling. Something has happened to them between then and now, that is certain.”
The young engineer went vigorously to work. Systematically he went over wiring and ignition and tested the compression. All were in perfect working order, and yet the engines only responded with a lifeless series of “shoo-oo-o-oofs-s-s!” to all his efforts.
Percy Simmons knitted his brows. He sat down on a leather-covered bench that ran along one side of the engine room.
“Let’s see; I’ve been over everything,” he mused, “gasoline valves, spark plugs, wiring, batteries, magneto and all. They’re all running as smoothly as a hundred-dollar watch. What the dickens——”
He broke off suddenly.
“I’m a fine engineer!” he exclaimed. “The carburetors!”
Industriously he commenced examining the carburetors, the “hearts of the motors.” There were four in all on the twin four-cylinder engines of theRiver Swallow. After he had worked a while, Percy Simmons made a discovery that brought him to his feet with a yell.
In the bowls of all the carburetors sand had been placed. This, of course, prevented the proper mixture of air and gasoline taking place, and made it impossible to start the engine.
“Now what wretch can have done such a thing?” exclaimed Percy to himself as he made this discovery. “Somebody with a knowledge of engines and how to cripple them in just the last place any one would think of looking to locate the trouble!”
Malvin’s was the first name that flashed into his mind, for suspicion is one of the most infectious of mental maladies, and Ralph’s attack of “nerves” in regard to the former captain of theRiver Swallowhad communicated itself swiftly and forcibly to his two young chums.
But a moment’s reflection caused Persimmons to reject this explanation of the sanded carburetors. Malvin, while capable of running an engine when it was in perfect working order, had no technical knowledge of machinery such as the person who had maliciously “doped” the carburetors must have possessed.
Hansen? No, the Norwegian was even less skillful about a motor than Malvin. Who, then, could have been responsible for such a wanton act of vandalism?
“Gee! If we get up against any more mysteries I’m going to quit and go back home,” breathed Persimmons agitatedly to himself. “What with spook motor boats, mysterious ghostly lights and strange doings on uninhabited islands, and lastly these sanded carburetors, life along the St. Lawrence is getting too rich for my blood.”
In response to Persimmons’ summons, Ralph came below. The young captain’s shipmate explained the state of the case to him.
“What do you make of it?” he concluded.
Ralph could only assume a puzzled expression.
“I don’t know what to say,” he said.
“Well, Malvin and Hansen are pretty well eliminated, don’t you think?”
“I guess so. I agree with you that neither is possessed of enough technical engineering knowledge to enable him to cripple a motor in this fashion.”
“That settles that, then. But it is equally certain that none of us did it.”
“That goes without saying.”
“Then we come down to one culprit,” announced Percy, looking important.
“Who is that?”
“One of Harry Ware’s ghosts,” declared Persimmons soberly, but with a twinkle in his eye nevertheless.
“I guess we can safely call the ghosts out of it,” laughed Ralph, in spite of his vexation. “The thing is, who would have a motive to try to prevent theRiver Swallowleaving Dexter Island to-night.”
“There’s only one motive that I can suggest,” said young Simmons seriously.
“And that one is?”
“A desperate desire to prevent us from communicating to the authorities our experiences of last night.”
“But who could know anything about that? We agreed to keep that part of the object of our journey to ourselves. Nobody could know of it.”
“Unless somebody overheard us when we talked it over.”
“What do you mean?”
“That maybe Harry Ware wasn’t so far off as we thought he was, when he declared he heard a rustling in that shrubbery.”
“But, even so; even if anyone did overhear us, Malvin, for instance, we’ve already decided that he couldn’t cripple the engines in such a skillful manner.”
“That being so, there is only one explanation. The sand is there. Some one placed it there. It wasn’t one of us. It is practically impossible that it could have been Malvin or Hansen. That lets everybody out.”
“Yes,” said Ralph slowly, “unless——”
He paused.
“Well, unless what?”
“Unless there is somebody on board this boat that we know nothing about.”
Percy Simmons broke out in a frantic yell.
“Holy Mackerel! You’re getting ’em, too. We’ll all be seeing things before we get through.”
It is strange upon what slender circumstances big results sometimes depend. Had the fear of ridicule not held back Harry Ware from telling the others about the figure he had seen glide along the deck and vanish in the crew’s quarters of theRiver Swallow, a great part of the events of that night might have turned out differently.
