THE INFERNAL MACHINE.
It was just what Nick Carter expected when he entered the stateroom of
Captain Latell--the “infernal machine” was fixed in the window, with the
sash helping to hold it firm.
“The wireless telephone,” he muttered. “I wonder who is talking.”
It was clicking in a subdued way, and the detective, after a careless
glance at the captain on the bed, put the receiver on his ears, and
settled down to listen.
“Hello!” was the first utterance of the machine that Nick caught. “Is
that the yacht?”
“Yes,” replied Nick. “Who is that?”
“Is Colonel Pearson aboard?”
“This is Colonel Pearson talking.”
“Is it? That you, chief?”
“What?” cried Nick delightedly. “Is that you, Chick?”
“Yes.”
“Good! Where are you?”
“In your room at the hotel. This wireless telephone of yours came, and I
am using it. Good thing you showed me how it works. Say, chief, are you
all right?”
“Yes. Lord Vinton and Mr. Drago are with me. We’ve got the yacht.”
“That’s what I thought. I’ve been staring through a pair of strong night
glasses, and from what I could see, it looked to me as if you had won. I
saw some people tumble out of a boat, and I was bothered about it till a
skiff that the hotel people had sent out came in just now with two
half-drowned men. They are the first mate of the yacht and one of the
crew, I’m told.”
“Well?”
“The sailor talked when he was questioned, and said you’d taken the
yacht. He said some pirates had it, and he was going to see what could
be done about it. The other man--the first mate--may not come around at
all. So he couldn’t say anything.”
“Come aboard as soon as you can, Chick. We’ve got two of the people who
were kidnaped, as I told you. But we can’t find Mrs. van Dietrich.”
“She’s on board, the sailor says. There’s a secret stateroom amidships.
You get to it by way of the corridor past Mr. Jared Spanner’s room.”
“Very well! We’ll look for her there. But, see here, Chick! You come
aboard as quickly as you can, and bring half a dozen men with you. Ask
Mr. Savage and Mr. Mallory, the hotel managers, to pick you out reliable
fellows, who have nerve. I want to bring this yacht in, but I must have
men to work her, as well as to keep our prisoners safe. You see----”
That was as far as the detective got with his conversation. A tremendous
uproar broke out at the head of the companionway, and the next moment
seven husky sailors came rushing down and hurled themselves upon him.
One big fellow pointed a revolver at his head and ordered him to
surrender.
The sailor made a strategical mistake here. He threatened the detective
with the pistol before making sure that his man would stand where he was
to be fired at.
Nick Carter ducked almost before the demand for his surrender was out of
the other man’s mouth.
When he came up again--which he did like lightning--the top of his head
struck the sailor’s chin and knocked him backward, stunned and gasping.
At the same instant the detective wrenched the revolver from his hand
and faced another man who was standing in the doorway.
This second man had no gun. His weapon was an iron belaying pin, and if
he could have swung it, he might have done serious damage.
As it was, he retreated in disorder as he saw the steady eye of Carter
running along the blue steel barrel of the big forty-four, and, as a
natural consequence, he upset all those behind him.
“Vinton! Drago!” shouted Nick.
There was a quick response to his call. The two came running along the
corridor, and Vinton fired off his automatic pistol on general
principles.
He did not hit anybody, but the report was tremendous in those confined
quarters. It scared every sailor among them.
Nick Carter could not help laughing heartily as he and his companions
herded the men along the deck and into the forecastle again.
Taking care the door was thoroughly secured this time, Nick stationed
Lord Vinton, with the pistol, outside, giving him orders to shoot down
the first man who should appear.
This injunction was given loudly enough to reach the ears of the men
inside, and Nick was satisfied there would be no attempt to break out
again--at least, not unless the yacht was recaptured by its original
owners.
It was just as this arrangement was effected that a tubbylike figure, in
red-and-blue pajamas, came pattering along the deck, holding a revolver
in its hand.
“Hands up!” yelled Nick Carter, presenting his jackknife at the face of
the pajama man, who, of course, was Jared Spanner.
