TOM HALSTEAD’S QUICK WIT AT WORK
“NOW, where is Francis Delavan?”
Six gentlemen of the press launched that question at Captain Tom
Halstead’s head. Their voices and their eyes put the question together.
But the young man, smiling serenely, was ready for them.
“Mr. Delavan left, early this morning, for a pleasure trip on the
water, and he hasn’t returned yet,” replied the “Rocket’s” skipper.
That was wholly the truth.
“Where did Mr. Delavan go?”
“He didn’t tell me where he was going.”
“How soon will he be back?”
“He didn’t tell me that, either.”
“Did he go on the ‘Rocket’?”
“No.”
“Captain,” demanded one of the reporters, eyeing the lad keenly,
“pardon me for asking you if you answered that last question
truthfully.”
“On my honor I did,” Halstead replied, promptly. “Yesterday Mr. Delavan
went out on the ‘Rocket.’ To-day only his friend, Mr. Moddridge, went
out with us.”
“See here, captain,” demanded another reporter, bruskly and somewhat
roughly, “don’t you know, quite well, that Delavan has skipped away,
probably out of the country, for good?”
“I give you my word, gentlemen, that I don’t know it, or even believe
it. Indeed, while I do not presume to feel myself in Mr. Delavan’s
confidence, I am very sure that he cannot be many miles from here at
this moment.”
“Then _where_ is he?”
“Not being in Mr. Delavan’s confidence, I can’t tell you.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“Not—not exactly.”
That reply conveyed the impression the young skipper hoped it would,
namely, that he simply didn’t want to tell where the Wall Street man
was supposed to be.
“All I can tell you,” Tom Halstead added, “is that Mr. Delavan is
probably not many miles away from here at this moment, that he will
undoubtedly turn up very soon, and that he will be pretty angry over
the stories that his brief absence have caused.”
Not being easily daunted or turned aside, these New York reporters
continued their siege of the young skipper for at least another quarter
of an hour. Tom, however, could not be trapped into saying more than
he had already said. Yet he spoke so simply, and with such candor, that
he imagined the reporters themselves were beginning to believe that too
much ado had been made over Mr. Delavan’s brief absence, and that Wall
Street had gone astray on another crazy story. However, still intent on
seeing Eben Moddridge, and perhaps hoping to find Mr. Delavan himself
before the day was over, the reporters lounged about the lobby or at
the hotel entrance.
As soon as he could do so without attracting the attention of any
of the others, Halstead strolled over to the “Sun” reporter, a
fair-haired, alert, athletic-looking young man.
“Do you know that brown-haired, tall young man, in the blue suit?”
asked Halstead, rather carelessly.
“I do not,” answered the “Sun” man.
“Yet he belongs to your party, doesn’t he?” pursued the young skipper.
“Why, he was with us, yes.”
“Do you know the other reporters?”
“All of them.”
“But you don’t know the brown-haired young man?”
“No,” answered the “Sun” man. “I don’t believe he’s from a New York
paper. He may belong to one of the Brooklyn dailies. Shall I ask him
who he is and what paper he serves?”
“Oh, no, thank you,” Tom answered, carelessly. “It’s just the slightest
curiosity on my part. He makes me think, a little, of a fellow I knew
in my own town.”
But as the motor boat boy presently strolled away his mind was moving
fast. He had already suspected that the brown-haired young man, with
the well-tanned face, did not belong to the party of reporters, though
he pretended to.
For Halstead, rarely mistaken in a voice, had heard the fellow speak
twice. Though the tone was low, it had brought back a memory of the
night before.
“If it’s the same fellow,” flashed through the boy’s mind, “then his
hair, last night, was lighter, and his cheeks fairer. Since then he
must have dyed his hair and stained his face. He wore a gray suit,
then, and a yachting cap, but I’d wager a lot the fellow yonder is the
one who directed the fellow calling himself Rexford, and one of the
pair that chased me up a tree. The voice is the same, I’m sure, though
now he’s talking lower and trying to disguise his voice.”
The more Halstead covertly studied the suspected one the more he became
convinced of the whole truth of his guess.
“Then, if he’s one of the fellows who tried to tempt me last night,
he’s working for or with the very crowd that have caused Mr. Delavan to
vanish,” breathed the young captain. Feeling that his excitement must
be showing in his eyes, Halstead forced himself to cool down a good
deal.
“That fellow you asked about claims his name is Ellis, and that he’s on
a Brooklyn newspaper,” murmured the “Sun” man, drifting by the young
motor boat captain.
“Thank you,” acknowledged Tom Halstead, courteously, yet almost
indifferently. To himself, however, as the real reporter strolled away,
the boy muttered:
“Ellis, eh? And a Brooklyn newspaper? What a cool liar the fellow is!”
Though they had now waited but a few minutes after giving up young
Halstead as a bad interviewing job, the reporters were now once more
besieging the desk clerk to send their cards up to Eben Moddridge.