As it was, however, Harry kept his counsel, with what results we shall see before long. The trouble with the engines once located, it did not take Percy Simmons long to adjust matters, and within half an hour he had the big motors whirring as evenly as if nothing had ever disturbed the even tenor of their workings.
As soon as he was notified that everything was all right below, Ralph rang for the reverse and theRiver Swallowbacked out from her dock into the darkness that was falling fast. But for the delay, thought Ralph, who had chafed impatiently over it, they might have been in Cardinal by that time. But there was no help for it, and as soon as he had room to turn he sent down a clanging signal to Persimmons for “full speed ahead.”
Harry Ware was on the bridge by the young captain, but after a while he said he thought he smelled gas, and went forward. He wanted to explore the crew’s quarters for himself. Malvin and Hansen were on the lookout stations in the bow, and, as Harry approached the forescuttle, the former came up to him.
“Where are you going, sir?” he asked in a tone that struck Harry as being rather agitated.
“Why, we suspect there’s a leak in one of the gas tanks,” was the boy’s ready reply. “I’m going down there to see if I can locate it.”
“I’ll go, sir,” interrupted Malvin eagerly; “let me go, sir.”
“Don’t bother yourself,” replied Harry; “your place is forward on the lookout. Captain Stetson would be angry if he knew you had left it. You’d better go back.”
Malvin did not obey at once. Instead, he placed his head right over the scuttle, and in a loud voice announced, after a minute of sniffing, that he could smell no fumes of gasoline.
“It’s no use your taking the trouble to go nosing around down there,” he said, turning to Harry. “If the gas was leaking, I’d smell it sure.”
“Nevertheless, I shouldn’t be doing my duty if I didn’t obey Ralph Stetson’s orders,” stoutly declared Harry. “Let me pass; I’m going down. I’d recommend you to get back on your station.”
Malvin’s rejoinder was peculiar. He did not, in fact, address it to Harry at all. He placed his mouth over the scuttle and in a loud voice, unnecessarily loud it sounded to Harry, he bawled out:
“Oh, all right, sir. Go below if you want to. But—LOOK OUT BELOW—there’s some low carlins there you might bump your head on.”
The last part of this speech was delivered in low and cautionary tones. Having uttered the warning, Malvin turned and, with a respectful nod, paced back to his post of duty.
“Now I wonder why he hollered, ‘Look out below,’ at the top of his lungs like that?” pondered Harry.
“Well, I’ll give it up,” he murmured, renewing his meditations. “Anyhow, here goes for an exploration of the forecastle.”
He dived below, having first switched on the electric light in the sailors’ quarters by means of a switch at the head of the ladder leading below.
As he descended the steep rungs, not without difficulty, for theRiver Swallowwas being driven fast and was pitching and rolling considerably, he looked sharply about him. But there was nothing to indicate that anyone was in hiding there. In the men’s bunks the beds were neatly made up. In one corner were their chests and personal belongings. Everything was shipshape, orderly and—empty.
“It was my imagination then, after all,” breathed Harry as he looked about him; “I’m glad I didn’t say anything to the fellows.”
At precisely the same moment, Ralph was remarking to Persimmons, the latter having come on deck to gulp down a breath of fresh air:
“Don’t say anything about the sanded carburetors to Harry, Percy. He’s scared enough as it is.”
“You can bet I won’t. He’d be off on his old spook tactics again if I did,” responded the Simmons boy with alacrity.
And thus did the lads on board theRiver Swallowplay at cross purposes, little dreaming what mutual benefit might have resulted from a comparison of notes.
Firmly convinced that he had been the victim of a delusion, Harry made his way back to the deck and retraced his steps aft to join Ralph on the bridge.
“Everything all right?” asked the latter.
“Oh, sure.”
“Malvin at his post?”
“Oh, yes. He and Hansen were right on the job. There with both feet.”
“Good. I didn’t feel altogether sure of that Malvin fellow.”
Without further comments Ralph reverted to his duty of steering theRiver Swallowthrough swiftly moving currents and eddies, for they were bound up the river. Harry leaned against the rail beside him.
“Whereabouts are we?” he asked as the boat sped along through the darkness.
“Passing Chimney Island. You can make it out off there to the left.”
