Excitement and activity pervaded the house. Sunday and Monday every one, including Harry, soon knew that Pauline was to take Tuesday's steamer to Old Nassau, in the Bahamas. Harry intended to quietly board the steamer a little earlier than Pauline and surprise the party by appearing after the ship was well out to sea. His plans were' shattered by the young lady's unexpected "early arrival." Harry, with a suitcase in each hand, met her face to face on the pier. There was nothing for him to do but confess, kiss her goodbye and go. It was with a pang of regret that she saw him toss his two suitcases covered with college team labels into a taxicab and depart.
An hour later the four treasure hunters stood looking over the rail watching the last passengers come aboard. The "pirate," in a new blue suit, huge Panama hat and light pink necktie, though a rather unusual sight, had been toned down in appearance to a degree that permitted him to walk about among people without causing a crowd to collect. Hicks, too, at Owen's suggestion, had adopted quieter attire.
Just as the gangplank was about to be pulled in the deckhands waited to permit a very feeble and bent old man to hobble aboard. He had long, white hair, and his face was mostly gray whiskers, except a pair of dark spectacles. A porter followed him bearing two brand new suitcases.
The adventurous four were soon comfortably perched in steamer chairswatching New York harbor slip by them. They had barely reached theStatue of Liberty when the "pirate" launched forth on one of hisMunchausen-like tales of the sea.
Highly colored, picturesque, untrue and absurd as a stained glass window, nevertheless these yams took on a semblance of reality from the character of the narrator himself. In all his stories the "pirate" was the hero. Nobody noticed that a steward had placed a fifth steamer chair beside the sailor until that worthy reached one of the main climaxes of his narrative. At that point he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked around into the whiskers and black spectacles of the old passenger. The cackling voice remarked:
"It's a lie. It's a lie. It's a lie."
Every one was astonished, but even the "pirate" had a trace of respect for such great age, and said nothing in reply. After a while he continued, only to be interrupted by the same words.
This was too much to endure, and though the if "pirate" held his tongue they rebuked the old dotard by walking away and leaning over the rail. The conversation wandered to the subject of sharks, and Pauline asked if they were as stupid as they looked.
"Don't you believe it," the "pirate" assured her. "Them sharks look stupid just to fool you. Why, I remember a time not so long ago down in Choco Bay, on the coast of Colombia, there was an old devil who used to sneak up alongside sailin' vessels in a fog. He carried in his mouth the big iron shank of an anchor he'd picked up from the wreck."
"What did he do that for?" asked Hicks.
"So the iron would deflect the compass and make them run the ship onto the Kelp Ledges, off the Pinudas, Islands. If a ship went down he stood a good chance of eating one or two o' the passengers. But I don't mind sharks. If you want to know what really annoys me, it's them killer whales in the Antarctic that come a crowdin' and buttin' up against ye."
"It's an internal, monumental, epoch-making lie," cackled a voice behind him. Every one looked, and there was the old man.
The "pirate" was now thoroughly exasperated. If he couldn't tell a story without being interrupted in this manner life wasn't worth living. He announced that he would find the old man and thrash him. Owen and Hicks were annoyed, but they feared the result of the sailor's fury. They might all be arrested on arriving at Nassau. This would interfere with plans, and must not be thought of. To appease the wrathful "pirate" Owen offered to have the old man thrashed so soundly that he would probably be glad to stay out of sight the rest of the voyage.
There were some rascally looking men of Spanish blood among the second cabin passengers who, as Owen and Hicks observed, looked needy and unscrupulous.
The secretary found no great embarrassment in explaining that he wished the old man thrashed quietly and privately. The Spaniards agreed to beat him thoroughly for the trifling consideration of ten dollars. They would even throw him overboard for a very reasonable sum additional. But the bargain was struck at ten dollars for a moderate beating, and the foreigners were warned that as he was delicate they must be careful not to kill him.
During the next hour or two the old man passed the four treasure hunters in their steamer chairs, but each time the "pirate" ceased talking before he came within earshot.
At last the old man stopped in front of Pauline and gazed long at the "pirate." He studied the rascal's face, apparently trying to remember the identity of the man. Slowly the aged head nodded as if he was saying to himself. "Yes, he is the same man."
Then, turning to Pauline and shaking a warning finger, the old man delivered a surprising message.
Pauline was startled. The three men leaped to their feet. It was with the utmost difficulty that she was able to prevent violence.. Owen excused himself to hunt up his Spaniards and demand an explanation for their slowness. To his surprise they declared that they had tackled him and that he was as quick and powerful as a gorilla. He had thrashed them both and they were glad to escape with their lives.
