THE CLUE
Jack’s hand closed tightly on the stick and he raised it, ready to
strike.
The door hinges creaked. Jack’s pulse was thumping as he had never
known it to do. There was, of course, the bare possibility that this
might be the watchman paying them a visit to see that all was well, and
Jack had no desire to lay the worthy Cap’n Crumbie out on the cabin
floor with a cracked skull.
“Who’s there?” he asked in a voice which he hardly recognized as his
own. The boy could not even make out the outline of the intruder in the
blackness.
There was a moment of tense silence, but only a moment. As soon as the
midnight visitor recovered from the shock of finding some one in the
cabin he closed the door with a bang just as Jack brought down his
stick sharply, but it only came in contact with the wooden panel.
George leaped out of his bunk in alarm.
“What’s wrong?” he shouted.
Jack, however, had no time to waste on explanations. He seized the
handle and flung open the door, just in time to hear the soft patter of
bare feet along the deck, and the deep bass of Cap’n Crumbie, up on the
wharf, whom the noise had attracted.
“Hello, Jack! Are you there? What’s up?” he called down anxiously.
Jack was by now half-way across the deck, following the retreating
figure, but the mysterious visitor leaped over the side into a boat and
pushed away before the boy could get within reach.
“Somebody came into the cabin,” Jack shouted back to the watchman.
“Slip on board, and we’ll go after him on the sloop.”
“You can’t, son,” replied Cap’n Crumbie. “There ain’t enough wind.
Listen! Which way did he go?”
The watchman and the two boys strained their ears, but the fugitive,
after pulling a few strokes, had evidently dipped his oars in the water
gently. Not a sound was to be heard, save the swish of the tide against
the wharf piles and the side of the sloop.
“Well, if that don’t beat the Dutch!” exclaimed Cap’n Crumbie. “You
didn’t _see_ him, o’ course?”
“No,” replied Jack. “I was asleep, and we had no light. If I’d been
half a second quicker I might have winged him with this stick, but I
couldn’t be sure it wasn’t you. He slammed the door in my face and
bolted as soon as I spoke.”
“I heard you call out,” said the watchman, “and that fetched me to the
side of the wharf at a run, but I’d heard nothing afore that. I got a
scare at first, ’cause I thought some one was killing the pair o’ you.”
“Nobody touched either of us, thanks,” said Jack. “It was queer,
though. The fellow never said a word. In fact, it might have been a
ghost; only I heard the creak of the door-knob when he turned it, and I
could distinctly hear him running along the deck. Ghosts don’t patter
about the deck in bare feet, do they, Cap’n Crumbie?”
“’Tain’t no ghost,” grunted the watchman. “It must be the same chap who
came aboard her last night, and ghosts don’t float around in dories;
leastwise I never heard of ’em doing it. No, it’s something he’s after,
but what in thunder that might be I dunno.”
“I wish to goodness I knew,” said Jack. “It’s――it’s worse than ghosts.
I believe it is some one who wants to steal the sloop. If they knew how
to handle her they could sail miles away before morning, and then if
they painted her name out it wouldn’t be easy to trace her.”
“But if some one wants to steal her, why should he come into the
cabin?” asked George. “He never dreamed there might be some one on
board, and all he had to do was cast off.”
“Maybe the feller just peeped inside to make sure he wasn’t doin’ any
kidnapping,” suggested the watchman. “He’d ha’ been in a rare fix if
he’d got out to sea and then found he had the owner aboard with him all
the time!”
“We’re only guessing, anyway,” said Jack. “And there’s nothing to tell
us whether we’re anywhere near the truth or not. All the same, I’m glad
I slept on board, or I don’t know what might have happened. And here’s
another thing. I’m going to sleep on board to-morrow night, too, and
every other night, for a while. You can’t sit on the deck of the sloop
all night, Cap’n Crumbie, and if some one wasn’t right on the spot
every minute I believe this mysterious chap would get away with her.”
“I’m going to sleep on board, too,” said George.