“Not up to Windmill Island yet?”
“Not yet. Anyhow, we won’t go near it going up. I’ll pass it on the return trip, though. We can make better time by striking the current there.”
The remainder of the journey to Cardinal, a rather sleepy, though fairly populous, Canadian town, was made without incident. As they came abreast of the town dock, which was brilliantly illuminated with electric arc lights in expectation of the arrival of the steamer bound down the river for Quebec, they noticed the crowd idly gathered there. It was ready for any excitement and broke into a cheer as the fast boat came sweeping up to the dock. Then, at a signal from Ralph, theRiver Swallowsuddenly slackened speed, churning the waters whitely with its reversing propellers, and eventually came to a standstill with the precision of an auto being driven up to the curb.
It was a fine bit of boat-handling that the spectators were quick to recognize and applaud.
Malvin, bow line in hand, leaped ashore as theRiver Swallowglided up, and Hansen equally quick, for the man was a good sailor, hopped nimbly about, dropping fenders to prevent the racing motor boat’s sheeny sides being scratched or marred by contact with the timbers of the dock.
“Good bit of work that, lad,” said a grizzled old man on the dock, as the boys came ashore, all dressed in natty yachting garments, visored caps, blue coats, white flannel trousers and white canvas shoes.
“Thank you,” laughed Ralph. “I guess my engineer was as much responsible for it as I.”
“Ah-hum,” said the old man. “I used to handle a boat once, but now I ain’t fit for nothing but just night watchman at the grain elevator yonder,” and he pointed to a towering structure that loomed against the dark sky.
Malvin and Hansen had been left in charge of theRiver Swallow. Arm in arm the three boys started up the street. But after they had gone a short way, Harry suddenly declared that he had left something he wanted in the cabin.
“I’ll go back for it. You fellows keep right on,” he said.
“Where shall we meet you? We’re bound for the hospital,” said Ralph.
“Where from there?”
“To the Western Union offices.”
“And then?”
“Why, I guess to the police station or whatever answers to it over on this side. I’ve a burning desire to lay the facts in the case before the authorities.”
“Very well then, I’ll meet you at the telegraph office.”
And so it was arranged. While Percy and Ralph hastened to the hospital, which lay at one end of the town, Harry made the best of his way back toward theRiver Swallow. His conscience hurt him a bit for not having told his friends the true reason for his return to the motor craft.
Harry was not in search of something forgotten.
He was on the trail of the third man who, despite all evidence to the contrary, he was still firmly convinced was concealed somewhere on board theRiver Swallow.
At the hospital, Ralph and young Simmons were informed that the lad they had brought in that morning was better, and that it was almost certain that he would recover in course of time. Naturally, both boys were anxious to see him, as they felt that the lad they had found in the ruins of the dynamited hut could throw a great deal of light on that mysterious occurrence.
For some reason, which he himself could not have defined, Ralph was beginning to link the different strange happenings of the previous night into a continuous chain. Irrational as the idea appeared that there was any connection between the blowing up of the hut and the latest voyage of the gray motor boat, he could not help feeling that somewhere the two occurrences dove-tailed into each other. But he said nothing of this to his chums, as, actually, he had nothing upon which to base his belief.
Permission to see the lad whom they had saved from almost certain death under the smoldering timbers was denied to them, after they had waited some time to obtain it. Percy was bitterly disappointed. Ralph was also rather put out that they could not see and talk to the little lad, who, they felt certain, held the key to the mystery. But he was not astonished. He knew better than Percy Simmons how serious the boy’s condition had been that morning.
“Come back in two days,” the house surgeon said. “I could not think of permitting you to talk to your young friend until then. He must on no account be excited.”
“He is resting easily?” asked Ralph.
“Yes; but—he is terribly fragile and emaciated.”
“Any-anything else?” asked Percy, recollecting certain bruises and marks he had spied on the lad’s body.
“Why, yes. Since you ask, I should say that he has been the recent victim of cruel and inhuman treatment. Do you know anything concerning this?”
“No, we know nothing about him except that we brought him here,” said Ralph; “but we take an interest in the case.”
“Oh, it’s not very interesting,” rejoined the man of medicine, mistaking his meaning; “a simple case of slight concussion of the brain and exhaustion and shock. We have many such cases. It is quite ordinary, I assure you.”
