"AND ON THE SHIPS AT SEA"
Mr. Paddock knew of a man on the water-front who had a gasoline launch
to rent, and fortunately it happened to be in commission. The two
young men leaped into it, Paddock started the engine, and they zipped
with reassuring speed over the dark waters toward the lights of the
_Lileth_.
The accommodation ladder of the yacht was down, and leaving a member of
the crew to make fast the launch, Minot and Paddock climbed hurriedly
to the deck. Mr. Martin Wall was at the moment in the main cabin
engaged in a game of German whist, and his opponent was no less a
person than George Harrowby of the peerage. Upon this quiet game the
two young men rushed in.
"Unexpected visitors," said Wall. "Why--what's the matter, boys?"
"Come out on deck a minute," said Minot rapidly. Wall threw down his
cards and followed. Once outside, Minot went on: "No time to waste
words. Trimmer is collecting a mob in front of the opera-house, and
they are coming out here to search this boat. You know who they're
looking for."
With exaggerated calmness Wall took out a cigar and lighted it.
"Indeed?" he remarked. "I told you it might be advisable to look up
the penalty for kidnaping. But you knew best. Ah, the impetuosity of
youth!"
"Well--this is no time to discuss that," replied Minot. "We've got to
act, and act quickly!"
"Yes?" Mr. Wall drawled. "What would you suggest? Shall we drown him?
I've come to like George mighty well, but if you say the word--"
"My plan is this," said Minot, annoyed by Wall's pleasantries. "Turn
George over to us. We'll bundle him into our launch and run off out of
sight behind Tarragona Island. Then, let Trimmer search to his heart's
content. When he gets tired and quits, signal us by hanging a red
lantern in the bow."
Martin Wall smiled broadly.
"Not bad for an amateur kidnaper," he said. "Will I turn George over
to you? Will a duck swim? A good idea."
"For God's sake, hurry!" cried Minot. "Look!"
He pointed to the largest of San Marco's piers. The moon was lost
under clouds now, but the electric lights on the water-front revealed a
swarming shouting crowd of people. Martin Wall stepped to the door of
the main cabin.
"Lord Harrowby!" he cried. He turned to Minot and Paddock. "I call
him that to cheer him in captivity," he explained. The tall weary
Englishman strode out upon the deck.
"Lord Harrowby," said Wall, "these two gentlemen have come to take you
for a boat ride. Will you be kind enough to step into that launch?"
Poor old George pulled himself together.
"If you'll pardon my language, I'll be damned if I do," he said. "I
take it Mr. Trimmer is on his way here. Well, gentlemen, the first to
grasp his hand when he boards the boat will be the chap who now
addresses you."
They stood gazing doubtfully at George in revolt. Then Minot turned,
and saw a rowboat putting off from the pier.
"Come on," he cried, and leaped on the shoulders of the aspirant to the
title. Paddock and Wall followed. Despite his discouraged appearance,
George put up a lively fight. For a time the four men struggled back
and forth across the deck, now in moonlight, now in shadow. Once
George slipped and fell, his three captors on top of him, and at that
moment Mr. Minot felt a terrific tugging at his coat. But the odds
were three to one against George Harrowby, and finally he was dragged
and pushed into the launch. Again Paddock started the engine, and that
odd boat load drew away from the _Lileth_.
They had gone about ten feet when poor old George slipped out from
under Minot and leaped to his feet.
"Hi--Trimmer--it's me--it's George--" he thundered in a startlingly
loud tone. Minot put his hand over George's lips, and they locked in
conflict. The small launch danced wildly on the waters. And
fortunately for Minot's plans the moon still hid behind the clouds.
With a stretch of Tarragona's rank vegetation between them and the
_Lileth_, Mr. Paddock stopped the engine and they stood still on the
dark waters. Paddock lighted a cigarette, utilizing the same match to
consult his watch.
"Ten o'clock," he said. "Can't say this is the jolliest little party I
was ever on."
"Never mind," replied Minot cheerfully. "It won't take Trimmer fifteen
minutes to find that his proposition isn't on board. In twenty minutes
we'll slip back and look for the signal."
The "proposition" in question sat up and straightened his collar.
