DISCOVERY—AND AN ESCAPE.
Jim wondered, when he awoke in the morning, if they would really let him
go ashore. He thought it unlikely, and yet, he decided, Barrows might
well hesitate at showing his hand, which an effort to detain him against
his will would surely require. Personally, Jim was not disposed to put
up much of a fight against staying on board the _Marina_, for the
present, at least, because he was decidedly anxious to learn everything
there was to learn about the plot that menaced the success of Yale in
the coming race. This was different from a baseball game, because the
direct responsibility was not on his shoulders, and yet Jim felt that,
so long as he had the chance, he was quite as much charged with the duty
of bringing the victory to Yale as was Murchison or any other man on the
crew.
He knew, too, that, even if Barrows had not recognized him, he could not
be sure of escaping detection indefinitely. Anything he accomplished
would have to be done quickly. If they found he was Jim Phillips, his
chance of making a discovery would be gone, and, in addition, he was
pretty certain to be detained securely until the race was over.
Harding might come back, though that seemed unlikely. But he knew that
Barnes, who, of course, knew his face perfectly, was in New London, and
would probably visit the _Marina_. Moreover, a good many newspapers had
printed pictures of the famous Yale pitcher, and Jim, while he took
little stock in such fame, realized that there must be some one on board
able to recognize him as a result of these pictures, some of which had
been excellent likenesses.
Barrows came to his room while it was still early, and brought with him
Jim’s clothes, dried now, and ready for use, except for his coat, which
was lost, of course, with his shoes. But the gambler offered a jersey as
a substitute for the coat, and had found some canvas shoes, which Jim
found were a sufficiently good fit, so that he was able to go on deck
soon after the sun was up, and look around with genuine pleasure at the
lovely sight. Two yachts, glistening white in the rays of the early sun,
were steaming slowly in between the points, and the soft haze of the
summer morning seemed to transfigure the whole scene.
Svenson, heavy-eyed, with the traces of a debauch the night before still
plain on his face, greeted Jim with a surly nod, and the Yale man found
that the three of them had the deck to themselves. The three small motor
boats had gone from the deck, but one of them was still lying close to
the _Marina_, and Jim, looking at her idly, and with pretended
indifference, saw that the great coil he and Dick had seen was still
there. But its position had been changed, and it was attached now, by
delicate wires, to what looked like a big electric battery.
That gave Jim the shadow of a clew at once. He was no engineer, but he
could see that the coil was part of a powerful electromagnet, and
wondered why they had not guessed that the night before. That fitted in
perfectly, too, with a theory that he and Bill Brady had evolved, which
was, actually, though they did not know it, one of those on which Dick
Merriwell had been basing his ideas.
“We’re not very shipshape,” said Barrows, “as you can see. But, the fact
is, we’re very short-handed, and we weren’t expecting any visitor. So
you’ll have to excuse all this mess about the decks. We’re not going to
take the _Marina_ up for the race. Svenson and I will go up in a small
boat, and take our view that way. We couldn’t make the lane of yachts
look any more picturesque, I’m afraid, and we can see just as well from
a small boat. Now, we’d better have some breakfast. I’m afraid you’ll
have to accept our hospitality until later in the day. But we’ll get a
chance to put you ashore then.”
That was no more than Jim had expected. He had passed the first ordeal
with flying colors. In the clear morning light, neither Barrows nor
Svenson had recognized him, and he breathed a sigh of relief as they
went below.
At the table, where they had an excellent breakfast, served by a
Japanese steward, who had, it seemed, also cooked the meal, a good deal
of constraint was noticeable. Jim was, naturally, somewhat nervous. He
wanted to find out all he could, but he was also anxious to get away,
and he wondered how he should manage it, if, after he had found out all
he could, Barrows tried to keep him there. Svenson was surly and
ungracious, eating like an animal, and taking no part in what
conversation there was, and Barrows was the only one of the three who
was completely at his ease.
“You can put me ashore after breakfast?” suggested Jim finally.
“Surely,” said Barrows. “But I can’t say just how soon. I hope you won’t
mind the delay. It’s too bad to hold you up this way, but the fact is,
this isn’t exactly a pleasure trip, as you can guess by looking at this
craft. We’re doing some advertising work—going to distribute circulars
during the race, and, soon afterward, to the yachts and among the
crowds. So our boats are all away just now, and I’m not sure of what
time they’ll return.”
