THE CORK CHAIN
With the white sabre of light blinding her vision, Dorothy walked out
from behind the stack of barrels, hands above her head.
“_Dorothy!_” exclaimed the tall figure in astonishment. “What on earth
are you doing here?”
There was an instant’s pause; then Dorothy giggled.
“Gee, what a relief—but you scared me out of six years’ growth, Bill
Bolton!”
As her arms dropped to her sides, she staggered and would have fallen if
Bill had not stepped quickly forward and placed his arm about her. He
led her to an empty packing case and forced her to sit down. The
surprise of this meeting coming as a climax to the strenuous events of
the evening had just about downed her splendid nerves.
“Oh, Bill—” she sobbed hysterically on his shoulder—“you can’t guess
how glad I am to see you. I’ve really had an awful time of it tonight.”
“Take it easy and have a good cry. Everything’s all right now. You’ll
feel better in a minute,” he soothed.
“What a crybaby you must think me,” she said presently, in a limp voice.
“Do you happen to have a handkerchief, Bill?”
“You bet. Here’s one—and it’s clean, too.”
Dorothy dried her eyes and blew her nose rather violently.
“Thanks—I do feel much better now. Do you mind turning on the light
again? I must be a sight. There—hold it so I can see in my compact.”
Bill began to laugh as her deft fingers worked with powder, rouge and
lipstick.
“What’s the joke?” she asked, then answered her own question. “Oh, I
know! You think girls do nothing but prink. Well, I don’t care—it’s
horrid to look messy. Is there such a thing as a comb in your pocket,
Bill? I have lost mine.”
“Sorry,” he grinned, “but I got my permanent last week. I don’t bother
to carry one any more.”
“Don’t be silly!” she began, then stopped short. “We’ve got to get out
of here,” she said and snapped her compact shut. “They are coming after
me in a car. Donovan or Peters, I forget which, said so.”
“Who are Donovan and Peters—and where are they going to take you?”
“Not that pair—other members of the same gang. D. and P. are two of the
crew over at the beach cottage who chloroformed me, then tied me up and
carted me over here in an open motor sailor.”
“Well, I’ll be tarred and feathered!” Bill switched off his torch. “Here
I’ve been following you for over two hours and never knew it _was_ you!
Never got a glimpse of your face, of course—took you for a man in that
rig! Well, I’ll be jiggered if that isn’t a break!”
“So _you_ were the man I thought I saw in the grass clump?”
“Sure. You led me to the house. I knew the gang had a cottage somewhere
along that beach, but I didn’t know which one it was. By the way, I’ve
got your Mary Jane tied to a mooring out yonder—Couldn’t take a chance
on running in closer. That old tub’s engine has a bark that would wake
George Washington.”
Dorothy sprang to her feet. “That’s great! We’ll make for the Mary Jane,
Bill, right now. If those men in the car catch us here there’ll be
another fight. Dorothy has had all the rough stuff she wants for one
night, thank you!”
Bill took her arm.
“O.K. with me,” he returned. “Think you’re well enough to travel?”
“I’m all right. Hanging around this place gives me the jim-jams—let’s
go.”
Together they crossed the yard and hurried along the narrow planking of
the dock to the dinghy. Bill took the oars and a few minutes later they
were safely aboard the motor boat. It began to rain again and the dark,
oily water took on a vibrant, pebbly look.
“Come into the cabin,” suggested Dorothy, watching Bill make the painter
fast. “We’ll be drier there—and I’ve got about a million questions for
you to answer.”
“Go below, then. I’ll join you in a minute.”
Dorothy slid the cabin door open and dropped down on a locker. Presently
Bill followed and took a seat opposite her.
“Better not light the lamp,” he advised, “it’s too risky now. By the
way, Dorothy, I’m darn glad to see you again.”
Dorothy smiled. “So ’m I. I’ve missed you while you were away, and I
sure do need your help now. Tell me—where in the wide world am I?”
“This tub is tied up to somebody else’s mooring off the Babylon
waterfront,—if that’s any help to you.”
