"No," said Wallion, "I stay here."
"What's that you say? ... You want to remain here? ... But what about
the car?"
The Scotsman's red hair seemed to stand on end; he had taken off his cap
and was staring at Wallion as at one who had suddenly taken leave of his
senses.
"Can I speak to the landlord?" said Wallion, turning to the man, who
stood there gaping.
"He has gone away, the hotel is closed for alterations."
"But it seems that there are chauffeurs?"
"Yes, we have the garage to let."
"We are wasting time," said McTuft in despair. Wallion looked at him
and smiled.
"You are right, McTuft, I have changed my plans. Go after Dixon's car
at once and stop it; perhaps Murner and I will come on later; no arguing
... be off." Wallion had spoken in a tone of command. The Scotsman
straightened himself, bit his lip, and said, "All right."
Tom had only just time to get out before the car started and disappeared
round the corner.
"What does all this mean?" asked Tom confusedly.
"It means," replied Wallion, "that McTuft, who is stubborn, is getting
his own way, that the black car won't be running much further, and that
the Golden Snake Hotel is much too interesting to be passed by..."
He pounced upon the sleepy man and caught him somewhat savagely by the
arm.
"What is your job here?" he asked gruffly.
"Night watchman," came the sullen answer.
"Good," said Wallion, hustling the man in front of him along the gravel
path towards the hotel.
"Then, of course, you can tell me what sort of people have been here
recently and which of them have only just left." He pointed to the path
where half obliterated marks of many feet were still to be seen.
The man's knees began to shake and he opened his mouth in dumb despair.
"Look here, my man, we are detectives, so you had better keep a civil
tongue in your head. Well, you say that Dixon had a chauffeur in
readiness here and that the black car went on again with that same
chauffeur at the wheel?"
"Yes," stammered the man. Wallion seized and shook him like a rat.
"Now about Dixon himself, he got out here, didn't he? And his party as
well; don't try to deny it," said Wallion, in a voice that nearly scared
the man out of his wits. "They got out here; where are they now?"
The man lifted his hand and with trembling finger--he seemed unable to
speak--pointed to the bay. Wallion pushed him away.
"To the beach," he said with a frown. "A boat! Aha, what is that?
Over there?"
As soon as they passed the corner of the untenanted hotel they obtained
an open view over the smooth water of the bay. Outside the breakwater
lay a large pleasure yacht, painted white, with steam up.
"What sort of a boat is that?" asked Wallion sharply.
"That ... that is Mr. Dixon's steam yacht 'Ariadne,'" the man answered
dejectedly.
Wallion looked at Tom. Both immediately grasped the situation. Wallion
let go the man's arms and pointed to the house.
"Go in there and don't stick even the tip of your nose out of the door."
The man disappeared in the direction of the hotel, and he did not notice
that he had lost his slippers on the way; the treatment he had received
from Wallion had rather dazed him.
Wallion and Tom cast wistful eyes upon the pleasure yacht which lay
proudly on the dark, gleaming water, smoke issuing from the yellow
funnel ... She was evidently ready to start.
"I suppose they are on board already," said Wallion huskily. "Confound
it all!"
He ran so fast towards the point that Tom could scarcely keep up with
him. No one was near, but a prolonged whistle from the yacht came
across the water, and Tom wondered whether it might be a signal to some
other boat lying in the offing. Wallion had already climbed up the
cliffs on the point, and as his silhouette became visible for a moment
under the clear sky Tom fancied he saw him waving his hand. After much
exertion Tom at last reached the top of the cliff; Wallion was nowhere
to be seen, but when he leant over the rocks, a strange sight met his
eyes.
From the foot of the cliff a boat, manned by four men, shot out into the
water, but the men were sitting still with oars tilted, as if waiting
for some one. Wallion came walking along the top some little distance
away, heading straight towards the boat, and Tom felt by intuition that
his friend had not noticed the skiff lying below. His voice froze on his
lips--A short, nimble figure had thrown itself upon Wallion from behind,
and both men rolled towards the edge of the cliff. There followed a
smothered cry, a flash and the report of a shot; at the same time
Wallion's body was jerked backwards and fell into the water with a
splash. The short man scrambled hastily down the cliff and jumped into
the boat, which immediately put out to sea. The beach was silent and
deserted; the whole tragedy had not occupied five minutes and it left
Tom cold, paralyzed and speechless. He ran like a maniac down to the
place where his friend had disappeared.
*CHAPTER XVI*
*THE "ARIADNE"*
The catastrophe had come like a thunderbolt, and though Tom did not
doubt either his eyes or his ears, he could not help repeating to
himself: "It can't be possible, it can't be true."
He had recognized Ferail's cat-like movements, had heard the shot and
had seen Wallion fall into the water; he reached the fateful spot
breathless and panting, and gazed into the dark, oily water which seemed
to have no bottom. The cliffs were precipitous, but the water below was
not very deep, though whatever was dropped into it was bound to be swept
out to sea by the receding tide. Nothing was to be seen. Tom walked to
and fro in the hope that Wallion might have swum ashore, but no trace of
him could he discover. On the spot where the short struggle had taken
place he picked up a spent Browning cartridge, that was all.
The boat with the rowers had gone also, and the outlines of the yacht
were obscured by the rocks. The loneliness and silence fell upon Tom
like a heavy weight; he threw himself down upon the ground, covered his
face with his hands and groaned. Confused visions floated through his
brain; he must seek help, give the alarm, inform the police ... Ten
minutes went by without a sound save the splashing of the waves over the
pebbles.
When he got up he shook as if from cold, his eyes were blood-shot, and
he was conscious of one thing only, he must get away, he must ... He ran
up the headland; the fog had become more dense and was driven in great
masses from Eliot Bay, which appeared like a dark speck in the distance.
The yacht was lying to about a hundred yards from the point, but its
outlines were blurred and its lights looked like tiny glowworms. The
sound of chains clanking and cogwheels moving came to the place where he
stood.... They were weighing the anchors ... The 'Ariadne' was evidently
putting out to sea.
He rushed back to the landing-stage near the hotel--without further
thought he had made up his mind. He was benumbed with pain and cold,
and Ferail's repulsive features constantly rose up before him. How he
longed to twist his fingers round the monster's throat! Wild, brutal
impulses came over him like fits of ague; he saw red, sparks flew before
his eyes ... Then there was Elaine, where had they taken her to, what
was the fate in store for her? He set his teeth. Elaine must be saved
at all costs.
Half-hidden under the landing-stage he discovered a small rowing boat;
he jumped into it, cut the rope by which it was secured and laid hold of
the oars.
The 'Ariadne's' propeller had begun to work, its rhythmical din seemed
very near, and when he turned his head the green light on the starboard
was only a few yards away; the yacht passed at half speed. Tom made a
violent effort and the little boat lightly grazed the gleaming white
side of the 'Ariadne.' The lifeboat still swung from the davits and the
end of a rope dangled within his reach; he seized it and hauled himself
up; the little row-boat disappeared from under his feet and went dancing
off on the cool waters. He climbed the rail and tumbled down on the
deck, where he lay with beating heart, expecting a cry of alarm to be
raised; but none came. The quarter-deck was deserted, but, immediately
in front of him, under an awning, he could see the stairs leading down
to the cabins. A table and three basket-chairs stood by their side;
further on was a shelter and over all rose the captain's bridge, whence
came the sound of voices, the only signs of life he could detect on
board at that moment.
The yacht was larger than one would have supposed, seeing it from the
land. It was clearly quite an up-to-date vessel of 500 tons, fitted
with wireless, installed between the two lofty masts; under the awning
an electric lamp was burning.
Tom was just going to pick himself up when two figures emerged from the
stairs. Doctor Corman and Ferail were both smoking and had their coat
collars turned up as a protection against the fog.
"Well, yes, I was rather taken aback when I caught sight of that devil
of a Swede on the headland," said Ferail, as if he were resuming an
interrupted conversation. "I thought he had seen the rowing boat, but I
made the men conceal it under the rocks, and when Wallion came down he
looked rather surprised.... I could have laughed if I had had time."
The doctor growled out something and Ferail continued, "Yes, with the
knife, but he snatched it from me, and I had to shoot him instead; the
bullet hit him between the ribs and he fell backwards into the water ...
the water there is pretty deep, so we need not worry about him any
more." A guttural sound which might have been interpreted as a laugh
escaped Ferail's throat. "I told the men that I had only been settling
up old scores with one of those 'black ones,' and they thought...."
