It was Tuesday when Ted Dunstan disappeared. Now, Saturday had arrived.
On Monday the heir must appear, with his father, in the probate court,
or the great fortune would be forever lost to the young man.
The days from Tuesday to Saturday had been full of suspense and torment
to those most interested. Horace Dunstan had lost his easy-going air. He
started at the slightest sound; he hurried up whenever he heard others
talking. Every new sound gave him hope that his son was about to appear
in the flesh.
Far from slow had the search been. Mr. Dunstan's messages had brought a
score of detectives to the scene. Some of these, aided by the local
constables, had scoured the island of Nantucket unavailingly. The
greater number of the detectives, however, had operated on the mainland,
their operations extending even to Boston and New York.
Yet not a sign of the missing boy had been found. There was not a single
clew to his fate, beyond the little that Tom Halstead and Joe Dawson had
been able to tell concerning Alvarez and the florid-faced American.
Halstead's notion about Farmer Sanderson's "machinery" had crystallized
into the belief that the cases of "machinery" received by the farmer
were in reality cases of arms and ammunition, intended to be shipped to
aid some new revolution in Honduras. Alvarez and the florid-faced man,
the latter undoubtedly a seafaring man, might justly be suspected of
being employed in some scheme to smuggle military supplies to Honduras.
Tom had read in the newspapers, more than once, that filibusters sending
military supplies to Central American republics label their cases of
goods "machinery" in order to get past vigilant eyes unsuspected.
Gregory Dunstan was known to be interested in revolutionary movements,
and Farmer Sanderson might be suspected of helping Alvarez and other
filibusters by having arms and ammunition shipped to him as machinery,
and afterwards slipped out of the country from the end of the farmer's
pier on some dark, stormy night. Moreover, Gregory Dunstan and his
friends were the sole ones who could be interested in having Master Ted
vanish at such a time. All parts of the theory fitted nicely together,
Tom thought, and Horace Dunstan agreed with him.
Yet anything relating to attempts by filibusters to ship arms secretly
to another country should be brought to the notice of the United States
Government. So Mr. Dunstan wrote fully to the authorities at Washington,
who, so far, had not taken the pains to reply to his communication.
During these days the "Meteor" had been almost constantly in service.
Tom and Joe felt nearly used up, so incessant had been their work. Jed
Prentiss was now aboard, for, with detectives arriving and departing at
all hours, there was frequently need of serving a visitor with a meal
while the "Meteor" dashed over the waves to or from Nantucket. Jed was
enjoying himself despite his long hours and hard work. He even found
time to hang about Joe and learn much about the running of the motor.
By Saturday noon Horace Dunstan, who seemed to have aged much, gave up
the notion that his detectives could aid him at Nantucket. The last
three on the island were sent over to Wood's Hole on the "Meteor," with
instructions to help the men at work on the case on the mainland.
"Thank goodness, we're through with 'em," grunted Jed, leaving the
galley and coming up through the engine room hatchway. "I hope we'll get
a breathing spell to-morrow."
"We've had a brisk four days of it," nodded Tom. "I wouldn't mind that
at all, if only we had gotten any nearer to finding Ted. But all this
work and nothing gained is enough to wear a fellow out."
It was a part of Tom's nature that he felt keenly all of his employer's
worries over the missing Ted, It worried Halstead, too, to think of any
boy hopelessly losing such a huge fortune as was at stake.
"If only we could find Alvarez, and get a good grip on him," growled
Halstead, as Joe came up on deck, "I'd feel almost warranted in
torturing him until he told all he knew."
Joe nodded gravely, then suddenly grinned.
"I can imagine anyone as big-hearted as you are, Tom, putting any human
being to the torture."
"I said I'd _almost_ be willing to" insisted Tom.
"Well, you won't find Alvarez, so what's the use of arguing?" asked
Dawson, slowly. "He and his red-faced friend have skipped away from this
part of the country, I believe."
"And Mr. Dunstan has only until Monday," sighed Halstead. "And Ted to
lose millions! Did you ever hear of a case of such tough luck before?"
Jed began to whistle sympathetically. He, too, would have given worlds
to be able to pounce upon the vanished Ted. For young Prentiss was all
loyalty. Having entered the Dunstan employ, he felt all the sorrows of
the family. The more he thought about the affair the more restless the
whistling boy became.
"How long are we tied up here for?" demanded Jed, at last.
"Until the late afternoon train gets in from Boston," Tom answered,
listlessly. "Mr. Dunstan is expecting Mr. Crane, his lawyer, along. If
Mr. Crane doesn't arrive we've got to come over again to-morrow
morning."
