Having laid out the scoundrel, Vance bid the fellow follow, and taking him to Ludlow Street he left him in charge.
On the way to the jail the man begged like a trooper to be released, plead that he was only joking, and that he was really only a "crank," but the detective's invariable reply was:
"I know you and until you 'open up' and tell who employed you to 'shadow' me, you will be kept close."
Our hero learned from the incident the terrible risks that threatened him, and he determined to be even more careful.
It was midnight when Spencer Vance arrived on the coast. He had crossed the bay alone to the outer coast and proceeded toward the cabin of old Tom Pearce.
It was a windy, rainy night, and as disagreeable as could be, and, indeed, it was desolate enough without the roar of the breakers as they lashed themselves upon the beach.
The detective was proceeding along when he was suddenly summoned to a halt.
The detective at once suspected trouble, and his ready hand went to his pocket as a man covered with a rubber coat and slouch hat approached.
"Good-evening, stranger," said the man in the rubber coat.
"Good-evening," was the response.
"Are you acquainted around here?"
"Well, I should say I was a little."
"Do you know a fisherman around here by the name of Pearce?"
"What do you want of Mr. Pearce?"
"Ah, you know him!"
"I haven't said so."
"But you do."
"Mebbe I do."
"Will you guide me to his house?"
"I don't know whether I will or not."
"I will pay you for your time."
"You will?"
"Yes."
"Where did you come from, stranger?"
"That's my business."
"Is it? Well, it's my business not to guide you to TomPearce's cottage."
"Hang it, you are a surly lot around here."
"You are a surly lot yourself."
"I only wish to be guided to a man's cabin."
"Well, if you would give a little information you might receive in return a great deal more."
"You cannot expect a stranger to tell his business to every man he meets."
"No; but will you tell me how long you have been on the coast?"
"Why do you ask?"
"As a good Samaritan."
"I do not understand you, neighbor."
"I wish to discover whether or not you are stranger around here."
"What difference does that make?"
"It might make considerable."
"How?"
"This is a dangerous place for strangers just now."
"Why?"
"The people around here are not taking well to strangers. They entertained one lately, and he got them into a great deal of trouble."
"How so?"
"He proved to be a Government spy, and every stranger that comes on the coast is watched."
"This is a strange statement you are making to me."
"I am warning you."
"You are making sport of me, I fear."
"I am not."
"Are you an honest man?"
"I am."
"I should judge so, if what you tell me is true. A rogue would not warn me."
"What I tell you is true; and because I am an honest man I warn you."
"If you will lead me to the cabin of Tom Pearce all will be well."
"Is the old boatman a friend of yours?"
"Yes."
"Have you seen him lately?"
"No."
"You have not seen him for a long time?"
"I have not seen him for twelve or thirteen years."
A weird suspicion flashed across the detective's mind, and he determined to have some further talk with the man in the rubber coat before he told him where old Tom Pearce resided.
"Is it Tom Pearce you want to see?"
"Yes."
"I will take you to where you can find him."
"To his house?"
"No."
"Where?"
"To a tavern where he resorts."
"I would prefer to see him at his house."
"Do you wish to see him or his daughter?"
The man gave a perceptible start, and demanded:
"Why do you ask that question?"
"I thought it was a good time to put it to you."
"I wish to see Tom Pearce."
"Then you do not care to see his daughter?"
"Has he a daughter?"
"He has a girl living with him."
"Do you know the girl?"
"Well, I should say I did."
"What sort of a girl is she?"
"She's a daisy!"
"A what?" ejaculated the stranger.
"A daisy."
"What do you mean?"
"Just what I say—she's a daisy."
"I do not understand you."
"She's a harum-scarum creature, wild as a hawk and as ugly as a star-fish."
"She is a handsome girl, I suppose?"
"About as handsome as a flounder."
"She is not a pretty girl?"
"Is a flounder a pretty fish?"
"I should say not."
"Then your question is answered."
"Is she a good girl?"
"Good for nothing."
"I see you do not like the girl," remarked the stranger, but he spoke in a sad and disappointed tone.
"I like her well enough."
"Will you lead me to the boatman's cabin?"