Corman and Ferail went out of earshot.
Tom felt a wild desire to hurl himself upon the criminal, but he pulled
himself together. They ascended the bridge and disappeared.
Tom lay completely stupefied. It was true then, incontrovertibly true,
that Maurice Wallion was dead ... yet every fiber in his body seemed to
repudiate the idea; he felt it unreasonable to believe that his strong,
cool, stout-hearted friend, after Sherlock Holmes the cleverest expert
in criminal cases, could in a single moment have been silenced for ever
by this Greek imposter, this despicable monster. He buried his face in
his hands ...
"I don't understand what is going on, but at any rate I must try to pull
myself together ... because now I must do the work of two."
He knew he was dead tired. Gradually the yacht put on full steam, and
the ripple of the water on the bows melted into a steady swish-swish.
Like a sword through the fog shone the white rays of a searchlight.
Tom rose with a sigh of weariness; he felt stiff in every joint, and
with a last remnant of clear intellect he said to himself: "I must bide
my time.... If they discover me now I am lost."
He fixed his aching eyes upon the rocking life-boat. No, not that one;
unsteadily he staggered over to the boat on the larboard, which was
properly made fast and covered with a tarpaulin, under which he crept
and lay at full length at the bottom; thinking that, for the present, at
least, he would be safe there. No one suspected that he was on board,
and no one would look for him there.
* * * * *
At frequent intervals the siren on the yacht shrieked and was answered
by signals from other vessels. The "Ariadne," with full steam up, sped
through the fog, which entirely prevented Tom from forming any idea of
his bearings. Neither land nor water could be distinguished. He heard
steps approaching and a deep voice which could be none other than
Dixon's said:
"Well, Captain, we will go straight to Hurricane Island now. Think we
can do it in three days and three nights? That is the time the last
voyage took us, I remember."
"Oh yes, Mr. Dixon," replied another voice, clear, yet respectful and
decisive. "We will do our best; the 'Ariadne' is a good girl, and I
suppose you are in a desperate hurry this time?"
"Never was in such a hurry in all my life before," said the owner of the
yacht, in an amicable tone.
"H--m," said the captain, "we may have a storm, for at this time of year
Hurricane Island deserves the name. If we don't, I promise you we shall
be there by Thursday morning, Mr. Dixon."
"Not so bad," said Dixon. "Thursday morning then, eh?" He went down
the stairs and the captain returned to the bridge.
"Hurricane Island," thought Tom, "whereever is Hurricane Island?" He
made an effort to think over what he had heard, but the noise of the
machinery dulled his tired brain and with the raw, foggy air in his
nostrils, he fell into a heavy sleep.
*PART III*
*HURRICANE ISLAND*
*CHAPTER XVII*
*TORONI REASSUMES HIS RIGHT NAME*
When Tom woke the sun was shining in between the tarpaulin and the rail
of the boat, the air was mild--fanned by a feeble breeze--and the yacht
rode easily.
Tom had to collect his scattered thoughts before he could remember where
he was, and when he did get a clear idea of the situation a shudder ran
through him. With great care he raised the tarpaulin and took a look
round. The "Ariadne" seemed to be in the open sea, only from the
starboard could he discern a faint blue outline of land; the waves rose
and fell in gentle undulations which reflected the sun's rays, the fog
was gone and the sky was almost cloudless. The fresh air revived him and
he took a deep breath. Some distance off he saw two of the crew,
barefoot, scrubbing and flushing the decks, and on the bridge he noticed
the broad back of the captain. Tom looked at his watch. It was twenty
minutes to one, and he had slept more than twelve hours!
The captain slowly turned round, and Tom again ducked down under the
tarpaulin. He began to consider what he should do; but what could he do
all alone? He clenched his hands until the knuckles grew white as he
reviewed the terrible events of the previous night; but now he was
better able to consider his position calmly, he rejected one after
another, as impractical, his plans for revenge or escape. He did not
even possess a revolver, nor did he know anything about the footing on
which the captain and crew might stand with the three men who were his
foes; perhaps they were all tarred with the same brush; anyhow, Dixon
was the master or employer, and as Tom had no proofs, he was unarmed in
a double sense. He spent an hour in fruitless brooding.
The name of Hurricane Island recurred to his mind. What sort of place
might that be? There were islands all along the coast from Seattle to
the Bering Sea, an archipelago hundreds of miles in extent, full of
hiding-places and possibilities for lawless adventurers. The time
mentioned for the duration of the voyage--three days and three
nights--and his limited knowledge of geography gave him nothing to go
upon, nor was he able to calculate the "Ariadne's" speed, although it
appeared very fair. He began to feel hungry; that was a new trouble,
difficult of solution. He remembered having read that lifeboats were
always provided with fresh water and necessaries in case of sudden
emergency, and he set about searching the boat surreptitiously, but
found nothing.
"I shall have to wait till it is night, but something will have to be
done then, for they shall not take me with my consent."
A stoical calm came over him; he understood that he could not do
anything before darkness set in, and he lay down and shut his eyes in an
endeavor to forget the cravings of his inner man.
Hours passed, the sun flitted from east to west, and the yacht kept on
her course. Tom hoped the passengers would come on deck; the thought of
Elaine, especially, filled him with longing; but no one came, and the
deck remained deserted. The strip of land seen from the starboard had
dwindled into blue mist, and all around nothing was to be seen but sea
and sky; the setting sun dyed the horizon a dark, glowing red, and there
thin banks of cloud stained it with a deeper hue and ever and again with
fleeting gold.
Tom grew hot all over when he heard Doctor Corman's voice quite close to
him, saying:
"It was lucky that we had the 'Ariadne' to go to, otherwise we should
not have been able to carry out our plans."
"You have always been a skeptic," Dixon answered. "The job is as good
as finished, the plan worked like clock-work.... Now we have only to
reap the reward of our labor."
They had evidently come up the gangway, for Tom not only smelt a whiff
of tobacco but heard the creaking of basket-chairs and the clinking of
glasses. Then there was a lull, and Torn could not resist the
temptation to look over the edge of the boat.
Dixon, Corman and Ferail were comfortably installed in chairs round the
table upon which bottles and glasses had been set. Dixon was rather red
in the face; perhaps his dinner had been extra good, thought Tom, not
without a touch of envy.
"Reward for our labor," exclaimed Dixon, with a laugh of greedy
anticipation. "It was a difficult task to engineer, but with those two
dolls in our hands all the rest is mere child's play."
"We shall, of course, be obliged to give up the 'Ariadne,'" said Corman.
"We have left a pretty tangle behind us as it is, and, if I am not
mistaken, that business of yours at Seattle will be thoroughly
investigated."
Dixon again burst into a laugh. "I don't deny that I was rather too old
to make a good man of business, but my last deal was certainly my best.
Of course, the 'Ariadne' must be sacrificed after Thursday next, as a
description of her will be wired to every port and every boat to-day or
to-morrow. So far, our own wireless has not received any little
greeting; but don't you worry, it is sure to come."
"That's so, but our agreement is quite clear," put in Corman.
"To go shares and dissolve partnership at once?" laughed Dixon. "From
Hurricane Island it is easy enough to get to Canada, and then I myself
mean to go by the name of Christopher Cummings. What are you going to
call yourself, Ferail?"
"From now till Thursday I insist on being known as Toroni," the Greek
replied, in a muffled tone. "I am sick of the name of Ferail--it has a
flavor of sour wine in my mouth; call me ... Toroni."
The two others looked at him in surprise, and yet as if they were used
to his unaccountable outbursts of frantic rage and annoyance and could
never be sure of his enigmatical temper. It was clear he inspired them
with a sort of repulsive curiosity.
After a pause Dixon said, "As you like," and, raising his glass, he
continued: "I propose a toast to Toroni, the name borne by a man who
plotted and carried through one of the most brilliant transactions of
the last ten years." His tone was a mixture of condescension and
contempt.
They drank it, Toroni in gloomy silence; the doctor with a sharp,
mocking laugh.
