Horace Dunstan, pausing in his excited walk in his library, stopped and
stared in amazement when Tom came to one point of his strange recital.
"Ted said I gave him instructions to go with that crowd?" he demanded.
"He made that point extremely plain to me, sir," Halstead insisted.
"But I--I never gave him any such instructions," cried Mr. Dunstan,
rumpling his hair.
"It seemed unbelievable, sir. And yet your son struck me as a truthful
boy."
"He is; he always was," retorted the father. "Ted hated a lie or a liar,
and yet this statement is wholly outside of the truth. I assure you----"
"If you'll permit me, sir," broke in the lawyer, who had been listening
silently up to this point, "I'll indicate one or two points at which
young Halstead's most remarkable----"
"Crane," broke in the master of the house, with unlooked-for sternness,
"if you're about to throw any doubt around Tom Halstead's story, I may
as well tell you plainly that you're going a little too far. Halstead
has been most thoroughly vouched for to me. If you have any notion in
your mind that he has been yarning to us, I beg you to let the idea
remain in your mind. I don't want to hear it."
"Hm!" said the lawyer, and subsided.
"Captain Halstead," went on Ted's father, "my son's statement is so
extraordinary that I don't pretend to fathom it. But I give you my word,
as a man of honor, that I am as much at sea in this matter as anyone
could be. But I must get in touch with Wood's Hole at once."
There was a telephone instrument in the room that speedily put the
distracted father in communication with one of his detectives over on
the mainland. A long talk followed, the upshot of it being that the
detective in charge of the search asked that the "Meteor" be sent over
to Wood's Hole at once, that she might be ready for any sea-going
following-up of clues that might be necessary.
"For, of course, we've got to find that cabin sloop," finished Detective
Musgrave. "If the sloop isn't at sea, then the chase undoubtedly must be
followed on the mainland. If we have the 'Meteor' here we can do quickly
anything that may appear necessary."
So Tom received his instant sailing orders. As he hurried from the
house, down through the grounds, the young skipper felt relieved at one
point. With his belief in Ted's honesty he had been inclined to suspect
that Horace Dunstan, for some unknown reasons of his own, such, for
instance, as a distaste for having his son go into the Army, might have
brought about a pretended disappearance.
"But now I know," muttered Tom, "that Mr. Dunstan is just as honest in
his declarations as Ted appeared to be in saying the opposite. If Horace
Dunstan has been lying to me just now, I'd have very little further
faith in human honesty."
The "Meteor" was speedily on her way. First Joe, and then Tom, was
served in the little galley, Jed getting in his mouthfuls as best he
could before the motor boat was tied up at Wood's Hole.
Before Tom had time to land a keen-eyed, smooth-faced man of
thirty-five, broad-shouldered and a little above medium height, stepped
forward out of the darkness and over the rail.
"Do you know me, Captain Halstead?" he asked, in a low voice.
"Yes, I think so," Tom answered. "You're Mr. Musgrave, one of the
detectives sent down from New York at Mr. Dunstan's request."
"I am in charge of the case at this point," said Musgrave. "Lead me
below."
Tom conducted his caller down into the engine-room, thence through the
passageway into the cabin.
"Now, tell me all you can of this affair, and talk as quickly as you
can," directed the detective.
Tom told his brief but potent narrative without pausing for breath.
"I have telegraphed or telephoned men from our agency, so that many
points are covered for some distance north along the coast," murmured
Mr. Musgrave. "We are also having the islands watched as far around as
Block Island. But, since the launch was found running wild and the cabin
sloop was not sighted, I am inclined to believe that the trail runs
somewhere on the mainland. If you'll take your friend, Joe Dawson, along
with you, I'll send also one of the Wood's Hole constables, a man named
Jennison. If you run into any of that crew, Jennison has power to make
arrests, and he's the sort of man who wouldn't back down before a
cannon. I have an automobile ready, and Jennison knows what's expected
of him. You're to search up along the coast, to see if you can find any
trace of that cabin sloop."