"I will on one condition."
"Name your condition."
"You will tell me how long you have been on the coast."
"Half an hour."
"Have you spoken to anyone besides me?"
"No, not since I crossed the bay."
"Why did you say they were a surly people around here?"
"I was speaking of the people across on the mainland."
"And you have not spoken to anyone over here?"
"To no one but yourself."
"Come, I will act as your guide."
"I will pay you well."
"How well?"
"I will give you five dollars."
"All right, come along."
"Have we far to go?"
"Not far."
"We will find the old fisherman abed?"
"I reckon so."
"Will it be well to arouse him?"
"Suppose we arouse the girl?"
"Can you do that?"
"Why, certainly."
The man came to a halt, and for a moment appeared to be lost in deep consideration, but, at length, he aroused himself and made a startling proposition.
As intimated, a weird suspicion had crossed the detective's mind, and he was acting with a purpose.
The man, after indulging in a few moments' silent thought as described, said:
"Do you think it possible to communicate with the girl alone?"
"Yes."
"You say you are an honest man?"
"I am."
"You can make a large sum of money honestly if you choose."
"Row much?"
"Twenty-five dollars."
"What must I do for the money?"
"Can I trust you?"
"You can trust me when I pass my word."
"I would like to talk to the girl alone for a few moments."
"And you want me to bring her here?"
"Yes."
"And you will give me twenty-five dollars?"
"Yes."
"Will you tell me what you want with the girl?"
"No."
"See here, stranger, I know something about that girl."
"What do you know about her?"
"She is not the daughter of Tom Pearce."
"Is that so?"
"That is the fact."
"Whose daughter is she my friend?"
"She may be your daughter," came the abrupt answer.
"My daughter!" ejaculated the man.
"Yes."
"Why do you say that, my good friend?"
"Why do you wish to see her alone?"
"I wish to ask her sonic questions."
"Ah, I see; you wish to ask her about the box."
The man leaped to his feet and showed signs of great agitation.
"What do you mean?" he demanded, in a trembling tone of voice.
"I mean just what I say."
"You said something about a box."
"Yes."
"Well, what about the box?"
"You wish to ask the girl about it?"
"Yes."
"About the box?"
"Yes."
"Young man, you're crazy. I reckon I do not know anything about any box."
"Oh, yes, you do."
"Which box is it?"
"The box filled with jewels and other rare gems and valuables."
The man approached close to the detective, and whispered.
"Has my daughter got such a box?"
"Your daughter!" exclaimed the detective.
"My friend, I have a strange story to tell. I suspect that the girl is my long-lost daughter."
"You're a fraud," was the idea that ran through the detective's mind. He had observed that the man did not claim Renie as his daughter until an allusion was made to the box of jewels.
"If she is your daughter you ought to know all about the box."
"So I do."
"You know all about it, eh?"
"Yes."
"You know where it is?"
"No. It was left with the child."
"Ah, you know that much!"
"If it is my child we are talking about, I know, all about it.But tell me; is the box in the girl's possession?"
"I reckon we might find it."
"Go and bring the girl to me, and you shall have a hundred dollars."
"I don't know about that; I am afraid you are not an honest man."
"What do you mean?"
"My words are plain enough. Tell me your story."
"I will tell it to the girl."
"In my presence?"
"Why should I tell it in your presence? It's none of your business."
"Oh, yes, it is."
"How?"
"I'm looking after the girl's interests."
"Who are you'?"
"I am her friend."
"Her friend only?"
"That's all."
"Do you wish to earn the hundred dollars"
"I do not care anything about the money; but I wish to see justice done the girl."
"She may look for justice at the hands of her father?"
"Not the father who has deserted her for thirteen or fourteen years."
"That can all be explained."
"Give me a satisfactory explanation, and I will go and bring the girl to you."
"I will explain to her."
"Explain to me."
"No, sir!"
"Very well; clear out, then."
"I think you are a meddlesome young scamp."
"You first addressed me."
"I only asked you a simple question."
"And I've answered you in the most simple manner."
"Take me to the girl's reputed father."
"That is fair; I will do that."
"You are a foolish young, man."
