THE MYSTERY OF THE NIGHT
“COME, get up, you imp!” roared Mr. Tremaine, angrily, as he bent
over. He seized the steward by the collar, and dragged that frightened
individual to his feet.
“Ham, you simpleton, there’s no such thing as a ghost,” uttered Mr.
Tremaine, sharply.
“Oh, ain’ dere, den?” demanded Ham, in high disgust at such ignorance.
“Yo’ go out an’ meet it, den!”
“I will,” agreed Henry Tremaine, gripping the negro tightly by the arm.
“Where did you see that ghost?”
“In de passageway, sah.”
“Then come along and show it to me.”
Mr. Tremaine spoke with such an air of disbelief and firmness that Ham
Mockus began to gather some courage from such leadership.
“But, den, sah, mebbe dat ghos’ don’ show himself to white folks ob de
quality kind,” suggested the steward.
“If we don’t see the ghost, then you’ve all the less reason to be
afraid,” retorted Henry Tremaine. “But come along and see whether you
can show the ghost to me.”
As Tremaine marched the badly scared steward out into the passageway,
the ladies started to follow, out of sheer curiosity. So badly was the
yacht rolling that Dixon went with them, to steady them and save them
from being pitched headlong.
“It was right erlong in dis passageway, sah,” Ham offered solemn
assurance. “An’ Ah done heard a feahful sound—o-o-o-oh!”
Ham suddenly gave a bound that took him out of Tremaine’s clutch. He
darted to the forward end of the passageway, then halted, crouching,
his eyes rolling almost as fast as the propeller shafts could revolve.
Unquestionably there _had_ been a sound. Henry Tremaine, far from
superstitious, thought he had heard the same sound. As he halted,
rooted to the spot, he heard a distinct knocking.
“There’s something at the other side of this closet door,” spoke
Tremaine, with a positive air. Reaching out, he drew out the hook
by which the door was secured in place. As he pulled the door open,
Tom Halstead, looking more than half dead, lurched out of the little
compartment in which he had been a prisoner. Tremaine caught him and
steadied him.
“What’s the matter, lad?” demanded the charter-man.
“Air,” whispered Halstead, hoarsely. “Nearly died in there!”
“Your fans—quick, ladies,” cried Mr. Tremaine.
Out where the ventilators were working, the youthful sailing master
was quickly revived. Then Mr. Tremaine led him back to the cabin, and
dropped him into a seat, while the ladies plied their fans vigorously.
“Oh, I guess I’m all right, now,” protested Skipper Tom, looking up
with a smile.
“But how came you in that place?” questioned Mr. Tremaine.
“Why, one of our air compartments is in that place,” muttered Tom.
“I stepped in there, just to make sure that all was right. While I
was there the yacht lurched and the door slammed to. The hook on the
outside must have been standing up. Then it dropped, fitting just into
place. I made an awful racket, hoping to attract someone’s attention.
Then I began to get dizzy for lack of air.”
“That was what that idiot, Ham, thought was the noise the ghost made,”
grimaced Mr. Tremaine. “But, good heavens, Halstead! What a fearful
accident to have happened. And, here in the cabin, we couldn’t hear
your clatter on this night of all nights.”
“Joe could have brought you through, I guess, sir,” Tom smiled. “Yet
I’m glad I didn’t smother in there to-night. It’s much safer, in a gale
like this, to have two men on the bridge deck. I’m going back there
now.”
“Are you steady enough?” asked Mrs. Tremaine.
“Oh, I’m all right,” vaunted Halstead. “I’ll go up on deck, now, and
feel better for the air.”
Mr. Tremaine insisted on going forward with him as far as the motor
room hatch, seeing the young skipper safe out on deck. Then the
charter-man turned upon Ham, whose eyes were rolling at a more furious
rate than ever, and dragged him back to the cabin.
“Ham, you infernal scared-cat!” roared Tremaine, as he stood the
steward up by the sideboard. Then the charter-man explained what really
had happened.
“Yet you said you saw a ghost!” finished Mr. Tremaine.
“Ah done t’ought Ah did, we’en Ah heahed dat awful noise,” chattered
Ham Mockus.
Tom Halstead’s condition rapidly improved as he groped his way to Joe’s
side on the bridge deck, and stood gulping in great draughts of the
air that was blowing so forcefully about him. Next, he shouted, in his
chum’s ear, an account of what had happened to him.
“Mighty curious,” Joe bawled back, with a shake of his head. “About
one chance in a million, I should say, that the door could close and
hook itself.”
“How else could it have happened!” Halstead demanded.
At that, Joe had to admit that he had no theory of his own to fit
the case. While they were still talking about it, Henry Tremaine, in
rain-coat and visored cap, opened the hatch, and came out onto the deck.
“Keep hold of the life-ropes, sir,” Tom yelled at him. “Look out for
this wave coming!”
Such a great weight of water rolled in over the low stern, flooding
swiftly forward, that the “Restless” went low in the sea ere the salty
ebb went out through the running scuppers.
