The Fog Pirate at the Bobstay
Suddenly Guy was thrilled with a romantic explanation. The diamonds! But
where?
Apparently the visitor had no suspicion of the presence of anyone else
on the yacht. He did not look into the place where the boys lay. He
moved straight ahead as if bound for a certain point and disappeared
around the port side of the deck house.
Guy arose and went to his sleeping brother and shook him gently. Walter
awoke and sat up.
“Keep still, Walt,” whispered Guy. “There’s somebody on the boat. It’s
Gunseyt.”
“What!”—also whispered.
“Yes, it is. I just saw him.”
“How could you recognize him in the dark?”
“It’s moonlight, and he’s got ways and actions you couldn’t mistake.
He’s shaved off his mustache and goatee, but I know him anyway.”
“What does he want here?”
“The diamonds, I suppose. You know Watson said he’d got rid of them
somewhere at sea.”
“Hid ’em on this boat?”
“Must ’ave. Watson was asleep. He ought to ’ave guessed the truth.”
While this whispered conversation was going on, the boys slipped on
their trousers and were soon ready to move silently out on the deck and
watch the movements of the midnight visitor. They walked around to
starboard of the deck house and to the forward end. Here they stopped.
Mr. Gunseyt was in plain view and busy. He was on his knees at the bow,
pulling up from the water something attached with a small rope to the
bobstay chain. While still engaged in this strange occupation he cast
behind him a look of instinctive watchfulness and saw the boys almost as
soon they saw him.
With a cry of alarm and rage, the man cut the rope with a knife and
sprang to his feet. That voice was the last needed evidence to remove
any remaining doubt from Guy’s mind as to the fellow’s identity. It was
the voice of the “fog pirate.”
Gunseyt held in one hand a small package, dripping wet. With the other
hand he drew a pistol.
The boys now realized that they were in a dangerous position and began
to back away, while the intruder moved toward the wharf. But suddenly
there was a second change in the situation. Another man appeared on the
scene.
This new arrival also had a pistol. He stepped out of the shadow of the
bluff, pointed his weapon at the smuggler, and commanded:
“Drop that gun, or I’ll shoot.”
A great shudder shook Gunseyt. A gasp escaped his lips, and he dropped
his firearm. As it hit the deck the man on the wharf said:
“Pick up his gun, boys, and stand ready to help if he gets ugly.”
Walter sprang forward and snatched up the weapon. Then the newcomer
stepped aboard and snapped a pair of “bracelets” on the wrists of
Gunseyt.
“I’m a secret service man,” he announced as he secured the prisoner.
“Did Mr. Watson send you?” Guy inquired.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he come himself?”
“He’d ’ave been recognized, and there’d ’ave been nothing doing. I
followed this man from New York. Watson couldn’t ’ave done that. By the
way, he told me to tell you his name isn’t Watson. It’s just plain John
Smith.”
“Our story’s finished,” said Guy quickly, turning to his brother.
“What story?” the latter inquired blankly.
“What story, you simp! Why, your story and mine. You’re the chief hero,
and I’m the second. Think of it! Trip to Europe, mysterious man on the
train, Pickett—his confederate in London, Smithers—their agent on the
steamer, Gunseyt—the detective—the wreck—the iceberg—radio—rescue—and
now, the arrest of the leading villain. I’d been wondering if it ’u’d
ever be our luck to have this adventure finished so we could be real
heroes of a novel.”
“If it’s ever written,” returned Walter dubiously. “And it isn’t quite
finished, too. There are Smithers and Pickett to be arrested. Suppose
they’re never caught.”
“That doesn’t make a particle of difference,” declared Guy. “The jewels
have been found in the cleverest hiding place—tied to the bobstay—and
the most interesting villain is arrested. How do you like that for a
compliment, Mr. Gunseyt, ‘most interesting villain’?”
But the smuggler was not in appreciative mood. He only snarled.
The secret service man introduced himself as Mr. Hunt. Then he made note
of the names of the boys, informed them that they would hear from the
department of justice later, and left with the package of smuggled
treasure in one hand and leading his handcuffed prisoner with the other.
* * * * *
Guy spoke truly when he remarked that his and Walter’s story was
finished. There were indeed a few odds and ends of the tangles of
mysteries to be cleared up, but all this required time and did not come
with the rapidity of succeeding melodramatic chapters. Gunseyt was
convicted and sent to a federal prison after several months’ delay. From
some mysterious source he obtained all the money he needed to pay the
expenses of his defense, but Walter and Guy were not much puzzled over
the mystery. Stanley Pickett also was arrested, but was discharged
because of a lack of evidence to convict. However, almost as these words
are being written, there comes announcement that he has been taken into
custody on another similar charge.
Mr. Smithers is still at large in London, a “respectable jeweler” in
Bond street. Artie Fletcher had something to say regarding the gentleman
in several letters written to Guy, and as one of those letters is of
particular interest at this point, we reproduce it here:
“Dear Guy—When I got your letter telling of the arrest of those two
smugglers, I just couldn’t rest until I’d sprung it on Smithers. I saw
things differently and a lot of explanations flashed before me like a
bobby’s light in a fog. Smithers had left the hotel, but I went to his
store and presented myself to him. He pretended not to know me, but I
grinned in his face and said:
“‘Oh, come, now, Mr. Tennis Racket Wireless Shoes, you know me very
well. Have you forgot the time you fixed it up with one Gunseyt of the
funny voice, him to hold up the young American, Guy Burton, in the fog,
so you could jump in sudden with a pistol and save him from being
robbed?’
“He turned as pale as a ghost, and I knew I’d hit him where it hurt. But
I didn’t stop there. I gave him another before he could recover.
“‘Gunseyt and Pickett have both been arrested in America,’ I said.
“You ought to have seen him. I thought he was going to collapse. Then he
pulled himself together and flew into a rage and after me. I knew what
was best for Artie and cut sticks. He didn’t catch me.
“What do you think happened next day? I was discharged at the hotel. I
know Smithers did it, although no explanation was given to me.
“But it was the best thing for me that ever happened, and I hope it will
prove the worst for Smithers. I went to a detective agency and told the
boss my story. He was interested right away. I found they’d been
watching Smithers for somebody over on your side, maybe the government.
I told them I wanted to be a detective, hardly expecting it would do me
any good; but, Guy, the boss, after a secret confab with somebody else,
offered me a job and told me if I made good on this smuggling case, he’d
keep me.
“I thought, from the way the chief talked, he was going to make me one
of his star ‘sick-’em dogs’, but he didn’t. He gave me only a position
as clerk, with a salary four shillings less than I got at the hotel. But
I didn’t care for salary, just so I had enough to live on. It was just
the opportunity for me. And I haven’t forgotten, Guy, that I owe a whole
lot of it to you.
“They really needed a boy in the office and to run errands, but I soon
found out that the reason I got the job was because of what I knew about
Smithers. And I’m having some real detective work to do. They’re after
Smithers hard, but they haven’t been able to get the goods on him. I
hope before long I’ll land him. If I do, you may be sure I’ll let you
know right away.”