[Illustration:0206]
ONCE within the shadow of the lumber Annie paused. Not a sound came
from the two schooners. She knew that the _Merry Anne_ lay to leeward,
on the north side, and after a moment of listening and a glance behind
she turned toward it, making her way by feeling the lumber until she
found an opening. In another moment she stood at the edge of the pier,
looking down on the schooner. At first she thought Dick must be asleep,
for there was no light in the cabin; then she saw him sitting on the
cabin trunk, his hands clasped about his knees, his pipe between his
teeth, his eyes fixed on the dark water. The night was still, the
lapping of the ripples was the only sound.
“Dick,” she whispered.
He turned with a start and removed his pipe. Though he looked directly
toward her, he evidently could not see her, for her black dress blended
with the shadows.
“Dick,” she said again.
This time he ducked under the boom and came across to the rail. “Who's
there?”
“It's me, Dick. I'm coming down.”
“No, wait.” He stepped up beside her, and added, in a low, uncertain
voice, “You might wake Pink; he's sleeping below.” And before she knew
it, his pipe lay on a plank and he had taken both her hands. “You came
out to see me, Annie?”
“Yes, but wait, Dick; I don't know how to tell you--I couldn't help
coming--” He waited for her to go on, but she could not. She could not
even withdraw her hands, but stood motionless, her wits fluttering.
Finally he spoke:--
“You said you came to tell me--”
“Not that, Dick--not what you think. It's something else.”
He released her hands. He even, in his bewilderment, took up his pipe
again.
“I've found something out, Dick. I couldn't let it go by without telling
you. It's about--Mr. Beveridge.”
“Oh,” said Dick.
“Did you think he was a student?”
“Yes, I thought so.”
“Well, he isn't at all.”
“Oh,” said Dick again. And then, “Isn't he?”
“No, he has something to do with--don't you understand what I'm getting
at, Dick?” He shook his head.
“Are you going to make me tell you?”
“You needn't tell me anything you don't want to, Annie.”
“O dear, I don't understand it myself, much of it; but I thought you
would if what he says is true.”
“It's something about me, then?”
“Yes, Dick,--and the revenue cutter.”
“The revenue cutter?”
“Yes, the _Foote_. He has something to do with her.”
“He's a revenue officer, then?”
“Yes, or something. I don't know just what he is. But you understand it
now, don't you?”
“Not a bit.”
“But you must, Dick. He says something is going to happen, right here.”
“On the pier?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Now--to-night. I was afraid it would be before I could get out here.
And I had to wait till dark, you know.”
“But how do you know all this, Annie?”
“Mr. Beveridge--Mr. Beveridge told me more than he meant to, I guess.
And then he talked with father. And father and mother both tried to make
me go up to Aunt Lizzie's early this evening, so I wouldn't be here. It
was to save me from something, they said.”
“But I don't see, Annie--”
“Why don't you go, Dick. I've come out here to tell you, so you can
sail away before he comes. Then you won't have any trouble. There's a
mistake, I know; and when they have found it out, you can come back.”
“Oh, I couldn't do that, Annie. I have no reason to go away. If anybody
wants to see me, he knows where he can find me.”
This silenced Annie. She looked at Dick, and then looked away from him,
out over the Lake, not knowing what to say or think.
“You came out just to warn me, Annie?”
She nodded.
“There must be something more then--something you haven't told me.”
“No--only he--Mr. Beveridge said a good deal--he tried to make me
believe you were--dishonest, or something.”
“And you didn't believe it?”
She made no reply to this. She was beginning to think about getting back
to the house. When Dick spoke again, it was in a gentler voice.
“I'm glad you came out, Annie, mighty glad. And I know you 'll be glad to
find out that he is wrong.”
“Oh, I know that--”
“But there must have been some things I don't understand at all. I don't
know but what it's a good thing he is here. If he can clear it up, it
will be better for all of us. So I 'll stay right here, and if he wants
me, he can have me. That's no reason why I should dodge any man living.”
“I knew it--I'm glad--”
Then Dick's reserve broke down. He caught her hands again. “But you
can't tell me your coming out here doesn't mean anything, Annie. You've
told me already what I didn't dare to ask you.”
“No, Dick, let me go. I'm going back.”
“But after this--you can't put me off now, Annie. Don't you see? It's
no use trying to make me think you would have done this for anybody,
because you wouldn't. I know it, and you know it.”