“It’s no use, gentlemen, I tell you,” insisted the clerk. “I’m not
to let anyone near Mr. Moddridge until he informs me that he is at
leisure.”
“That fellow who calls himself Ellis is the only one who doesn’t insist
at all,” muttered the young skipper, covertly watching the game.
Bye and bye, however, “Ellis” drew two of the real reporters aside,
engaging them in low, earnest conversation. The other reporters joined
the party, all hands talking together for some fifteen minutes. Then
once more the “Sun” reporter, as soon as he could do so without
attracting attention from his comrades, sauntered up to Captain Tom,
standing on the veranda just outside the entrance.
“That fellow Ellis claims to have a whole lot of inside track,”
whispered the “Sun” man. “He tells us he _knows_ that Francis Delavan,
overcome with remorse at having looted the assets of the P. & Y.
Railroad, drowned himself near the mouth of the inlet this morning. He
claims that the body has been recovered, but that an effort is being
made to keep it from the coroner.”
“Then the fellow lies,” retorted Tom bluntly, indignantly. “You’ve been
good to me in telling me this, so I’m going to assure you again, on my
honor, that Mr. Delavan isn’t dead; and I’m equally certain that he has
done nothing wrong.”
The “Sun” man looked keenly at the boy, concluding that the
blue-uniformed young skipper was telling the truth as he knew it.
“Thank you,” said the reporter, simply. “I’ll try to keep you posted
on any other wild rumors I hear. But I wish you’d lead me, alone, to
Delavan.”
“I will,” promised Tom, artlessly.
“When?”
“When the time comes that I have a right to.”
Just as the “Sun” reporter walked away the young skipper caught sight
of Jed, standing under a tree in the grounds, making signs. Beside
Jed stood a big, broad-shouldered hulking young fellow with a face as
freckled as the map of the Thousand Islands.
Taking a last look inside, and seeing Ellis still chatting with two of
the New York reporters, Halstead ran down the veranda steps, crossing
the grounds to his Nantucket friend.
“Say, cap,” began Jed, affectionately, “I’m terribly sorry, but I guess
I’ve got to quit this cruise. It’s mean, but there’s trouble at home.
Mother’s ill. I’ve just had a wire from Dad. He doesn’t say it’s the
worst, Tom, but he advises me to come home. So I’ve got to go by the
next train, which leaves in twenty minutes. You won’t blame me, old
fellow, will you!”
“Blame you?” repeated Halstead, quickly. “Of course not. I’d drop
anything if I had the same kind of a telegram. We’ll miss you, of
course, Jed, but it can’t be helped. Well get along somehow.”
“Oh, I’m not going to leave you thrown down,” retorted young Prentiss.
“Cap, this is my friend, Hank Butts. Hank is right out of sea-faring
stock for a hundred years back. And he can _cook_, too. Say, Tom,
he was down at Nantucket, two years ago, on the Life Saving Service
cutter. Even then he could cook, eh, Hank?”
“Some,” laconically responded the freckle-faced youth. “And I can
handle boats—some—though I don’t know much about motors.”
“I just ran into him on the way up here, Tom,” confided Jed. “But say,
I know all about him, from two years ago. Can you give him the job
until I show up back again, anyway?”
“Yes,” agreed Halstead at once. “Of course, subject to Mr. Delavan’s
approval.”
“Then good-bye, and good luck to you all,” cried Jed Prentiss, after
hastily looking at his watch. “I’ve got to run. I’ve said good-bye to
Joe already. Tom, I’ve left my uniforms on board—if you can squeeze
Hank into ’em.”
With a hasty hand pressure for both youths Jed Prentiss scurried away,
intent on reaching his Nantucket home at the earliest possible moment.
Captain Tom had stepped around so that the bush was between himself and
the hotel entrance. Hank followed.
“Shall I go on board and look about at the new job?” queried Hank Butts.
“Yes,” nodded Tom, instantly adding: “By hokey—no!”
For at that very moment Ellis was coming out alone through the hotel
entrance. The fellow glanced backward, to make sure he was not observed
by any of the genuine reporters. Then he slipped rapidly through the
grounds.
“See that fellow hurrying over there, in the blue suit?” questioned
young Halstead.
“Yep,” nodded Hank Butts.
“Think you could follow him, no matter where he goes, so he wouldn’t
suspect you were following him?”
“Sure,” nodded Hank. “Nothing easier.”
“Then do it,” blazed Tom Halstead, in a frenzied undertone. “And I
will follow, keeping only you in sight. In that way, he won’t have any
chance to know I’m after him, and he doesn’t know you.”
Hank, like a well disciplined follower of the sea, sauntered away
without asking another question. Captain Tom watched him for a few
moments, then, when Ellis had passed out of sight, the young skipper
trailed after Hank Butts, at that moment about to vanish from his view.
“Ellis was hanging around, to spread stories against Mr. Delavan, and
also to find out what is happening,” quivered the young motor boat
captain. “Now, I’ll bet Ellis is going straight to his employer—and I’m
going to follow him right up to that same rascally chief!”