"In any case, my much esteemed friend Toroni," said Dixon, after
momentary reflection, "it would be advisable to confine the use of your
illustrious name to ourselves, or Elaine might take it into her head to
have an attack of hysterics, and Captain Hawkins ... ha, ha, ha!" He
concluded, overcome by a fit of hilarity: "It was a splendid idea of
yours to pose as an Italian detective charged by the Government to
investigate the secret affairs of the 'Black Hand'.... Detective Ferail,
to whom I afforded my valuable assistance solely in the interests of the
community. The captain and the crew are making themselves quite ill,
racking their brains to find out what on earth you want to do on
Hurricane Island. Well, old man, the comedy is too good to be
spoilt.... Officially you are obliged to answer to the name of
Ferail.... Good Heavens, man, we are about to pocket six million
dollars in gold, pure gold, and you can be squeamish about a name!"
Dixon began to get excited, his voice grew louder and louder, and the
doctor hurriedly seized his glass in order to put a stop to his
half-crazy flow of words.
"A toast," said Corman, drily, "a toast to the six millions!"
His timely intervention saved the situation.
There was a bright light in Dixon's shifty and evil eyes as he raised
his glass to drink the toast. "In gold, pure gold," he said.
Toroni did not look up nor did he touch his glass. Dixon fumbled with
his hands in his great coat pockets, from which he produced two objects
which he placed on the table; they were the two wooden dolls.
Tom recognized the one which had been in the possession of Victor
Dreyel; the other had, undoubtedly, belonged to Christian Dreyel. The
small figures glowed blood-red in the light of the setting sun. Tom
gazed at them with a shudder, even the doctor seemed uncomfortable.
"Throw them overboard," he said abruptly; "they are no longer wanted."
"Throw them overboard?" retorted Dixon, reproachfully. "Our constant
guardians, with whom Toroni had no end of trouble before he sent them to
my place.... Never. I want to have them constantly before my eyes
until the gold has seen the light of day, and then I shall return them
to Robertson as a little souvenir."
Overheated with whisky and joyful anticipation, he unbuttoned his coat,
took it off and threw it down upon a chair. "Poor old Robertson!" he
soliloquized as he mixed himself another drink. "Things weren't very
comfortable for him when he was your patient, you old compounder of
poisons, you!"
Doctor Corman's face assumed an ashen hue, the eyes under his pince-nez
flashed; but he restrained himself, and a painful silence ensued. It
dawned upon Dixon that he had said too much, and he looked persistently
at his cigar. At last Toroni lifted his tawny eyelids and said: "Talking
of Robertson ... what do you intend to do with his daughter?"
That was a matter which had long occupied Tom's thoughts and now sent a
shiver down his spine. Dixon became suddenly sober, and the doctor cast
down his eyes without saying a word or moving a muscle. The silence
seemed unending. At last Dixon said, impatiently, "Bah, Elaine? We
brought her with us for otherwise she might have been a witness, but
I..."
There was a rustling of silk on the stairs, and Madame Lorraine hurried
up. She looked at the three men with undisguised loathing.
"Are you aware that the skylight above the saloon is open?" she asked.
"What do you mean?" inquired Corman, with some asperity. Each of them
cast a quick glance at the skylight, which was indeed half-open.
"Only that I went into the saloon just now and found Elaine there." The
three looked at one another.
"Think she heard?" the doctor asked.
"I can't say, but I heard every word you uttered ... distinctly."
"How did she look?"
"Much as usual," said Madame Lorraine, and left them.
Dixon had regained his self-control as if he had never tasted a drop of
whisky; he took up the two wooden dolls and made his way to the stairs.
At the first step he stopped, turned and gazed at them earnestly.
"Bah!" he said again. "If she had heard anything she would have
screamed." Then he went down and the other two followed him. Tom
breathed again; it was only now he remembered that he had been kneeling
in the boat, with his head well over the edge, and that any one who
chanced to look that way might easily have seen him. It was a miracle,
indeed, that he had not been seen; but he had no time even to send a
grateful thought to his guardian angel, for his mind was fully taken up
with what he had just heard. Moreover, his attention was rivetted upon
Dixon's overcoat, which had been left lying cm a chair, carelessly flung
over the back of it, half-open, so that Tom could see a packet done up
in oilcloth protruding from an inner pocket. He remembered what Wallion
had told him about the scene at the asylum, and he realized that within
five yards of him lay those precious papers of William Robertson's. His
fingers itched, an irresistible desire seized him; he must have those
papers and read them.
The sun had set, and twilight was beginning to melt into night; there
was no one to be seen either on the bridge or on the upper deck ... nor
was there any sound from the gangway. He got out of the boat
noiselessly and walked warily towards the coat.
At the same instant a hand from the back of the cabin deck abstracted
the roll from the coat pocket and disappeared.
*CHAPTER XVIII*
*THE STORY OF "KING SOLOMON"*
To say the least of it, Tom was stunned: the packet had been seized with
such lightning rapidity that he had scarcely even seen the mysterious
hand. At first, after his consternation at seeing the key to the secret
disappear in such a way, just when he had felt it in his grasp, he could
hardly collect his thoughts; it overwhelmed him.
Thoroughly exasperated and throwing prudence to the winds, he darted
forward, intent on getting that packet back from this extraordinary
thief. There was no one anywhere near the cabins; he closely examined
all of them. The invisible thief was nowhere to be found. It was still
light enough for him to be able to distinguish every detail on the upper
deck; there was no hiding-place large enough for a cat, let alone a
human being, and Tom experienced a sudden feeling of dread. "Whatever
is it?" he thought. "Am I beginning to have delusions ... or to see
visions?"
He heard Captain Hawkins' voice on the bridge, and he was fearful lest
he should be discovered. Deadly white, he turned to port and climbed
back into the boat. Just as he was about to lie down and pull the
tarpaulin over him, he felt a strong arm pressing him down and a hand
was laid over his mouth.
"Not a sound," said a low, deep voice, "it is I."
Tom's heart jumped into his mouth and then began to beat violently.
"Wallion?" he whispered, wild with delight and relief. "Oh, Maurice, I
thought I should never hear your voice again," and he flung his arms
round his friend's neck.
The Problem Solver was quite himself, but in the calm gray eyes it was
easy to read how glad he was to see Tom.
"How in the world did you get here?" asked the latter, breathlessly.
"Toroni was positive he had shot you, and I myself saw you..."
"Oh, no; things don't go so easily as that," answered Wallion. "When
Toroni fired his shot I pretended to stagger, and fell backwards into
the sea. I thought it was a good opportunity to let him think I was out
of the reckoning. He is a splendid shot, though he is still more expert
with the knife. So I did a dive, swam out a good distance, and when I
came up again the row-boat was just starting. Then after swimming a
little farther I let the boat pass, and followed it at a convenient
distance as far as the yacht; and when you came up I was lying snugly
hidden in the starboard boat. Had you chosen that retreat we should
have been in one another's company from the first; still it is just as
well you didn't, as for a little while I had to hide in a deck-cabin,
whilst they turned out and cleaned the boat. I was afraid to wake you
during the night, and by day it was, of course, impossible ... but how
are you off for food?"
Tom put on a woeful expression and Wallion grinned.
"I've got a little something to begin with," he said, producing two long
loaves, a tin of salmon, a piece of smoked sausage and two bottles of
beer.
Tom must be excused for not doing more than casting a look of
thanksgiving up to the sky by way of gratitude, as he fell upon the
feast. With the aid of his knife Wallion skilfully opened the tin,
uncorked the bottles without the least noise, and both set to with a
voracious appetite.
"What do you think of the conversation among our three fellow
travelers?" asked Wallion after a pause.
Tom, having appeased the most insistent pangs of hunger, said, with a
touch of curiosity: "Then you heard it too?"
"Yes, I had made myself quite comfortable in the cabin; Dixon is a fine
fellow, isn't he? You didn't seem to worry though; any one might have
seen your head a thousand yards away...."
"You didn't trouble either," retorted Tom. "Of course, I was rather
taken aback when the packet disappeared before my very eyes."
Wallion laughed and held it up.
"You see, in spite of that, the thing hasn't got lost," he said. He
untied the string and unrolled the oilcloth, revealing several sheets of
note-paper, covered with writing in a bold, clear hand.
"Let us take advantage of the daylight remaining and read William
Robertson's notes whilst we are still undisturbed."
He smiled at Tom as he said: "Do you know I am beginning to feel quite
nervous, for in another ten minutes the King Solomon secret and the
purpose of the wooden dolls will be known to us? Such moments are well
worth all the trouble engendered by one's vague speculations.... Just
now I would not exchange these scraps of paper for the six millions
Dixon talked about."
It almost looked as if he were going to postpone the reading.
"Quick, quick, I am dying to know..." ejaculated Tom.