“I guess you and I look at cases from different angles,” smiled Ralph.
“Ah; quite so! quite so!” exclaimed the Canadian surgeon, and hurried off to make his nightly inspection of the wards.
But, before he went, he had a question to ask:
“I say,—Yankees, aren’t you?”
“We are Americans,” rejoined Ralph gravely. “That is, we’re Americans all we know how to be, twenty-six hours out of the twenty-four, and three hundred and sixty-five days a year, and more on Leap Year.”
“My word! You Yankees are——”
“There’s no such word as Yankee,” struck in Percy, not knowing whether to laugh or be angry.
“Oh, well, Americans, then. Same thing! Same thing! Jolly smart people, just the same. Good-night!”
And off the little bald-headed man bounced, leaving the two lads alone.
“No use waiting here, Percy,” said Ralph, as the surgeon vanished.
Percy looked around the bare office. A desk, a telephone, and a long row of dismal, precise-looking chairs were its sole ornaments. A smell of disinfectants hung heavily in the air. Behind the desk a small man with a closely cropped head, and very neat, well-brushed clothes, was writing in a big book, a supply of spare pens held behind his ears on either side of his shiny skull.
Suddenly the telephone jangled harshly. The man jumped up and went to it. The boys, half unconsciously, paused.
“Hello,” they heard the little man say in snappish, peeved tones, “hel-lo. Yes-yes-yes. This is the Mercy Hospital. Yes, I said. Yes-yes-yes. A boy? A boy wounded in the forehead? Concussion case? Yes, we have such a case here.”
The boys exchanged glances. There appeared to be hardly a doubt but that some one at the other end of the wire was calling up about “their boy.”
The conversation to which they were auditors at one end only continued.
“Who is this?—Who?—Say it again.—Malvern?—No?—Speak louder, can’t you? Oh, Malvin. Yes——”
“Great Scott!”
The exclamation fairly leaped from Ralph’s lips.
The busy little man looked around angrily.
“Can’t you keep still while I’m ’phoning?” he demanded. “Boys are a nuisance.”
He applied himself again to the ’phone.
“No, sir, I did not sayyouwere a nuisance. I said, ‘Boys are a nuisance.’ Yes.”
He turned and glanced malevolently at the boys, as much as to say, “Now see what you’ve done.”
Then the conversation went on.
“See the boy?—No, that is impossible.—Two boys were here to-night to—Hey! What confounded impudence!”
Ralph had dashed forward and was clutching his arm. He had jerked the receiver from the fussy little old man and slapped his other hand over the transmitter.
“Don’t say anything about us being here, sir, I beg of you. You may foil the ends of justice. You may——”
“Hoity-toity! What’s all this? What are boys coming to? Be quiet, sir. Let me talk at once. Hullo, Mr. Malvern! Hello, sir! Are you there?”
But apparently “Mr. Malvern,” to use Canadian telephone terms, was “not there.”
At any rate, the little man hung up the receiver with a thump and a snort.
“That man has left the ’phone. See what you did!” he exclaimed angrily to Ralph. “It might have been something of the highest importance.”
“I assure you, sir,” declared Ralph eagerly, “that the man at the other end of that wire was one whom we have every reason to believe a suspicious character. I had a strong reason for not wanting him to know we had been here to-night, and that was why I interfered, as I’m afraid you think, without just cause.”
“What, hey? Suspicious character, eh? Well, allow me to say, young man, that your own actions are not above suspicion. No, sir!”
The fussy little man took a huge pinch of snuff. While he was sneezing, the boys slipped out.
“Where to now?” asked Percy Simmons.
“To the telegraph office. Then to the police station. We’ve found out something important to-night. Malvin knows that boy! I’m equally certain that he knows the crew of the phantom motor boat, and the fellow who tried to drive us off Windmill Island.”
“Do you really believe it?”
“Just as surely as I do that we are standing here. But don’t let’s waste time. That boy in the hospital knows something, and the ‘other side’ knows that he knows something. It’s up to us to beat them to it!”
Harry made his way down to the dock, where the boat had been left, with “both eyes open,” as the saying goes. He did not fear that he would miss sighting whoever came off theRiver Swallowas soon as they were sure that the boys had gone up town. Of course he was assuming that Malvin and the man he was certain he had spied earlier that day, would leave together. If they did this, even if they vacated the motor craft before he reached it, there was only one road that they could follow, and that was the street down which Harry was walking, the only thoroughfare that led to the dock.