"How so?"
"You might make a large sum of money."
"By bringing the girl to you?"
"Yes."
"I will not do it."
"You will lead me to the fisherman's cabin!"
"Yes."
"All right."
The two men started across the sands, and, after half an hour's walking, came in sight of the cabin of the old fisherman.
"That is the cabin."
"Over there?"
"Yes."
"There are no lights in the cabin."
"They have all retired, probably."
"I promised you five dollars."
"For what?"
"For leading me to the cabin."
"Never mind the money."
"Yes, you must take it."
"I will not."
"I go to the cabin alone."
"I go with you."
"Not one step."
"Who will stop me?"
"I will."
"Not to-night."
"Go and bring the girl to me."
"You have changed your mind?"
"Yes."
"Can I be present during your interview with the girl?"
"Yes."
"All right, I will go and see if I can arouse her without disturbing her father."
"I will wait here?"
"Yes."
"You will return at once?"
"Yes."
"Go."
The detective walked toward the cabin, and as he approached a chill passed over his frame. He recognized certain indices that aroused the gravest apprehensions, and a moment later when he entered the cabin a most terrible and ghastly spectacle met his gaze.
As stated in a preceding chapter, no lights gleamed from the low cabin windows when Vance and the stranger arrived in sight of the home of Tom Pearce.
At the moment it struck the detective as rather strange, as he knew it was the fashion of the old boatman to set a light for the night, as sailors do on board their vessels as the sun goes down at sea, and it was not without some misgivings that he advanced alone toward the cottage.
The detective had determined to arouse old Pearce, and in collusion with the old boatman send Renie out to interview the man in the rubber coat.
As also intimated our hero had reached certain conclusions regarding the stranger, and in his own mind he felt assured that the man was urged by some ulterior motive.
It was in a cautious manner that Vance pushed open the cabin door; all was darkness within; no light had been set, and the detective stood but a second, when a cold chill struck to his very vitals that caused him to recoil.
An ejaculation of amazement fell from his lips as he quickly drew his ever-ready, masked lantern; one moment he stood irresolute, and then advanced again to the cabin door. He thrust forward his lantern; the sharp ray of light penetrated and dispersed the pervading darkness, and, as stated, a sight met his gaze that for the moment froze the blood in his veins.
No light had been set, but a light had been extinguished, put out forever—the light of life in the body of Tom Pearce.
We say a light had been put out; it had not burned out, as the first object that met the gaze of the detective was the body of Tom Pearce.
There was not a question as to the fact that crime had been done. The method of the deep damnation of the old boatman's taking off was plainly apparent.
"Can they both have been murdered" were words which fell in a hoarse whisper from the pallid lips of the detective.
Vance at the first glance concluded that Pearce was the victim of the vengeance of the smugglers, and if they would kill the old man they would not spare the girl.
It was the latter thought that caused the detective's heart to stand still, and when he did partially recover his nerve, his starting eyes moved round in search of the body of the girl. He stepped into the room, and with tottering steps moved over to the door of the adjoining room, the chamber of Renie.
The door was closed, and the detective could not muster the nerve to open it, and a moan of anguish burst from him.
There he stood, an iron-nerved man, trembling and nerveless in expectancy of a revelation of horror; at length he uttered:
"This will not do; I am Vance."
He pushed open the door, thrust forward his lantern and glanced in. The room was vacant. A sigh of relief fell from his lips. He glanced around and became more and more reassured. No ghastly sight of murdered beauty met his gaze, and an ejaculation of thankfulness struggled front between his lips.
The detective began a careful and thorough examination of the room. There were no signs of a struggle, and another significant fact was revealed; the girl's bed had not been occupied; the tragedy had occurred in the day-time or early in the evening, before the old boatman and his family had retired to bed.
The detective returned to the main room and examined the body of the old man. He also made a note of all the surroundings and took possession of several articles that lay scattered about the room. He did more; he sought for evidence as to the identity of the assassin, and found several little articles which he felt certain would aid him in trailing down the guilty man.
Vance returned to the girl's chamber and renewed his search, and succeeded in making several discoveries cries which, he hoped, would serve as valuable clews in the future. He was still searching, and deeply intent upon the duty, when he was disturbed by hearing a voice.