Mr. Spanner had never been remarkable for physical courage, and he let
his revolver fall with a crash on the deck. He could not see what the
jackknife was in the gloom, but he took it for granted that it was a
heavy firearm of some kind.
“Back to bed!” commanded Nick sternly.
“I heard a noise outside and I left him alone for a minute,” explained
Lord Vinton penitently.
Spanner padded back in his bare feet. When he was in the stateroom once
more, the detective took the precaution of tying his hands behind him
and fastening him in his berth with a rope that was twisted around the
iron framework below.
There was one more important thing to do, and that was to find Mrs. van
Dietrich.
With the information he had as to the whereabouts of her cabin, it was
not difficult for Nick Carter to discover it. Then he solved the problem
of entering, and, after a knock, for propriety’s sake, he went in.
Mrs. van Dietrich was of a philosophical turn of mind. That was proved
by the fact that she was in a comfortable bed, with her clothes still
on, but with a blanket pulled up under her arms, and sleeping as calmly
as if she had been in her own room at the hotel.
Nick Carter assured himself that she was really in a natural sleep, and
then quietly withdrew, to wait till Chick and reënforcements should
arrive.
It was an hour later, and the sun was just showing itself over the rim
of the eastern horizon, when Chick, with eight men--guests, porters, and
the two proprietors of the hotel--rowed up to the sea ladder of the
_Idaline_.
It was embarrassing to Nick Carter to receive so many and such profuse
thanks for recovering the three guests who had disappeared from the
hotel, and he begged both Mallory and Savage to let it pass.
Nick Carter arranged to leave a guard on the yacht, when Mrs. van
Dietrich was to be escorted to shore by the detective, Lord Vinton, and
Harvey L. Drago, with Chick, in state.
It was only after considerable delay that this was done, however, for
Mrs. van Dietrich was a leader of fashion, and she could not appear in
public until her own maid, Mary Cook, had been brought from the hotel,
with a complete change of raiment and various toilet necessaries.
All this took so much time, that it was well into the forenoon when the
dear lady at last appeared in the lobby of the Hotel Amsterdam, to
receive the congratulations by all the other guests on her wonderful
rescue by “this dear Colonel Pearson.”
The stolen jewelry had all been recovered.
At last Nick Carter got away from the lobby and into the elevator,
telling the man to take him to the fourth floor. Once there, he hurried
to the rooms occupied by the Baroness Latour.
He was surprised to see all the doors of the suite wide open, and one of
the hotel housemaids busy with broom, dust pan, and other paraphernalia
of her business.
“Where is the baroness?” demanded Carter hastily.
“She went early this morning, sir,” was the reply.
“Where has she gone?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps they can tell you at the office,” answered the
girl.
But they could not tell him at the office. All they knew was that the
baroness had paid her bill and gone away, with her maid and her trunks,
to the railroad station, and that she had taken the nine-thirty-seven
west.
“H’m!” muttered Nick Carter. “So she has got away from me. Well, it
would have been difficult to convict her, even if I had wanted to do it.
Her man Kennedy is dead, and I have Jared Spanner a prisoner on what he
says is his own yacht. After all, I have cleared up the mystery of the
kidnaping of important guests for ransom, and even if I can’t clap
Spanner in jail--a point I haven’t settled in my own mind--I think I
have pulled his claws.”
He walked up and down the lobby several times in deep thought.
“After all,” he broke out, at last, half aloud, “I don’t know that my
dear baroness has got away from me altogether yet. I still have her
yacht, and she is sure to want to come on board sooner or later. I
believe I’ll go up to my room and get a few hours’ sleep.”
THE END.
“The Private Yacht; or, Nick Carter’s Trail of Diamonds,” is the title
of the story that you will find in the next issue of this weekly, No.
125, out January 30th. In this story you will read more of the efforts
of Nick Carter and his assistants to thwart the designs of this
wonderfully clever girl criminal.
* * * * *
RUBY LIGHT.
By BURKE JENKINS.
(This interesting story was commenced in No. 120 of NICK CARTER STORIES.
Back numbers can always be obtained from your news dealer or the
publishers.)