“Now, Dick, please! I'm afraid--”
“If you only knew how I've felt this trip,--what a regular hell it has
been,--you wouldn't keep me waiting any longer. I know to-morrow's the
time; and I wouldn't have said a word to-night if you hadn't come out
here. But you _are_ here, and you have let me know so much that it's
only a matter of saying a word. You can't blame me if I take your coming
that way.”
Annie was struggling, and Dick in his eagerness was holding her tightly.
But she got her hands free now and turned away.
“Let me go back with you, Annie. I--I 'll try not to bother you. I didn't
mean to just now. Hang it, I never can trust myself when--”
“No, you mustn't come.”
“Not even good night, Annie?”
But she hurried off without a word into the shadows, and felt her way
nervously until she reached the central roadway, where it was lighter.
It was now getting on toward nine o'clock, and nothing had happened.
Perhaps nothing was going to happen, after all. What with her hope that
it all might be a mistake, and her fear that she had come on a fool's
errand, Annie was in a pretty state of mind. She did not know what to
make of Beveridge; she did not know what to make of herself; the natural
thing, apparently, was to get angry with Dick, and this she was rapidly
doing.
When she was passing the last but one of the lumber piles, hurrying
along with less caution than she had used in coming out, a man appeared
out of the shadow and blocked the way. She stepped aside and tried to
run by, but he, as quick as she, stepped aside too and caught her wrist.
Then she saw that it was Beveridge.
“Let me go!” she said breathlessly.
“No, Annie, wait. You decided to warn him, did you?”
“Let me go. You have no right to hold me.”
“Yes I have, more right than you know. Now tell me, why did you do it?”
“Mr. Beveridge--”
“You must wait, Annie. No one is going to hurt you. If you had known
what you were doing, you never would have come. It's no place for a
woman. But now that you have done this, now that you are here, I think
you had better stay and see with your own eyes what you have done. Then
perhaps you will believe me.”
Poor Annie could say nothing more. Her head whirled. She let him lead
her back along the roadway.
Close to the spot where she had turned off to reach the schooner
Beveridge stopped. In a moment he was joined by another man.
“Bert?”
“Yes. What is it? Want me to take her home?”
“No. Wait here, in case I call. And have an eye on the other boat.”
“You aren't going to take her back there?”
“Never you mind what I'm going to do.”
“But look here, Bill! This is no place for--”
“Do what you're told and keep still.”
Annie heard this muttered conversation without taking it in. Beveridge
still held her wrist, held it tighter than he knew, but she was hardly
conscious of this either. She was caught up and whirled along on the
high wind of events. She was conscious only of Beveridge, of a new side
to his character. The young man she had known on the beach and aboard
the _Captain_ had vanished. This Beveridge was hard, irresistible; his
manner, the atmosphere about him, spoke of some object that must be
reached without regard to obstacles. Her Beveridge had been friendly,
considerate; there was nothing considerate about this man. And yet, a
part of his object was to convince her that he was right and that Dick
was wrong; and she knew why.
Dick had gone back to his seat on the cabin trunk. Beveridge, gripping
Annie's wrist, stood at the pier edge, and looked down.
“Smiley,” he said.
Dick crossed the deck. “I'm Smiley. What is it?”
“I shall have to ask you to come away with me.”
“Who are you?”
“Beveridge, special agent of the United States Treasury Department.”
“Well, what do you want me for?” Dick was peering forward, trying to
make out the figure in the background.
“I guess it isn't necessary to tell you that; I 'll give you a minute to
get what things you need.”
“Who have you got there?”
“It's me, Dick.”
“Annie!” Dick leaped up to the pier. “Have you dragged her out here to
see--”
“Get back there on your schooner, Smiley. It won't be necessary to do
any talking. Anything you say is likely to be used against you. Get back
there.”
Dick looked at him a moment, then jumped down. Beveridge followed,
helping Annie, none too gently.
“Where's your man Harper?”
“Pink,” called Dick. “Pink, come up here.”
In a moment the sleepy mate appeared.
“Harper,” said Beveridge, “get an axe. Be quick about it.”
Pink looked at Dick, who said, “Go ahead. Do whatever he tells you.”
The axe was brought and handed to Beveridge.
“Now, Smiley, you and your man go below, please.”
“Below?”
“To the hold. I 'll follow.”