The ex-secretary was incredulous, but they showed cuts and bruises and demanded their money, saying that a joke had been played on them. When Owen refused one of them drew a stiletto and the ten dollars was forthcoming.
Returning, ruefully, he related the failure of the Spaniards. The "pirate" at once said:
"Now, let me handle him."
A few moments later Boyd cornered his ancient adversary on a deserted and wind-swept piece of deck.
"Old man," snarled the "pirate," "you say all my stories are lies.Only your gray hairs have saved you from a thrashing before this."
"If it's my gray hairs that stop you, I'll remove that obstacle."
The "pirate" was amazed to see the aged person take off his hat and remove a gray wig with his left hand while his right fist collided with the "pirate's" eye. When consciousness returned he was lying on the deck with no living thing in sight but a seagull aeroplaning on slanted wings over his head. His return to the party was more rueful than Owen's.
"What is the matter with your eye, Mr. Boyd?" asked Pauline innocently.
"Why, you see," said the "pirate," "I was looking at a girl with one of these new slit skirts and I stumbled and bumped against a ventilator."
"I see," commented Owen to help him out. "You sort of slipped on a sex-appeal, so to speak."
"Yes," said the sailor, gratefully. "It was just like that."
"It's a lie," said a high, thin voice from somewhere, and they noticed that a porthole behind them was open.
Pauline found conversation difficult. Hicks, as a man of few words, which gave him an undeserved reputation for wisdom. The "pirate" had given up spinning yams on account of the old man's unfailing interruption. Owen's mind, too, was preoccupied with a growing suspicion. So the adventurous young lady went to her stateroom and wrote a letter to Harry.
The sailor intimated that he had important news which could be only told in the privacy of Owen's stateroom. The secretary suspected this to be only a maneuver on the "pirate's" part to get acquainted with the whiskey he knew Owen kept with him. But the seafarer unfolded the tale of his black eye not truthfully nor accurately, except in that he had recognized Harry under the disguise of the old man.
"I more than half suspected it," said Owen, "and I have been watching his stateroom. But there is no way any one can see into his room unless by getting a look in through the porthole."
"And there's where you get a good idea," said the "pirate."
"But there's no good having a peep' at him without his disguise now that it's Harry," objected Hicks.
"No," said the "pirate," turning on Owen his lusterless sea-green eyes, faded by much grog to a dimness that reminded one of the faint lights set in ships' decks and known as "dead-eyes." "No, but your porthole idea is just the scheme to get at him and get rid of him. I can slip down a rope tonight when all is quiet and the fool passengers are over on the other side looking at the bloody moon."
"And then what?" said Owen.
"I goes down the rope and shoots the old fool! I mean the young fool —through the porthole."
"Why, that's murder!" cried Owen. "We'd all swing for it."
"No, it ain't murder; it's suicide, 'cause I'll throw the gun in there where they'll find it when they break the door in, and everybody'll think he shot himself."
"It's practical," commented Hicks, but Owen protested. At last it was decided that a fourth man was necessary to do the shooting, and the "pirate" volunteered to produce him.
"There's an old shipmate o' mine down in the stoke hole working like a nigger. He'll be glad to do the trick for ten dollars, but we'll make it fifty because the poor fellow has a wife and children and needs the money. I'll go get him."
Owen and Hicks went on deck while Boyd descended to the fiery vitals of the steamer. It is not an easy matter to smuggle a grimy stoker from his furnace to the upper passenger decks, but the "pirate" managed it.
Meanwhile Harry was not losing time. He had taken a dictograph from his baggage, borrowed a few dry batteries and a coil of wire from the wireless operator. He carefully installed the instrument in his stateroom, and led the wires out under his door to the passageway. From there it was an easy task to carry them along the edge of the carpet to the door of Owen's stateroom. Arrived at the point, he was compelled to leave pliers, wire and the receiving instrument under a chair.
Like many another stateroom door, Owen's could not be locked easily from the outside, so when the three conspirators went out they left it unlocked. The old man slipped in a moment later and quickly placed the dictograph under the lower bunk.
Returning to his own room, the old man took up his instrument and listened. But he was not a very expert electrician and the dictograph for a long time failed to give anything but roars and crackling sounds, though he was convinced there were several persons talking. A last he got the thing adjusted in time to catch the last sentences of the conversation. He recognized the voice of the "pirate." It said:
"An then we lowers you down the rope to his porthole. You sticks your gun in and shoot the old fool. Don't forget to throw the gun in afterward, so they'll think he killed himself. See?"
