The problem of the _Wanderer’s_ whereabouts was one which offered no
clue for its solution. One thing I felt certain: the yacht had not
gone to sea. Whatever Riordan’s wishes in that matter might be—and I
knew such a move would have pleased him as revenge upon Betty and
me—Pierce and Wilson would never have permitted it.
True, Wilson was crippled, but if I had gaged the man’s character
rightly it would have required more than a wounded leg to prevent his
intervention in so colossal a piece of treachery. As for Pierce, with
his terrible neckties and soul of gold, he would have died rather than
allow Miss Baldwin to be treated in such fashion. More, he would be
too clever to die; he would at least have escaped to join us.
The yacht must be somewhere in the fiord. Riordan would not have moved
her without Brack’s orders. These orders probably had been given at
noon, and Riordan had waited until George and I were out of sight
before obeying them. With the yacht hidden we would be at Brack’s
mercy in that wilderness, the only shelter and food being at the mine.
The pistol in my shirt grated against my ribs as I dug viciously at
the water.
Had Captain Brack been present when we reached the mine I am quite
certain that we would have clashed.
The light was still burning in the cabin as we reached the
mine-clearing, and with the pistol in my hand I walked straight up to
the cabin door, leaving Betty to guide George, who now was staggering
and groaning constantly. Brack was not there. In his place Dr. Olson
was sitting, refreshing himself from the remnants of a meal and a
bottle of whisky.
The sight of me brought a sudden end to his meal, for he promptly
threw up his hands, crying:
“Don’t shoot, Pitt! Great Scott! What’s the matter?”
“Where’s Brack?” I demanded.
“Put that gun away!” he stammered. “Man, you’ve got murder in your
face.”
I lowered the weapon and the doctor dropped his hands with a sigh of
relief.
“Whew! I’m glad you aren’t after me. You certainly can look fierce,
Pitt. What’s up?”
“Brack?” I repeated, but before he could reply Chanler lurched wildly
past me into the room. His eyes fell on the doctor’s bottle and he
rushed for it like a madman. The professional instinct rose in Olson
at the sight of him and he whisked the bottle out of reach. In the end
Olson resorted to a hypodermic injection, and presently George was
dozing on a bunk in the corner.
“Whew! Close call,” said the doctor looking down at his patient. “You
got him here just about in time.”
“Where is Brack?” I demanded. “And where’s the yacht?”
“The yacht?” repeated Olson staring stupidly. “Our yacht? Isn’t it——”
“No,” I interrupted, “it isn’t where it ought to be. It’s gone. Do you
know where it is?”
He shook his head.
“How should I know? I just got back here with my patients about
fifteen minutes ago. The captain went up with the men then——”
“Patients?” said Betty. “Are some of the men ill, doctor?”
Olson grew confused.
“Well, well, yes. That is, they had a little—a little accident up in
the hills. Two of them got hurt.”
“Oh! Badly? Can I do anything?”
“Oh, no. No, no,” he replied quickly. “No, you couldn’t do anything
for them, Miss Baldwin. It wouldn’t do any good for you to see them.
I’ve got them all fixed up in the other cabin. They’re all right, I
assure you.”
“And the captain?” I reminded him.
“Why, when I got down here with those two men the captain was sitting
here eating and drinking. He went up into the hills afterwards.”
“And he didn’t say anything about the yacht?”
“Not a thing.”
I informed him of the evening’s happenings, and of the _Wanderer’s_
disappearance. At that he gasped, and a look of comprehension came
slowly into his eyes.
“Oh,” he said. “Oh, so that’s it, eh?”
“What’s it?” I demanded.
He glanced at Betty, dropped his eyes to the floor, and looked at me
significantly.
“Nothing at all,” he said. “Aren’t you starving, Pitt? You look it. As
a physician I suggest you get some nourishment into your system at
once, before you begin to suffer.”
The unexpected quickness of wit on his part took me slightly aback,
but I responded promptly.
“I’m fairly famished,” I agreed, grasping at the remnants of food on
the table. “You’re right, doctor; I must eat at once.”
It worked excellently. Betty, instantly solicitous, flew about to
prepare a meal for me, and under the pretense of gathering fire-wood
Dr. Olson beckoned me outside.
“Those men—my patients—were shot,” he said swiftly. “And two others,
Madigan and a seaman, were killed.”
A day before such news would have shocked me inexpressibly. Now it
seemed only a normal result of the circumstances which Brack had woven
about us all.
“And Slade and Harris? Did they get away?” I asked eagerly.
“I don’t know anything about anybody by those names,” he replied. “All
I know is what Brack told me: that our men were attacked by a couple
of outlaws while hunting in the hills, with the results that I’ve told
you. These outlaws shot our men.”
“And did those other fellows—the outlaws—get away?”
“For the present, yes. But Brack’s men are guarding the only pass by
which they can get out of this valley, so they can’t get away. The
captain says he’ll get them if he has to hunt all Summer. He’s managed
to get roaring drunk.”
“And he said something about Miss Baldwin, too, didn’t he? What was
it?”
“Well, he was drunk, you know. It makes him look and act and talk like
a devil.”
“Go on.”
“He said, ‘I expect we’ll have company here tonight, doctor.’ Said you
and Chanler had come and taken Miss Baldwin back to the yacht. ‘But
I’ve a feeling they’ll come back here,’ he says. ‘She can’t resist me.
Yes,’ he said, ‘they’ll be back, and this time they’ll stay.’ Then he
took out a big knife and cut himself in the hand. ‘The blood of kings,
doctor,’ he said. ‘I’m king of Kalmut Valley, and I’ll make cripples
of Pitt and Chanler, and have them for my jesters, and—’ Well, he was
drunk, you know.”
“Say it,” I commanded. “What else did he say?”
“‘And I’ll tie ’em up,’ he said, ‘and let ’em watch me make Miss
Baldwin my queen.’ I told him he’d better let me tie up his hand, and
he hit me across the face with it and went off into the hills. That’s
all.”
“No,” I said, “there’s more to this.”
I told him why Brack was after Slade and Harris. He was skeptical at
first; men didn’t dare do such things nowadays; Brack’s wild talk had
been only the raving of too much whisky. In the end, however, he was
convinced.
“Then this scientific expedition was only the captain’s way of getting
an outfit for robbery on a big, piratical scale! By George! The man’s
big, isn’t he? A regular pirate’s raid in this year of our Lord! And
yet it’s all simple and easy up here when you think of it, isn’t it?”
“Devilishly so. But it became more serious than mere robbery when Miss
Baldwin came on board. Now, are you going to help us, doctor, or——”
“Of course. I’m civilized, I hope. But what can we do, Pitt? The
captain’s got the men, and he’s too strong——”
“Dinner, gentlemen!” came Betty’s fresh young voice. “Honesty impels
me to warn you, Mr. Pitt, that I’m a horrible example as a cook, but
such as ’tis, ’tis ready.”
I was in no frame of mind to be a judge of Betty’s cooking. I ate
ravenously, because I was hungry, but my thoughts were not upon the
food. Dr. Olson’s picture of Brack in his cups was of a piece with the
impression I had gathered of him early that morning. He had thrown off
the mask and his true nature, raw, rank, savagery, was in full sway.
“When do you expect the captain back, doctor?” I asked casually.
“I don’t know. He probably will be back tonight, though. He warned me
not to drink up all the whisky as he’d want some when he got back.”