MILES HATHAWAY TALKS
Close upon noon the following day, moon-faced Jerry was heading for
the after cabins, broom in hand, with intent to sweep up the mess
cabin. Manuel Mendez, who had the deck, playfully whipped out his
sheath-knife, and pretended to dive for Jerry. With a howl of
terror, the boy slashed the mate's shins with the broom-handle--a
wild blow.
"Leave go o' me, you nigger!" he howled, as the hand of Mendez caught
his collar.
"Who you call nigger? Me?" demanded Manuel Mendez angrily. "What
you t'ink dis ship be, huh? You say 'sir' to de mate, queeck!"
One giant black hand encircling the boy's throat; Mendez laughed and
choked him until Jerry's face was purple. Then, having heard the
desired "sir", Mendez flung Jerry at the companionway which swallowed
him from sight.
At the bottom of the ladder, Jerry perceived Captain Pontifex bearing
his instruments and going above for the noon observation. Jerry
sidled into the nearest cabin and hid. He knew that the Missus was
up forward in the galley, safely engaged in getting dinner.
Thus it happened that when Florence went swiftly to the stern cabin,
and Tom Dennis stood upon the companion ladder to give her warning of
any approaching danger from above, neither of them knew that
moon-faced Jerry was fearfully waiting and listening inside the cabin
of Mendez, the door slightly ajar. And that cabin adjoined the stern
cabin.
"Father--can you wink your eyelids once for 'yes' and twice for 'no'?
Quickly!"
Florence stood before the immobile figure of her father, watching him
with anxious desperate eyes. The eyes of Miles Hathaway winked--very
slowly, very slightly, but very perceptibly. Was it chance or design?
"Have you given the position of the wreck to Captain Pontifex?"
breathed the girl. Her father's eyes closed twice. A sudden glory
shone in her face, as she realized that this was no accident--that
she was communicating with her father at last!
"You heard all that passed at the meeting here," she hurried on.
"Was he sincere in what he said? Does he mean to keep his promises
to us?"
The eyelids of the paralytic fluttered twice.
"Have they harmed you?"
"Yes."
"Can we trust anyone aboard here?"
No answer. Evidently Hathaway was not sure upon this point.
"Have they any intentions of harming me?"
"Yes."
"They have! And Tom too?"
"Yes. Yes." Repeated, this time, manifestly for emphasis. The girl
paled slightly.
"Will they harm us before we reach Unalaska?"
"No."
Tom Dennis began to whistle cheerily. Florence, who had filled her
father's pipe, put it between his lips and held a match while he
puffed. As she did so, the door behind her was flung open, and into
the cabin came Tom, propelling before him the cabin boy Jerry.
"Heard everything you said, Florence," said Dennis, surveying the
shrinking boy. "Now, Jerry, what d'you mean by spying on us? Who
set you in there to listen?"
"Nobody." Jerry began to blubber. "But that nigger Mendez kicked me
downstairs, and I seen _him_ comin', and I ducked in there. I didn't
mean to hear nothing honest! And I won't tell them, neither, if ye
let me go. Don't whale me!"
"Lord, Jerry, I wouldn't hurt you!" said Dennis; but he frowned as he
spoke. He looked at Florence and gestured helplessly. If the boy
told--their game was done!
"Jerry," said the girl, suddenly stooping and kissing the gaping boy,
"do you like Captain Pontifex?"
"No, I don't! I hate him! And if we ever get anywhere, I'm going to
run away."
"He hates us, Jerry. Do you want to go away from this ship with us?
"You bet, ma'am. Can I?"
"If you don't say a word to anyone about what you just heard. If you
do, Mr. Dennis and I will suffer, and you'll get no chance to run
away."
"Cross m'heart, ma'am." And Jerry earnestly suited action to word.
A sudden excitement shone in his eyes. "They've double-crossed you
all the time. I know; I've heard 'em talk! They're goin' to give
you to that man Frenchy, that used to be cook. I never seen him, but
they talk about him lots."
"All right, Jerry," said Dennis hastily. "Beat it before the skipper
comes back."
The boy fled. Dennis looked at the flushed hurt face of Florence.
"Give me--to that man!" she said faintly. "Oh! It--it's
impossible----"
"Right, old girl--it's quite impossible." Dennis made a gesture of
caution, as he heard the sound of steps from the passage. "You leave
it to me, that's all. I'm sorry you heard that, Florence; but it'll
be all right. Better take that pipe from your father, or we'll
forget it. Eight bells just struck and we'd better run along to
dinner."
The skipper entered, with a smiling nod and a twirl of his moustache.
"Unalaska day after to-morrow, if the wind hold," he announced, his
deep-set eyes flitting from face to face as if seeking secrets there.
"All's well?"
"All well and hungry, skipper." Dennis turned to the door. "Coming?"