“It certainly is. I hate to lose my bearings. Here’s another: I don’t
suppose you happen to know what this is all about?”
Bill crossed his knees and leaned back comfortably.
“There’s not much doubt in my mind, after tonight’s doings. Those men in
the beach cottage are diamond smugglers and no pikers at the game, take
it from me!”
“Ooh!” Dorothy’s eyes widened. “Diamonds, eh! That’s beyond my wildest
dreams. How do they smuggle them, Bill?”
“Well, these fellows have a new wrinkle to an old smuggling trick.
Somebody aboard an ocean liner drops a string of little boxes, fastened
together at long intervals—the accomplices follow the steamer in a boat
and pick them up. And now, from what I’ve found out, there’s every
reason to believe that this gang are chucking their boxes overboard in
the neighborhood of Fire Island Light.”
Dorothy sat bold upright, her eyes snapping with excitement.
“Listen, Bill! Those men in the cottage—I heard them talking, you
know—couldn’t make anything out of their conversation then, but now I’m
beginning to understand part of it.”
“Didn’t you tell me they were arguing against going somewhere—or
meeting someone—in the fog?”
“That’s right. It was the man they called Charlie—the one who’d been a
physician. Let me see ... he said that there was a rotten sea running
out by the light. That must mean the Fire Island Light! Then, listen to
this. He was sure that by three o’clock the fog off the light would be
thick enough to cut with a knife—and that they would probably miss her
anyway!—Don’t you see? ‘Her’ means the liner they are to meet off the
Fire Island Light about three o’clock this morning!”
“Good work, Miss Dixon—” Bill nodded approvingly. “And that is where
Donovan and Charlie headed for when they parked you with Peters,” he
supplemented. “On a bet, they’re running their motor sailor out to the
light right now.”
Dorothy glanced at the luminous dial of her wrist watch.
“It is just midnight. Think we have time to make it?”
“Gosh, that’s an idea! But, look here, Dorothy—” Bill hesitated, then
went on in a serious tone, “if we run out to the lightship and those two
in the motor sailor spot us, there’s likely to be a fight.”
Dorothy moved impatiently. “What of it?”
“Oh, I know—but you’ll stand a mighty good chance of getting shot. This
thing is a deadly business. They’re sure to be armed. Now, listen to me.
I’ll row you ashore and meet you in Babylon after I’ve checked up on
those guys.”
Dorothy stood up and squeezing past Bill, opened the cabin door.
“And my reply to you is—_rats_!” she flung back at him. “Of course I’m
going with you. There’ll be no argument, please. Get busy and turn over
that flywheel while I go forward and slip our mooring.”
Bill made no answer, but with a resigned shrug, followed her out to the
cockpit. They had known each other only a few months, but their
acquaintance had been quite long enough to demonstrate that when Miss
Dixon spoke in that tone of voice, she meant exactly what she said. Bill
knew that nothing short of physical force would turn the girl from her
project, so making the best of things as he found them, he started the
engine.
Bill was heading the boat across the bay when Dorothy came aft again.
She went inside the cabin and presently emerged with a thermos of hot
coffee, some sandwiches and hard-boiled eggs.
“We may both get shot or drowned,” she remarked philosophically, “but we
needn’t starve in the meantime.”
“Happy thought!” Bill bit into a sandwich with relish, “One drowns much
more comfortably after having dined.”
“Hm! It would be a cold wet business, though. Doubly wet tonight.” She
looked at the black water pock-marked with raindrops and shook her head.
“Hand me another sandwich, please. Then tell me how _you_ came to be
mixed up with this diamond smuggling gang, Bill.”
By this time they were well on their way across Great South Bay toward
the inlet. From the bows came the steady gurgle and chug of short choppy
seas as the stiff old tub bucked them. Holding a straight course, the
two by the wheel were able to make out the grey-white gleam of sand on
Sexton Island.
“Well, it was like this,” began Bill. “You remember the Winged
Cartwheels.[1] Well that was a Secret Service job for the government.”