“The weather’s growing stiffer, isn’t it?” demanded Mr. Tremaine, after
the deluge had passed.
“Not growing any better, sir, anyway.”
“I’ve just told the ladies the weather is moderating a good deal,”
Tremaine went on, talking at the top of his voice, in order to make
himself heard. “They haven’t lost their courage yet, and there’s no
sense in their being allowed to get scared. They won’t turn in, though.
Say they’d rather sit up until the boat pitches a good deal less. Do
you consider that there’s any real danger to-night, Captain?”
“Yes,” admitted Tom, honestly.
“What is it?”
“Why, the ‘Restless,’ I believe, sir, is fully staunch enough to
weather such a gale if she can be kept going ahead. Yet the force of
the rolling water to-night is something terrific. If our propeller
shafts snapped, under the strain, and we drifted in the trough of the
sea, I don’t know how long we _could_ keep afloat.”
“That’s the only danger?” asked Henry Tremaine, eyeing the young
sailing master keenly.
“That’s the greatest danger, sir.”
“What are the others?”
“Why, sir, some of the hull timbers might be forced so that a leak
would be sprung, or, of course, we might go onto some uncharted reef
or rock. This is a mean bit of coast to sail on with no local pilot
aboard.”
“You’re not afraid of disaster, are you, Captain Halstead?”
Tom’s smile was swift and reassuring.
“I expect, sir, to land you at some point in Oyster Bay by breakfast
time,” answered the young commander.
For some moments Henry Tremaine studied the clean, clear-cut face and
steady, resolute eyes of Captain Tom. Then he glanced at the sturdy,
unflinching figure of Joe Dawson at the wheel.
“Halstead,” the charter-man shouted back, “since I have to be out here
on rough waters, and in the big blow, I am glad I’m with you two. I
couldn’t be in braver hands. When I _do_ turn in to-night it will be to
sleep soundly.”
How true the latter part of his prediction would come Tremaine could
not guess as he groped his way down below.
This night of hurricane _was_ full of dangers, even though the
propeller shafts should hold and the motors continue to work under the
strain. A score of times, at least, each of the young navigators had
to fight the grave danger of being lifted and carried overboard on the
curling crest of one of the many huge, combing waves that piled over
the stern of the “Restless” and dashed thunderously along the low deck
of the yacht.
Every now and then, while Tom was at the wheel, Joe went below to
look over his motors. Once he found them becoming overheated. It was
necessary to slow the speed down to seven miles, and at this lessened
gait the boat rolled more than ever. Yet Joe had to fight it out with
the motors, even though headway was lost.
When, at last, late in the night, the speed had been put up to nine
miles, Joe came up on deck and Skipper Tom went briefly below. He found
all his passengers still up in the cabin.
“I just came below,” smiled Captain Halstead, “to assure you all that
it will be wholly safe for you to turn in, if you wish. I wouldn’t say
that if I didn’t believe it. Mr. Tremaine, we’ve had to slacken the
speed for quite a while, to cool our engines, so we won’t make Oyster
Bay as early as I had expected.”
The ladies, who could hardly hold their eyes open, expressed a desire
for sleep. Tremaine and young Dixon assisted them as far as their
stateroom door, then came back.
“I believe I’ll turn in, Tremaine,” yawned Oliver Dixon, just as Tom
Halstead, in his sou’wester and oilskins, departed. “Are you going to
do the same?”
“After my bed-time glass of water, yes,” nodded the charter-man,
groping his way to the sideboard and reaching for the water-bottle.
Ham, still wholly of the opinion that he had seen a ghost, had long ago
crept into his bunk in the motor room, covering up his head. He had
fallen asleep. Muffled snores from that berth greeted the young skipper
as he reached the motor room.
“That reminds me,” muttered Halstead. “I forgot to lock the cabin door
into the passageway.”
Retracing his steps, he used his key. This he had done regularly on
the cruise so that Ham Mockus, a stranger to all on board, could not,
if so tempted, prowl in the cabin after the others had retired. Then
Halstead returned to deck.
Through the long night he and Joe, strong and fearless as they were,
wrestled with exhaustion, for the physical strain was enormous. They
met the duties of the night as only Americans, born on the sea-coast
and bred to the salt water ways, can meet such problems. There were
times when they believed the pounding seas must snap one of the
propeller shafts. With one shaft gone, the other shaft could not long
have done double duty on such a night and in such a sea.
At last Captain Tom sternly ordered Joe Dawson below for a rest. Joe
came up on deck again, after a nap of an hour and a half, when it was
within an hour of daylight.
“Now, you get below,” begged Dawson. “I feel as strong as a horse, Tom.
And go back to your berth in the cabin, at that. You know, I have the
electric signal to your berth, if I need you.”
Captain Tom stood for some time, regarding the weather and the running
sea. But it seemed to him that they had reached a point where the gale
was much less severe, and he was aching in every muscle and sinew.