As he hurried along, many thoughts surged into the lad’s mind. What was he to do in the event of the mysterious “third man” actually leaving the boat?
“I guess my best plan will be just to stick to their heels wherever they go,” he said to himself. “Yes,” he went on, busily turning matters over in his mind, “that’s the scheme. While Ralph and Harry are looking after things in town, this end of the game is up to your Uncle Dudley.”
As he neared the wharf, Harry became aware that great excitement and bustle were going forward there. The down river passenger boat had just arrived, and a number of people were struggling to disembark by way of the gang plank, while an equally determined crowd was striving to get on board. Suddenly the boy became aware of three figures among the crowd, whom he recognized instantly.
The trio was composed of Malvin, Hansen and another man.
As Harry saw this third member of the group, he almost gave vent to an involuntary cry of recognition.
The stranger was the same man whom they had encountered on Windmill Island on the eventful previous night.
There was no mistake. Harry recognized instantly every feature of the fellow’s face, which had been etched upon his mind with all the vividness of a photograph.
Harry’s pulses bounded as he made this discovery. So, then, it appeared that Ralph had been right. Unquestionably a link did exist between Windmill Island and Malvin, and also, apparently, Hansen, although the boy was morally certain that the obtuse Norwegian was merely an insignificant pawn in whatever mysterious game was being played by Malvin and the other man.
“Well, this is a discovery,” gasped the boy as he watched the three talking earnestly together, not far from where theRiver Swallowlay tugging at her moorings.
Then, like a galvanic shock, another thought flashed through his mind.
The third man,—the man of the island,—was also, almost without question, the fellow whom Harry had seen slip along the deck and vanish down the forescuttle, when the Border Boys appeared to board theRiver Swallowsome time before they were expected.
The elation of this revelation was still stirring in the lad’s mind, when the three men, who seemed oblivious of the crowd about them, suddenly shoved their way through the press, and, walking side by side, set off up the road that led toward town.
This was insubordination of the rankest sort on Malvin’s part. He had been told by Ralph to stay by the boat. Now Harry’s mind alternated between indignation and curiosity as he saw the trio coming toward him. Near where he stood was a big pile of empty boxes and barrels. It was the work of only an instant for him to slip adroitly behind these and effectually conceal himself as the men advanced toward him.
They were talking earnestly and eagerly. As they came abreast of Harry’s place of concealment, he heard Malvin’s voice. The fellow evidently did not fear detection or eavesdroppers, for he was talking in a bold, loud voice.
“A lucky thing I hid in that shrubbery and overheard every word the young whelps were saying,” he was exclaiming. “Otherwise we might have walked right into a trap. What do you advise doing, Hawke?”
“So the man of the island is named Hawke, is he?” thought Harry, as he listened with every instinct strained. “Well, that’s one discovery, Mr. Malvin. Another one is that I was not mistaken when I thought I heard something in the shrubbery this afternoon.”
“Give me time to breathe a bit after my confinement in that gasoline compartment,” rejoined Hawke in a surly manner. “I thought I’d suffocate in there. That inquisitive young brat stayed down in the forepeak too long to suit me, I can tell you.”
“Well, it was a good thing I gave you warning by shouting, ‘Look out below,’” rejoined Malvin; “otherwise all our plans might have been upset.”
Hansen’s voice halted the two worthies just as Harry feared they were about to get out of earshot.
“Hold on, you fallers,” he heard the Norwegian say, “vile I skoll gat light by my pipe.”
“Hurry up, then. We’ve work ahead of us,” came Malvin’s voice. “Those brats are off up town to try to talk to Jim Whey. We want to get ahead of them.”
“If that boy talks, I’ll——” Hawke’s voice trailed off in a threatening growl.
“If that boy talks, I’ll——” Hawke’s voice trailed off in a threatening growl.“If that boy talks, I’ll——” Hawke’s voice trailed off in a threatening growl.
“If that boy talks, I’ll——” Hawke’s voice trailed off in a threatening growl.
“So Jim Whey is the name of that lad you said was your son till we called your bluff,” thought Harry, as he listened while the Norwegian struggled to get a light in the brisk breeze that was blowing.