"Well, we deserve it," said Wallion. Spreading out the documents, he
bent over them and began to read. William Robertson's notes had the
following introduction:
"Below will be found a true and, as far as possible, complete account of
the destruction of the 'King Solomon,' set down here that, in case of my
death, it may prove of use to those who have an indisputable right to
the precious contents of that ship.
"On August the fifteenth, 1902, the full-rigged American cutter, 'King
Solomon' started from Nome in Alaska for Seattle. The owners were
Fraser, Hutchinson and Co., of Seattle, but this firm ceased to exist
many years ago. On that voyage the vessel (500 tons) was commanded by
Captain John P. Howell. Though not quite new, it was well-equipped; the
crew consisted of eleven men only, because ten others had gone to the
gold-fields. The insufficient number left was probably one of the
causes of the disaster which overtook the ship later. There were
thirteen passengers on board, twelve of whom were diggers, and a heap of
gold as well. I, the undersigned, was also there, accompanied by Sandy
McCormick, a Scotchman, and my two Swedish friends, Victor and Christian
Dreyel; we four had been working a claim discovered by McCormick in the
course of the summer, and each, of us had gold on him to about the value
of 200,000 dollars. We soon made acquaintance with the other
passengers, of whom Craig Russel, a splendid man of the indomitable
bandit type, nicknamed 'crazy or looney Russel' was the most important,
seeing he had with him gold to the tune of 1,200,000 dollars. The other
twelve were: Nicholas Sanderson, an elderly, quiet, unobtrusive
Englishman; Aaron Payter; 'Colonel' Hyppolite Xerxes Symes, a
well-educated, merry mulatto; Frederick O'Bryan, an Irishman; Jean
Rameau, a Canadian; Phil Murray and Walter Randolph, two young
Englishmen. The amount each one of these had on him in gold is recorded
in the accompanying list.
"The thirteenth passenger, however, was a stranger unknown to any of us;
he had no gold whatever, and his name was Toroni. No one knew where he
hailed from, for he kept silent and aloof; but he was supposed to be an
Italian. His melancholy demeanor seemed to presage ill-luck, and had a
most depressing influence on all of us; so he was called 'No. 13
Toroni.'
"On board 'Looney Russel' was, so to say, boss. We, who with
indescribable trouble and hard work, had wrested treasure from the
desert, felt on our way back to civilized life like rich men; and
naturally, we were constantly in a jovial frame of mind which did not
always find vent in the choicest expressions.
"The gold, mostly well-washed nuggets, was in leather sacks, sealed, and
packed in oak chests with iron bands. These chests or boxes--small, but
too heavy for one man to lift--were fifteen in number, each being
inscribed with a name. They were piled up in the saloon, and constant
watch kept over them. Wild scenes took place in that saloon, in which
gold to the amount of nearly six million dollars was stored.
"'Looney' Russel, by reason of his wealth and his tremendous physical
strength, had constituted himself king of the revels; whisky flowed in
streams, and gambling and drink were the order of the day. Russel,
O'Brien, Rameau and Murray were the most inveterate gamblers, and hardly
left the poker-table night or day. Toroni very soon chummed up with
them; why I don't know, as he had never been looked upon with favor.
"Captain Howell tried to put a stop to these orgies, but failed. The
second day of the voyage there was a great storm, the 'King Solomon,'
running before the wind, with top and foresail in ribbons. She had
carried too much canvas as we were all anxious to get on ahead, but most
of the desperadoes were too drunk to be of much use. Only the cousins
Dreyel, the commander, and I, knew the state the crew were in, and
foresaw, with great uneasiness, the impending catastrophe....
"On the morning of the third day, soon after four o'clock, the disaster
overtook us. I heard shots in the saloon, and ran, only half awake, out
of my cabin. Poker had been going on all night; Russel and Murray had
lost fabulous sums to Toroni. Apparently Randolph had tried to persuade
his friend Murray to leave off playing, but his well-meant interference
had led to a general shindy.
"Then Russel suddenly found out that Toroni had cheated; and, mad drunk,
drew his revolver and fired at Toroni, without hitting him. Captain
Howell, who flung himself between them, had Toroni seized and locked up
in his own cabin. But as I was leaving the saloon, Russel fired a second
shot, and Captain Howell fell dead on the floor with a bullet through
his head.
"Bellowing like a bull, the madman retreated to the companion ladder,
firing at random as he went; Rameau got a bullet in his stomach, and
died sitting in his chair. Murray, Randolph, and I drew our revolvers,
but Russel darted up on deck, and when we went after him met us with a
succession of shots from both his weapons at once. Murray fell, hit by
two bullets, the mulatto, Symes, was wounded in the arm and Randolph in
the head.
"The crew, already short-handed, were scared by these terrible events,
and particularly by the death of their captain; the pilot left the wheel
to escape the bullets, and 'King Solomon' fell off her course. In less
than a minute the ship presented her broadside to the waves and rolled
so heavily that I thought we should go down at any moment. The first
mate and two sailors went overboard while attempting to shorten sail and
heave to; heavy seas broke over every part of the ship and stopped the
fighting. 'Looney' Russel had disappeared in a wave and was seen no
more.
"The second mate took over the command, but could not make himself
heard. The ship drifted helplessly; the foremast went overboard, got
caught in the tackle, and in a short time made a leak on the larboard
side. The pumps were manned, but every one on board knew that 'King
Solomon' was doomed. Then some one shouted: 'Save the gold.' 'We'll
thank God if we can save our lives,' the second mate replied.
"At 6 A.M. the life boats were launched in a sea the waves of which were
mountain high; the long boat and the launch were dashed to pieces at
once, but the quarter-boats were kept clear. Panic, however, reigned
supreme--every one was madly intent on saving his own life. Six of the
crew leapt into one of the quarter-boats with Sanderson, O'Bryan and
McCormick, pushed off, and were swept away in the dark; that was the
last I saw of them. I had no time to think, and I don't believe any one
thought of the gold. Those of us still on board were making frantic
efforts to lower the second quarter-boat. Then the mizzen mast broke,
and a falling spar struck me; I fell unconscious down the cabin stairs,
where I was washed into a corner with no one to help me. The rest of the
ship's company, viz.: the second mate, the mulatto, Symes, Payter,
Randolph, and the two Dreyels, left in the other quarter-boat, and the
wreck drifted aimlessly in an easterly direction with me and six million
dollars in gold on board.
"When I regained consciousness it was broad daylight, the storm had
abated, and 'King Solomon' floated low and deep on the big waves. I
thought I was alone on board, but presently. I fancied I heard a faint
knocking on the cabin door. It was Toroni, who had been locked in and
forgotten! I let him out and we considered our position. There was one
boat left on the ship,--the small gig,--but even that was badly damaged
by the waves. It looked as if 'King Solomon' were about to sink at any
minute, and we set to work repairing the gig. There was food in plenty,
but we did not allow ourselves time to eat. The fifteen boxes of gold
still stood in the saloon, but we did not care to look at them, and
whilst we were at work 'King Solomon' still drifted eastward. I can't
say whether it was on the second or third day after the shipwreck that
we sighted land--those terrible days and nights are confused in my
mind--but there _was_ land at last, and 'King Solomon' glided slowly in
between two islands, divided by a broad channel. No houses, people or
boats were to be seen, and the rocky shore did not look very inviting.
'King Solomon's' voyage was ended. The wreck began to sink rapidly in
mid-channel; there was just time to push off the gig before the ship
went down; and it was not till she had sunk that I realized what a loss
was mine, that my hardly-won gold--and that of my mates--was lying at
the bottom of the sea and that I was ruined. Fortunately the ship's
instruments were in the boat; and with a vague thought that I might
return some day and retrieve the gold from the deep, I fixed the place
where 'King Solomon' had sunk by seconds--for though the coast furnished
infallible landmarks, the channel was more than a mile in breadth--and
then ascertained that the wreck lay at a depth of about ten fathoms.
Toroni was present but he had no knowledge of navigation and I am now
aware that he made no copy of the bearings I fixed.
"Now as to the place: it lies among the islands that run along the coast
to the most southerly part of Alaska. The largest of these is called
'Hurricane Island,' and is a rocky, deserted place, cut in two by the
'Black Valley,' which is covered in part by forest, and opposite the
smaller 'Fir Island.' The channel between the islands is five miles
long and one or two wide, with a depth varying from eight to twenty-five
fathoms; there it was 'King Solomon' went to the bottom. When I had
thus located the wreck Toroni and I hoisted a sail and departed in a
southerly direction. On the eighteenth day we were sighted by a
Norwegian barque, bound for San Francisco.
