THE BUYER OF SOULS
WHEN the “Rocket” was tied up at her pier at East Hampton, at a little
before four o’clock that afternoon, and while Tom and Jed were still
busy at the hawsers, the owner and his guest slipped away.
“No orders for the rest of the day, or to-morrow,” remarked Halstead,
as soon as he realized the fact. “Oh, well, the orders will probably
come down later on. We’ve enough to keep us busy for a while, anyway.”
There is, in fact, always enough to be done aboard a good-sized motor
cruiser when the crew have her in at her berth. There is the engine
to be gone over, deck and steering tackle to be inspected and perhaps
repaired, the searchlight and signal lanterns to be taken care of,
and a hundred other routine duties. The steward has his hands full of
“housekeeping” affairs.
“I don’t see that speed boat in anywhere,” commented Jed, looking over
the harbor.
“She must put up at some other point of the Bay,” Tom replied. “Well,
the game of her people was beaten to-day, so I don’t suppose we shall
have to feel any more concern about the speed boat.”
Never did Tom Halstead make a more erroneous guess. That same speed
boat, as subsequent events will show, was destined to become intensely
involved in the affairs of all aboard the “Rocket.”
At five o’clock Jed began to busy himself, in the galley forward, with
the preparation of such a meal as young appetites, sharpened by the sea
air, demanded. An hour later that meal was ready, and eaten to the last
morsel.
Darkness found Tom and Joe pacing the pier together, while Jed reclined
lazily in one of the wicker deck chairs on the deck aft.
“I really wish Mr. Delavan had given us some hint of to-morrow’s
orders,” muttered Halstead.
“If he wanted to sail early to-morrow I believe he’d have said so,”
replied Joe.
“That might be true enough for most days,” argued Halstead. “But think
what an unusual day this has been for him. His mind is on the biggest
game of a money king’s year.”
“He seemed to take it easily enough,” rejoined Dawson.
“Why, that’s his business mask, Joe. Our new owner is a man who has
made himself successful by not allowing himself to get so rattled that
he gets everyone around him on pin-points. He felt the excitement of
the day’s work well and plenty. Don’t have any hazy ideas about that.”
“But what a fearfully nervous chap little Mr. Moddridge is,” observed
Dawson. “It really makes one begin to stutter, just to look at him when
he’s worried.”
“Joe,” announced the young skipper, after a look at his watch, “if you
and Jed will stay with the boat I’m going to run up to the hotel, just
to see if there’s any definite word for us.”
“Don’t take the word from Moddridge, then,” laughed Dawson.
The young skipper didn’t hurry; there was no need of that, and the
night, away from the water front, was warm and close. East Hampton is a
busy summer resort, and the streets were thronged with girls in summer
white and holiday mood, a sprinkling of young men, a good many children
and some older people. Not a few turned to gaze after the erect young
sailor, in his natty uniform, as Halstead strolled along taking in the
sights. Tom knew where the Eagle House was, for that was where he and
his mates had first reported to the “Rocket’s” owner. In a few minutes
he stepped into the lobby of that handsome summer hostelry.
“Is Mr. Delavan in?” he asked of a clerk at the office desk.
“Mr. Delavan left about half an hour ago,” was the answer. “He and his
friend went away in an auto, but I think they went only for a short
spin to get the air. If you wish to wait, captain, make yourself at
home here.”
“Thank you,” nodded Tom, courteously. “I believe I will wait.”
Passing out onto the porch the young skipper seated himself near
the railing. Wind, fog and sunshine had all left their impress of
drowsiness on Halstead. Before long he sat with half-closed eyes,
thinking slowly of the events of the day, and wondering not a little
what unusual business it could be that Messrs. Delavan and Moddridge
were pursuing. Back of the young captain men and women were strolling
up and down the veranda in little groups, laughing and chatting.
Half sleepily Tom felt a paper touch against his hand. More or less
instinctively his fingers closed upon it. Then, with something of a
start he sat more upright, bringing that hand from his side to his lap.