"Not for five minutes. I want to jot down these figures and work out
our position."
During the meal which ensued, Tom Dennis marvelled at the manner in
which Florence maintained her cool poise, with never a token to
indicate the terrific ordeal to which she had so lately been
subjected. And little Jerry, his moon-face white and frightened,
served the table with an occasional adoring glance at the girl; the
danger from Jerry was palpably eliminated.
To dare risk further conversation with Miles Hathaway would be
unadvisable, Dennis realized. Discussing the matter with Florence
that afternoon, he found all traces of excitement gone from her; she
was coolly alert, and much better poised than was Dennis himself.
Fury was so deep and strong within him that it was difficult for him
to restrain his passion; but Florence had become quite cool and
dispassionate.
"It is quite clear, Tom," she said quietly, "that we must get father
off this ship at Unalaska. If the revenue cutter is there, you had
better interview the commander, tell exactly what has happened, and
have father placed ashore. If the revenue cutter is not there, the
port authorities----"
"Will probably be too slow to act," put in Dennis. "And there's
another thing--this ship has diving equipment aboard, with all things
necessary for the work in hand. I want to go after the wreck of the
_Simpson_, Florence: I believe that Pontifex will be only too glad to
set us all ashore at Unalaska provided he could get the location of
that wreck."
"But he wouldn't trust father to give him the correct location. He'd
hold us, or hold father, as hostages."
Dennis nodded, frowningly. After a moment he rose.
"Dear, please go to your father at once, Tell him that it is
absolutely essential that he give Pontifex the correct location of
that wreck. Tell him that I shall handle the entire matter in such a
way that Pontifex will ultimately get his just desserts; but for the
present it is necessary that Pontifex should not suspect us."
"And you, Tom? What are you going to do now?"
"I'm going to see the skipper--I think he's on deck. If your father
consents to do as I request, please call us at once."
Dennis hurried out to the companion way, and ascended to the deck.
Pontifex was there, indeed--tall and cavernous, caressing his curled
black moustache while he talked with Mr. Leman. Dennis approached
them with his heartiest manner.
"Well, gentlemen, good news!" he said warmly. "Do you remember,
Captain, mentioning Dumas to me when we came aboard? That gave us an
idea, and I believe that Mrs. Dennis will be able to communicate with
her father. In fact, I expect her to call us down there at any
moment to get the location of that wreck. Pretty good, eh?"
Mr. Leman rubbed his broken nose. The skipper gave Dennis a sharp
look, then forced a smile.
"Why, certainly, Mr. Dennis! Very glad indeed to hear it. The
means?"
"By Captain Hathaway's winking his eyes in response to certain
questions. Simple, if we'd only thought about it, eh? And, Captain,
Mrs. Dennis and I both think that when we reach Unalaska she had
better be put ashore there with her father. She's rather worried
over his condition, and she'd be able to secure comforts ashore which
can't be had here."
Pontifex nodded absently. His pallid features looked very uneasy.
"Then you'd go on with us?" he asked after a moment.
"Of course!" assented Dennis heartily. "Don't you want me?"
"You bet we do!" returned the skipper fervently, his face clearing.
"We'll need every man aboard when the work begins."
"Good--then it's settled!" exclaimed Dennis. "When do we make Unimak
Pass?"
"To-morrow night," spoke up Mr. Leman, and fell to discussing the
weather.
Five minutes later Florence appeared on deck, smiled and nodded
brightly as the two officers touched their caps, and approached them
with well-assumed eagerness.
"I can talk with father!" she exclaimed as though the discovery were
fresh. "Come, down, gentlemen! He knows exactly what I'm saying,
Tom, and winks once for 'yes' and twice for 'no'! I asked if he'd
give us the exact location of the wreck, and he said 'yes'; so I came
to call you at once."
"Excellent, Mrs. Dennis! I congratulate you," exclaimed the skipper.
"Mr. Leman cannot leave the deck. I'll call Mr. Mendez as we go
down. Well, well, Mrs. Dennis! Your husband was just telling us of
the method of communication. Quite ingenious, quite! By the way,
have you seen Mrs. Pontifex?"
Mr. Leman, who entirely disregarded the conventional title of the
lady, sang out in quick response:
"The Missus is up for'ard in the galley. Ahoy, Corny! Pass up the
word for the Missus!"
So the word was "passed up", and the large figure of Mrs. Pontifex
appeared near the try-works as Florence descended the companion
ladder. With the Missus at the end of the procession, the others
passed on into the stern cabin, the skipper knocking at the door of
Manuel Mendez _en route_ and commanding his immediate presence.
"Best do this all shipshape," suggested the skipper, when they stood
before and around the immobile figure of Miles Hathaway. "I'll get
out a chart, Mrs. Dennis----"
Pontifex searched his chart locker and did not find the desired chart
until Manuel Mendez appeared, smiling his eternal and monstrous grin.