"Sure, I got yer, matey," replied a strange voice.
After this the dictograph must have got out of order as nothing further came over the wire.
After closing the porthole Harry started to take off his disguise with a view of revealing himself and having Owen, Hicks and the "pirate" arrested. Then it occurred to him that he had not heard Owen or Hicks talking and very likely they were not in the room at all.
It was probably a crazy, drunken scheme of the old sailor whom he had tormented. Neither Owen nor Hicks had any suspicion, so far as he knew, that behind the whiskers and eyeglasses was Harry. Owen could have no object in shooting him.
"Can it be that I am jealous of this man Owen?" he wondered. "Polly has been taking his advice against mine lately. What can that mean?"
Peace reigned during the evening while the old liner plunged and rolled past wicked Cape Hatteras. While the passengers listened to the sad orchestra in the saloon Harry, still in his whiskered disguise, sent a wireless to a lawyer in New York requesting him to telegraph Pauline at Nassau something that would make her come home. Then he went back to his stateroom and locked the door.
As he stepped in he caught sight of the unbeautiful countenance of Mr.Boyd squinting wickedly at him from far down the passageway.
"Just for that evil grin of yours, Mr. Pirate," thought Harry, "I am not going to let you or your friend shoot me until after daylight." So Harry kept his porthole closed tight that night, sleeping rather restlessly without his accustomed ventilation.
Twice he heard a faint scraping sound on the outside of his cabin, and a dark shadow eclipsed the faint nimbus of light which the foggy night sent through his porthole. On the deck directly over his head three dark figures sat in deck chairs, while a fourth paced the deck, his cigar glowing like the tail lamp of a distant automobile.
The fog began to lift just before dawn, and the stoker, making another trip down his rope, found the porthole open. A hasty inspection of the decks indicated that it was safe to go ahead.
Owen, Hicks and the "pirate" quickly lowered the stoker, sitting in a little swing known on the sea as a "bo'sun's chair." In his hand he carried a pistol which Hicks had provided. Each of the three conspirators had revolvers, but the racetrack man's weapon was chosen because he had obtained it from a source to which it could not be traced. Down went the stoker, his bare feet clinging to the gently swaying side of the ship.
The porthole was open, and there in the dim interior of the cabin the light was reflected from a pair of spectacles. There, too, were the whiskers and gray hair. The old man seemed to be asleep in his chair right near the porthole. The stoker cocked his revolver and held it ready for instant action.
The steamer's fog horn blew a blast at the fast thinning fog. This noise was just what the stoker wanted. He quickly plunged his pistol into the porthole and fired it point blank in the very face of the old man. There could be no question of missing. He looked up at the three eager faces and nodded that all was well.
"I've got him," he called out, and was about to hurl the pistol into the stateroom when an unpleasant and unexpected thing happened. A brawny fist shot out of the porthole and collided with the stoker's coal-blackened jaw.
More from surprise than the force of the blow, the stoker fell backward into the sea. The three watchers on deck saw the proceeding, and only one, the "pirate," had presence of mind to hurl a lifebuoy. No alarm was sounded. The steamer went on into the sparkling morning sea, leaving behind her a profane and disgusted stoker. This unfortunate had only a lifebuoy to aid him on a fifteen-mile swim to shore.
"Never mind," said the "pirate" after the conspirators had gotten over their first fright at the dashing of their plans. "I have an idea; it's a corking idea, and you'll all like it."
"What is it?" asked Owen nervously. "Here is your drink now; what's your idea?"
But the "pirate" wouldn't tell. He objected that it was too startling for them to carry in their timid brains. He would unfold it when the time came, and he promised them that it would be the greatest and most daring project they had ever heard. A murderous glare lit up the faded eyes and he chuckled to himself, but no offers nor threats would induce him to part with his secret.
Arrived at Nassua, the party proceeded to the King Edward House, where Pauline found a telegram from Philip Carpenter, the lawyer, advising her to return as soon as possible to attend the signing of certain important papers. On account of the message all hands made haste to hunt for a small steamer or launch to complete the trip.
Though none of the four saw him, the old man was at the hotel. He lost no time in assuming another and very different disguise, observing to himself that the most valuable part of his college education might prove to be the secrets of "make up" he had learned in his college dramatic club.
Owen, with his usual forethought, had arranged in advance to be put in touch at once with all available boats. As a result a gasoline launch, with a cabin and stateroom, about 100 feet long, which had once been a yacht, was chartered. The "pirate's" stipulation that no stranger should see his island made it necessary for Pauline to deposit a check for $2,500 for its safe return.