It was a single, small sheet, folded once. Opening it, Captain Tom read
these typewritten words:
As a most important matter of business take a walk at
once, out over the Bridge Road. Continue walking, perhaps
for a quarter of a mile, until you are accosted. Remember
that Fortune rarely knocks at any man’s door. This is your
opportunity to line your pockets with greenbacks of large
denominations. Come and meet one who truly enjoys seeing a
young man prosper, and who will take pleasure in showing you
how you may soon have a fine bank account. But come at once,
as your well-wisher’s time is very limited.
“Arabian Nights! Fairy tales!” smiled Captain Tom Halstead, showing his
teeth. “Who is putting this up on me, and what is the joke, I wonder?”
He was about to toss away the piece of paper, after tearing it up, when
a new thought stayed him.
“There may be something real in this,” thought the boy. “Mr. Delavan
and his friend certainly appeared a bit worried over that racing craft.
If there’s anything behind this note Mr. Delavan will want to know what
it’s about, and so shall I.”
Young Captain Halstead was already on his feet, his shrewd, keen
eyes looking over the veranda crowd. Yet he saw no one upon whom he
could settle as a likely suspect. He could only conclude that whoever
had casually slipped the paper into his hand had already purposely
disappeared.
“I believe I’ll accept this invitation to take a walk,” mused the young
skipper. “If there’s anything real behind the note I may as well find
out what it is. If there’s nothing but a hoax in it I’ll be willing to
admit that I snapped at it.”
There was plenty of time to take the walk and be back before Mr.
Delavan’s return was looked for. Asking one of the hotel employes where
to find the Bridge Road, young Captain Halstead set out briskly. Nor
did he have to go far before he came to the bridge that gave the road
its name. A little way past the bridge in question the road became more
lonely. Then Halstead came to the edge of a forest, though a thin one
of rather recent growth.
“I’ll walk on for five minutes, anyway,” decided Captain Tom. “After
that, if nothing happens, it’ll be time to think of turning back.”
“Hist!” That sound came so sharply out of the dark depths that the boy
started, then halted abruptly.
“Halstead! Captain Halstead!” hailed a voice.
“Where are you?” Tom asked, in a louder tone than that which greeted
him.
“You’re Captain Halstead, are you?” insisted a voice, not much above
a whisper, which the young skipper now located in a clump of bushes
between two tall spruce trees.
“Yes; I’m Halstead. Who wants me?”
“Step in this way, please.”
So Tom stepped unhesitatingly from the road, and walked toward the
voice, at the same time demanding:
“Are you the one who handed me a note?”
“Yes, but not quite so loudly, please.”
“Why not?” challenged Halstead, simply.
“Well, because our business is to be—er—well, confidential.”
Tom Halstead found himself standing before a tall, slim, well-dressed
young man. More than that he could not see in the partial darkness, so
the young skipper struck a match and held it up.
“Here,” exclaimed the stranger, hastily, “what are you doing?”
“Trying to get a better idea of you, and whether you are in the least
ashamed of your business with me,” Tom replied, quietly.
The stranger, who proved to be red-haired, stood more quietly, gazing
intently at this composed young motor boat boy.
“Well,” inquired the stranger, at last, and speaking more pleasantly,
“are you satisfied with my appearance?”
“I’ll admit being curious to know what your business with me can be,”
Halstead replied.
“You read my note through?”
“Yes, of course. But that did not tell me your business, or your name,”
Tom answered.
“Oh, I can tell you all about my business with you, in a few minutes,”
the other assured the young skipper.
“And your name, too?”
“Why are you so particular about my name?”
“Why, you see,” smiled Captain Tom, “down in our little country town,
the place where I was raised, we always rather wondered at any man who
seemed ashamed or reluctant to give his name.”
“Oh, I see,” laughed the other. “And, on the whole, captain, I think
your point is rather well taken. So, to begin with, my name is Calvin
Rexford. Now, as to my business, you are willing to make a little money
now, and a great deal more later on, are you not?”
“How much money?” asked Tom Halstead, bluntly.
“Can you guess how much there is here?” inquired Rexford. He took from
one of his pockets and held out a small, compact roll of bills. Tom
coolly struck another match, scanning the roll, and discovering that
there was a twenty-dollar bill on the outside of it.
“There’s five hundred in this little pile,” observed Mr. Rexford.