"Of our condition at that time I will only say that the hardships we had
gone through had affected our minds; that we were half-starved and
feverish, and could not even give an account of what had happened. I
was perfectly stunned by the catastrophe. We parted at San Francisco.
"I was told afterwards that the first quarterdeck boat had been lost,
leaving no trace behind, but the second had reached land with Victor and
Christian Dreyel as sole survivors. The papers did not get hold of the
facts, and only one, a San Francisco paper, had a short notice to the
effect that 'King Solomon' had gone down with all hands on board. That
notice was the cause of my wife's death. I was..."
Here Wallion turned a few leaves and remarked:
"We are already acquainted with William's illness and his fifteen years
of crazy wandering; we will skip that."
They continued with the reading.
"The finding of my daughter was a turning-point for me; I began to make
plans for the recovery of the gold which had lain so long at the bottom
of the sea, but that required funds. I put myself in communication with
the next of kin of the men who had perished on the 'King Solomon,' and
took steps to find their heirs. Then an unexpected thing happened. I
came across Toroni in the street one day, under circumstances which
clearly showed that he was spying upon me, and it was borne in upon me
that some one wanted to steal the papers giving particulars of the place
where the wreck lay. I was terribly worried. Partly to pass away the
time I had carved wooden figures to represent myself and my eleven
companions in misfortune, and had numbered them according to the
accompanying list. I destroyed the notes referring to 'King Solomon'
after having engraved numbers denoting longitude and latitude on the
feet of those dolls which bore even numbers--the latitude in degrees,
minutes and seconds on dolls numbered 2, 4, and 6, and the longitude on
those numbered 8, 10, and 12. As an additional measure of precaution I
sent the two dolls which gave the seconds to the two Dreyel cousins. It
was a well-conceived plan; for two days later--I don't know how--the
rest of the dolls were stolen. This discovery aggravated my illness,
and I felt that I did, indeed, require medical advice.
"But I fell from the frying-pan into the fire, and am now virtually a
prisoner in Doctor Corman's villa. Edward Dixon is hoodwinking Elaine,
and I cannot do anything to save myself. I am writing this in hopes
that it may bring this diabolical plot to the notice of the authorities.
Toroni is the prime mover in it; all these years, thoughts of the six
millions must have been seething in his brain. I got to know that in
1904 he had made a secret attempt to get up the gold at Hurricane Island
by himself. That was foolish; divers and modern appliances are required
for such a purpose. Moreover, it is easier to find 'a needle in a
bottle of hay' than to find a wreck ten fathoms below the surface, in a
channel half a Swedish mile in length and over two miles in breadth. I
cannot say whether he was preparing for a bolder stroke; at any rate,
soon after, a decided obstacle came in the way.
"In 1913 a man, of the name of Compton, reported that he had discovered
rich copper mines in the Black Valley on Hurricane Island; a company was
formed, hundreds of workmen were sent out and operations on a large
scale begun. The legend of the copper mine was exploded in 1917, and
the islands were deserted. Now was Toroni's chance, he looked about for
a capitalist and found ... Edward Attiswood Dixon, who appeared to make
large deals and whose means were so ample that he no longer engaged in
any regular business. He gladly agreed to Toroni's proposal; and for a
ridiculously small sum acquired Hurricane Island and Fir Island, with
the buildings left there by the former copper mine company. Officially
he gave out that he meant to erect a repairing station for vessels
trading between Alaska and the States; he did, in fact, build a
breakwater with all modern improvements for sheltering ships, but that
was only a blind to cover his search for the wreck of 'King Solomon,'
which was begun without delay. The search came to nothing; it only
proved that my notes were indispensible. Then they got at Elaine, and
through her I was enticed to leave my secluded quarters. Her engagement
in Dixon's office and my incarceration at Doctor Corman's were only
small items in their plans, but I was not going to give away the secret
of 'King Solomon,' if I could help it! I am hoping to escape, and as it
may be necessary to get the two dolls back from the Dreyel cousins. I
shall try to persuade Elaine to help me. If these papers should fall
into the hands of honest people, I hope they will straightway send them
to Headquarters.
"Seattle, July the third, 1918,
"William Robertson."
"LIST OF THE OWNERS OF THE GOLD."
1. William Robertson, only relative, one daughter, Elaine . . . 200,000
dollars
2. Nicholas Sanderson (drowned), probable relatives at West Hartlepool,
England . . . 600,000 dollars
3. Craig Russel (drowned), family in Chicago, one brother in Melbourne
. . . 1,200,000 dollars
4. Christian Dreyel, domiciled in Sweden, Captain Street, Borne . . .
200,000 dollars
5. Victor Dreyel, cousin of the above, domiciled in Sweden, 30 John
Street, Stockholm . . . 200,000 dollars
6. Aaron Payter (died in boat, no relations . . . 800,000 dollars
7. Frederick O'Bryan (drowned), wife in Dublin, 142 Green Street . . .
800,000 dollars
8. Hippolyte Xerxes Byrnes (died in boat), probably mother and sisters
in Louisiana . . . 500,000 dollars
9. Jean Rameau (shot on board), three sisters in Ontario . . . 200,000
dollars
10. Sandy McCormick (drowned), no relations . . . 200,000 dollars
11. Phil Murray (shot on board), parents in a village in Sussex,
England . . . 600,000 dollars
12. Walter Randolph (died in boat), possibly relatives in Wales or
Cornwall, England . . . 300,000 dollars
"Total . . . 5,800,000 dollars"
Wallion and Tom looked up from the last page at one another. It had
grown so dark that they could hardly decipher the final lines.
"What do you think of that?" whispered Tom.
"It is beyond my most sanguine expectations," replied Wallion.
He rolled the papers up again in the oilcloth.
"What do you intend to do?" inquired his friend.
"I intend to replace the packet in Dixon's coat pocket. If he were to
miss it and give the alarm, that would be an end to our liberty."
Wallion wriggled out of the boat and restored the packet to its place,
after which he returned to his hiding-place; without a word he lay down
on his back with hands clasped under his head. Tom, who thought his
friend must be turning over in his mind the amazing story they had just
read, did not venture to break the silence for a time. At last one of
the thousand questions with which his brain was teeming could no longer
be restrained.
"Maurice," he said, "do you think McTuft has any idea where we are?"
Receiving no answer, he bent down to look at his friend and repeat his
question.
Maurice Wallion was sound asleep.
*CHAPTER XIX*
*WHERE THOMAS FALLS INTO THE
HANDS OF THE PHILISTINES*
Next morning there was a strong wind, and the yacht pitched a good deal;
the violent motion woke Tom to find Wallion already awake. A shower of
rain came down, but under the tarpaulin, though rather cramped, they
were dry. Now that the mystery of the wooden dolls was solved, Wallion
resumed his usual placid demeanor. They breakfasted on salmon, bread
and sausage and then, in subdued tones, discussed the information
gleaned from William Robertson's notes.
"It never occurred to me that 'King Solomon' might be a wrecked vessel,"
remarked Wallion thoughtfully. "I wish I had known that three days ago;
it rather alters the situation. Evidently our adversaries do not
contemplate a long delay; they have brought divers, and all is clear at
the so-called 'wharf.' Having located the spot only a few hours are
required for hauling up the gold. I wonder..."
He laid his finger on his lips and his hand on Tom's arm; footsteps
could be heard on deck.
"Thursday morning," said Doctor Corman irascibly, "that is rather late,
Dixon."
"Rubbish! Why?" asked the owner of the yacht.
"Why? Because I am under no delusion about what we have left behind.
Wallion is out of the reckoning" (here the latter pinched Tom's arm),
"but don't forget McTuft, who was at Toroni's heels, and Wallion's
Swedish friend, too, would not be idle either; it is quite possible that
he was at the Golden Snake Hotel with Wallion. William Robertson has
been set at liberty ere this, and would, naturally, tell all he knows.
In short," said the Doctor with bitterness, "there is no lack of
witnesses who can swear that we went out on a trip whence we shall
require no return tickets."
"Fudge," said Dixon again, "the ocean is large."
"Answer me one thing," interrupted the Doctor. "How is it our wireless
has received no inquiries about the 'Ariadne' from either incoming or
out-going vessels?"
"Oh, I don't know."