“Pshaw! That lad won’t be able to talk for some time to come, if he was as badly hurt as you told me,” said Malvin, reassuringly. “It was right after I’d slipped my anchor and given the kids the go-by that I heard the explosion and saw the flash. I always told you to be careful about that dynamite, Hawke.”
“It was Rawson that would have it stored there,” grumbled the other. “He had a crazy notion that some time we might make a submarine mine out of it, and make things hot for anyone who came snooping around Windmill Island uninvited. How was I to know that that crazy dog would come galloping into the shack and upset the lamp and blow everything to Kingdom Come? If the boy and I hadn’t skinned out as soon as it happened, we’d neither of us be on earth to-night. I wonder where theArtful Dodgerwas when things exploded?”
“I don’t know,” responded Malvin; “we’d sighted her not long before, and she played the phosphorescent trick, the light stunt and all, but it didn’t scare those pesky kids, except one of ’em who swore she was a spook!”
Hawke burst into a laugh. Harry’s ears burned as he heard.
“I wish they were all like that,” continued Malvin. “Confound them, they ran me out of a good job, and we can’t use theRiver Swallowany more in our work. And not content with that, they’ve got to start chasing theArtful Dodgernow.”
“Well, they’ll chase her a precious long time before they get any satisfaction,” responded Hawke; “and then it’s liable to be in reverse English. Rawson isn’t the sort of man to stand for any monkey business. He’d as lief send ’em all to the bottom as eat, I reckon.”
“Yes, that’s Rawson,” agreed Malvin. “Well, Hansen, got your light?”
“Aye, aye,” growled the Norwegian.
“Then come on. We’ve wasted too much time already.”
The trio struck off up the road toward the town. Harry, after waiting what he deemed a safe period of time, slipped from his place of concealment and followed them.
His brain was fairly in a whirl with what he had overheard. It explained many things.
Judging from what the men had said, the “spook motor craft” was called theArtful Dodgerand was engaged in some nefarious business, as, indeed, the boys had already guessed. A man named Rawson was in command of her, and he was evidently a desperate character. The mention of the submarine mines, the explosive for which had been detonated by accident, amply demonstrated that.
Moreover, Malvin must have visited the island the night before, after they had left with the boy, and taken Hawke on board theRiver Swallow, concealing him in a small space under the gasoline tanks forward. Nor was this all. The injured lad, Jim Whey, was clearly a cog in the machine somewhere.
Also, judging from what he had overheard, Jim Whey knew much of the machinations of the gang of which, apparently, he was an unwilling member. Otherwise, why should the men have feared that he might talk to the lads who had rescued him? That Jim had revelations of importance to make, was clear from what had been said.
“I’ll have to hurry up and meet the others,” exclaimed Harry to himself as he hastened along, taking care to keep a safe distance behind the three men he could see ahead of him.
“My! I guess I’ve got something to tell them that won’t sound like any ghost story from Spook Land!”
Harry met his friends at the telegraph office after he had tracked the three men from theRiver Swallowto a telephone pay station, the same one, in fact, from which Malvin had called up the Mercy Hospital. His excited face at once showed them that he had news of importance to communicate, and they listened eagerly to his story, standing outside the place so as to be sure there were no eavesdroppers about. Ralph had already sent his telegram and was to have an answer in an hour.
Harry Ware wasted no words in telling his experiences. His narrative was soon over, and Ralph suggested an immediate start for the police station.
“We surely have got enough evidence against the gang now to warrant informing the police,” he said. “Of course, we’ve no idea what sort of work thisArtful Dodgerand these men are engaged in. But we know it is something unlawful, and that is excuse enough for us to let the police know what is going on.”
They were not long in reaching the police station, a solid-looking gray stone building with two lights burning in front of it. They ascended a flight of stone steps and entered the place, which was empty except for a stout sergeant seated behind an oak desk. As soon as he spoke, the boys discerned that he was a recent importation from England.
“Is the inspector in?” asked Ralph.
“The h’inspector h’is h’in, but h’I dunno h’if you can see ’im. W’at’s yer business, coveys?” inquired the sergeant, twisting a big mustache and looking important.
“It’s—it’s of a private nature,” said Ralph, who was spokesman of the party.