"Great mercy! what has happened here?"
The detective was cool again. He had recovered all his accustomed nerve, and he stepped to the outer room.
A man stood in the door-way. It was the stranger, and he, too, held in his hand a masked lantern.
The man's eyes were fixed upon the face of the corpse.
"What has happened here?" he demanded.
"Come in," said the detective.
"Whose body is that?"
"It is the body of old Tom Pearce."
"He was murdered," said the man.
"Come in," again commanded the detective.
"Did you know this body was here when you left me a few moments ago?"
"I did not."
In a hoarse voice the stranger asked;
"Has the girl been murdered?"
"I trust not."
"Have you searched for her?"
"I have."
"And cannot find her?"
"No."
"What do you know about this tragedy?"
"As much as you do."
"No doubt at all."
"Do you suspect the assassin?"
"I do! but come in."
"I can stand here."
"Come in, you may attract attention of someone passing."
"What harm if I do?"
"No, harm, but it may prove inconvenient, and may interfere with our efforts to learn the fate of the girl."
"One moment; do you know anything concerning this tragedy?"
"All I know is that I came to that door as you did, and my eyes fell upon the ghastly sight."
"Then you came here did you expect to find the old man alive?"
"I did."
"And the girl?"
"Yes."
"Then this is a surprise to you?"
"It is."
The stranger entered the room, and in a stern voice he demanded.
"Young man, who are you?"
Vance did not betray the least trepidation, but said, in a calm voice:
"My friend, I was just about to put that same question to you."
"My question came first, and I demand an answer."
"I don't care what you demand."
"I hold you at my mercy."
"Do you think so?"
"You are not what you seem," said the stranger.
"Nor are you," was the quick response.
"Who have I claimed to be, sir?"
"Renie's father."
"And you deny that I am her father?"
"I do."
"Who am I?"
"That is for you to tell."
"Who do you think I am?"
"I am not giving out my thoughts."
"Why not?"
"I've nothing as yet whereon to base an opinion."
"What difference does it male to you who I am?"
"Considerable."
"Will you explain how?"
"You are looking for the girl Renie, and so am I."
"You are?"
"Yes."
"What interest have you in the girl?"
"I am her friend."
"Can you find her—do you know where to look for her?"
"I think I do."
"Will you tell me frankly who you are?"
"No."
"And you demand to know who I am?"
"Yes."
"I have the same right as yourself to refuse to disclose my identity.
"No, sir."
"Why not?"
"You have claimed to be the girl's father."
"Well?"
"You are not her father."
"How do you know?"
"I know."
"It is to my interest to find the girl, and it is to your interest to aid me. I will admit to you that I have not disclosed who or what I am."
"You must, if you desire my aid."
"I can pay you for your service. Listen! you claim to be a friend of the girl; so am I her friend."
"You know something concerning her real identity?"
"I do."
"And you desire my co-operation in, discovering the whereabouts of the girl?"
"Possibly I do."
"If you desire my assistance, you must make a confidant of me."
"First tell me; do you believe evil has befallen the girl?"
"Yes."
"What do you suspect?"
"There is no reason why I should make a confidant of you."
"There is."
"Explain wherein."
"If you will prove yourself an honest man, with honest purposes, I will tell you all in good time."
"It will be better to tell me at once."
"I will."
"When?"
"Speedily; but tell me, what has become of her?"
"I do not know."
"Put you admit what you suspect."
"Yes."
"Will you tell me what you suspect?"
"I believe she has been abducted."
The stranger betrayed great agitation. He buried his face in his hands. He was at the mercy of the detective, had the latter been disposed to take advantage of the situation.
A few moments' silence pervaded the room, and a strange scene was presented. On the floor lay the corpse of the boatman; seated in a chair into which he had retreated was the man in the rubber coat, and standing over against him with a stern glance in his eye was the detective.
At length the man uncovered his face, and said:
"You think she has been abducted?"
"Yes."
"Have you any suspicion as to the identity of the abductor?"
"I have."
"And you will know where to look for her?"
