It was a critical moment; both men were cool and spoke in
deliberate tones.
They stood alone: well toward the after-deck, while the men
were all busy forward and below handling the contraband cargo.
The night was calm; the sea was unruffled; not a cloud
intervened between sea and moon and stars, and yet two human
lives hung in the balance--the lives of two brave men.
The detective was greatly disappointed. He had not
accomplished all he desired. He had hoped not to be
discovered until the schooner landed her cargo, and he had
fallen upon the rendezvous and the mode of transport to the
city. Still he had obtained a large amount of information,
facts which he could work up; and could he only get ashore
alive, he would be able to run down close on the real backers
of the contraband business, who were a band of foreigners who
only made their money by illicit traffic in New York, to spend
it abroad.
The chances, however, for getting ashore were very slim. He
had dared a little too much, and yet at that very moment the
undaunted officer was playing a deep game.
Under a close reef the boat was heading in toward shore, and
the detective was operating to gain time, as every ten minutes
increased his chances of eventual escape.
After the detective's declaration, "Your own life will pay the
forfeit!" there followed a moment's silence Vance would not
break; time to him was precious while the yacht lay upon her
inward course.
"You are a traitor, Ballard, you are a Government spy!"
"Who says so?"
"The charge has been made."
"Let me meet the man who makes the charge."
"And then?"
"I have made my demand. I am to receive your word that. I
shall have a fair chance to settle the matter with him."
"Your request is reasonable."
"It is."
"Why not join us and then make your demand?"
"I will never join a crew with that man; this is a trumped-up
charge against me to satisfy private malice."
"Why does your accuser seek to accuse you falsely?"
"I am too much of a man to bring my private quarrel to public
notice; captain, the matter stands here; you know I'm no tyro;
as matters stand, I am doomed; against you and your crew out
here at sea I've no chance for my life; but as the chances
have turned, I can guarantee fair play ashore."
"You shall meet your accuser."
"And have a fair show?"
"Yes."
"I have your word, captain?"
"You have my word."
"Good enough, you have saved your life! I'll trust your word;
if you go back on me, may the sharks soon crunch your living
bones."
"You stand here, I'll bring the man aft."
"Good enough."
The captain went forward; the detective stood calm and
patient, but his eyes were upon the master of the "Nancy." He
saw Denman speak to the men, and then he saw the crew start in
a body toward the afterdeck. Denman had proved false, the
smuggler had forfeited his word.
"It's now or never," muttered the detective, and he sprung
beside the rudder port and stood upon the stern rail. His
form towered up through the night like an apparition, as he
called in a loud tone:
"You and I will meet again, Denman. Sol Burton is a liar."
Head first the intrepid detective dove from the vessel down
into the water, and when he came to the surface he was beyond
range, as the yacht was moving along with moderate speed in
one direction, while our hero was swimming under water in an
opposite course.
"Lower away the boat!" shouted Sol Burton.
The men ran to obey, but at that moment lights were seen, and
one of the men shouted:
"It's a cutter!"
Ike Denman heard the latter shout, and commanded:
"Hold fast there the boats!"
The crew had not time to take up a boat when the cutter was
bearing down upon them.
"That man can never get ashore," said an old tar; "No living
man in full toggery can go over the side of this boat and ever
come unaided out of the sea!"
"The cutter may pick him up," suggested Sol Burton.
"More likely to pick us up! No, no, he'll be down on the
bottom before the cutter gets around, and she will not run
within five miles of where he went over, if she heads her
course to overhaul us."
"It's not a cutter," said Sol Burton.
"Well, let it go so; that man Ballard is with the angels by
this time," came the response.
Meantime the detective was moving like a fish through the calm
waters toward the shore.
It was a smooth sea, and only a fifteen-mile swim, and he had
gone aboard the yacht prepared for the venture.
When Spencer Vance sprung overboard, he was oiled from his
ears to his heels, and his clothing was ready to be peeled
down to an oil-skin under-suit, lined in the inner side with
soft wool.
Like a fish he cut through the waters, and his heart was as
brave as his sweeping stroke, as he propelled himself forward
toward she shore.
"It's all right, Johnny," he muttered, as he spurted some sea
water from between his lips. "I'll keep my word. I'll
interview Ike Denman when he is not looking for me; and, as to
Sol Burton, I'll catch that man some day!"
The detective swam along merrily, and, in less than four hours
after having leaped from the yacht, he crawled upon the beach,
and lay down in the warm sand to rest, burying himself like a
mole; and there he lay for over an hour, when he rose to his
feet, and started to walk down the coast. He was not sure of
the distance he would be compelled to travel, but was assured
as to the direction he was to take.
Our hero was quite proud of his achievement, but felt a little
blue when he observed a storm coming in rapidly from the sea;
but his luck did not desert him. He saw a deserted cabin,
toward which he made his way, and it didn't take him long to
gather a lot of twigs and drift, and, upon reaching the cabin,
he made a fire, and sat down before the cheerful blaze, as
comfortable an individual as ever took a long chance in the
way of duty.
Once in the cabin, the brave man betrayed the ingenuity of his
preparations for his perilous Venture, and verified ed his
confident statement to Renie, that she need have no fear, as
in good time he would come ashore again to tell the tale of
his adventure.