The next morning provisions were brought aboard, the "pirate" declaring that he could run the engine, and all was ready when a difficulty arose. Who was to cook? Pauline volunteered, but Owen objected, and finally the "pirate's" objections to a stranger were overcome.
A dark-skinned half-breed, with long, black hair, who had earned half a dollar by helping carry things on board, volunteered in a gruff voice.
"I'se fine cook. Best cook on the island. I cook very cheap."
Time was too valuable to investigate the man's ability, so he was hired. Off went the white launch. Owen steering under instructions from the "pirate," who soon proved he knew gasoline engines. Out of the harbor they went, and then coasted along the beautiful shores of the island. The sea was calm and the cruise uneventful for some time, when the "pirate" called every one's attention to the fact that it was a long time since breakfast. He went below and addressed the cook, who had shut himself up in his tiny galley, as sailors call a boat's kitchen.
"What's your name?" demanded Boyd.
"Filipo."
"Are you a nigger?"
"I guess so; I dunno."
"Well, what were your father and mother?"
"I dunno."
"That's funny; but what I want to know is how soon grub will be ready?"
"Right away, senor."
"All right, Filipo; see that there is plenty of it."
"Dod foul my hawser, if this ain't what yer might call pleasant," declared the "pirate," showing his few teeth in a smile that reminded Pauline of the spiles of an abandoned pier.
Pauline was pacing the deck apart from the others, in a pleasant dreaminess scanning the endless azure of the hashed waters. Her thoughts roamed forward and backward—forward to the vague magic land of adventure, where she was to win treasure and delight, fortune and fame; backward to a big, lovely, splendid house in New York City, where a certain tall young man, with brown, unruly hair and shoulders broad as a sheltering wall, must be pining for her.
Some one began whistling in the cabin. Pauline paid no attention to it at first, but as the tune suddenly shifted to the very latest musical comedy air she became interested. Owen never whistled, and Hicks, she imagined, seldom went to the theatres.
The song shifted from whistle to words:
"I'm a greatly wicked person. If there's anybody worse on This terrestrial circumference of guile (Though I very broadly doubt it) I should like to know about it, For I want to be the blackest thing on file.
"I'm a bad-mad-man, my dear, I'm a liar and a flyer and flirty buccaneer. I've done everything that's awful that a human being can. I'm a bad—ma-a-d man."
"The song from 'Polly Peek-a-boo.' Harry and I heard it only two weeks ago," mused Pauline.
Moved by a sudden whimsy, she entered the cabin. There was no one there but the cook. In his dingy linen suit he was standing at the table peeling potatoes and whistling. He stopped as Pauline entered, a tall powerful man, though of slouching posture, he bowed deferentially.
"No like me sing—no sing," he suggested.
"On the contrary, I like it very much. You sing very well indeed, Filipo. Would you mind telling me where you heard the song you were just singing?"
"Big American man, up Nassau—he sing'um. Very fine man—big fool daughter," replied Filipo.
"You speak very good English when you sing," remarked Pauline. "Why don't you do it all the time?"
The cook hesitated.
"Speak good English all time—bad English when sing!"
Pauline began to scrutinize half suspiciously this remarkable menial, but he kept stolidly at work at the potatoes, and his dark skin, his scraggly beard, his bagging trousers upturned over bare feet, his general dilapidation of appearance, proved him nothing but one of the common derelicts of the languid islands.
"If you could peel potatoes instead of butchering them, there would be a little more to eat in case we run out of supplies, Filipo," suggested Pauline.
He turned on her a frank American grin. For an instant the twinkle in the keen blue eyes upset her.
It was so, like the twinkle in a pair of keen blue eyes that were supposed to be figuratively weeping for her fate in far-off New York. But instantly he changed his attitude.
"No like cook—cook quit," he grumbled.
"'Oh, no, indeed, Filipo, you must not be offended. I was just speaking to Mr. Owen this morning about raising your salary."
A thick voice came to them from the cabin door.
"I begs to report, Miss," said Blinky Boyd, the pirate, reeling in, "that there be mut'ny in yer crew. Mr. Hicks and Mr. Owen, Miss, has rebelled against me authority and has refused me drink."
"That is an outrage, Mr. Boyd. They do not realize how your nerve-racking adventures have shattered your strength. I will attend to it myself," said Pauline sympathetically. "Filipo, give Mr. Boyd a drink."
"Drink? Yes, meem," replied Filipo, with such unwonted alacrity thatPauline turned in surprise.
She saw the slouching figure of the cook suddenly stiffen to his full stalwart height. She saw an ill clad, but majestic giant stride toward the pirate, bowl him over with a gentle tap, pinion his arms and legs in a lifting grasp and carry him toward the door of the cabin.
