Spencer Vance had become greatly interested in the beautiful
Renie during the walk along the beach. He had become deeply
impressed with the purity, yet weirdness of her character. He
had pressed the girl for some reminiscence of her early
childhood, but she had no recollections beyond the sea and the
fisherman's cabin where she had lived with old Tom Pearce and
his wife.
Her supposed father had for years rowed her every morning
across the bay to the mainland, where she had attended the
village school, from whence she had passed to the high school,
at which her reputed father had supported her for a couple of
years.
Mrs. Pearce died suddenly one day after a few hours' illness.
Just before her death Renie was alone with her in the room.
The woman had been unconscious, but she momentarily recovered
consciousness and summoned the girl to her bedside and
attempted to communicate some parting intelligence, but alas!
she only succeeded in uttering a few disjointed exclamations,
suggestive, but not directly and fully intelligible. The
half-uttered exclamations only served to confirm certain
suspicions that had long floated unsuggested through the
girl's mind, and her disappointment was bitter when the icy
hand of death strangled the communications which the dying
woman was seeking to make.
The girl had formed a sort of attachment for Tom Pearce. The
man was a good-natured, jolly sailor sort of a fellow, and, as
intimated, had always treated the girl with the utmost
kindness and consideration.
It was thus matters stood up to the time of the detective's
strange meeting with the girl upon the beach.
As the girl pointed to the house and concluded the words which
close our preceding chapter, she glided away, and left the
detective to "work his own passage".
During the walk along the beach Renie had been a little more
explicit in explaining her immediate peril, and our hero was
prepared to more intelligently enact the role of the
eavesdropper.
The cabin of Tom Pearce, the boatman, was an ordinary
fisherman's hut, built in the midst of white sand-hills, with
a few willows planted on a little patch of made earth, and
serving as protectors against the fierce summer blaze of the
sun.
The detective crept up to the cabin, and climbing upon a rear
shed which served as a cover to several boats and a large
quantity of nets, he covered himself with a fragment of old
sailcloth, and secured a position from where, through a little
opening which in the summer was left unclosed, he could see
into the main room of the cottage. He could not only see, but
could as readily overhear any conversation that might occur.
Glancing into the room, he saw Tom Pearce, whom he had seen
many times before on board several of the boats that sail over
the bay. The fisherman, or rather smuggler, was seated before
a table on which stood a ship's lamp, reading what appeared to
be an old time-stained letter, and after an interval he
muttered aloud:
"Well, well, I don't know what to do! That girl is dear to my
old heart, and I'd rather die than any harm should come to
her; and again I don't like to stand in her way; while
according to this letter from the old woman, written nigh on
to thirteen years ago, I've no right to let her pass from my
possession."
The mutterings of the old man were interrupted by a loud rap
at his rickety door.
"Come in!" called the old smuggler.
The door opened, and a roughly dressed man strode into the
cabin.
"Hello, Pearce! I see you are here to meet me."
"Yes, Mr. Garcia, I'm waiting for you."
Mr. Garcia took a seat by the table opposite the old smuggler,
and saw the latter crumple the letter, and put it in his
pocket.
"Eh, old man, what's that your hiding?"
"Nothing that will interest you, sir; it's only an old
letter from my dead wife, sent to me many years ago
when she was visiting some of her friends over in
Connecticut."
"How about this Government officer who has been prowling
around here?" was the next question which fell from Garcia's
lips.
"Well, that's more than I can tell you, but he'll be fixed
to-night, whoever he is! Yes, sir, he'll not cause the lads
any trouble, they've 'tumbled' to him! too soon."
"They've tumbled, eh?"
"Yes; and they got up a false cruise to-night on purpose to
carry him out to sea."
"How was it the boys chanced to 'drop' to him?"
"Renie did the business."
"Renie did the business?" ejaculated the man.
"Yes, sir; she went through him. She is a wonderful girl, she
is, but I don't think she really meant to give the fellow
away, but we caught her in a trap."
"You caught her in a trap?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"Well, she was sending a message to warn the detective of his
danger, and the letter was intercepted, and so we got into the
whole business. I tell you the fellows were mad, and had it
been anybody but Renie they'd never have sent another
message."
"Does Renie know her letter was intercepted?"
"I don't think she does."
"Why would she want to give the Government officer the 'tip'?"
"No telling about these women, sir, no telling about them; you
see this man is a good-looking chap, a very handsome fellow,
and he's a daring man, too, and a splendid sailor! It's a pity
he wasn't one of the crew. I tell you he saved the lives of
all the lads one night off the coast; but he's doomed! He'll
never save nobody again!"
"Has he been making love to the girl?"
"No; I reckon he's never seen her, but she's seen him; you see
Renie goes under cover sometimes, and she wanders along the
shore for hours, and one night she came upon the detective
when he was holding a parley with a pal from the city; the gal
'laid low' and overheard all that was said, and at the same
time she 'nipped' a letter which the man dropped from his
jacket, and thus got down on the whole business; but somehow
her heart went ag'in giving the man away, and she writes a
letter ready to deliver to him; and by ginger, she mislaid her
letter, and my nephew, a rattling little chap, 'nipped' it and
gave it to the Cap, and the whole business was out!"
"You are sure there has been no acquaintance between the
detective and your daughter?"
"Yes; I am sure of that."
"Why are you sure?"
"Well, I've Renie's word, and that gal would die before she
would tell a lie; no, sir, she's never spoke to him, and as
she never has, she never will, for his accounts will all be
cleared to-night! the lads will have a dead open and shut on
him."
"I reckon you've been deceived," said Garcia.
"How so?"
"That gal has known more of this man than you think. She
would not warn a stranger that his life, was in peril,
especially when that stranger was her father's foe."
"Well, it don't make any difference. She will never see him
again!"
"We can't tell about that."
"What do you mean?"
"I'll bet a thousand dollars the man didn't go off on the
cruise to-night!"
"Yes, he did."
"Did you see him aboard?"
"No: but I know he went."
"That girl would know that the letter was lost."
"Yes, very likely."
"Well, she'd take some other measures to warn the man; you've
been deceived, old man!"
"I hope you're mistaken, or it will be bad for Renie. I tell
you the men will be raging mad if the detective slips through
their nets to-night."
"They will be, and now you recognize the necessity of turning
the girl over to me."
"I've been thinking over that matter."
"You remember what I promised you?"
"Yes, yes; but suppose he should come?"
"Who should come?"
The old smuggler had spoken the words in a thoughtful manner,
and the question was really addressed to himself. The old
smuggler recognised that he had made a startling admission and
remained silent.
Garcia said:
"I suppose you mean the day might come when someone will
appear to claim the girl, and you will lose a large sum of
money?"
"No; no; you do not know what I mean, you have never heard the
girl's strange history."
"I know she is not your child."
"Yes; you forced that confession from me a long time ago."
"Tell me the girl's history."
"I dare not."
"Does she know the tale?"
"No."
"She believes herself your child?"
"I think she has a suspicion that she is not my child, but she
loves me."
"Has she ever asked you whether or not she is your child?"
"Never!"
"Nor hinted?"
"No."
"Then why do you say she suspects that she is not your child?"
"Well, from many little things I have been led to suspect
that. She herself has a suspicion of the real truth."
"You must then tell me her history."
"I dare not."
"Listen old man, I am her friend and your friend; this is no
place for Renie; when she was a mere child it was all right,
but now it is not safe. You must give her to me! and listen;
should anyone ever come to claim her, she shall be
surrendered, and you will receive any reward that may be
paid!"
"I do not think anyone will ever come for her, but could I
solve one mystery I know where to look."
"For what?"
"Her friends."