“All right,” agreed the watchman. “’Tain’t such a bad idea, at that;
only you want to keep your light going all the time. Not that you’ll
catch anybody that way, but you’ll be safest.”
The lantern in the cabin had now been lighted, and the boys returned to
their bunks, as there seemed no likelihood of any further excitement
that night.
At dawn the skipper went on deck, and looked around as though half
expecting to find evidence of the previous night’s encounter. Everything
on the sloop was just as he had left it the previous afternoon after his
last run across the ferry. Not even――
Suddenly the boy came to a standstill and stared down, his brows knit.
Then he began to chuckle softly, and returned to the cabin.
“George, ahoy!” he said. “Wake up, lazy, and come out! I’ve something
to show you.”
The mate opened his eyes and stretched.
“What’s up now?” he asked, yawning.
“I want to offer you my compliments,” said Jack.
“Something must be wrong with you, Cap’n. You’re too polite to me this
morning.”
“No, it’s genuine gratitude,” replied the skipper. “Your father was
right when he said you couldn’t do carpentering-work for nuts.”
“Shoot!” replied George, with an air of suspicion.
“We mended that broken place on the rail together, didn’t we?” said
Jack.
“Well, you sawed the piece and I nailed it on,” agreed George.
“Yes. And not knowing better, you left the sharp end of a nail sticking
up. Come and look at it.”
George hopped out of the bunk and followed his chum on deck.
A fragment of gray cloth was adhering to the sharp point.
“It’s our ghost-trap!” said Jack.
The mate knelt down and inspected the thing curiously.
“This is where he slid over the side, and tore his coat, or his pants,
maybe,” the younger lad commented sagely. “All the same, I don’t see
how that helps us any.”
“It doesn’t, in a way,” agreed Jack. “But it’s what the detective chaps
would call a clue.”
“What to?” George asked, laughing.
“I don’t know,” replied the captain. “A clue’s a clue, chump! You’ve
got to have clues before you can catch anybody.”
“Don’t see how you can catch a ghost just because he tore his pants on
a nail,” commented George.
“Now, George Santo, _do_ ghosts wear pants?”
“Not this season,” replied George. “Hullo, Cap’n Crumbie,” he added,
calling to the watchman who had just appeared on the edge of the wharf.
“Come and see what our ghost left behind!”
The watchman scrambled down the rough ladder on one of the piles, and
with a judicial air viewed the fragment of cloth.
“Aye,” he said at length, “that’s just about where he slid over
the side the night afore. But I reckon we’ve seen the last o’ that
customer.”
“You mean you don’t think he’ll come back?” queried Jack.
The watchman slowly nodded his head.
“It’s a pretty poor sort o’ fish that bites at the bait a second time,
after feelin’ the hook,” he commented. “An’ if I’m any judge, this
isn’t a fish o’ that kind. He’s cute. Nobody’s seen him. Nobody’s heard
him speak. There’s a hundred million people in the United States, and
so far as you or I know, it might be any one of ’em. All we got is a
bit of his pants to go by, and if you arrested every man in Greenport
who has met with a little accident o’ that kind, we’d have the jail
full. No, Jack, your fish has got away this time, an’ if he comes back
it won’t be in the same way; you mark my words.”
“I shall sleep on board, though,” declared the captain of the sloop.
“Sure thing! That’s the only way to keep him off. What licks me is,
what’s he after?”
“There’s something queer about it all,” commented Jack, puzzled. “Maybe
that’s the last we shall see of the chap, though.”
“But you didn’t see him,” replied Cap’n Crumbie. “That’s where he’s
clever.”
That evening the two boys returned to the sloop after supper, Jack
determined to defend his own property if necessary, and George equally
determined to stand by his chum. They took something on board to read,
and settled themselves comfortably. Presently, however, George threw
down his book. Fiction seemed tame compared with the possibilities
around him.
“I asked Dad to-day if he’d lend us his revolver,” the mate said. “But
he didn’t seem to fancy the idea.”