Cries of rage came stuffily from the thick throat of Boyd.
"Lemme go, ye scum, lemme go," he yelled.
"Filipo! Filipo! Stop this instant! How dare you treat Mr. Boyd in such a manner?" cried the indignant girl.
"You say, 'Give—him drink.' He say, 'Lemme go," answered Filipo, pausing with his squirming burden.
"Drink! Ye fool, drink! She is felling ye ter gimme a drink," screamed the hero of desperate encounters.
"Big, fat drink," agreed the cook, as he strode toward the rail.
Pauline rushed upon him. The peril of her precious pirate stirred all her courage. She saw her dreams vanishing—the chief narrator, navigator and guide of the treasure voyage suspended in two strong arms over the blue deep. Forgetting that he was accustomed to conquer twenty men single handed, she felt only pity for his plight. Her soft but determined hand gripped the cook's.
"Filipo, obey my orders!" she commanded.
"Yes, Mem. Let 'um go. Give 'um drink. Big liar need big drink."
He lifted the struggling but utterly helpless form of the pirate over his shoulders, then, with a sudden stooping movement, he made as if to plunge it into the sea.
"Help! Help!" cried Pauline, running up the deck.
Hicks and Owen rushed from their staterooms. Blinky Boyd was quivering, gasping beside the rail. They found a slouching, uncommunicative cook stolidly washing dishes in the galley.
Some hours later while Boyd was sleeping off his potations and Hicks and Owen were deep in conference on deck, Pauline slipped down into the galley ostensibly to explain the rudiments of the culinary art to the cook.
"The trouble is you have no respect for a potato, Filipo. You slash the poor thing to pieces, and then you boil it only long enough to hurt its feelings."
"Peel potato nice, good," he apologized. "Then peel 'um pirate.Filipo want to peel pirate; boil him just half-hurt him feelings.That's how."
"Oh, I see. But I think you do Mr. Boyd a great injustice, Filipo. He has consented to come all the way from New York with us and take command of our boat and find the buried treasure, and—"
"Buried potatoes," snapped Filipo with a sudden reversion to his unimpaired English.
"Well, at least you understand about tomorrow's breakfast now, don't you?"
"Yes, mem. Boil 'um eggs to death; no peel 'um."
"No, no, no, Filipo—boil them two minutes and a half. Here, take my watch and go by that. You must be very careful of it, Filipo."
"Yes, mem; boil 'um long time; stick fork in, see when soft."
"No!"
Pauline caught the watch from him. "You don't boil the watch at all,Filipo. You boil the eggs and watch the watch. Can you tell time,Filipo?"
"Yes, Mem."
"How long is an hour? Peel potatoes—hour is ver' ver' long. Talk to ship's lady—whist!—hour is no time," answered Filipo with upcast hands.
Again she eyed him through her long lashes a little askance. He was rather subtle, this half-breed cook, for one who could not even boil an egg.
"I will let you have the watch, Filipo," she said gravely, "but you must give it back to me. It is one of the most precious things I have. It was given to me by—Filipo, were you ever in love with a girl?"
"Su-u-ure, mem!" replied the cook with sudden enthusiasm. "Love daughter big American—no love me. Big American daughter start from Nassau—get buried treasure—not!"
"Filipo, where do you get all your New York slang?"
"Big American daughter, she sling slang-good," said Filipo.
"Why did you fall in love with her?"
"Nice girl—no eat much, no scold cook, no talk about potatoes— just big fool 'bout buried treasure."
"What do you think love is?"
"Love-huh!" grunted the cook. "I like girl; girl no like me. Chase all 'round world—no good."
"That watch was given to me by the man I love, Filipo," said Pauline."You won't-boil it—or anything, will you?"
As Filipo took the tiny diamond-scarred timepiece from Pauline's hand there was a sound as of some one choking at the top of the steps.
The cook sprang to the deck, but there was no one in sight. He returned to Pauline, while Blinky Boyd, gasping more from astonishment than fear, reeled up to Owen and Hicks on the forward deck.
"She's gone clean crazy," he panted. "She treats that there cook as if he was a nat'ral human man instid of a sea-rovin' gorilla, worse'n the one I beat In Afriky."
"No more gorillas for a while, Blinky," commanded Hicks. "What's happened now?"
"She's gone an' guv him her jooled watch to boil eggs by," said the pirate.
"By George, we will have to do something with that fellow," mutteredHicks to Owen as they walked away.