Jed glanced at the clock before the steering wheel.
"Hours to wait," he went on, dismally. "Well, I'm going ashore to
stretch my legs, if there's no objection."
"None at all," Halstead replied, "if you're back on time."
Jed was over the rail in no time, whistling as he went. A few minutes
later Tom Halstead found himself bored by this inactive waiting, and so,
as Joe had some cleaning to do on the engine, the young skipper decided
to take a stroll ashore.
In the village all looked so decidedly dull, this hot July afternoon,
that Tom walked on through and beyond the little place. After he had
gone the better part of a mile he seated himself on a tumble-down bit of
stone wall between two big trees. It was cool here, and shady. The drone
of insects soon made the boy feel drowsy.
"Here, there mustn't be any of this," muttered Halstead, shaking himself
awake. "I mustn't fail to get back to the boat on time."
After that he was wide awake. But the green, the quiet and the cool air
made the young captain feel that he did not care to leave this spot
until it was necessary. For perhaps fifteen minutes more he sat chewing
at a wisp of grass and thinking--always of the missing heir.
Then the sound of a short little cough made him look up. Some one was
coming along the road. That some one came in sight. Almost choking with
astonishment, Halstead went backward over the wall. It looked as though
he had fallen, but it was all part of his frantic wish to get out of
sight.
"Alvarez, by all that's unbelievable!" he gasped, as he lay utterly
still behind that wall. "It doesn't look like him, but it's his size,
his carriage, his walk, his little tickling cough as he inhales his
cigarette!"
The man was coming nearer, walking at a steady though not rapid gait.
Tom hugged himself as close to the ground as he could, peering between
two stones in the wall. For an instant, as the other went by, Halstead
had a good glimpse of the fellow. Where Alvarez had but a moustache,
this man had a full black beard. Gone were the brown striped trousers,
for this man wore a blue serge suit. But the face was swarthy; there was
the same gleam in the dark eyes. Even the way of holding the fuming
little cigarette was the same.
"It's Alvarez, or his double, disguised," breathed Halstead, frantic
with joy. "I'll jump on him, and pin him to the earth!"
On swift second thought the excited boy changed his mind. It might serve
a far bigger purpose to follow this swarthy little rascal, if he could
do so undetected.
Alvarez, apparently, wasn't suspicions of being trailed, for he kept
steadily on. Halstead followed on the other side of the wall, ready to
drop out of sight at the first sign of the other's turning. When the
wall ended the boy found other shelter, and followed on. It was but a
short chase. A quarter of a mile further on the Spaniard left the road,
pushing his way through the bushes and undergrowth of a patch of woods
until he came to a small, almost hidden cove. And in this cove, her
stern within stepping distance of the land, lay a yellow-hulled steam
launch.
Tom sank low behind the bushes, and peered through. He could see all
that followed.
"Pedro!" called Alvarez, softly.
A man who had been dozing up in a seat by the bow of the boat now awoke
and turned, displaying the face of a negro. He was a big and strong
built fellow. And Tom, the instant he heard that low call from the
bearded stranger, knew it to be Alvarez's voice.
Pedro hurried to the stern. Some talk between the two followed, but in
tones so low that Halstead could understand not a word of it, until the
Spaniard, half turning away, finished by saying:
"I'll be back soon. Be ready--and be watchful."
The negro nodded heavily as the Spaniard started away. But this time Tom
Halstead made no effort to follow the swarthy one. If the Spaniard was
to return, that would not be necessary.
"I wonder how fast I can return to Nantucket, and then be ready to chase
this craft when she shows her nose outside?" wondered the boy. "For it's
five to one this launch will make for Alvarez's hiding-place, and that
is where Ted Dunstan is to be found. Yet--confound it all!--if I give
chase in the 'Meteor,' Alvarez certainly won't lead us to the place."
It was a puzzling, an immense problem. And whatever was to be done must
be decided upon instantly. While Halstead still pondered, a cheering
sound came to his ears. "Whirr-ugh! Whirr-ugh!" The negro, in his former
seat at the bow of the launch had proved his watchfulness by going sound
asleep and snoring!
"Oh! If I could only get through to Alvarez's hiding-place on _this_
boat!" thought Tom wildly, his breath coming hard and fast. No time was
to be wasted in doing nothing. Assuring himself that the negro was still
soundly asleep, Halstead stepped forward, cat-footed.