“Pink,” said Dick, “get a lantern.”
They had to wait a minute, while Pink was lighting the lantern. There
they stood, without speaking, each watching the other. Finally Pink
led the way to the open hatch, and descended the ladder. Dick followed.
Beveridge led Annie to the opening. “Wait,” he said; “I 'll go first, and
help you down.”
Dick, standing below on the timbers, looked up like a flash. “I wouldn't
try to bring her down here if I were you.”
“I'm not talking to you, Smiley.”
“No, but you will be if you bully her much longer. Just try to make her
go down that ladder. Try it!”
Beveridge, without heeding, turned to Annie.
When he turned back, Dick, with itching fingers, stood on the deck
beside him.
“What are you doing here? Didn't I tell you to go below?”
“Annie,” said Dick, “just say the word--just look at me--if you
want--look here, Mister Beveridge, I don't know much about law, but it
seems to me you haven't shown me any papers, and, until you do, you can
have your choice of letting go of her hand or losing your front teeth.
Just whichever you like.”
But Beveridge did neither. “No, Smiley,” said he, “we won't get into
that sort o' talk.” After which remark, he stooped over and looked down
at Pink and his lantern, and at the timbers on which Pink was standing.
“I guess maybe you can see without going down, Annie. Sit down here, and
watch what I do. Go ahead, Smiley.”
[Illustration: 0219]
Dick again descended the ladder, and the special agent followed, axe in
hand. Annie, with horrified eyes, sat limp against the hatch and took in
every motion in that dimly lighted group below. She saw Dick and Harper
stand aside; she saw Beveridge raise the axe a little way and bring it
down sharply on the end of a stick of timber,--an end that was marked
with a circular groove; she saw the timber split open, and a plug fall
out; she saw Beveridge stoop and dip his fingers in a brown liquid that
was flowing from some sort of a broken receptacle; she smelled whiskey.
She was confused, she had only a half understanding of what it meant,
but she shivered as if a cold wind were blowing upon her; and when they
had all three mounted to the deck and were standing about her, she was
still sitting there, holding to something, she knew not what, and gazing
with fascinated eyes into the square black hole,--blacker than at first,
now that Harper was holding the lantern before her on the deck. But she
knew when Beveridge stepped forward to help her up, only to be brushed
aside by Dick, who raised her gently, with a low exclamation of pity,
and helped her across the deck.
The three men gathered about her at the rail.
“Before we go any farther,” said the agent, in a conversational tone,
“will you men walk into Cap'n Fargo's house with me and sit down while
we talk this over a little? If you say you will, I'm willing to take
your word. But if not, I have men on the pier and on the bank that might
help you to make up your minds.”
“That's not necessary. We 'll go with you. Just a step up, Annie. Put
your hand on my shoulder.”
“All right, Mister Smiley. Come, Harper.” In passing his assistant,
Beveridge paused to whisper: “I 'll be at the house. See that McGlory
doesn't try to get ashore. If he gives you any trouble, whistle.”
A few moments more, and they were seated around Mrs. Fargo's dining
table, Beveridge, Dick, Pink Harper, and the old fisherman. Annie was
shut in her room, refusing admittance even to her mother.
“There's one question that comes up right here, Mr. Smiley,” began
Beveridge, “before we go any farther. Is this man Harper one of your
accomplices?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Don't take my time by evasions. You have given me trouble enough
now. If you will tell me he has had little or nothing to do with this
business, and if he can give a good account of himself, I 'll let him go.
What do you say?”
“Will you tell me what you mean?”
“That's enough. I won't waste any more time on it. We 'll hold him.
Cap'n,” turning to Fargo, “there's one thing--I guess you can understand
my position--I shall have to call on Annie for a witness, a little
later.”
Here Dick broke out. “So that's why you dragged her into this, is it?”
“Be careful what you say, Mr. Smiley.” Dick looked hard at him, then
glanced around the group, then settled back in his chair. After a short
silence, Captain Fargo spoke.
“This isn't all settled, is it, Mr. Beveridge? Dick hasn't told you that
what you thought was so?”
“It was hardly necessary. I found the proofs right there on his
schooner.”
“Is that right, Dick?”
“It seems to be.”
“You don't mean to say right out that you're a smuggler, Dick?”
“No, I'm not.”