"Do you think Jed Prentiss will be sufficient guard to leave with the
boat?" questioned Halstead. "The Alvarez crowd would like nothing better
than to disable this fine craft if they got a chance to sneak aboard."
"I'll send down one of the hotel employes to keep Prentiss company,
then. Now come along, Halstead. Jennison and the automobile are
waiting."
Two minutes later Tom and Joe found themselves speeding along a road
that led up along the coast.
"There's no use stopping the first mile or so," explained Constable
Jennison, a slight but wiry-looking man of rustic type. "We've been over
the near ground already. But we'll go forty miles or more before we give
up the search for the home berth of that sloop."
Just below Falmouth the auto-car turned from the road to run down to a
cove where several sailing craft and two launches were at anchor. The
owner was found. He did not own or know of any such sloop as Halstead
described.
On again they went. There was a chauffeur on the front seat The
constable and the boys were in the tonneau. Two more boat-letting
resorts were visited, but without success. The constable, however, far
from being depressed, became jovial.
"Are you armed, Halstead?" he inquired, a twinkle in his eyes.
"No; I have no use for boys that carry guns," replied Tom.
"You're sensible enough," responded the constable seriously. Then,
resuming his bantering tone, he went on:
"But you ought to be ready for anything to-night. Here, put this in your
pocket."
"What's this thing supposed to be good for?" Tom demanded dryly, as he
took from the officer a cheap little bronze toy pistol. It was modeled
after a business-like revolver, but a glance showed that it was meant
only to explode paper caps.
"It belongs to my five-year-old boy," laughed Jennison. "He knows that I
often carry a pistol and he doesn't know the difference between a real
one and his Fourth of July toy. So to-night, when I was leaving the
house, he insisted on my taking his pistol and I had to in order to keep
him quiet."
"It looks dangerous enough in the dark," remarked Joe, bending over and
taking the "weapon" with a laugh. He looked it over, then returned it to
Tom, who, in turn, offered it to the officer.
"Drop it in your pocket," said the latter. "It ought to make you feel
braver to feel such a thing next to your body."
With a laugh Tom did as urged. The automobile soon made another stop at
a boatyard. Here, again, the search was useless, so they kept on. A
fourth was visited with no better result. They were now ten miles from
Wood's Hole, but they kept on. A mile further on the car descended a low
hill, toward the water, then turned almost at right angles. Just as they
rounded this bend in the road Halstead leaned suddenly forward.
"Stop!" he called to the chauffeur.
"What's the matter?" asked Jennison, as the car halted.
"As we came around the bend the searchlight threw a ray between the
trees, and I'm sure I saw a cabin sloop down in the offing," Tom
explained.
"_I_ didn't see it."
"And I got only a brief glimpse," Halstead rejoined. "But don't you
think it's worth our while to get out and go down to the water's edge?"
"Of course," nodded the constable. The three piled out of the tonneau,
leaving the chauffeur alone. Tom led the way, going straight between the
trees down to the water.
"That's the very sloop, I'd almost swear," whispered Tom, pointing to a
craft at anchor a hundred yards or so from shore. A small boat lay
hauled up on the beach. Not far from where the three stood was a
ramshackle little shanty from which no light shone.
"We'll give our attention to the house, first," declared the constable.
Accordingly they stepped up to the door, Jennison knocking loudly. From
inside came a snore. The summons had to be repeated before a voice
inside demanded:
"Who's there? What's wanted?"
"A traveler who wants to speak with you," replied the officer.
There were sounds inside. Then the door opened. They were confronted by
a white-haired old man, partly dressed and holding a lighted lantern. He
made a venerable picture as he stood there in the doorway.
"Well?" he asked.
"That's your sloop out in the offing?" Jennison asked.
"Yes."
"Did you use her to-day?"
"No; I rented her to a stranger, who wanted to go fishing. I didn't know
he had returned. Said he might be out most of the night, and the sloop
wasn't back when I turned in at dark."
"Wasn't, eh?" asked the constable, with quick interest. "Now will you
tell me what the stranger looked like?"