"Well, I can tell you: it is because we are being tracked, and it was
probably known that same evening that we were on board her. As they
don't seem to be making inquiries about the yacht, I conclude they know
all about her, that very likely a patrol-boat is chasing us already; and
if they have discovered our final destination they will make straight
for Hurricane Island and as likely as not arrive there before us."
A mournful silence followed this speech.
"I should say you're right about that," said Dixon.
"I'll just have a talk with the captain."
He was back again in five minutes.
"Hawkins says that with this wind the 'Ariadne' can be at Hurricane
Island by Wednesday evening, if I will take the risk of the boiler
bursting," he said evidently greatly relieved.
"Well?" growled the Doctor.
"I said," continued Dixon, rather brutally, "I didn't mind if the
'Ariadne' were shivered to atoms, provided he landed us safely on
Hurricane Island by mid-day Wednesday, at the latest."
The Doctor, apparently satisfied, said nothing more, and, judging by the
sound, the two men had turned back towards their cabins. Dixon had
picked up the coat he had forgotten.
"Corman is no fool," remarked Wallion. "I was just going to say I
wonder how far McTuft has got. When he gave up the black car, he very
likely went back to the 'Golden Snake,' where he would be told that the
'Ariadne' had put out to sea. A patrol-boat would have been put at his
disposal yesterday morning at latest, and a nice race it will be,
indeed. I should rather like to give him a few choice bits of
information...."
"Information as to what?" asked Tom.
"That there are always means of evasion," said Wallion suavely. "I only
wish I had my faithful Browning."
"But tell me, do you think Captain Hawkins and the crew would come over
to our side if we explained the situation to them?"
"H--m! I don't feel inclined to run the risk; my papers of
identification are at the bottom of the sea near the Golden Snake Hotel,
because I took off my shoes and coat when I swam out to the yacht. The
coat I am wearing now I borrowed from the Captain's exceedingly
well-stocked wardrobe." He laughed, but immediately became grave again.
"No, my friend, if we were to show ourselves now, that precious 'Italian
Detective' would have us shut up as members of the 'Black Hand.'" He
pondered a while, and then remarked philosophically: "We must leave it
to time, we have no particular inducement for interfering; besides, the
'Ariadne' is taking us precisely where we want to go...."
"To Hurricane Island? I am not particularly keen on going there,
especially in company with these gentlemen," replied Tom; "the place is
so infernally out of the way too."
"That can't be helped," said Wallion, "business must always be settled
in its proper place and at the proper time."
Soon the smoke from the tall, yellow funnel grew thicker and thicker,
until it rolled in a compact black mass over the water. The vibration
increased, and the noise of the propeller became louder; evidently the
engines were working at the highest possible pressure. The strain had
begun.
"Look here," said Wallion, much interested, "this abnormal speed shows
the captain is keeping his word; by twelve o'clock the 'Ariadne' will be
lying at anchor off Hurricane Island."
* * * * *
The yacht's wireless was installed behind the bridge and connected with
the chart-house. Occasionally they caught a glimpse of the operator, a
pale young man named Moreland. He had not much to do, and sometimes
left his apparatus for an hour or two; consequently no messages were
sent, and calls were left unanswered.
On the bridge, taking turns with Captain Hawkins, they noticed a young,
smart-looking ship's officer, whom the captain addressed as "Weston."
These two were evidently the only men in authority. Wallion took the
crew to consist of five or six men only.
About 2 P.M., Tom experienced a sudden, most delightful thrill. Elaine
Robertson appeared on deck; she was accompanied by Madame Lorraine, and
the two walked up and down for nearly fifteen minutes, without uttering
a word. Elaine seemed grave and worried; at every turn she stopped for
a few seconds and looked wistfully towards the horizon. Did she hope
she might see the smoke of a liner? Perhaps; but all around nothing was
to be seen but passing clouds; and eventually she and Madame Lorraine
went below. In the afternoon there was no one on the bridge.
Tom yawned; he was bored to death. He and Wallion had come to the end
of their provisions. Night had fallen.
* * * * *
After some hours of troubled sleep Tom awoke; the hard bottom of the
boat was not exactly an ideal resting place; moreover, he was very
hungry. It was still dark, but most of the night had passed and day was
dawning in the East. He tried to look at his watch but could not see the
hands; by his side Wallion continued fast asleep.
Two days and nights of enforced idleness had begun to tell on Tom. He
did not like his unshaven chin; he was not accustomed--like his
friend--to such small sacrifices on the altar of his profession; his
muscles were stiff and his hunger astounding. If Wallion had been so
successful in procuring food, why should not he?
The "Ariadne" sped through the darkness with no lights showing. Now and
again Captain Hawkins might be seen walking to and fro on the bridge
with long and resolute strides.
The pantry was only a little way off, and Tom supposed he might get
there under cover. He determined to make the attempt.
The next time the Captain's steps turned to starboard, Tom leapt down on
the deck and stole to the stairs; below, everything was dark and quiet.
Automatically he counted the steps, of which there were eighteen, to the
bottom, where the edge of a red carpet was visible. After some
hesitation he stealthily walked down one step at a time, until he found
himself standing on a red carpet. A corridor opened in front of him,
and on either side were three closed doors; behind him, on the right of
the stairs, was the saloon, and on the left a kind of store-room. He
could see distinctly to the end of the corridor, thanks to a little
electric lamp on the ceiling, and he noticed a door which he supposed
would lead to the fore-part of the ship. With noiseless steps he made
for it, but when he was about half-way along the corridor he had to put
out his hands to save himself from falling. He had caught his foot in a
piece of string which he could not shake off, and an electric bell close
by was ringing, not loudly but continuously. A cold sweat broke out on
his forehead. He made another desperate effort to free his foot, and
broke the string.
The bell ceased to ring, but at the same moment three lamps in the
ceiling flashed on. A door opened, and Doctor Corman stepped out, clad
only in his pyjamas. He looked at Tom, and said with great
deliberation:
"I see I was right; I suspected you were on board, and thought of
proposing a search to-morrow. You are very welcome, Mr. Murner; there's
a special cabin waiting for you."
Tom took a step forward, but a pair of strong arms gripped him from
behind and held him as in an iron vice; it was Toroni. The owner of the
yacht appeared at the same time, half-dressed, revolver in hand.
"What's up now?" said Dixon angrily. "Your alarm arrangement, Toroni,
is the very ... Hallo!" he exclaimed as he caught sight of Tom, changing
the pungent expletive he was going to use. He burst into a loud guffaw
of satisfaction and surprise. "Well, who'd have thought it? _You_
here? It's more than forty-eight hours since the 'Ariadne' weighed
anchor, and you have lain low until now ... Why so bashful? I trust you
will not deprive us again of your pleasant company."
"It takes two for that," was Tom's infuriated answer.
He hurled himself with great violence upon Toroni, who missed his
footing, uttered a vile oath, and losing hold of Tom, allowed him to
slip between Corman and Dixon, who knocked the revolver out of Dixon's
hand in his mad rush for the stairs. Where he should go next he had not
the least notion, but he thought his first and most important duty was
to divert attention from Wallion and their place of concealment in the
larboard boat. But his adversaries were too quick for him. On the
lowest step he was stopped and seized by three pairs of hands. He
struggled for a few minutes, but gave in when he found the muzzle of a
pistol pointing at him.
"That's right, take things easy," said Dixon, in a tone bordering on
friendliness. "We shall come to terms before long."
Tom breathed hard, but submitted to his fate in silence. Dixon looked
up, listening intently. Tom feared that Wallion had betrayed himself by
some impetuous movement in the boat, but Dixon was not looking in its
direction. The wireless installation stood out against the bright, blue
sky, and an intermittent crackling sound made itself plainly heard from
above. Dixon ran up the stairs.
"What the devil are you doing, Moreland?" he shouted. "Are you mad?"
"Moreland is not here," answered the captain from the bridge. "He went
to bed about eleven, Mr. Dixon."
The wireless had stopped short, Dixon looked up at the cables in anger
and consternation.
"Who is sending a message?" he asked.
"Don't know," said the captain. "Weston says that two messages were
sent during the night, we thought it might be Mr. Ferail."
"Confound it all," roared Dixon, white with fury. "Call out the crew,
there is a spy on board."
A whistle sounded and the captain rushed up to the wireless room. Dixon
pushed Tom back into the corridor, gave him a look which boded no good,
and asked: "Who was with you?"
