THE RED BEARDED ONE
“Hullo!” said Hank. “What the devil do you want?”
“Am I speaking to Mr. Fisher?” asked the newcomer, addressing himself
to the town lot speculator.
“You are.”
“You’re the man that’s going after the Dutchman?”
“Yep.”
“D’you want to catch him?”
“Oh, Lord, no,” said Hank. “I’m only going to inquire after his health.
Go on, what are you getting at?”
“Well, if you want to catch him, get on deck this instant minute and
see I’ve not been followed. Go up casual and have a look round. Keep
your eyes skinned for a man with a patch over his left eye. I’m not
funning. I mean business. Get a-deck. I tell you I’ve no time to
explain.”
Hank stared at the other for a second, then he uncoiled himself,
crossed the cabin and vanished up the companion way.
Neither George nor the bearded one spoke a word. They were listening.
Then they heard voices.
“Say, you,” came a voice from the wharf, “did y’ see a guy goin’ along
here—red-whiskered fella?”
“Man with a red necktie?” came Hank’s voice.
“Yeh—he’s my pal—which way was he goin’?”
“He was making along towards the union dock.”
Silence. The companion way creaked and Hank reappeared standing in the
cabin doorway.
“Well,” said Hank, “that’s done. I’d no sooner got on deck than
a fellow with a patch on his eye came along with kind inquiries.
I’ve sent him along. Now I must ask you for your visiting card—and
explanations.”
The stranger laughed.
“Candon’s my name,” said he. “Bob Candon. I’ll take a seat for a
minute, if you don’t mind, to get my wits together. I only blew in
yesterday afternoon, came up from S’uthard and anchored off Tiburon and
first news I had when I got ashore was about you and the Dutchman.”
“What was your ship?” cut in Hank.
“_Heart of Ireland_, thirty-ton schooner, owned and run by Pat
McGinnis, last port—” Candon cut himself short. “That would be
telling,” said he, with a laugh.
Hank handed him a cigarette and lit another.
“I’m not wanting to bore into your business,” said Hank, “only I’m
giving you this straight, I’ve no time for blind man’s buff. You were
proposing to come along with us to hook the Dutchman?”
“That’s what I’m here for,” said Candon. “I don’t want you to lose
wind or time over me, I’d have you know I’m dealing straight, but I’m
mixed with a crowd that’s not straight, get me? Don’t you bother where
the _Heart_ dropped her mud-hook last, nor how much her business was
mixed up with the Dutchman’s business. Don’t you bother about one
single thing but the proposition I’m going to put before you, and it’s
this. Ship me out of this port down south and I’ll put in your hand
every last ounce of the boodle the Dutchman’s been collecting, for I
know where it’s hid; on top of that I’ll make you a present of the
man himself for I know where he’s to be found. That’s my part of the
bargain. And now for yours. I ask nothing but five thousand dollars in
my fist when the job’s done, and to be put ashore somewhere safe, so
that those chaps on the _Heart_ won’t be able to get at me.”
He had been holding the cigarette unlighted. He struck a match, lit it,
took in a great volume of smoke and slowly expelled it.
“Well,” said he, “what’s your opinion on that?”
Hank was sitting almost like Rodin’s Thinker. Then he uncoiled a bit.
“Do those guys on the _Heart_ know where the Dutchman’s to be found?”
asked he.
“No, they don’t.”
“Do they know where the boodle is?”
“N’more than Adam.”
“Do they know you know where it is?”
“They suspect. That’s my trouble—what’s this I’m saying, ‘suspect’. Why
it’s more than that now. Now I’ve run away from them they’ll know for
certain.”
“And if they catch you?”
“They’ll drill me, sure.”
“Was that guy with the patch, McGinnis?”
“Nope—Thacker, McGinnis’s right hand man.”
Hank brooded.
Then said he: “Were you a friend of the Dutchman?”
“What you mean to ask,” said the other, “is, am I letting him down?
I’ll just tell you, the Dutchman has been my enemy, but I’m not moving
in this because I have a grouch against him. I’m playing my own game,
but it’s a straight game.”