“I know,” nodded Dorothy.
“Well, as I was saying—because of that and some other business, Uncle
Sam knew that I could pilot a plane. Six weeks ago I was called to
Washington and told that an international gang of criminals were
flooding this country with diamonds, stolen in Europe. What the
officials didn’t know was the method being used to smuggle them into
this country. However, they said they had every reason to believe that
the diamonds were dropped overboard from trans-Atlantic liners somewhere
off the coast and picked up by the smugglers’ planes at sea. My job was
to go abroad and on the return trip, to keep my eyes peeled night and
day for airplanes when we neared America.”
“Did you go alone?”
“Yes, but I gathered that practically every liner coming over from
Europe was being covered by a Secret Service operative. I made a trip
over and back without spotting a thing. On the second trip back,
something happened.”
“When was that?”
“Night before last. The liner I was aboard had just passed Fire Island
lightship. I stood leaning over the rail on the port side and I saw half
a dozen or more small boxes dropped out of a porthole. They seemed to be
fastened together. Once in the water, they must have stretched out over
a considerable distance. Of course, there are notices posted forbidding
anyone to throw anything overboard: and there are watchmen on deck. But
they can’t very well prevent a person from unscrewing a porthole and
shoving something out!”
“Did you report it?”
“You bet. The skipper knew why I was making the trip. We located the
stateroom and found that it belonged to three perfectly harmless
Y.M.C.A. workers who were peaceably eating their dinner at the time.
Somebody slipped into their room and did the trick.”
“Did you hear or see any plane?”
“I thought I heard a motor, but it didn’t sound like the engine of a
plane. I couldn’t be sure.”
“The motor sailor, probably?”
“It looks like it, now. Well, to continue: I landed in New York and took
the next train to Babylon. Then I got me a room in one of those summer
cottages on the beach. I was out on the dunes for a prowl when the Mary
Jane put in at that little cove. That in itself seemed suspicious, so I
followed you to the house and saw Peters scrag you. Although, at the
time I had no idea who you were. Then when they tied you up and went off
with you in the motor sailor, I knew for certain that some dirty work
was on. So I beat it back to the cove and came along in this old tub.”
Dorothy finished the last of the coffee.
“Did you see the amphibian tied up to the cottage dock?” she asked.
“Yes. It took off just before the motor sailor left.”
“Just how do you figure that it comes into the picture?”
“I think these people have a lookout stationed farther up the coast—on
Nantucket Island, perhaps. When a ship carrying diamonds is sighted off
the Island, the lookout wires to the aviator or his boss and the plane
flies over to let the men in the cottage know when to expect her off the
lightship. Then when they pick up the loot, he flies back with it to
their headquarters next day. Of course, I don’t know how far wrong I
am—”
“But he’s been doing it every day for weeks, Bill—maybe longer. Surely
they can’t be smuggling diamonds every day in the week?”
“He probably carries over their provisions and keeps an eye on them
generally. I don’t know. What he is doing is only a guess, on my part,
anyway.”
Dorothy smothered a yawn. “Do you suppose the red flag those men spoke
of is a signal of some kind?”
“Guess so. But look here, you’re dead tired. I can run this tub by
myself. Hop in the cabin and take a nap. I’ll call you when we near the
lightship.”
“You must be sleepy, too.”
“I’m not. I had an idea I might be up most of the night, so slept until
late this afternoon. And after those sandwiches and the coffee, I feel
like a million dollars. Beat it now and get a rest.”
Dorothy yawned again and stretched the glistening wet arms of her
slicker above her head.
“Promise to wake me in plenty of time?”
“Cross my heart——”
“Good night, then.”
“Good night. Better turn in on the floor. We’re going to run into a sea
pretty soon. Those lockers are narrow. Once we strike the Atlantic swell
you’ll never be able to stay on one and sleep!”
“Thanks, partner, I’ll take your advice.” She turned and disappeared
below.
-----
Footnote 1:
See Bill Bolton and The Winged Cartwheels.