A DECOY MESSAGE
The following days passed quickly and pleasantly. The friendship between
De Garros and Jack ripened, being nourished, of course, by their mutual
interest in wireless, of which De Garros was a capable exponent. He did
not revert again to the subject of any previous acquaintance with
Jarrold and his niece and, seeing his reticence concerning it, Jack
avoided the topic.
At last Jamaica was sighted on the horizon. Some hours later they were
steaming through a deep blue sea along brilliantly green shores, above
which rose rugged peaks and mountains. Jack and Sam gazed with delight
at the scene as it unrolled.
The big steamer slowly rounded the long, sandy arm of Port Royal and
took on the black pilot. Then she proceeded up the harbor, following a
twisted, tortuous channel, past mangrove swamps, ruined batteries and
rankly growing royal palms.
As soon as the ship had docked, Jack and Sam both received leave to go
ashore. As may be imagined, they did not waste much time on
preparations, but were on the deck almost as soon as the gang-plank was
down. Most of the passengers followed their example, and as but few of
the ship’s company were leaving the _Tropic Queen_ at Kingston, the
quaint town, with its cement stores and hotels, its dusty streets and
swarming negroes, was soon thronged with sightseers.
Jack and Sam chartered one of the hacks that are everywhere present in
the town, and ordered the driver to show them about the city. They found
that while the main town was businesslike and substantial with its
concrete structures and stores, the back streets still showed abundant
evidences of the earthquake, which some years ago shook down most of the
city and caused a tremendous loss of life.
Some of the houses looked as if they had been shell-ridden. The roofs
had fallen in, showing the bare rafters. Walls were cracked, and in some
places the entire front was out of a house, revealing the interior of
the bare rooms.
“I don’t see very much that is interesting here,” said Jack at length.
“Suppose we go back to the hotel that was recommended to us?”
“I’m agreeable,” said Sam. “So far, my chief impression of Kingston is
dust and noisy niggers.”
The order was given to the black driver, and they were soon rolling back
to the hotel that Jack had mentioned. It was a picturesque structure in
the Spanish style of architecture, which harmonized well with the tropic
gardens surrounding it. Passing through the lobby, where they stopped to
buy postcards, the boys found themselves in a palm grove facing the blue
waters of the harbor.
A delightful breeze rustled through the palms and the boys contentedly
threw themselves into chairs and ordered two lemonades. They sipped them
slowly while they enjoyed the view and the shade. Many others from the
ship had found their way there, too. Among them was Colonel Minturn with
a party of friends.
He passed the boys with a friendly nod. He had hardly gone by, when
Jack, who had happened to look around, gave a start.
Standing behind a palm and watching the Minturn party intently, was
Jarrold. The trunk of the tree afforded him ample protection from the
observation of the man he was watching with an unwavering scrutiny.
Apparently he had not seen the boys. Jack nudged Sam and gave him a
whispered warning not to turn around.
“Jarrold is there, watching Colonel Minturn. He is plotting some
mischief. I am sure of it.”
“Wherever he is, there is trouble,” agreed Sam.
“That’s just where you are right,” replied Jack.
“Is his pretty niece with him?” inquired Jack’s companion.
“I don’t see her. By the way, I wonder where De Garros met them. Queer
that, although they know each other, as De Garros admits, they never
speak.”
“They probably met abroad somewhere,” hazarded Sam.
“I suppose so,” was the reply, and then the talk drifted to other
subjects. But Jack had shifted his chair so as to watch Jarrold without
appearing to do so. Before long, the man turned and strolled in the
direction of a terrace which opened on the palm garden.
Jack half rose from his chair as if he intended to follow him.
“What’s the trouble?” asked Sam.
“I don’t mean to let Jarrold out of my sight, that’s all,” said Jack.
“But look! He has stopped. He is talking to someone. That chap in a sun
helmet. I can’t see his face, but somehow he looks mighty familiar to
me.”
The young man who had joined Jarrold strolled along the terrace with him
till they both found chairs. Then they sat down and seemed to be engaged
in earnest conversation. The stranger, who yet seemed familiar to Jack,
had his back turned to them so that it was impossible to see his
features.
At length they arose, shook hands as if they had come to an agreement on
some matter, and parted. Jarrold came into the garden and took a seat at
a table. He scowled heavily at the boys as he passed them, but gave no
other sign of recognition. Suddenly Jack rose to his feet.
“I’m a fine chump!” he exclaimed. “I ought to have brought my camera
along. Hanged if I didn’t forget it!”
“Why don’t you go back to the ship for it?” asked Sam. “It’s not very
far. You can get there and back in twenty minutes or less if you drive.”
“That part of it is all right. But I hate to leave His Nibs, there,
unwatched.”
“Oh, as for that, I’ll take care of him till you get back,” Sam
promised.
“Bully for you! Then I’ll go. And say——”
But at that moment a page came into the garden. He was calling for “Mr.
Ready.”
“Means me, I guess,” laughed Jack, “although it sounds new to be called
‘Mr. Ready.’ What do you want?” he asked, stopping the boy.
“You are Mr. Ready? All right then, there’s a telephone message for you.
You’re wanted back on the ship as soon as possible.”
“That’s a funny coincidence,” murmured Jack; “just as I was ready to go,
too.”
As the page hurried off, Jack turned to Sam:
“I can’t think what they can want me for; still, orders are orders. You
stay here and watch His Nibs yonder, then, Sam, till I get back. If he
goes anywhere, follow him, but don’t take any chances. He’s got no great
love for either of us, I fancy.”
“Well, I guess not, after the pummeling you gave him,” laughed Sam.
Jack hurried off. Orders were orders, and although he could not imagine
what he could be wanted for on board the _Tropic Queen_, he knew that it
was his duty to obey at once. But, to his astonishment, when he reached
the ship he found that there had been no message for him so far as
anybody knew. All the ship’s officers were ashore and the ship deserted,
except for the crew unloading the bulky cargo, while black stevedores
sung and swore and steam winches rattled and roared to the accompaniment
of the harsh screaming of the bos’n’s pipe.
A good deal puzzled, Jack was retracing his steps to the hotel and the
pleasant coolness of the garden, when he was suddenly accosted by a
young man who stepped from around the corner of a building.
“Hello there, Jack Ready! Well, if I’m not glad to see you!”
It was Ralph Cummings, the operator whose place had been taken by Sam
Smalley on Jack’s recommendation.