THE FIRST LAP OF A LONG JOURNEY
On the way back to the Ardmore home both the girl and her escort were
silent for some time. Then, turning to her, Curlie asked:
"Has this friend of your brother's--Brightwood, did you say his name
was?--has he a seaplane?"
"Is that an airplane which flies up from the ocean and lights upon it
when one wishes it to?"
"Yes."
"He has one of those. Yes, I'm sure of it. He wanted to take me for a
ride out over the sea last summer."
"And is he what you would call a daring chap, ready to attempt
anything?"
"Why, yes, he is; but--but how do you know so many things?"
"It is my duty to know."
Again he lapsed into silence. On arriving at the estate they found
Gladys' father in a strange state of agitation.
"Just received a telegram from an old and trusted friend who is on the
coast of Maine. He says Vincent has been seen there within the last
twenty-four hours. What that can mean I haven't the faintest notion. I
should go there at once but business makes it entirely impossible."
"Under one condition," said Curlie soberly, "I will go East and attempt
to bring your son home. Indeed, I shall go anyway; have already arranged
transportation, in fact, and leave in two hours; but it would please me
if I might go with your approval."
"You have arranged to go?" The older man's face expressed his
astonishment. "For what purpose?"
"On a commission for the government."
"And you wish my permission for what?"
"To bring your son back with a warrant, under arrest."
The older man looked at Curlie for a moment as if to discover whether or
not he was joking.
"Young man," he said slowly, "do you know who I am?"
"You are J. Anson Ardmore, one of the richest men of the Middle West."
"And do you know that I could crush you with my influence?"
"No, sir, I do not." Curlie drew himself up to his full height. "Those
days are gone forever. I am part of the United States government, the
government which has made it possible for you to gain your wealth. Her
laws must be obeyed. You could not crush me and, what is still more
important, you have no notion of doing so."
"What?" The magnate's face became a study, then it broke into a smile.
"I like your spirit," he said seizing Curlie's hand in a viselike grip.
"You have the power of the law behind you; you need no consent of mine.
But so be it; if my son has broken the law, he shall suffer the
penalty."
"There is one other matter," said Curlie soberly. "At the present moment
it is merely a theory. I am unable to offer any worth-while proof for
it, but it is my belief that your son and his chum, Alfred Brightwood,
are considering a very perilous seaplane journey. Indeed, they may even
at this moment be on their way. If that is true they should be followed
at once in some swift traveling vessel, for they are almost certain to
meet with disaster."
"That Brightwood boy will be the death of us all yet," exploded the
father. "For sheer foolhardy daring I have never known his equal. Time
and again I have attempted to persuade Vincent to give up associating
with him, but it has been of no avail. Alfred appears to hold some
strange hypnotic power over him."
For a moment he stood there in silence. When he spoke he was again the
sober, thoughtful business man.
"If what you say is true, and you find that they have already departed
on this supposed journey, my private yacht is at your disposal. It lies
in the mouth of the river at Landensport. The captain and engineer are
on board. You will need no further crew. She is the fastest private
engine-driven yacht afloat. If necessity demands, do not hesitate
risking her destruction, but you will not, of course, endanger your own
life."
"All right; then I guess everything is settled. You will wire
instructions to the captain of the yacht. I must hurry to my train."
Curlie hastened from the room.
Joe was awaiting Curlie at the depot. Filled with an eager desire to
know what was to be the nature of this new adventure, he could wait
scarcely long enough to buy tickets, reserve sleeper berths, and to
board the train before demanding full details.
The train was a trifle slow in pulling out. As he outlined the situation
to Joe, Curlie kept an eye out of the window. Once he caught sight of a
slight girlish figure which seemed familiar. He could not be sure, so
heavily veiled was her face.
He had quite forgotten the incident when, a few hours later, he entered
the diner for his evening lunch. What then was his surprise, on
entering, to see Gladys Ardmore calmly seated at a table and nibbling at
a bun.
She motioned him to a seat opposite her.
"You didn't expect to have me for a fellow-passenger, did you?" she
smiled.
Curlie shook his head.
"Well, I didn't expect to go until the last moment. Then the professor
came with the translation of the writing on the map all written out.
Father thought you should have it, so he sent me with it. I arrived just
in time and decided all at once that I ought to--Oh, that I wanted--that
I _must_ go with you." There was a pathetic catch in her voice that went
straight to Curlie's heart.
"After all," he told himself, "he's her brother and that means a lot."
When he looked at her the next moment he discovered there the strangely
determined look which was so like her father's, and which he had seen
once before on her face.
"Here is the translation," she said simply as she passed over a roll of
paper. "Order your dinner; we will have plenty of time to look over the
papers later."
"She's a most determined and composed little piece of humanity," was
Curlie's mental comment. "I don't like her following me, but since she's
here I suppose I better make the best of it!"
Had he known how far she would follow him and what adventures she was
destined to share with him, he might have been tempted to wire her
father to call her back. Since he did not know, he ordered meat-pie,
French fried potatoes, English tea biscuits, cocoa and apple pie, then
settled himself down to talk of trivial matters until the meal was over.
When at last he saw the waiter remove the girl's finger bowl, Curlie put
out his hand for the paper. The hand trembled a trifle. Truth was, he
was more eager than he was willing to admit to read the French
teacher's translation of the writing on the back of the map.
Now as he held it in his hand one question came to the forefront in his
mind: Was this photograph a reproduction of the map that had looked so
much like it, the one in the great volume at the library? The
translation would dear up that point.
But then it might not be, he reasoned. The book said that the original
of this map had belonged to an English lord something like a hundred
years ago; that it had disappeared and nothing had been heard of it
since.
"The professor said," smiled the girl, a trifle anxiously, "that the
writing was in very, very old Spanish and for that reason he might not
have understood every word of it correctly but that taking it all in all
he thought he had made the meaning clear."
"We'll have a look," said Curlie, unfolding the paper.
"He said it was the photograph of a very unusual manuscript, rare and
valuable." There was something about the way the girl said this which
led Curlie to guess that she might know who was in possession of the
original. He was, however, too much excited over the first lines of the
translation to ask her any questions.
"The Island of Lagos." He read the title to himself. Beneath this in
brackets were the words:
"Being the account of how the good ship Torence was cast ashore on an
unknown island in the midst of the great sea; an island whereon there
are many barbarians having much gold."
Curlie caught his breath. Save for one word the translation was the same
as that he had read in the book. That word was of no consequence.
"It's the same map!" he told himself. "The very same!"
The girl, leaning over the table, watched him eagerly. She was both
excited and elated over the find.
"Isn't it wonderful?" she exclaimed, clasping her hands. "I think it's
great! And to think that my brother and his chum were the ones who
found it!"
"Haven't read it all," Curlie mumbled.
"Then read on. Read it all. Please do."