"I will know who to look for."
"Do you suspect the motive for the abduction?"
"Yes."
"What was the motive?"
"Renie is a beautiful girl."
"You told me differently before."
"I did."
"Now you admit she is beautiful?"
"Yes; one of the most beautiful girls I ever beheld."
"Will you describe her appearance?"
The detective hesitated a moment, but at length did describe the appearance of Renie.
A detective can better describe a missing person's appearance than any other party, as it is a part of their trade to accustom themselves to the art, and our hero's description was vivid and accurate.
"Yes, yes, it is she," muttered the stranger, involuntarily.
"From the description you are satisfied that the adopted daughter of Tom Pearce is the girl you are looking for, my friend?"
"Yes; there is no doubt."
"You recognize the description?"
"Yes."
"Then you have seen the girl?"
"Not since she was a year old."
"Not since she was a year old?" exclaimed the detective.
"How can you know what she would look like now?"
"I knew her mother."
"I wish I were assured that you are her friend."
"I am her friend."
The real agitation the stranger had betrayed, had modified the detective's original opinion concerning the man.
"Answer me, are you really the girl's father?"
"I am her friend."
"You were at first ready to proclaim yourself her father; now you only claim to be a friend."
"I am her friend, and you must aid me to find her, young man; your service, if successful, will bring you more money than you have previously earned during your whole life."
"Oh, no."
"Yes, sir; I will pay you a fortune if you will find the girl."
"I already possess a fortune."
"You are rich?"
"I am rich."
"Your appearance would not indicate that you were a rich man."
"But you said a moment ago that I was not what I seemed."
"And I was correct?"
"You were right."
"Who are you?"
"Never mind; I am a friend to the girl."
"Why are you her friend?"
"I cannot tell you now, but I will admit that I am under deep obligations to her, and when I met you first to-night I was on my way to the cottage."
"How long a time since you saw the girl?"
"It is more than a week."
Strange revelations were to follow.
The detective was beginning to take a more favorable view of the character of the man in the rubber coat.
"It is over a week since you saw Renie?"
"Yes."
"When you saw her last had you reason to fear any special danger she was likely to encounter?"
"Why do you ask that question?"
"You were on the way to this cottage, as you admit, after a week's absence, and when you reach here and find the old boatman murdered and the girl gone, you claim you have an idea as to what has befallen her."
"You reason well, my friend, and the time has arrived when absolute frankness must exist between you and me; the girl's immediate safety demands that you and I should perfectly understand each other. I will admit that I had a suspicion concerning you."
"A suspicion concerning me!" exclaimed the stranger.
"Yes."
"What suspicion did you indulge?"
"I looked upon you as an enemy of the girl."
"And that is why you first deceived me as to her appearance?"
"Yes."
"I am not her enemy."
"I trust you are not, and I must be convinced that you are not."
"What first led you to set me down as an enemy?"
"Shall I speak plainly?"
"Yes."
"The strange anxiety you showed concerning a certain mysterious box, especially after I had spoken of jewels and gems."
A peculiar smile flitted over the stranger's face, and after a moment's thoughtfulness, he said:
"Surrender the box to me intact, and I will pay you as a reward the money value of all the jewels and gems you may find in it."
"Why are you so anxious to secure the box?"
"It contains proofs of the identity of the girl."
"And when her identity is established?"
"She will come into her rights."
"You know she has been debarred of certain rights?"
"Yes."
"How is it you have let her remain here so many years?"
"I believed her dead."
"When did you hear that she was living?"
"I was summoned a few weeks ago to the dying bed of a notorious criminal. The dying man told me that he had been employed to run away with my child."
"Ah!" interrupted the detective, "you are Renie's father?"
"The girl is my child."
"And you have all along believed her dead."
"I have all along believed her dead; but the dying man told me that she still lived, that he had placed the infant in charge of a fisherman's wife named Pearce. He told me where the fisherman resided at the time the child was confided to his care, and I at once came here to find her."
"Will you tell me the whole story?"
"I can tell you no more."
"Why not?"
"I have reasons."