Captain Fargo was puzzled. He looked from one to the other of the two
men, until Beveridge, with an air of settling the matter, rose. “You'd
better not throw away any sympathy there, Cap'n. You can be thankful
to find out in time that he's a bad one. I'm only sorry to have to draw
your family into it. I tried hard enough not to.”
“Yes, I know that.”
There was a shout outside, a noise on the steps, and a hammering on the
door. Then before the fisherman could get out of his chair, the outer
door burst open, and down the hall and into the dining room came Wilson,
breathless, his hat still on his head.
“Well, Bert--”
“He's skipped!”
“McGlory? What were you thinking of? Where'd he go?” Beveridge was on
his feet.
“No use, Bill; sit down. It 'll take a steamer to catch him.”
“You didn't stand there and let him sail off.”
“Wait 'll I tell you. I was back a little way, where the pier narrows,
so's he couldn't slip by through the lumber. The schooner he was on,
the--the--”
“_Schmidt_,” put in Pink.
“The _Schmidt_ was on the south side, the--the--”
“_Merry Anne_” said Pink, “--was on the north. There's a south wind, you
see. And the first thing I knew I heard the tackle creaking off to the
left. Thinks I, that's from the _Merry Anne_, only there ain't a soul
aboard her. I ran out and looked, and sure enough, there she was, with
two or three men hauling away on the sails.”
“And you didn't stop 'em?”
“How could I, Bill? You see, they'd cut the ropes and let her drift off
down the wind. She was a hundred feet out before they made a move.”
“But what were they doing on the _Merry Anne?_”
“Don't you see?” said Pink; “she can beat the old _Schmidt_ hands down.”
“They'd sneaked across out by the end,” added Wilson, “while I was
nearer shore.” Beveridge sat down again, and tapped the table nervously
as his eyes shifted from one to another of the faces before him. “How're
they sailing, Bert?”
“Right off north.”
“Before the wind?”
“Yes, sure,” said Pink; “how could they help it with a south wind?”
“Smiley,”--Beveridge had turned on Dick, and was speaking in a keen,
hard voice,--“where are they going?”
“I couldn't tell you.”
“Think a little. Your memory's poor, maybe.”
But Dick was stubborn. Pink, however, was struck by a flash of
intelligence. “I 'll bet I know.”
“Where, Harper?”
“Why, to Spencer's, where we just come from.”
“Where's that?”
“Around in Lake Huron. If I had a chart here--Cap'n, ain't you got a
chart o' Lake Huron?”
Except for Pink's eager voice, the room was still. The four other men
sat like statues, leaning forward. As he waited for the reply, the boy
became suddenly conscious of the odd expression of their faces. He had
meant to help both Dick and himself--was he helping?
The thought that had already found a place in Dick's mind, the thought
that they were in the hands of a merciless agent, whose whole object was
to prove them guilty, whose own advantage, whose future perhaps, lay in
proving them guilty--and that the course to be followed was not a matter
for offhand decision, came now to him, and he faltered.
Captain Fargo shook his head. “No,” said he, huskily, “not even of Lake
Michigan.”
“Go on, Harper. Perhaps you can tell us. Your memory's better than
Smiley's.”
When Beveridge spoke that last sentence, he made a mistake. Pink glanced
at Dick, and dropped his eyes. When he raised them, his lips were closed
tight, as if he were afraid to open them at all.
“Well, go on.”
Pink shook his head.
“Don't be a fool, Harper. If you can help me get McGlory, it may make it
easier for you.”
“But him--” Pink motioned toward Dick--“would it make it easier for
him?”
Beveridge shook his head. “I don't believe the Lord a'mighty could save
him.”
“Then,” said Pink, with a flash of anger, “you can go to hell for all o'
me!”
Beveridge sat thinking. He looked at Dick from under his eyebrows,
studying the man with shrewd eyes. With the same scrutiny, he looked at
Pink. Then he drew an envelope from his pocket and consulted a list
that had been jotted on the back; and followed this with a Milwaukee
time-table, which he studied with eye and finger. “It's now--” he looked
at his watch--“nine-twelve. We 'll make the nine-forty. Come along with
me, Smiley.” Captain Fargo asked the question that Dick would not ask.
“What are you going to do with the boys, Mr. Beveridge?”
“We're going to Milwaukee now, on the nine-forty.”
“To Milwaukee!”