"I shan't tell you," Tom answered. He strongly suspected that Wallion
had been in the wireless room, and he was fully determined not to admit
anything.
"Was it McTuft?"
"No."
With a side glance at Toroni, Dixon said:
"Has a miracle happened? Was it Wallion?"
Tom moved impatiently.
"What's the use of asking me?" he said. "Do you believe I should be
likely to give you any answer?"
Dixon, by this time more calm and sober, surveyed him attentively; his
face wore an expression of cool determination.
"Shut him up in a safe place," he said to Corman and Toroni. Then he
went on deck, and Tom heard him shout:
"Are you there, Weston? Take three men with you and search the boat
thoroughly. Well, Captain Hawkins?"
"There's no one in the room, Mr. Dixon, but Moreland is there on duty
now."
"All right, keep your eyes open, all of you.... A hundred dollars for
the man who catches the spy. I shall expect to be face to face with him
in half-an-hour...."
The voices sounded farther away. Toroni and the Doctor led Tom down the
corridor. They unlocked a door on the starboard side, and signed to Tom
to go in. The door was double-locked after him and he found himself
shut in a narrow, but luxuriously furnished, cabin lighted by a lamp,
with a yellow silk shade, fixed in the wall. He put out the lamp, for
daylight already began to filter through the small port-holes, and
forgetting his own pitiable plight he listened anxiously for what might
be going on outside.
*CHAPTER XX*
*ELAINE TELLS THE TRUTH*
Tom heard orders given overhead and footsteps in all parts of the boat,
but nothing to indicate that Wallion had been found. He had such
unbounded faith in his friend's ingenuity and dexterity that he believed
it quite possible that Wallion would succeed in escaping from his
pursuers.
For a whole hour the noise continued to increase, then suddenly all was
silent. A long way off, Dixon's voice could be heard, raised in anger.
The Doctor seemed to be trying to soothe him. The two men were
apparently going down the stairs.
Tom felt less anxious now. Clearly, in some unaccountable manner,
Wallion had disappeared. He looked round his by no means horrible
prison; behind some beaded drapery he discovered a small dressing-room,
with hot and cold water laid on. There, too, he found a shaving kit,
and managed to make quite a decent and comfortable toilet. Then he
helped himself to a Virginia cigarette from a box of beaten copper and
sat down with a sigh of resignation.
The "Ariadne" pursued her way, always at top speed; the black smoke cast
long shadows on the water and the seething breakers beat against the
little window.
About 10 A.M. the door opened, and a steward made an unexpected
appearance.
"Mr. Dixon requests Mr. Murner's presence in the saloon," he said.
With mixed feelings Tom obeyed the summons. On entering he found Dixon,
Corman and Toroni seated at a large table, and Hawkins standing before
them.
"Well, Hawkins," said Dixon. "Here you see one of them, and if we can
only catch the other we shall be all right. They are two of the most
dangerous members of the 'Black Hand'...."
"That's a lie," broke in Tom angrily. "I am a Swede, and my name is
Thomas Murner. Look here, here are my..." He was going to say "papers"
but when he put his hand in his pocket he found they had gone; his
pocket-book had been taken from him during the struggle in the corridor.
"Your _what_?" said Dixon derisively. "Your weapon? No, you are
harmless for the present, my friend. We found your hiding place in the
larboard boat. Detective Ferail, my guest, has reason to be proud of
his catch. Now tell us who your companion was, and where he has gone
to?"
Tom bit his lip and said nothing. It was not worth while entering into
any explanation with Hawkins, who, simple and honest seafaring man man
as he was, surveyed him with some curiosity and distrust.
"So you won't answer?" continued Dixon. "You can go now, Captain, and
resume the the search until the other fellow is found."
The captain took his leave. When he had gone Dixon burst out laughing.
"You _do_ look surprised, Mr. Murner; isn't our little joke to your
taste? I am afraid it will have to be carried on a little longer
though; but, no doubt, you understand that resistance can only lead to
harder conditions, and make matters worse for you, and that, with or
without your consent, you must be our guest until the gold is hauled up.
You see?" He gave Tom a cold and searching look.
"And then?" inquired Tom as calmly as he could.
"After that our ways will lie apart, you and your bashful, retiring
friend will be sent on a little pleasure trip to ... shall we say ...
Australia? Naturally, under the supervision of our good Hawkins."
Toroni remarked quietly:
"Much too much talk. I should have settled this business in a much
simpler manner..."
"Misleading the police is quite enough," said Corman with evident
disgust, and without looking at Toroni. "Our record is already
sufficiently long."
One of the two doors Tom had noticed at the farther end of the saloon
was thrown open, and Madame Lorraine with a cigarette between her lips
walked in. She neither showed the least surprise nor took any notice of
Tom, but turned to her brother and asked:
"Whatever is all the commotion on deck about?"
"There's some one on board we should rather like to get hold of,"
replied the Doctor. "You keep out of the way, it is nothing that
concerns you."
Madame emitted a puff of smoke.
"Have you really searched everywhere?" she said with indifference. "Who
can he be?"
"Well, we must see. There is no danger, but for safety's sake I just
went in to have a look at Elaine. She seemed rather upset. You can
comfort her, can't you?"
"Poor little thing," said Madame Lorraine, "I'll look after her..."
She threw the stump of her cigarette on an ash-tray and went out by the
other door, closing it after her. Tom inferred that the cabins at the
back of the saloon had been reserved for the two ladies.
"I suppose it is useless to put any more questions to you, Mr. Murner?"
said Dixon after a pause.
"Perfectly useless."
"You won't even explain how you managed to come on board?"
"Certainly not."
"In that case I have only one piece of advice to give you. Hold your
tongue and you won't have any complaint to make about your treatment
here so long as you are my guest. Now, may I request you to return to
your cabin? The steward will see that you have everything, except ...
your liberty."
Tom turned on his heels and went back to his cabin. Ten minutes later
the waiter brought in a tray with a liberal breakfast. As he was eating
Tom heard a quiet knock at the closed door. He looked at it in surprise.
A white card had been pushed under it and lay on the floor. It was one
of Wallion's visiting cards, and in the firm handwriting he knew so
well, he read:
"Situation promising. Hold yourself in readiness. Our day is
coming.--M.W."
Tom ran to the door and shook it, but there was no sound. He gently
whispered Wallion's name; there was no response, but in a second or two
the steward came up and asked from the outside:
"Did you require anything more, sir?"
"No, thank you, nothing," answered Tom. He flung himself down on the
bed. Those few words on the card had been like refreshing wine to him.
The blood mounted to his head, and his nerves tingled, but he was at a
loss--turn or twist the words as he might--to account for such a
message. Wallion's audacity, too, almost frightened him. How was all
this to end?
Certain signs indicated that the "Ariadne" was approaching her journey's
end, and Tom began to get fidgety. For safety's sake he tore the card
to bits, which he threw out of a porthole. In the east, land could be
discerned, and the boat, still at top speed, passed a number of islands,
sometimes nearer, sometimes further away, gray and red, with dabs of
dark woods.
Lunch was served at two o'clock, but Tom's appetite was gone.
"Shall we soon be there?" he asked.
"In about another hour," replied the steward civilly, but he beat a
hasty retreat to avoid any further inquiries.
An hour went by. Tom walked restlessly up and down in his tiny cabin.
Then bit by bit a high mountain ridge came in sight about a thousand
yards away, and a little later, when the yacht had slackened speed, a
steep arid coast in some parts covered with tall firs, and then a wide
valley with lighter foliage in the background. The engines stopped, and
the yacht anchored about a hundred yards from a dilapidated wooden pier.
The "Ariadne" had reached her goal.
So this was Hurricane Island, and over there the "Black Valley"? On the
left Tom noticed a jumble of sheds and chimneys.
The wharf mentioned was a very simple affair, there was no work going
on, but a score of men came out on the quay, from mere curiosity. At
some distance down the valley could be seen a skeleton swing-bridge,
leading into a dark hole on the mountain side; this was the deserted
copper mine; but, save for this reminder of bygone industry, the
surrounding country was desolate.
A large motor boat came out from the quay, and when it got alongside the
"Ariadne" Tom noticed at the wheel a man who might have been the foreman
of the wharf. He had evidently come to welcome his employers. The boat
slipped round to the bow of the yacht and the Captain shouted from the
bridge:
"Mr. Dixon is engaged, but lay to and come on board."
There was a high sea and the yacht rocked considerably. Things began to
be very lively on deck and Tom wondered what was going on.