The detective revolved the man's revelations in his mind. Had the man told him the whole story Vance would have been led to believe the tale, but despite his desire to do so, he still retained a lurking suspicion as to the purpose and motive of the man in the rubber coat.
"Well," said Vance, "the girl is missing."
"So it appears; but we must find her."
"You are right; I advise you to begin an immediate search for her."
"You will aid me?"
"No."
"You will not aid me?"
"I will not."
"Why not?"
"I told you that if you desired my aid you must confide to me all the facts; you have refused, and I refuse to aid you to find the girl." The detective was testing the man, seeking to satisfy himself that the stranger really was the father of the missing Renie.
"Very well," said the stranger, "if you refuse to aid me, I shall prosecute the search on my own account."
"That is all right, but now let me give you a little advice; do not be found running around this coast unattended; your life is in danger."
"And I believe," exclaimed the stranger, "that you are the assassin."
As the man spoke he rose excitedly to his feet, and at the same instant, three men forced their way into the cabin.
A moment the five men glared at each other in silence, and a strange and weird scene was presented.
The strangers were determined-looking men, and, after a moment, one for them—who appeared to be the leader of the party—pointed toward the dead boatman, and said:
"A murder has been committed here?"
"Yes," answered the detective. "We found the old man lying here murdered, as you see."
"You found him lying there?"
"Yes."
"But that man, but a moment ago, denounced you as the murderer."
"The man did not know what he was saying."
"You must give an account of yourself."
The man in the rubber coat hastened to say:
"Mine were but idle words."
"Ah! you did not mean what you said?" remarked the leader of the intruding party.
"I did not."
"You two men are our prisoners."
The man in the rubber coat became greatly excited, and declared his innocence, and protested against arrest, while the detective, as usual, was cool and unconcerned.
"What authority have you to make an arrest?" he demanded.
"We do not need any authority. We find you two men alone; we overheard one of you accuse the other, and that is all the warrant we need."
"I did not mean what I said!" exclaimed the stranger. "I found this man here as you found him. I never met him before an hour ago."
"It makes no difference; you must both give an account of yourselves."
"You shall not arrest me!" protested the stranger.
"You are already under arrest."
The detective was revolving the matter in his mind. He could not afford to be arrested. He could not give an account of himself; explanations at that moment would be very awkward.
The leader of the three men whispered to one of his companions, and the man addressed withdrew from the cabin. Our hero discerned the purpose of his absence. He had been sent for reenforcements, and it was necessary that he should make a strike at once. He waited for the man who had been sent away, to get beyond hearing, when, in a deliberate manner, Vance said:
"I want you men to get out of this cabin!"
"What right have you to order us out?"
"The same right that you have to declare an arrest."
"Make no attempt to leave this cabin," said the leader.
It was a critical moment, but the detective had been in worse positions a hundred times. It would have been but a play spell to him had he wanted a scrimmage, but such was not his desire; all he wished was to get out of the place and get away before reenforcements arrived.
"You have no right to threaten me," said Vance.
"We take the right; you are both under arrest, and we will turn you over to the county authorities on the charge of murder."
The detective, unobserved, seized hold of a piece of broken oar, and the moment he had the club in his possession he leaped forward; his attack was so sudden and unexpected he had knocked over both men before they had any idea of his intentions.
As our readers know, the detective was an adept with the club, and a man capable of coolly taking advantage of any little favorable incident. As the men were knocked over he called to the man in the rubber coat:
"Follow me."
The stranger did not reed a second bidding, but leaped across the two prostrate men, and followed the detective from the cabin.
"We must move quickly," said Vance; and he led the way across the sand rifts.
"That was well done," said the stranger.
"It was needful; those men would not have turned us over to the regularly constituted authorities; they are part of a band of lawless men, and we world have been tried and executed before morning, under the auspices of Judge Lynch."
"We will be pursued and tracked," said the stranger.
"Not after we once get across the bay."
"Can you get us across?"
"I should say I could."
"You are a brave and determined man."
"What did you mean by accusing me of the murder?"
"I did not mean it when I accused you; I only wished to learn how you would receive the accusation."
The detective led the way to a little cove where a boat rocked in the tide.
"Can you row?"
"Yes."