"The pater and I split," he said, "over the matter of my going to
Oxford. The old boy knew best. I wish now I'd gone. Then I might
have words to tell you chaps what I think of this damnable outrage."
Minot and Paddock sat in silence.
"I've been in America twenty odd years," the proposition went on.
"Seen all sorts of injustice and wrong--but I've lived to experience
the climax myself."
Still silence from his captors, while the black waters swished about
the launch.
"I take it you chaps believe me to be an impostor, just as Allan does.
Well, I'm not. And I'm going to give you my little talk on the old
days at Rakedale Hall. When I've finished--"
"No, you're not," said Minot. "I've heard all that once."
"And you weren't convinced? Why, everybody in San Marco is convinced.
The mayor, the chief of police, the--"
"My dear George," said Minot with feeling. "It doesn't make the
slightest difference who you are. You and Trimmer stay separated until
after next Tuesday."
"Yes. And rank injustice it is, too. We'll have the law on you for
this. We'll send you all to prison."
"Pleasant thought," commented Paddock. "Mrs. Bruce would have to
develop lockjaw at the height of the social season. Oh, the devil--I'd
better be thinking about that luncheon."
All thought. All sat there silent. The black waters became a little
rougher. On their surface small flecks of white began to appear.
Minot looked up at the dark sky.
"Twenty-two after," said Paddock finally, and turned toward the engine.
"Heaven grant that red light is on view. This is getting on my nerves."
Slyly the little launch poked its nose around the corner of the island
and peeped at the majestic _Lileth_. Paddock snorted.
"Not a trace of it."
"I must have underestimated the time," said Minot. "Wha--what's that?"
"That? That's only thunder. Oh, this is going to be a pretty party!"
Suddenly the heavens blazed with lightning. The swell of the waters
increased. Hastily Paddock backed the boat from the range of the
_Lileth's_ vision.
"Trimmer must go soon," cried Minot.
Fifteen minutes passed in eloquent silence. The lightning and the
thunder continued.
"Try it again," Minot suggested. Again they peeped. And still no red
light on the _Lileth_.
And even as they looked, out of the black heavens swept a sheet of
stinging rain. It lashed down on that frail tossing boat with cruel
force; it obscured the _Lileth_, the island, everything but the fact of
its own damp existence. In two seconds the men unprotected in that
tiny launch were pitiful dripping figures, and the glory of Mr.
Paddock's evening clothes departed never to return.
"A fortune-teller in Albuquerque," said poor old George, "told me I was
to die of pneumonia. It'll be murder, gentlemen--plain murder."
"It's suicide, too, isn't it?" snarled Paddock. "That ought to satisfy
you."
"I'm sorry," said Minot through chattering teeth.
No answer. The downfall continued.
"The rain is raining everywhere," quoted Paddock gloomily. "It falls
on the umbrellas here, and on the ships at sea. Damn the ships at sea."
"Here, here," said poor old George.
A damp doleful pause.
"Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for a
friend," continued Paddock presently.
"A thousand apologies," Minot said. "But I'm running the same chances,
Jack."
"Yes--but it's your party--your happy little party," replied Paddock.
"Not mine."
Minot did not answer. He was as miserable as the others, and he could
scarcely blame his friend for losing temporarily his good nature.
"It's after eleven," said Paddock, after another long pause.
"Put in closer to the _Lileth_," suggested Minot.
Mr. Paddock fumbled about beneath the canvas cover of the engine, and
they put in. But still no red light aboard the yacht.
"I'd give a thousand dollars," said Paddock, "to know what's going on
aboard that boat."
The knowledge would hardly have been worth the price he offered.
Aboard the _Lileth_, on the forward deck under a protecting awning, Mr.
Trimmer sat firmly planted in a chair. Beside him, in other chairs,
sat three prominent citizens of San Marco--one of them the chief of
police. Mr. Martin Wall was madly walking the deck near by.
"Going to stay here all night?" he demanded at last.
"All night, and all day to-morrow," replied Mr. Trimmer, "if necessary.
We're going to stay here until that boat that's carrying Lord Harrowby
comes back. You can't fool Henry Trimmer."
"There isn't any such boat!" flared Martin Wall.
"Tell it to the marines," remarked Trimmer, lighting a fresh cigar.