“What was he afraid of? That we might shoot ourselves?”
“I don’t think that was it,” replied George. “He’s afraid one of us
might blaze away at the first person who came on board, and make an
awful mess of the wrong party.”
“That would be awkward, for the wrong party. After all, I’d rather
depend on this stick. I’d pity any one who got a real crack from it.
I was thinking just now, though, George, it mightn’t be a bad idea to
tell the police what’s happened.”
“Oh, they’d only laugh at us.”
“Why?”
“Well, because. We’ve got nothing to tell them, really. A man came
aboard one night and tore his clothes on a nail. What about it? They’d
tell you nobody could be arrested for that.”
Jack drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the top of the table.
“I don’t care whether they laugh or not,” he said at length. “I’m
going to report what happened. Maybe they can see further through a
brick wall than I can. That’s what they’re for. I’m going now. Coming
up with me?”
George reached for his shoes, and three minutes later the boys were
on their way to the police station. In the grim and unfamiliar
surroundings of the chief’s office, where the boys were received, Jack
felt a little less sure of himself.
“What can I do for you?” asked the officer.
“You know the _Sea-Lark_, the boat I’m using for the ferry?” Jack asked.
The chief nodded, and tapped a writing-pad on his desk with the point
of a pencil. Though attentive, he was not much concerned, for other
affairs were pressing.
“Well, some mysterious person has been coming on board her at night,”
said Jack.
“What sort of a person?” asked the chief, stifling a yawn.
“I don’t know exactly. It was dark, and we couldn’t see him.”
“Well, what happened?”
“Why, nothing, exactly,” replied Jack. “It was about midnight and I
heard some one prowling about on the deck. He opened the companionway
door into the cabin and I jumped out of my bunk, ready to hit him with
a stick, but he bolted.”
“Were you attacked?” There was something extremely matter-of fact about
the direct question.
“I didn’t get hurt, if that is what you mean.”
“But were you attacked? Did this mysterious person attempt to strike
you or anything like that?”
“He didn’t have time. You see I was ready for him with the stick when
he opened the door.” Jack was a little discouraged by the lack of
interest which the chief displayed. The latter seemed to be preoccupied
and quite without sympathy.
“Did this person steal anything?”
“No. There wasn’t much he could have stolen.”
“Then all it amounts to is this: Somebody walked across the deck of
your sloop in the early hours of the morning and opened the door of
the cabin. You haven’t got much of a case for us to handle, young man.”
He smiled, but there was something rather ironical about that smile.
“Even if we found this midnight visitor of yours――which I hardly think
is likely, as you don’t know what he looks like, and you don’t really
know whether it’s a man or a woman――what would you like us to charge
him with? Certainly not theft. And you know as well as I do that there
isn’t anything so very peculiar about a man walking across the deck of
another man’s boat, whatever the time of day or night. I’ve done it
myself, dozens of times. Sometimes one has to, to get ashore.”
“But he opened the door of the cabin.”
The chief shrugged.
“Well, what of it?” he queried. “It may have been some sailor or
fisherman who was curious to see what it looked like inside. Or, again,
it may have been some one who was looking for a place to sleep for an
hour or two, and he never dreamed there was any one aboard.”
“It doesn’t sound very much, if you look at it like that, does it?”
Jack said, nonplussed by the cold and logical attitude of the chief.
“But I thought we ought to come up and let you know.”
“That’s all right,” replied the official. “But I guess there’s nothing
to be alarmed about.”
“Oh, I forgot,” said Jack, feeling in his pocket, “we found a sort of a
clue. The man tore his clothes on a nail as he slipped over the side,
and next morning this was sticking on the nail.”
The chief examined the scrap of material gravely for a moment.
“It’s a wonder he didn’t come back and kick up a row with you for
leaving nails sticking up,” he said, handing back the fragment of
cloth. “If I were you I’d say nothing more about that, or you’ll may
be having some one come and pitch into you.”