"Do suthin' to him!" Blinky Boyd was fuming in the wake of Owen and Hicks on their stroll up deck. "Do everythin' to him; make 'im walk the old board; draw'n quarter 'im. Didn't he attempt me life an' ain't he at present engaged in stealin' the fambly jewels?"
"Well, have you got any ideas?" asked Owen.
"The first thing," whispered Blinky, "is to git him under the in-floo-ence of licker. They never was no cook could stand up agin' the disgraceful habit o' takin' too much and doin' too little. Get 'im under the in-floo-ence."
"And then what?"
"Then—well, ain't they a lot o' good blue water floatin' around atop the fishes? Ain't they some accommodatin' sharks swimmin' atop the water?"
"That's a bit crude—just to throw a man overboard for nothing," saidOwen, willing to arouse Boyd's anger.
"Fer nothin'? Didn't he insult the master o' this ship. Ain't he tried to starve us to death? Fer wot kind o' nothin', says I." Boyd smote his caving chest in emphasis of his accusations.
"And he would have the diamond watch on him in case he should be picked up," suggested Hicks quietly.
"That's so," said Owen. "He would have been swimming to shore with the stolen watch and drowned."
"But, of course, he would swim to shore, unless—well, it's a case ofmaking sure beforehand. We could persuade him to go in and try to killBlinky here while Blinky's asleep—then rush in and finish him. EvenPauline was a witness to the attack he made on Blinky this afternoon."
The pirate's glowing countenance suddenly, went white.
"Not this trip," he said fervently. "I ain't goin' to kill no man in a trap like that. I'm goin' to see it done fair and square in the open —with plenty o' drink in 'im an' 'is conscience clear. I wouldn't see no man die with murder in 'is heart fer me."
"I don't like it," said Owen nervously. "I don't like the idea of doing too much. We've got one big piece of work to do that concerns her." He nodded in the direction of the cabin. "Dye mean to say we can't get a poor half-breed cook off this boat without killing him? Why not discharge him?"
Hicks uttered a grim chuckle. "I must say I never thought of that. Get a boat manned, will you, Boyd, and we'll put him ashore within half an hour."
"All hands for'ard," bellowed the pirate's voice. The "all hands" wereOwen, Hicks, the pirate and Pauline.
"Why all hands? Can't you handle the cook yourself?" said Owen.
"Not to put that cook ashore—ye need a navy," said Boyd.
Backed by Owen and Hicks, he moved to the cabin.
"You, cook, there—ye're fired. Get off the boat. Yer kerriage waits," he cried down at the busy Filipo.
Filipo shuffled almost meekly toward the speaker. He saw the skiff alongside and Hicks and Owen nearby.
"Grab 'im," ordered the pirate. "Here's the irons." He produced a pair of rusty handcuffs that had been brought along, among other ominous-looking junk, to impress Pauline.
But Filipo was not "fired" yet. With a sudden long-distance lunge he knocked down the pirate, who, thought he was at a safe distance. But Hicks, who had been well schooled in street-fight tactics, thoughtfully stuck out a leg and tripped the cook, who fell upon the groaning Boyd. Boyd, though down, was by no means "out," and held Filipo tight while Owen and Hicks slipped on the handcuffs.
"Now to the boat with 'im an' dump 'im ashore wherever It looks hottest an' hungriest."
"Yah," he snarled in the face of the prostrate cook, "ye don't interfere no more with the capting of this here vessel. I hopes ye—"
But his sentence was cut short, or rather it ended in a shriek of pain and fright, as the cook, suddenly swinging himself from his shoulders, landed a terrifically propelled right foot in the pirate's middle.
He was pinned down again the next moment, but Boyd's yell had penetrated to the cabin.
"What is the matter—who is hurt?" cried Pauline, rushing to the group on deck.
"We have had to order this fellow put ashore. He has twice attackedBoyd, and besides he is useless as a cook," explained Owen.
"You will assuredly do nothing of the sort," announced Pauline. "You will take those horrid iron things right off and set him free."
"But, my dear Miss Marvin, he is a desperate man. It is dangerous."
"What did we come here for but to get into danger?" cried Pauline. "Besides, Filipo is the most interesting person on the ship. I have just devoted a chapter to him in my book, and if you think I'm going to spoil my book because Mr. Boyd gets hurt, or the potatoes aren't done, you're much mistaken."
Owen obediently knelt and unlocked the clumsy handcuffs.
"You are free, Filipo," said Pauline with the air of a proud princess releasing a serf.
"No fired?" grunted Filipo. "Too bad. Bum job."
"Now go back to the kitchen, and promise not to strike Mr. Boyd any more."