“Yes. I'm afraid that's all I can tell you.” Dick and Pink took their
hats and rose. Wilson stepped back to fall in at Pink's shoulder,
leaving Smiley to his superior. Suddenly Captain Fargo, after a moment
of puzzled silence, broke out with, “Wait--has anybody seen or heard of
Henry?”
All looked blank.
“Where was he seen last?” asked the Special Agent.
“He was here on the beach after supper. We had a little chat together.
He'd been uptown after some tobacco, and said he was going right out to
the _Schmidt_, and would be spending the night there.”
“He hasn't been around since?”
“No--not here.”
“You haven't seen him?” This was addressed to Pink. Beveridge wheeled
suddenly on him in asking it, and raised his voice with the idea of
bullying him into a reply. But Pink shook his head.
“They wouldn't likely have lugged him across the pier with them. He may
be on the _Schmidt_ yet. How about it, Bert?”
“I don't think so. I looked around the cabin. Shall I look again?”
“Yes. We 'll wait here. You 'll have to hurry with it. We can't stay here
more than ten minutes longer.”
Wilson was out of the room at a bound, down the steps and across the
beach and running out on the long pier. In five minutes he was back.
“Well--”
“Not a soul there.”
“How many men did he have aboard? Do you know, Cap'n?”
“Only one or two, I guess, besides Mc-Glory.”
“They've gone along, of course. The only question is, did they take him
with 'em?”
“How could they?” said Wilson. “He is a strong man, and there wasn't any
sound of a scuffle. No, if there had been anything like that, I should
have heard it.”
“I 'll tell you what I think,” said Fargo. “It isn't what I think,
either; but it keeps coming up in my mind. He didn't seem quite himself
when he was talking to me.”
“How--nervous?”
“Oh, no, but kind of depressed. He never says a lot, but then he isn't
generally blue like he certainly was to-night. He talked about McGlory,
too.”
“What did he say about him?” asked Beveridge sharply.
“He said that McGlory and Dick had disagreed, and Dick had ordered him
off his schooner, and he had taken him in for the night. McGlory, he
said, was so ugly there was no getting on with him. He had sort of made
an errand up-town so he could get away and cool down a little. I guess
he felt so glum himself he was afraid to trust himself with a man that
acted like McGlory was acting.” Beveridge was standing by the door,
ready to start, watching the Captain closely during this speech. Now
a look of intelligence came to his face. “How are Henry Smiley's
affairs--money and that sort of thing?” he asked.
“Oh, all right, I think. He has always been saving. He must have a neat
little pile tucked away by this time.”
“And he wasn't married, or--” Beveridge paused.
“Not Henry. No, he was a woman-hater, pretty nearly.”
“Was he pessimistic--kind of down on things? Did he have any particular
object in living--anything to work for specially?”
“He was pessimistic, all right. Didn't believe in much of anything. I--I
know what you're thinking, Mr. Beveridge, but I--I can't hardly think
it's possible. I don't know, though, I guess his schooner was about the
only thing he cared for, except maybe Dick here.”
“Oh, fond of his cousin, was he?”
“Yes, I think you could say he was that.”
“Had you dropped him any hint of what I told you?”
“Well, now you speak of it, I don't know but what maybe I did let him
see that I was a little worried about Dick.”
Beveridge nodded. “I can't wait any longer. Come, Bert. You, I suppose,”
turning to Dick and Pink, “will come along without any trouble?”
“Certainly,” said Dick.
“Good-by, Captain--and say, by the way, Captain, if I were you, I would
send right up to the life-saving station and have them set a few men to
dragging out there.”
“Do you really believe that--”
Beveridge nodded. “If he is found anywhere, it will be within fifty feet
of the pier. Good-by. Come, Bert.”
They hurried over to the railway station, Beveridge walking with
Dick, Wilson with Harper. In the minute or two that they had to wait,
Beveridge scrawled the following message, and had it put promptly on the
wire:--
“To Captain B. Sullivan, on board U.S. Revenue Cutter _Foote_,
Milwaukee.
“Am coming Milwaukee with two of our men. Third has stolen schooner and
headed Lake Huron. Will be aboard for chase about midnight. Kindly have
all ready.
“Wm. Beveridge.
“_To Operator_:--If not there, try Sheboygan, Manitowoc, Sturgeon Bay,
and Marinette,--in order named. Beveridge.
“RUSH!”