Jim admired such cleverness. In case he suspected anything was wrong
from the presence of the extra supply of tenders, here was a plausible
explanation. He was ready to admit that Barrows was clever—he was only
afraid that he might be so clever that, in spite of the information
already obtained, and the confirmation of their suspicions, he might
succeed in causing the defeat of Yale by unfair means and the loss of a
great deal of money by Yale men.
Barrows made several excuses to keep Jim below after breakfast, and
seemed inclined to stay with him. But Jim was greatly relieved, finally,
to hear Svenson’s roaring voice calling his host on deck. And, as soon
as he was alone, Jim began to explore the cabin.
The first thing he found was a government chart of the Thames. Red
markers showed the buoying of the course for the Harvard-Yale boat race,
with the flags marked every half mile, all the way up the river. And, as
Jim studied the map, certain blue crosses also attracted his attention.
There were three of these—one about a mile from the start, another at
the navy yard, where the river bends slightly, and the third almost
opposite Red Top, under the western shore of the Thames, and at a point
where the Central Vermont Railway and the observation train pass for a
few hundred feet out of sight of the racing shells.
Jim puzzled long over this map, trying to make out the significance of
the three blue crosses. That they were important he was quite sure, and
he lost no time in fixing their locations in his head, so that he could
point to the spots marked in case the need for doing so arose. He was
afraid to take the map, although he would have had no conscientious
scruples against doing so, because he was afraid that he might be
searched, and he wanted to maintain his pose of complete innocence and
ignorance until he was off the boat.
He stole to the ladder that led to the deck and listened to see if
Barrows were returning. But he heard the gambler’s voice lifted in loud
conversation with Svenson, and, returning to the cabin, found that he
could still hear their voices so plainly that he would have warning,
from the cessation of the talk, of any impending return to the cabin.
Then, feeling that he was free, for the moment, to pursue his search, he
went on. And in a few minutes he made a discovery that laid the whole
secret bare to him. Accidentally moving a sofa cushion, he found that it
concealed the model of a racing shell, and he fell to studying the model
closely. It was a beautiful piece of workmanship, apparently made to
scale, so that it was a perfect reproduction, in a small compass, of the
boats in which Harvard and Yale would test each other’s mettle the next
day.
Jim held the model attentively in his hand, admiring its beauty and the
clever workmanship. But for the life of him he could not see what its
use had been to these men. Suddenly, as he was running his hand again
over the slender, delicately made keel, it came away in his hand, and he
saw a cunningly contrived groove, filled with iron.
He almost shouted in his surprise and exultation. Here was the key to
the mystery, and, with the key, the means of defeating it.
But he had to get away first. And, as he moved toward the ladder again,
he heard a new voice, that made him realize that one of his fears had
been realized. It was Barnes who was talking.
“That’s just what Harding was afraid of,” Barnes was saying. “He knew
you’d mess the thing up. This chap you picked up was, undoubtedly, one
of Merriwell’s gang. You did the right thing when you snaked him in, but
why did you let him bluff you? You ought to have tied him up and kept
him from snooping around. The chances are, if it’s Merriwell himself or
Phillips, that he knows the whole game by this time.”
Jim could not hear what Barrows said in reply; but there was a growling
curse from Svenson.
“We’ve made Mr. Harding and his crowd respect us, anyhow,” said Jim, to
himself, with a grin. “They didn’t take us so seriously at first.
However—this isn’t any joke. I think that fellow Svenson would just as
soon drop me overboard with a weight tied to my feet as not, if he
thought he could get away with it. He’s an ugly customer.”
He debated with himself as to what he should do. To go on deck was to
court instant recognition by Barnes, and he knew that, if that happened,
he would never be allowed to escape in time to tell Dick Merriwell what
he had discovered before the race. Then some knowledge he had picked up
in a Gloucester fishing-schooner trip some time before came to his help.
He turned away from the deck, and, two minutes later, he was safely
hidden, between the lower deck and the ship’s bottom, highly
uncomfortable, but reasonably safe from detection. The trick worked,
too, for as he lay there, he could hear the searchers passing right over
his head, and their lurid language when they discovered that the bird
had flown.
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