"No hit 'um. Boil 'um. Three minutes; stick fork in hum," said the cook with a cannibal glare at the still writhing pirate.
He shuffled off to his pots and pans. Blinky scrambled to his bunk, and Pauline retired to elaborate the fascinating character of Filipo in another chapter of her book of adventure.
She did not realize how late it was when at last she put down her pen and moved with soft, slippered steps to the door of the cabin.
Over the great vault of the heavens the stars were sprinkled like silver dust. The boat rolled softly, dreamily on the listless waters. A cool breeze scented with the fragrance of the spicy land cooled her brow. She realized that her little stateroom had been very stuffy. It was beautiful here in the hushed night alone. She moved out on deck.
They had come to anchor for the night off St. Andrew, and the few faint lights of the town tinged the scene with life.
Pauline was thinking of Harry. It would have been nice if he were here now, in the moonlight just for this evening. Of course if he were a regular member of the party, he would spoil the trip by his grumpiness, and probably prevent them from finding any treasure at all. But Harry was a good companion—usually, and Pauline was getting a little tired of the company on the yacht.
The night was so still that even her light footstep could be heard on the deck. And she was surprised to hear a muffled hail from some invisible craft astern.
As she moved to the rail—her tall form in the yachting suit standing out plainly in the moonlight—she saw a small boat scurry away. She thought she recognized their own small boat—the one the yacht towed —and she quickly made sure that this was true.
Pauline turned toward the cabin to rouse the others for a real pirate chase, when she was silenced and stunned by the sight of Filipo, the cook, staggering out of the galley, with his bearded chin drooping on his breast, his knees swaying under him, his arms weaving cubist caricatures in the air and his voice raised in unintelligible song.
He was quickly followed by the Pirate, who, to Pauline's amazement, actually presented a picture of sobriety in contrast to Filipo.
But on seeing her, Boyd looked frightened.
"They have stolen the skiff," cried Pauline.
"No, Miss," said Boyd; "they was four of 'em come aboard in one boat, an' we let 'em take ourn ashore to bring a double load o' supplies."
Pauline was grievously disappointed. She turned her wrath upon the musical and meandering Filipo.
"Filipo!" she demanded. "Go to bed at once."
For answer he reeled toward her.
"Cook boiled—boiled three minute," he said.
Then with a lurch he fell sprawling at her feet.
Boyd had started back to the cabin in haste and excitement. Pauline's first instinct was to leave the inebriated man, but pity mastered her and she stooped to lift him.
He sprang to his feet without her aid. His blue eyes looked clearly into hers. His body towered again to its commanding height as it had done when he was about to finish the Pirate.
He stooped and spoke rapidly, sharply in her ear. There was no pigeon chatter. It was straight English.
But as the door of the cabin opened again and Boyd came out, the tall form sank into itself, the knees began to rock, the arms to weave and, staggering back up the deck, he disappeared in the cabin.
Pauline stood stupefied. She had been so startled by the sudden transformation of the man that she had hardly understood his strident words.
Only one thing she could remember. He had commanded her to go to bed and bar her door. She obeyed but she could not sleep at first. It seemed that hours had passed when a sound outside her door brought her to her feet.
She moved to the door and softly opened it. Across the threshold layFilipo, wide awake.
"Go to bed," he said. Again she obeyed and this time she slept.
The next morning everything seemed outwardly as usual, the skiff had been restored to its place astern. The Pirate was intoxicated; the cook sober. But there was the threat of trouble in the air, Pauline felt it in the attitude of all the men, even of Owen and Hicks.
The Pirate showed a strange new tendency to make friends with Filipo.
"Can you steer, cook?" he asked after the latter had announced that dinner was ready.
"Yes," said Filipo.
"All right, take the wheel and keep her as she's going till we round that point ahead there."
Filipo took the wheel and the others descended to find the cabin table set. There was a prodigious amount of fried steak and boiled potatoes as the main part of the meal. To their dismay they found the steak was as tough as leather. A wail of sorrow arose when the potatoes proved to be so hard that Pauline doubted if they had been boiled more than three minutes.
The "Pirate," whose table manners savored of the forecastle, tried a biscuit and found it as hard as stone and almost as heavy. In his anger he hurled it at the side of the cabin and was horrified to see it go through the boat's side. He did not know that the biscuit happened to strike a hole that had been temporarily stopped up with putty and paint. He turned speechless to the others and saw Hicks lift a biscuit on high about to dash it onto the cabin floor.
With instant presence of mind he seized the arm of Hicks, and in a hoarse voice shouted:
"Don't do that, you'll sink the ship. Look what mine did."