Still the black guardian of the boat slumbered. Tom, as he reached the
water's edge, prayed that nothing would disturb the fellow's sleep. The
launch was not a cabin affair, but there was a covered deck at the bow,
and, under it, a hatchway leading into a little cubby. As the negro sat
sleeping, his legs crossed squarely before the entrance to that cubby.
Then Halstead edged around until he made sure that there was another
little cubby under the stern-sheets of the launch.
"If I could only get in there and hide!" breathed the young skipper,
fervently. Hardly had he formed the wish when he stepped stealthily to
the boat. His eyes watchfully on the negro, Tom gained the stern hatch.
He bent down before it to inspect the space beyond. The space in there
was small, and much of it taken up by the propeller shaft boxing. It
looked like taking a desperate chance to try to fold himself up in that
tiny space.
"But this is a time to take desperate chances!" gritted the young motor
boat captain. "And it's the only chance I see that looks good!"
Another glance at the snoring negro, and Tom Halstead stealthily worked
his feet in through the hatchway. His body followed. He twisted and
wriggled until he had got himself as far back into the limited space as
was possible. His head was where he could gaze out into the cockpit of
the launch.
"I know just what a sardine feels like, anyway, after the packer gets
through with it," reflected the boy, dryly. He stretched a little, to
avoid as much as possible the cramping of his body.
Then he had a wait of many minutes, though at last the hail of Alvarez
was heard from the shore. It took a second call to rouse the sleeping
Pedro.
"Now, quick out of this," ordered the Spaniard. "Get up the anchor. Then
take your place by the engine."
Alvarez himself went forward to the wheel at the bow. The launch was
soon under way, moving at what appeared to be its usual speed, about six
miles an hour.
"Neither one has seen me in here," thought Tom, tensely. "Oh, what huge
luck if they go through the trip without seeing me!"
Though Halstead could not even guess it, from where he lay, the launch
took a north-easterly course along the coast, and was presently about
two miles from shore.
"Pedro," chuckled the Spaniard, at last, looking back at the negro who
squatted by the engine, "if my own father saw me now would he know me
for Emilio Alvarez? Would he?"
"He'd be a wondahful smart man if he did, fo' shuah," grinned the negro.
"In this disguise I would hardly be afraid to walk about in Nantucket,"
continued Senor Alvarez. "I doubt if any of my enemies would recognize
me. They----"
Alvarez's lips shut suddenly with a snap. While he was speaking he had
been looking astern. Tom Halstead now squirmed as he saw the Spaniard's
startled gaze fixed directly on him.
"Pedro!" shouted the swarthy one. "Look sharp, man. There's some one in
that cubby astern!"
Alvarez had started himself to leave the wheel. Then, realizing that the
boat would run wild without some one at the helm, he pointed
dramatically.
Though Halstead had trusted to the darkness and the shadow in that
cubby, the discovery that he dreaded had happened. Not willing to be
caught in there, like a fox in a trap, he made a lively scramble to get
out. He was on his feet in the cockpit by the time that Pedro, staring
as though at a ghost, leaped up and faced him.
"Grab the boy!" shouted Alvarez in glee. "Nab him and hold him fast.
Pedro, you shall have a present for this!"
As Halstead scrambled out he had looked for some object with which to
defend himself. There was nothing at hand. He was obliged to face his
bigger assailant with nothing but his fists.
"Keep off!" warned Halstead, throwing up his guard.
As the negro leaped for him Tom shot out his left fist, landing on the
side of the black man's head. The blow had no effect, save that it
angered Pedro, who struck out with his own right. It was a powerful
blow. Halstead dodged so that he received it only glancingly, but the
act of dodging threw him off his balance. He toppled, then plunged
swiftly overboard, sinking from sight.
"Stop the engine! I want him alive!" screamed Alvarez, leaping away from
the wheel.
Pedro responded swiftly, stopping the speed, then reversing the engine
briefly. The launch was brought to, almost stationary, close to the
place where Tom Halstead had fallen overboard.
"Get the boat hook," commanded Alvarez. "Jump in after him if necessary.
I want that meddling boy. I've a score to settle with him."
But, though both remained at the rail for some time, peering down into
the water, Tom Halstead did not reappear.
"Fo' goodness' sake," chattered the black man soberly, "dat boy done
sink, fo' shuah. He ain't gwine come back, boss."
"The propeller must have struck him on the head," declared Alvarez
thoughtfully. Then, with a white face and an attempt at a light laugh,
he added:
"After all, what does it matter, Pedro? That's the quickest way of
walking the plank. We didn't mean to drown him--but we're rid of his
meddling!"