“I’ll go below for a little while,” he assented. Stopping in the motor
room long enough to shed oilskins and headgear, and hearing Ham
still snoring luxuriously, the young sailing master trod through the
passageway, unlocking the cabin door, then locking it again after him.
Captain Tom drifted off into slumber the instant his head touched the
pillow in his berth. Nor did he waken. Joe, glad that his chum might
rest at last, fought it out all alone on the bridge deck. Daylight was
flooding the cabin from the transom overhead when Captain Halstead
was roused by hearing Mrs. Tremaine’s voice. Poking his head sleepily
through the berth curtains, Tom beheld both ladies fully dressed, while
Oliver Dixon was just coming out from the other stateroom.
“We’re riding in much easier water, now, ladies,” was Dixon’s greeting.
“Yes; I noticed that,” replied Ida Silsbee. “And I can’t tell you how
glad I am, either. I tried to be brave last night, but I’ll admit
I was worried. I’d have been more alarmed, only I realized what a
splendid pair of young sailors were looking after——Why, there’s Captain
Halstead, drinking in enough flattery to turn his head,” laughed the
girl, catching sight of the young skipper.
“Is Mr. Tremaine rising?” inquired Mrs. Tremaine.
“No; sleeping like a log,” replied Dixon.
“Then I’ll go in and arouse him,” declared Mrs. Tremaine. “I noticed
from the stateroom port that we are running rather close to shore. We
must be near the end of our present voyage.”
Mrs. Tremaine disappeared into the starboard stateroom, but presently
looked out again, bewilderment expressed on her face.
“I can’t guess what’s the matter with Henry,” she confessed. “I’ve
called to him, and shaken him, but he doesn’t answer me. He’s breathing
so heavily that I—I’m alarmed.”
By this time Captain Tom Halstead was presentable enough to join the
others. After greeting the three, he followed Mrs. Tremaine and Dixon
to the starboard stateroom.
Henry Tremaine surely was breathing heavily—almost with a rattle,
in fact. But Tom, pressing past the others, succeeded in making the
charter-man open his eyes.
“All right,” he muttered, as though still in a daze. “I’ll get up,
right away.”
“I’ll stay and help you dress,” proposed Tom, upon which the other two
retreated.
“Gracious! How my head feels!” groaned Tremaine, as he got unsteadily
onto his feet. Tom had to clutch at him and hold him.
“I feel as though I had been drugged,” muttered Tremaine, slowly. “I—I
can’t half think, and my head aches, and is so dizzy——”
“You’ll want to get in the air, then,” proposed the young skipper, as
Tremaine finished getting on the last of his clothes.
“Where—are we?”
“Why, since Mrs. Tremaine saw land from the port stateroom, I think we
must at least be in the mouth of Oyster Bay, sir.”
“Then, if we’re going to land so soon,” proposed Henry Tremaine, “I may
as well get my money out. Halstead, be a good fellow. I feel so bad
that I don’t dare bend over. Here are my steamer trunk keys. Open the
trunk and lift out the small iron box you’ll find there. I have ten
thousand dollars in bills there. I’ll deposit the money on shore.”
Halstead readily found the iron box, and placed it on the edge of the
berth. Tremaine, still groaning about his head, fitted a key into the
box, and raised the strong lid.
“What’s this?” Tremaine almost yelled, as soon as he had the iron box
opened.
Tom Halstead looked, then gasped.
“Why, there’s not a dollar—not a sou—in this box!” roared Henry
Tremaine. “Yesterday, there was ten thousand dollars in it!”
His excited exclamations brought the other passengers to the doorway.
“What’s the matter, my dear?” inquired Mrs. Tremaine.
“Why,” exclaimed her husband, bewilderedly, “I appear to be out ten
thousand dollars. The money was in this box yesterday afternoon.”
“Robbed?” gasped Mrs. Tremaine.
“So it would seem,” retorted her husband, dryly. “And—Jupiter! From the
way my head feels, I’ve been drugged, too! Of course the thief had to
drug me, in order to be sure that I wouldn’t wake up when he came in
during the night.”
“Who has had access to this cabin while we slept?” demanded Oliver
Dixon. “That negro—Ham?”
“No,” rejoined Tom Halstead, promptly. “Ham has been asleep in his
berth. I locked the door into the cabin. I’m the only one who had
access here.”
“Do you know anything about where the money went to, Halstead?”
inquired Mr. Tremaine, looking up at him.
“I?” stammered the young sailing master of the “Restless.” “Certainly
not, sir!”
“Then who does?” demanded Oliver Dixon, shooting a suspicious look at
the young captain.
As Tom Halstead glanced swiftly from one face to another, something of
the awful meaning of the situation flashed over him.
“See here,” he muttered, hoarsely, “I hope none of you think _I_ could
do anything like this! I? Rob my own passengers? Why, it would settle
my fate as a yacht commander all in an instant! No, no! You surely must
all see that I simply _couldn’t_ have done a thing like this!”