Then Pontifex produced a chart of the Aleutian Islands.
"Now, ma'am," he addressed Florence, "while I read off the figures to
your poor old father, you stand by to watch for the answers. All
ready? Good. Let's take up the latitude first--easier to determine
the position that way. Now, is the position north of fifty-four?"
"No," returned Florence almost at once.
"Hm! That cuts out everything north of Dutch Harbour, eh? North of
fifty-two?"
"No," answered Florence.
"Good enough, ma'am. Now let's take up the longitude. West from
Greenwich?"
"Yes."
"Between one seventy-four and seventy-eight?"
"No."
"Between one seventy-eight and eighty?"
"Yes!" exclaimed Florence.
"Getting warm, eh?" Pontifex spoke eagerly, a tinge of red in his
pale cheeks. "Ah! It's among that clump of islands south-east of
Tanaga. Now, Mr. Hathaway, kindly follow my pencil from island to
island with your eyes, this way----"
The skipper slowly passed the point of a pencil from one barren rock
island to another. A swift cry from Florence checked him; holding
his pencil, he gazed steadily at Miles Hathaway.
"Is this it?" he demanded, a sudden ring of steel in his tone. "This
one--the most southerly of the rocks to the eastward of Kavalga?"
The gaze of one and all centred upon Miles Hathaway who for a moment
met the level gaze of Pontifex with unmoving eyes. Then, slowly,
Hathaway signified "Yes".
A deep breath filled the cabin; but the tense attitude of Pontifex
did not change. He held his eyes steadily upon those of Hathaway.
His voice came like a challenge, steely and commanding.
"Is that the correct position, Captain Hathaway--upon your word of
honour?"
"Yes," signalled Hathaway immediately.
Captain Pontifex turned. He rolled up the chart and tossed it upon
the table.
"Hathaway's word is as good as my own--and that means _good_," he
said quietly. "Now, Mrs. Dennis, am I correct in believing that you
wish to be set ashore with your father at Unalaska?"
"Yes." Florence looked at him, smiling. "I'll be sorry to miss the
salvage work, Captain Pontifex, but I'd like to obtain medical aid
for my father, and to care for him ashore in person. He's more
important to me than any money, you understand?"
"Of course." And Pontifex nodded.
The Missus was watching him in unconcealed surprise, while Mendez had
ceased entirely to smile. This was their first hint about setting
anyone ashore. Pontifex caressed his moustache and glanced at them,
his deep-set eyes ironic.
"Mrs. Dennis and Captain Hathaway shall be set ashore at Unalaska,"
he said. "Mr. Dennis goes with us as their representative, to take
part in the work on the _Simpson_. I think that concludes our
meeting."
Five minutes later, in the privacy of their own cabin, Florence faced
Tom Dennis, her hands on his shoulders.
"Dear, I had hard work to make father consent," she said quietly.
"But he yielded to my love and utter confidence in you. Now tell
me--why did you do it? Do you really mean to go alone with these
men, on this ship?"
Dennis filled his pipe, stooped to kiss her lips, then struck a match.
"I most certainly do, my dear. The chances are a thousand to one
that the revenue cutter will not be in Unalaska Bay. In that event,
you and your father will go ashore, while I shall sail with the
_Pelican_. You'll take my big grip ashore, containing that
phonograph and records. By this means your father can tell his
entire story to the proper authorities. That will take time, of
course, and it will take time to summon the revenue cutter, even by
wireless.
"I believe that under the circumstances, I an oath can be
administered to your father in a perfectly legal manner. You know
the position of the wreck. With your father's story as a basis for
action you can go to work in a proper manner with the authorities;
whatever charges your father lays against Pontifex can be sworn to;
your own signature to the agreement with Pontifex was obtained by
fraud and deceit.
"You understand? Do nothing in a hurry. Give us a clear two weeks
in which to get this ship loaded with the salvaged stuff. Then get
sharp quick action, file a libel, or whatever the term is to denote
an attachment of the ship. Sue Pontifex heavily in both your
father's name and in ours, and claim whatever he has salvaged in your
own name. We'll grab his ship and his salvaged stuff at one swoop,
see? While that's going through the courts, we will gut the _John
Simpson_ of all that's left in her. There's a newspaper man in
Vancouver named Margate; I'll give you cables to send off to him.
He'll doubtless be able to get backing and to charter some kind of an
old tub--and while Pontifex is in the courts with us, Margate will be
looting the _Simpson_, before the general public gets wise to where
the _John Simpson_ is lying. See?"
The eyes of the girl were large with wonder-admiration, and delight.
Then fear struck into their depths.
"The plan is wonderful, Tom! But you--in the meantime?"
Dennis grinned. "Me? I'll be jollying old Pontifex along; never
fear!"