“Half a thousand dollars. That’s just the starter, you understand. If
you obey certain orders you’ll get another little lump of money like
this. In the end there’ll be a sum big enough for you to live on the
rest of your days. Like the sound of it? And this half thousand goes to
you at once, in return for a promise or two. _Now_, can we undertake
business together?”
Though Captain Tom Halstead’s eyes had momentarily glistened at the
tempting sight of so much money, he now asked, composedly:
“What’s the business?”
“You’re skipper of Francis Delavan’s ‘Rocket,’ aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You expect to continue to hold the position?”
“Probably all through this summer.”
“Then see here, Captain Halstead, all you have to do is to follow
certain orders. One of them, for instance, is, whenever you see another
craft near that hoists a red pennant, crossed diagonally by a single
white stripe, you’re to have something happen to your boat so that you
can’t proceed for some time. You can _make believe_ something happens
to the boat, you know.”
“You’ve got hold of the wrong party, my friend,” answered the young
skipper, as quietly as ever. “The fellow you want is my chum, Joe
Dawson, the ‘Rocket’s’ engineer.”
Rexford looked Tom Halstead over as keenly as was possible in the
darkness.
“Do you mean, captain,” he demanded, finally, “that we’ll have to let
your friend in on this?”
“Of course,” Tom nodded, “if there’s really anything to be done along
the lines you’re describing.”
“What kind of a fellow is this Joe Dawson?”
“Well,” replied Tom, reflectively, “Joe’s hot tempered once in a while.
If you proposed anything to him that he considered crooked, he’d most
likely hit you over the head with a wrench.”
“So you call my offer a crooked one, do you?” insisted Rexford, a
curious note in his voice.
“You’re proposing to buy us out—to pay us to sell out our employer,
aren’t you?” asked Halstead, directly.
“Why, I am trying to show you how you can make a very handsome sum of
money by being accommodating,” said the young man, slowly.
“You’re asking us to sell out our employer and our own sense of honor,
aren’t you?” persisted the young motor boat captain.
“Look here, Halstead, you don’t want to be foolish,” remonstrated
the red-haired one. “I’m willing enough to let your friend into this
matter, and I’ll make it highly profitable for you both. But don’t get
too stiff about it. I’m only making a very handsome offer to buy some
of your interest and time.”
“Oh,” smiled Halstead, quizzically. “Pardon me. I thought you were
trying to buy my soul.”
The irony, however, was wasted on the other. “Well, now you understand
that I’m not,” laughed Rexford, easily. “So we can begin to talk real
business. Let us begin by dropping this money into your pocket.”
He attempted to slip the roll of banknotes into one of the boy’s coat
pockets, but Halstead quickly side-stepped, receiving the proffered
money in his right hand.
“Oh, very well,” laughed Rexford, “do just as you please with the
money. It’s yours, you know.”
“Thank you,” acknowledged the young skipper. Then, before Rexford could
even guess what he meant to do, Tom Halstead swung back his right arm,
bringing his hand up over his shoulder.
“Here, stop that!” quivered Rexford, darting forward and clutching the
young skipper’s arm. But the move was too late, for Captain Tom had
already hurled the compact little mass of banknotes as far as he could
through the forest. On account of Rexford’s sudden movement neither of
them heard the money drop to earth.
“What do you mean by that?” demanded the red-haired one, hoarsely, his
breath coming fast, his eyes gleaming angrily.
“You told me to do as I pleased with the money,” retorted Tom. “So I
got it out of my hands as quickly as possible. I don’t like that kind
of money.”
“Do you mean to say that you throw our business over?” cried Rexford.
“Of course I do,” smiled Tom. “Are you so slow-witted that it cost you
all that money to find it out?”
“Confound you, I’ve a good mind to give you a good beating,” came
tempestuously from the other’s lips.
“Try it,” again smiled Halstead, undauntedly.
“Then we can’t get you on our side?” demanded Rexford, his tone
suddenly changing to one of imploring. Still smiling, Captain Tom shook
his head. There was a quick step in the bushes behind him, and a sturdy
pair of arms wound themselves about the young skipper, while Rexford
leaped at him from in front.
“If we can’t count on Halstead,” declared a new voice, from the rear,
“then we can’t let him get away from us, either—not when there are
millions at stake!”