Jack bit his lip. Evidently he was wasting his time here, and the
off-hand manner of the chief gave him no particular reassurance.
“I should be rather pleased if the man who got on to that nail did come
and kick up a row,” he said. “Then I should know who it was.”
“How would that help you? He’s done nothing unlawful, as far as I can
make out.”
“I suppose he hasn’t really,” Jack was compelled to admit. “All the
same, I’m glad I came up and told you.”
“Don’t you worry, son,” said the chief, rising from his chair as a
signal that the interview was over. “If anything more happens, though,
you let me know.”
“Thank you,” said Jack, dubiously, turning toward the door.
“When you come to think of it,” observed George, as they walked in the
direction of the boat, “we hadn’t an awful lot to complain of, had we?”
“I don’t know about that,” replied Jack. “It doesn’t sound very serious
when you have to admit that no actual crime has been committed. I’m not
at all satisfied. I was going to tell the chief about that man Martin,
but I saw it wasn’t any use. My guess is as good as any one else’s,
and my guess is that Martin was the man who tore something or other
on that nail. I’ve got no real reason for saying so, mind you, and
perhaps it isn’t fair to Martin to suspect him, but there isn’t any one
else to suspect.”
“I looked as closely as I could to-day at his coat and pants,” said
George, “in case there was any sign of a tear.”
“So did I. I didn’t see anything, of course.”
“No.”
“What did you notice, though?” Jack asked. “I mean something that
fitted in with the clue?”
“Nothing.”
“Well, I could swear he had a different suit on from the one he
generally wears,” Jack declared. “Unfortunately I hadn’t taken
particular notice before.”
“Now you mention it, I believe that’s right, too,” agreed George. “But
I know what the police would tell you if you pointed that out. They’d
say a man couldn’t be arrested for having two suits of clothes. And he
couldn’t, of course, or else both you and I would be in prison.”
That night Jack decided not to keep the lantern burning. As he
explained to the mate, they were not sleeping on board so much for
the purpose of keeping people off the boat, as to find out who it was
who was displaying such peculiar interest in her. They stayed awake
until rather late, chatting, with occasional pauses in which they both
listened intently when some trifling sound caught their ears, but
toward twelve o’clock both dropped off to sleep, and awoke next morning
without having been disturbed.
When the following Sunday came the weather was perfect, and Tony gave
his young apprentices permission to take Mrs. Farnham and her family
outside the breakwater. They sailed past Greenport Lighthouse on the
tip of the Point, and manœuvered for an hour or two in the broad
ocean. Mrs. Farnham expressed herself as delighted with the trip, and
Rodney, who had rarely been in a sailing-craft since his father had
acquired their motor-boat, declared he was as much in love with the old
_Sea-Lark_ as ever.
“If you like her as much as that,” said Jack, jokingly, “you had
better sign on as one of my crew.”
“I would, like a shot, if you’d let me,” replied Rod.
“Well, if you mean that, report for duty in the morning. My mate won’t
be able to help, as he has to do something for his father, and I expect
we shall be pretty busy at the ferry.”
“You don’t mind, do you, Mother?” asked Rod.
“Not if it amuses you,” replied Mrs. Farnham. “I would rather trust you
in the _Sea-Lark_ than in that canoe of yours, any time.”
And in this way Rodney Farnham was unofficially “signed on.” The more
Jack knew the city lad the more he liked him. They were about the same
age, and had very similar tastes, and they became excellent companions,
despite the fact that one was working hard through the vacation to help
his father, and the other attended an expensive New York school and
could have spent most of his time, had he chosen, in rolling about in
a luxurious limousine. But the sea had a fascination for Rod. He was
never so happy as when, dressed in a flannel shirt, more-or-less-white
trousers, and sneakers, he stood on the swaying deck of the little
sloop, jumping to obey the captain’s orders and feeling the sting of
the fresh salt air on his cheeks. He and George, also, became chums,
and the three boys spent many a happy hour on the sloop. Their trips
in her, now, were not always limited to the regular run between
Garnett and Sayer’s wharf and the Point, for Tony considered they were
perfectly capable of sailing out beyond the breakwater, in favorable
weather, so long as they kept within a mile or so of shore; and Cap’n
Crumbie was not long in arranging for them to take out occasional
pleasure parties. Sometimes during the evenings and on Sundays they ran
down the coast, almost as far as Mackerel Point, and at others, when
the wind was more suitable, they chose the direction of Indian Head,
there to run within a mile or two of the place where the now dancing
_Sea-Lark_ had lain so long in her sandy bed.