Just as well that the three shivering figures huddled in the launch on
the heaving bosom of the waters could not see this picture. Mr. Wall
looked out at the rain, and shivered himself.
Eleven-thirty came. And twelve. Two matches from Mr. Paddock's store
went to the discovery of these sad facts. Soaked to the skin, glum,
silent, the three on the waters sat staring at the unresponsive
_Lileth_. The rain was falling now in a fine drizzle.
"I suppose," Paddock remarked, "we stay here until morning?"
"We might try landing on Tarragona," said Minot.
"We might try jumping into the ocean, too," responded Paddock, through
chattering teeth.
"Murder," droned poor old George. "That's what it'll be."
At one o'clock the three wet watchers beheld unusual things. Smoke
began to belch from the _Lileth's_ funnels. Her siren sounded.
"She's steaming out!" cried Minot. "She's steaming out to sea!"
And sure enough, the graceful yacht began to move--out past Tarragona
Island--out toward the open sea.
Once more Paddock started his faithful engine, and, hallooing madly,
the three set out in pursuit. Not yet had the _Lileth_ struck its
gait, and in fifteen minutes they were alongside. Martin Wall,
beholding them from the deck, had a rather unexpected attack of pity,
and stopped his engines. The three limp watchers were taken aboard.
"Wha--what does this mean?" chattered Minot.
"You poor devils," said Martin Wall. "Come and have a drink. Mean?"
He poured. "It means that the only way I could get rid of our friend
Trimmer was to set out for New York."
"For New York?" cried Minot, standing glass in hand.
"Yes. Came on board, Trimmer did, searched the boat, and then declared
I'd shipped George away until his visit should be over. So he and his
friends--one of them the chief of police, by the way--sat down to wait
for your return. Gad--I thought of you out in that rain. Sat and sat
and sat. What could I do?"
"To Trimmer, the brute," said Paddock, raising his glass.
"Finally I had an idea. I had the boys pull up anchor and start the
engines. Trimmer wanted to know the answer. 'Leaving for New York
to-night,' I said. 'Want to come along?' He wasn't sure whether he
would go or not, but his friends were sure they wouldn't. Put up an
awful howl, and just before we got under way Mr. Trimmer and party
crawled into their rowboat and splashed back to San Marco."
"Well--what now?" asked Minot.
"I've made up my mind," said Wall. "Been intending to go back north
for some time, and now that I've started, I guess I'll keep on going."
"Splendid," cried Minot. "And you'll take Mr. George Harrowby with
you?"
Mr. Wall seemed in excellent spirits. He slapped Minot on the back.
"If you say so, of course. Don't know exactly what they can do to
us--but I think George needs the sea air. How about it, your lordship?"
Poor old George, drooping as he had never drooped before, looked
wearily into Wall's eyes.
"What's the use?" he said. "Fight's all gone out of me. Losing
interest in what's next. Three hours on that blooming ocean with the
rain soaking in--I'm going to bed. I don't care what becomes of me."
And he sloshed away to his cabin.
"Well, boys, I'm afraid we'll have to put you off," said Martin Wall.
"Glad to have met both of you. Sometime in New York we may run into
each other again."
He shook hands genially, and the two young men dropped once more into
that unhappy launch. As they sped toward the shore the _Lileth_,
behind them, was heading for the open sea.
"Sorry if I've seemed to have a grouch to-night," said Paddock, as they
walked up the deserted avenue toward the hotel. "But these Florida
rain-storms aren't the pleasantest things to wear next to one's skin.
I apologize, Dick."
"Nonsense," Minot answered. "Old Job himself would have frowned a bit
if he'd been through what you have to-night. It was my fault for
getting you into it--"
"Forget it," Paddock said. "Well, it looks like a wedding, old man.
The letters home again, and George Harrowby headed for New York--a
three days' trip. Nothing to hinder now. Have you thought of that?"
"I don't want to think," said Minot gloomily. "Good night, old man."
Paddock sped up the stairs to his room, which was on the second floor,
and Minot turned toward the elevator. At that moment he saw
approaching him through the deserted lobby Mr. Jim O'Malley, the house
detective of the De la Pax.
"Can we see you a minute in the office, Mr. Minot?" he asked.