"There is a boat; get over to the mainland as quick as you can."
"Will you not go?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"It is not necessary for me to explain to you."
"But I have need of your services."
"We may meet again."
"We must meet again."
"I can be of no service to you."
"You can."
"Never, until you tell me the whole story about Renie.Meantime, you haven't a moment to spare."
"But it is equally dangerous for you to remain here."
"No. I can take care of myself; but I would not be answerable for you."
"Go with me."
"You will remain here until you are, captured. Those men will scour the coast."
"They will find you."
"No."
"Then you must be one of them, that you do not fear them."
"I do not fear them. But you must go at once. Listen! they are already on our track."
"Dare you remain?"
"Yes, yes; but you go."
"When shall I see you again?"
"Do you desire to see me?"
"Yes."
"Where do you stay in New York?"
The stranger gave the name of a hotel.
"Your name!"
"Selton."
"I will call at your hotel to-morrow."
"I can depend upon you?"
"Yes."
"Your name?"
"King."
"I will look for you. Come and see me, and you will make your fortune."
"I will come; and now you hasten away."
The stranger entered the boat, and the detective glided away in the darkness. Vance had gone but a short distance, when he saw several men moving along over the sand, and they were moving toward the cove.
As it proved, Mr. Selton was a good oarsman, and was out of sight when the men reached the beach.
The detective crept down and listened to what the men said.
The fellows had lanterns with them, and discerning the tracks of two men on the beach, they argued that both had gone off in the boat.
"They have got away," said one of the men.
"That's dead sure; and we've lost a good chance."
"What's your idea?"
"The man who beat us was that fellow Ballard. We had him sure, but now it's all day. He's gone off, and he has no further call to the coast."
"What brought him here to-night?"
"He came to find the girl Renie."
"Did you expect him?"
"Yes; Denman sent word to look out for him; our captain knew he would be coming to visit the cabin of old Tom Pearce."
"Who could have murdered Pearce?"
"That's the mystery. I learned to-night that the girl had not been seen on the beach for a number of days; whoever killed old Pearce carried off the girl."
"Sol Burton had a grudge against Tom Pearce and, his daughter."
"Yes, but Burton was away on the 'Nancy.' He had nothing to do with it."
"Do you suspect anyone?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"Well. I'm not giving out my suspicions; but we've made a blunder in letting that fellow get away to-night; but it's all up now unless some other of the games against him work out all right."
"I tell you we can run over and catch him on the mainland."
"Do you think so?"
"I do."
"Well, there's where your head ain't level. We will never catch him now that he has got away from the coast."
The men walked away and the detective fell to a big scheme.
Quick as lightning he changed his appearance, worked a perfect transformation, and strolled down toward Rigby's, the old resort, of the gang before the storm of adversity set in over them.
Rigby was as deeply interested in the success of the smuggling business as any man connected with it. When trade was good he had plenty of money and did a large business; but when it was bad his business decreased proportionately; up to the time of the arrest of the crew off the "Nancy" Rigby had been a passive man as far as the illicit traffic event, but when Ike Denman was in jail he sent for Rigby, and the man became an active partisan. He had been let into the scheme with the capitalists, and the glow of big money was opened up to him.
A short time after the incident at the cabin of old Tom Pearce the residue of the gang began to assemble at the Rigby place. The men were in an ugly and desperate mood.
Rigby had just returned from a trip to New York, where he had held a second interview with Denman. The men had been awaiting his return.
Meantime the detective had stolen down to Rigby's place, and had taken up an outside position, from whence he could take note for a few seconds, and overhear what immediately followed the man's reappearance.
It was a lucky move on the part of our hero, as he got the remainder of the points needful for the carrying out of his immediate plans.
Rigby had just joined the waiting gang of smugglers, and upon his entrance in their midst, was greeted with the question:
"What news do you bring from York?"
Rigby did not make an immediate reply, but glanced around to see who was gathered in the place.
"Come, old man, give us the news."
"I am waiting to see if there are any strangers in our midst."
"There are no strangers present."
"That's all right; I expect some strangers."
"Who do you expect?"