Once, when the sloop was gliding under Indian Head, Jack looked up at
its well-remembered outline, and his fancy drifted back to other days.
“Rod, have you ever been an Injun?” he asked.
“How do you mean? Played at being one?”
“Yes. In full war-paint and feathers, scalping the enemy, and hunting
buffalo, and taking hostages, and following the trail of palefaces, and
tomahawking them?”
“No,” said Rod. “I’d have liked it finely, but we never seemed to get a
chance to hunt even that sort of buffalo in New York. I wish I had.”
“See that headland?” the skipper queried. “That’s the place where
Sitting Bull and White Fox made their famous stand, with their backs
to the edge of the cliff. The Iroquois had attacked them in thousands,
and killed all the defenders’ braves. But Sitting Bull and White Fox
outwitted the enemy. They had a trap laid, and the invaders all fell
into a hole, where they were left to die, and Sitting Bull and White
Fox lived happily ever after.”
“They must have been lonely,” commented Rod. “I’ve never heard of this
bit of history. What sort of a trap was it?”
“I don’t exactly remember,” replied Jack. “It must have been about
eight years ago. There’s White Fox sitting on the deck-house now,
laughing at you. Beat him on the head with a belaying-pin for me, will
you, please? That’s the place where we used to play Injuns when we were
kids.”
More than once, these days, Jack came across the man named Martin who
had asked the captain to sell the _Sea-Lark_. He crossed in the ferry
occasionally, apparently going for the sail only, as he either returned
to the town without going ashore or strolled aimlessly about until the
sloop returned to the Point. Jack’s instinctive dislike for the fellow
deepened, a state of affairs which was by no means remedied by Martin’s
attempts to get on a friendly footing with the owner of the sloop. His
manner was difficult to understand. He was impudent, in a way, and yet
he cringed; and it was his cringing more than his impudence which made
him repellent to Jack.
“Why does that chap hang ’round so much?” Rod asked one day.
“Nobody knows. He’s a mystery to me,” replied Jack.
“I’d like a little accident to happen while he was standing on the edge
of the wharf,” observed Rod, quietly. “If I should happen to trip and
bump into him so that he fell over, he wouldn’t have quite such a mean
smile when we fished him out.”
“Better not,” replied Jack, reluctantly. “After all, he isn’t doing any
harm, but I wish he’d find some other wharf to loaf about on. Sometimes
I feel as though he were trying to hypnotize me as he stands and stares
down at us. The worst of it is you can’t go up to a man and ask him
what in thunder he means by looking at you, especially when you’re
running a public ferry.”
“No,” replied Rod, “but there’s no law in the world to prevent me from
accidentally tripping up and giving him a ducking. He’d find somewhere
else to stand around after that.”
“Suppose he couldn’t swim! No, I’d love to do it, but it’s too risky.
Maybe he’s a detective, for all we know, waiting at the ferry to catch
some one. Leave him alone for the present. The thing is beginning to
get interesting.”
And it grew still more interesting within an hour or so of that
conversation. Jack and the two boys had just returned from a run over
to the Point with a boat-load of passengers, when Cap’n Crumbie waved
his hand to the skipper, from the wharf. The lads trooped up together.
“_Some_thing’s up!” said the watchman, with a mysterious air, glancing
toward two retreating figures which at that moment disappeared round
the corner into Main Street.