"Certainly," Minot answered. "But--I'm soaked through--was out in all
that rain--"
"Too bad," said O'Malley, with a sympathetic glance. "We won't keep
you but a minute--"
He led the way, and wondering, Minot followed. In the tiny office of
the hotel manager a bullet-headed man stood waiting.
"My friend, Mr. Huntley, of the Secret Service," O'Malley explained.
"Awful sorry that this should happen. Mr. Minot but--we got to search
you."
"Search me--for what?" Minot cried.
And in a flash, he knew. Through that wild night he had not once
thought of it. But it was still in his inside coat pocket, of course.
Chain Lightning's Collar!
"What does this mean?" he asked.
"That's what they all say," grunted Huntley. "Come here, my boy. Say,
you're pretty wet. And shivering! Better have a warm bath and a
drink. Turn around, please. Ah--"
With practised fingers the detective explored rapidly Mr. Minot's
person and pockets. The victim of the search stood limp, helpless.
What could he do? There was no escape. It was all up now--for
whatever reason they desired Chain Lightning's Collar, they could not
fail to have it in another minute.
Side pockets--trousers pockets--now! The inner coat pocket! Its
contents were in the detective's hand. Minot stared down. A little
gasp escaped him.
The envelope that held Chain Lightning's Collar was not among them!
Two minutes longer Huntley pursued, then with an oath of disappointment
he turned to O'Malley.
"Hasn't got it!" he announced.
Minot swept aside the profuse apologies of the hotel detective, and
somehow got out of the room. In a daze, he sought 389. He didn't have
it! Didn't have Chain Lightning's Collar! Who did?
It was while he sat steaming in a hot bath that an idea came to him.
The struggle on the deck of the _Lileth_, with Martin Wall panting at
his side! The tug on his coat as they all went down together. The
genial spirits of Wall thereafter. The sudden start for New York.
No question about it--Chain Lightning's Collar was well out at sea now.
And yet--why had Wall stopped to take the occupants of the launch
aboard?
After his bath, Minot donned pajamas and a dressing-gown and ventured
out to find Lord Harrowby's suite. With difficulty he succeeded in
arousing the sleeping peer. Harrowby let him in, and then sat down on
his bed and stared at him.
"What is it?" he inquired sleepily.
Briefly Minot told him of the circumstances preceding the start of the
_Lileth_ for New York, of his return to the hotel, and the search party
he encountered there. Harrowby was very wide awake by this time.
"That finishes us," he groaned.
"Wait a minute," Minot said. "They didn't find the necklace. I didn't
have it. I'd lost it."
"Lost it?"
"Yes. And if you want my opinion, I think Martin Wall stole it from me
on the _Lileth_ and is now on his way--"
Harrowby leaped from bed, and seized Minot gleefully by the hand.
"Dear old chap. What the deuce do I care who took it. It's gone.
Thank God--it's gone."
"But--I don't understand--"
"No. But you can understand this much. Everything's all right.
Nothing in the way of the wedding now. It's splendid! Splendid!"
"But--the necklace was stolen--"
"Yes. Good! Very good! My dear Minot, the luckiest thing that can
happen to us will be--never, never to see Chain Lightning's Collar
again!"
As completely at sea as he had been that night--which was more or less
at sea--Minot returned to his room. It was after three o'clock. He
turned out his lights and sought his bed. Many wild conjectures kept
him awake at first, but this had been the busiest day of his life.
Soon he slept, and dreamed thrilling dreams.
The sun was bright outside his windows when he was aroused by a knock.
"What is it?" he cried.
"A package for you, sir," said a bell-boy voice.
He slipped one arm outside his door to receive it--a neat little
bundle, securely tied, with his name written on the wrappings.
Sleepily he undid the cord, and took out--an envelope.
He was no longer sleepy. He held the envelope open over his bed.
Chain Lightning's Collar tumbled, gleaming, upon the white sheet!
Also in the package was a note, which Minot read breathlessly.
"DEAR MR. MINOT:
"I have decided not to go north after all, and am back in the harbor
with the _Lileth_. As I expect Trimmer at any moment I have sent
George over to Tarragona Island in charge of two sailormen for the day.
"Cordially,
"MARTIN WALL.
"P.S. You dropped the enclosed in the scuffle on the boat last night."