They all gazed in amazement at the ragged aperture in the side of the cabin through which the sparkling waters of the Atlantic could be seen dancing past.
Events moved swiftly that afternoon. Owen, peering in the galley porthole beheld the disguised cook remove his wig to wash his face and recognized the curly light hair of Harry. About four o'clock the launch tied up to the landing at the small village of St. Andrew. There Owen had opportunity to reveal his discovery of Harry's presence to the other two conspirators. They were frightened at first but soon agreed that it was a fine chance to get rid of both at the same time.
The pirate confided to them that he had brought a clock-work bomb along and had it in his bag. A few minutes' discussion produced a simple plan.
Owen sent the disguised Harry with a bucket, in search of a spring and Pauline was already hunting strange flowers among the palms and creepers. This left the conspirators free to place the bomb under the cabin floor boards, a matter which Owen attended to himself. It was set to explode two hours later. Pauline and Filipo were then summoned and told that there were comfortable lodgings and a good meal obtainable at a village just the other side of the long narrow point of land. If Pauline and Boyd and Filipo would go around in the launch Owen and Hicks would climb through the jungle and get there in time to have a meal already upon the boat's arrival. The two parties separated and all was quiet for some time. Pauline sat on deck with the pirate endeavoring to engage him in conversation. But he grew surlier and surlier in his answers, looking frequently at his watch and often stopping below for a drink.
After about an hour and three-quarter, Pauline became a little frightened at his behavior and descended to the cabin. There was the cook reading a cook book, evidently his own. The moment Pauline was out of sight the pirate heaved a sigh of relief and abandoned the wheel. Stepping softly to the stern he pulled in the small boat which was towing astern, leaped in adroitly and cut it adrift.
"Filipo," said Pauline, "you told us you were a good cook."
"Yes, senorita, I thought I was."
"Have you ever cooked before?"
"No, but I have a cook book which tells you how every one may be a cook. I thought—"
Filipo, did not finish his sentence. His eyes were roving around the cabin in search of something and Pauline was looking very hard at him.
"What's that ticking sound?" inquired the cook. He went to the cabin clock and listened. No, it wasn't that. Pauline could hear it, too, and it wasn't her tiny watch. Filipo made a search of the cabin and finally located the sound under the floor. A moment more and he had laid bare the pirate's bomb. He leaped on deck and took in at a glance that the pirate had left in the only boat.
In another instant he was below again, tearing off his wig.
"Polly, it's I. There's an infernal machine ticking here ready to blow us up."
He tried to lift up the bomb, but it was wedged fast.
"Harry, for Heaven sake, what do you mean?"
"I'll tell you in a minute in the water as soon as we have jumped overboard. Come."
He seized Pauline, carried her up on deck.
"Where's Mr. Boyd?"
"Gone. Take this," answered Harry, putting a life preserver around her.
"Now, will you jump or shall I throw you overboard? One, two, three."
"I'll jump," said Pauline and with arms around each other they leaped into the warm ocean. On went the white launch serene and unruffled by the desertion of its crew. In answer to Pauline's demand for explanation Harry only answered:
"Wait."
Finally it came.
A belch of flame shot up from the launch driving a column of smoke far into the sky, where it spread out and formed a majestic ring, which floated and curled for many moments. A concussion reached them through the water and another in the air smote their ears.
The after part of the launch rode on the waters for a moment and then disappeared. Finally a succession of waves tossed them and passed on.
"What does it mean?" gasped the girl.
"Insanity—sheer, downright insanity. That wretch of a 'pirate' was a crazy man.
"He placed that bomb, intending to kill all of us. And Owen deserves a sound thrashing for having anything to do with such a murderous lunatic."
"I think you're rather hard on Owen, Harry," said Pauline. "Of course, we all know that pirates aren't nice persons—but nobody could foresee that the man was crazy."
"Well, perhaps. But don't talk, we have a mile and a half swim to shore."
They were spared that ordeal by the Silurian liner Caradoc. Arrayed in borrowed clothes they were notified of a second rescue and came out on deck in time to behold in the dusk of evening the "pirate." He was relating to an admiring throng how he had stuck by the burning ship till it exploded. He had actually been blown into the air and had fallen by good luck into the little boat.
"It's a lie," said Harry in the old man's cackling voice. The "pirate" heard the voice of the old man and saw the face and the blond hair of Harry.
It was too much for his evil and murderous mind to bear. With a shriek he hurled himself over the rail into the sea. The Caradoc stopped and searched, but no trace of the "pirate" could be found.