Hank brooded a second more.
“We’d have to hide you aboard here till we start,” said he.
“You will,” replied the other.
“Right,” said Hank. “Now will you take a rag and clean the engine for
two minutes while I have a talk to my friend here in private.”
He led the way out and came back.
“Well,” said he, “what do you think of that guy?”
“I like him,” said George.
“I like him well enough,” said Hank, “Question is about his story.
It seems plain enough. He’s come up with a crew of hoodlums who’ve
been in touch with Vanderdecken, they’ve been hunting for old man
Vanderdecken’s boodle. Nothing doing. Then they’ve left the hunt and
put in here. They had big suspicions he was in the know and wanted the
boodle for himself. He’s only been let ashore with a nurse and he’s
given her the slip. It’s all plain. Then Providence comes in, which is
us. Seems extraordinary, don’t it? Barrett advertising us like that and
all, for here we are, a sure bolt-hole for him, advertised bigger than
Heinz’s Pickles.”
“How do you mean a bolt-hole?”
“Well, look at it. Those crooks are after him like a coyote after a
prairie dog. He’s got to get out of here, he might get out in a foc’sle
if he wasn’t knifed before the ship sailed, but that wouldn’t lead
him anywhere except maybe round Cape Horn, _whereas_ he gets a lift
back down the coast to where he knows the Dutchman has hid the boodle
and he gets five thousand dollars in his fist and a set ashore. Then
Providence comes in again, seems to me. I reckoned I’d have to spend
five thousand on this expedition and between Tyrebuck and Barrett it
won’t cost me a cent, bar the hire of four Chinks for crew, so I can
easy afford to pay him five thousand and come out winners. Besides,
he’s an extra hand himself and a good sailor man, if I’m any judge.”
“It does seem all to fit in,” said George.
“Well, shall we take him?” said Hank. “It’s a risk, but I reckon we’ve
got to take risks.”
“Take him,” said George.
Hank went out and returned with the other. Candon had taken off his
coat and his shirt sleeves were rolled up and his hands showed the
engine-room business he had been put on.
“Come right in,” said Hank. “We’ve concluded to take you along, but
there’s conditions.”
“Spit them out,” said Candon.
“Well, first of all I haven’t five thousand dollars to be taking down
the coast with me, but I’ll put a thousand in your fist when the job’s
done and mail you the other four to any address you like.”
“Oh, I’ll trust you for that,” said Candon. “What else?”
“Second, if we find the Dutchman’s property, it will have to go back to
the owners.”
“That’s just what I’d like best,” said Candon. “I tell you straight it
would have been a condition with me, only I took it for granted seeing
you’re out, so to speak, in the name of the law. I’m no pirate. I’m not
saying I was always of the same way of thinking, but I reckon those
ballyhooleys I’ve just left have given me a shake.”
“Well then,” said Hank, “there’s only one more condition. You’ll help
to work the ship for your bunk and board without pay.”
“Right,” said Candon, “and now, if you’ll take that styleographic pen I
see sticking out of your vest pocket and give’s a bit of paper, we’ll
draw the contract.”
Hank produced the pen and an old bill on the back of which the
“contract” was made out, under the terms of which Candon was to receive
five thousand dollars and a set ashore after the Dutchman had been
brought safe aboard the _Wear Jack_, also he was to take the expedition
to the spot where, to the best of his belief, was cached the Dutchman’s
plunder.
This done, Candon went back to his engine cleaning, having produced and
handed over to Hank four ten dollar notes.
“I’ll want a toothbrush and a couple of shirts and a couple of suits of
pyjamas,” said he. “Maybe, as I can’t get ashore, you’ll get them for
me. All my truck’s on board the _Heart_.”
“Bud,” said Hank to his partner that night, “I hope to the Lord we
ain’t stung. Suppose the chap’s some practical joker put on us by
Barrett, or the boys at the Club.”
“Nonsense,” said George. “Where’d be the sense? Besides the chap’s
genuine. You have only to look at his face....”