"Well, boys, I'll tell you; I saw Denman, and he let me, into some secrets, and if luck favors, all will come out right; the Government has only one witness."
"Vance?"
"Yes; and if that man can be got rid of all will come out right."
"Did you expect to see Vance here when you looked us over?"
"No; but I expected to see one of the men who was after Vance, and you fellows must go slow if you come across any strangers on the coast."
"There were two strangers on the coast this night."
"There were?"
"Yes."
"Where were they?"
"Up at the Pearce cabin."
"Aha! that means something; but, I'll you, I expect two or three men who are to trail Vance and if they ever catch him on this coast, or anywhere else, they'll down him!"
"Who are the men?"
"Ah! that's just what no one is going to find out, except the few who are inside of the game; but go slow when you meet a stranger during the next few days. Meantime, who was the man up at the Pearce cabin?"
"We counted him as Vance."
"It is possible it may have been Vance."
"There were two of them."
"Two of them?
"Yes."
"Then you can make up your mind that one of these men was was in our interest."
One of the gang related all that had occurred.
"Aha! I see it all. The man in the rubber coat was one of our fellows. He is on the detective's track, you bet and it will all be right for Ike and the rest of the boys in the morning."
The conversation was continued for some time, and the death of old Tom Pearce was discussed in a sort of left hand manner; nothing definite was disclosed, but the detective was led to believe that a little open play on his part might give him a chance to pick up a few facts.
Spencer Vance was afraid of discovery, and was about moving from his hiding place when he became aware of the fact that he had been seen.
A great excitement immediately followed. He stepped out from his hiding-place, and was at once surrounded by a dozen armed men.
The detective as usual, was cool and easy, and, when an opportunity offered, demanded:
"Is there a man in your company named Rigby?"
Silence followed the detective's question. He received no immediate answer, and he once more called out:
"Is there a man in your midst named Rigby?"
The detective spoke in broken English. Rigby answered himself by asking:
"What do you want of Rigby?"
"Is there such a man here?"
"If there is, what difference does it make to you?"
"I have a message for him."
"A message?"
"Yes."
"Who from?"
"I'll tell Rigby."
"See here, my man, don't you go independent, or you will get into trouble."
"I can't get into any trouble if Rigby is around."
"My name is Rigby."
"Can I see you alone?"
"Anything you have to say can be spoken right out; we are all one company here."
"That would not be according to instructions."
Rigby really wanted to talk alone with the man, but did not wish to make it so appear.
"What do you say, boys, shall I let him see me alone?"
"Certainly," came the answer.
"Come along, my friend," commanded Rigby.
The detective followed the proprietor of the tavern inside the house, and was led to a rear room.
"Now what have you got to say?"
"You are Rigby!"
"Yes, I am Rigby."
"I must not make a mistake."
"You are not making a mistake."
"All right, then you are to give me your aid?"
"Give you my aid?"
"Yes."
"I don't understand."
"I am on the lay for Vance."
"Aha! that's the racket!"
"Yes."
"Who sent you here?"
The detective mentioned the name of a man Rigby, had not spoken of during his talk with the smugglers.
"Do you know Denman?"
"The captain of the Nancy?"
"Yes."
"I never saw him. I took no orders from him."
"Do you expect Vance down here?"
"I know he is coming."
"When?"
"He may come to-night."
"What is his game?"
"He is going to investigate the death of Tom Pearce."
"Aha! does he know Pearce is dead?"
"Yes."
"How did he get that information?"
"It was carried to him."
"By whom?"
"That I cannot tell."
"He really knows the old boatman is dead?"
"Yes."
"Will he come alone?"
"No."
"Who comes with him?"
"Half a dozen other detectives."
"Then how will you have a chance to catch him?"
The detective was silent a moment. He looked Rigby all over in a supercilious manner, but at length answered:
"Don't you know how detectives work?"
"I'd like to have you tell me."
"He will hold his men in the background, and he will go alone to investigate, and call in his aids at the right moment."
"Ah! I see! and you will play against him?"
"If I am not interfered with I will."
"How do you know he has not been here?"
"I know he has not been here."
"Two men were here."
"Yes, I was on their track. I know who they were."