"Why, he was about forty-five, I guess. Rather heavily built. His skin
was well-bronzed----"
"That's the man, French," whispered Tom, nudging the officer. "His face
had been stained a good bronze color."
"Did the stranger give any word about coming back at some other time?"
asked Jennison.
"No; he paid me for the afternoon and the evening," replied the old man.
It was plain that he had told all he knew about the stranger. The old
man stated that he himself was a fisherman, but that in summer he often
made more money taking out parties of summer boarders.
Joe, in the meantime, had gone down to the beach to watch the sloop.
There appeared to be no one stirring aboard the craft, but, as a
precaution, Jennison and the boys rowed out, thus making sure that the
sloop was deserted. They hurriedly returned to shore. Jennison now
displayed his badge, asking permission to look into the shanty. The old
man readily gave the permission, adding, somewhat shakily:
"I'm not used to having my house suspected, but I'm glad to give the
law's officer any privileges he may want here."
The search was unavailing. Jennison and his young companions hastened
back to the automobile where they stood deliberating.
"That sloop has come in since dark," observed Halstead. "That old man
looks as though he could be thoroughly believed. Yet that's the very
sloop. I'm positive about that. So the rascals can't have had much the
start of us."
"They're a needle in the haystack, now, anyway," sighed Constable
Jennison. "We're at the end of the water trail and we know where they
landed."
"But we also know that they're on the mainland; at least it looks mighty
certain," suggested Tom Halstead.
"That's true," nodded the officer. "Well, Mr. Musgrave must know of this
at once. The next village is less than three miles away. I'm going there
in the auto as fast as I can and telephone him."
"You'll come back this way?" hinted Tom.
"Yes, without a doubt."
"Then leave us here. We'll hunt for any signs we can find of them while
you're gone."
"But how'll I find you on my return?"
"Why, if you stop here, and honk your horn twice, we'll come running to
you."
"You might run into the rascals," mused Jennison.
"I hope we do," muttered Tom.
"See here," demanded the officer curiously, "aren't you boys afraid to
take a chance like this?" His glance fell on Joe Dawson.
"No," returned Joe very quietly.
"Well, it may not be a bad idea to leave you here until I return," said
Jennison briskly. "You may pick up some sign. Anyway, I hope you don't
get into any trouble. Good-by for a few minutes."
The car sped out of sight, but neither boy waited to watch it.
"It's a pretty fair guess, Joe," said Tom, "that Alvarez and French came
up this way from the shore. Now, that way, the road leads to Wood's
Hole. And there's the opposite direction. Alvarez has a little foot like
a woman's; French has a very large foot. Now if we can find two such
foot marks together, it would look as though we could find the direction
our men have taken. Have you any matches?"
"Plenty," Dawson replied.
"So have I. Then suppose you go that way," pointing toward Wood's Hole.
"And I'll go the other way. We can light matches every two or three
hundred feet and examine the ground. One of us may pick up the trail we
want to find."
"Good enough," was all that came from quiet Joe, as he started at once.
For a few minutes the boys could see each other's lights when matches
were struck. Then the winding of the road hid them from each other.
Twice the young skipper had found imperfect footprints in the sandy
road, but they were not clear enough for him to be sure that these were
the tracks he sought. Now Tom stopped again, striking a match and
walking slowly along as he shielded the flame from the light breeze with
his hands. Then suddenly he came to a brief halt, as his gaze traveled
across the road. He saw an object on the ground in front of a bush, an
object that caused him to bound across the road.
"Great! Fine!" breathed the boy jubilantly. "I'd know this little
article anywhere. It's the tobacco pouch of----"
"Ah, good evening, my friend," broke in a taunting voice. "It's the
meddling boy himself!"
Halstead, even before he could straighten up, found himself staring
between the branches of the bush into a pair of gleaming, mocking eyes.
"Senor Alvarez!" cried the young skipper.
Then something struck Tom heavily from behind, felling him to the
ground, unconscious.