The steward came in hurriedly to remove the luncheon tray, and Tom had a
shock.
This time the man had left the door unlocked! Tom listened, thinking he
might come back. In the direction of the stairs, he heard Dixon's voice
in sharp altercation with the Doctor.
"It is impossible," he was saying; "it can't be done now, the sea is too
rough. We shall have to wait an hour or two."
"In an hour or two it may be too late," the Doctor replied.
"I don't think so. Besides it takes time to fix upon the exact
place...."
"Well, and what about this Swede's friend whom we couldn't catch?"
"Haven't we thoroughly searched every nook and cranny? There wasn't a
spot as big as a dollar left for any one to hide in. He isn't here,
Corman. The wireless has given out, that is the solution of..." Their
voices died away and they went up on deck.
Tom strained every nerve, trying to impress upon his memory the things
he had heard; he conquered his desire to rush out, for Wallion's
instructions had only been "keep himself in readiness." And Wallion was
at liberty, probably with a deep scheme in his mind. Trembling with
excitement he muttered, "Let us hope it won't be long ... if only I
knew."
The yacht tugged at her cables, and Fir Island presently came in view.
It was smaller and more wooded than Hurricane Island, and looked as if
the foot of man had never trodden there.
The "Ariadne" lay about midway in the long and broad channel, through
which the waters flowed freely, and there was still a high sea running,
though the storm had abated; the clouds were heavy and twilight was
falling. The motor boat was towing a low, flat-bottomed barge, laden
with a variety of mysterious implements, towards some point which Tom
was unable to see. Immediately afterwards the yacht again weighed
anchor and slowly proceeded in the same direction, stopped after backing
a little, and again dropped anchor. Then feeble strokes became audible
on the larboard side; the yacht was clearly alongside the barge.
A thought shot through Tom's brain. They were surely lying immediately
over the wreck of the "King Solomon." He felt he could no longer remain
idle; in some way or another he must be doing. He opened the door and
went into the corridor; the road was clear. Without any attempt to
conceal his movements he walked straight into the saloon, where the
lamps were already lighted, and there, by the table, with her back to
the door, stood Elaine. Tom stopped short, but she had already heard
him and now turned round. Her large, dark eyes sparkled, and a smile
hovered round her trembling lips. She was grave yet excited.
"You?" she cried. "_You?_"
"Yes," he replied, taking her hands, "and you can't turn me out now," he
added, half in jest. "We are still fellow-travelers, as you see, but it
seems ages since I last talked to you."
Without withdrawing her soft hands from his she continued: "How dared
you come on board the yacht?"
"You were the magnet, Elaine."
She blushed slightly, and her smile vanished; she looked furtively
round.
"You ought not to have come..."
"Does my society bore you so much?"
"No, oh no, I am glad; you have done far too much for me already, I can
never..."
"I do so want to be near you and be able to help you," he said, "if only
you will tell me what I can do."
"No, you can't help me."
"It is true that I am but a sorry knight."
"I don't mean that, but don't you see, can't you understand, that it is
too late? ..."
She pointed towards the table on which lay a number of sea-charts and
drawings; the two wooden dolls had been carelessly thrown down among
them.
"They have done their worst and we are entirely in their hands."
Something in her tone made him lean towards her; her eyes burned with
excitement and deep despair.
"Elaine," he asked impulsively, "you know all?"
"I do," she replied. "Oh, the scoundrels ... they deceived me, enticed
me with lies ... my poor father ... Oh, Tom, it is too late..."
Almost unconsciously she had called him by his Christian name; tears
rose to her eyes and she leant her head against his shoulder.
"What an idyllic scene!" said an ironical voice at the door. "I am
afraid we are disturbing them, Dixon."
It was Doctor Corman and Dixon; on the threshold they stood still, an
expression of scornful triumph on their faces.
"So we enticed you with lying words, Elaine?" said Corman mockingly.
"What do you intend to do then, eh?"
"Shut up," said Tom, clenching his fists.
Corman pretended to be greatly surprised.
"So you have been pleased to leave your cabin, Mr. Murner? Oh, well, it
is of no consequence."
Elaine had pulled herself together; the sight of the two men seemed to
have put new vigor into her.
"Oh, yes, I know all about you, who choose a murderer for your friend
and are worse than a thief yourself," she cried, in a loud, clear voice.
"I overheard your conversation last night and am glad to be able to tell
you the truth at last. Worse, yes, worse than a thief; compared with
_you_ a thief is an honest man, you who rob widows and orphans, plunder
the dead and commit murder for the sake of gold. I see everything
clearly now; I hope the truth will scorch your soul when you think of
what you have done--you liar, you devil."
Corman's face twitched, and Dixon turned very white. After Elaine's
accusing words there was a dead silence, till with a forced laugh Dixon
said, rather hoarsely:
"Well, Miss Robertson, maybe you are right, only you have told us the
truth just two months too late, and you can't stop us now..."
He looked around, but not at her. After some hesitation he passed in
front of her and gathered up the papers from the table, looking at them
with a covert smile.
"You see, my dear young lady, there are things in our miserable lives
that you can't understand," he said.
Then he left the saloon in silence, and Corman went with him.
*CHAPTER XXI*
*TEN FATHOMS FROM THE GOAL*
The wooden dolls still lay on the table, and as if in a dream, Tom
noticed for the first time four other wooden figures on a shelf in the
wall. A small marble clock on the same shelf gave forth six shrill,
harsh strokes.
Elaine had sunk down on a seat on the larboard of the yacht, trembling
nervously after her recent outbreak. Tom took a chair by her side; he
wanted to say something to comfort her, but could not think of anything.
"Don't say anything," she whispered with a nervous little smile which
ended in a shiver. "I am not going to be hysterical...."
Their attention was diverted by a noise and a light outside the window;
they looked out, and saw that the barge had been towed alongside the
yacht. Darkness lay over the sea, which had become much less turbulent.
The searchlight turned obliquely on the long, low deck of the barge and
its milk-white rays shone upon a curious spectacle. Preparations for
hauling up 'King Solomon's' golden cargo were in full swing. A
grotesque and clumsy gray figure, its feet weighted with lead, was
walking along the planks; it was the diver. An assistant held the
copper helmet in readiness, the breathing-tube was coiled round his body
and a third man was looking after the air-pump. On the deck stood
Dixon, Corman, and Toroni--the two former smoking in gloomy silence; the
young girl's words must surely have burnt themselves into their
consciences and embittered their hour of triumph.
Toroni, on the other hand, was watching the work with apathetic
curiosity, self-centered, awaiting the result of the plot he had
engineered with violence and cunning twelve months before; the hour when
his hands should close on the coveted six millions. Did he really
intend his two accomplices to have a share in the booty? Tom noticed the
sinister look he cast at the others through his half-closed eyes. Was
his subtle brain evolving another piece of villainy? The expression of
his face seemed to say, "I am quite aware that you despise me, though
you have no objection to share the roast ... but don't be too sure." He
walked up to them, pointed to the water, and with a cynical grimace said
a few words.
Tom noiselessly opened the ventilator and distinctly heard Corman's
answer:
"And then? If they can't find it there, we are lost, that's all about
it." He made a weary and deprecating gesture with his hands.
"But it is there," said Toroni, in a low voice. "Sixteen years ago I saw
it disappearing in the sea on the very spot upon which we are standing
to-day ... Why don't you say something? ... Why don't you laugh?" and
once more he pointed to the dark, rolling waves. "Only ten fathoms from
the prize," he whispered, "only ten fathoms from 'King Solomon' ...
haven't you anything to say?"
Dixon turned his back upon him in order to make an end of the matter, at
the same time shouting to the diver:
"Ready there? ... Look sharp about it."
The diver went down the steps and into the water up to his waist; he
hitched an electric lamp with brightly polished reflector on to his
chest, and the helmet was screwed on over his head. The air-pump began
to work with long, absorbent puffs, and the copper helmet gradually
disappeared under the water, which bubbled up over it; the assistant
paid out the coil and the rope with mechanical precision. Fifteen
minutes passed, then the diver came up again on the steps. Toroni bent
down to him, and Dixon and Corman also came forward; the diver opened
the little glass pane in the helmet.
"The wreck is there all right; it has sunk a little lower, but there are
no difficulties. The chests are all right in the saloon."
"The fifteen, all told?" inquired Toroni.
"Yes, all of them, safe and uninjured."
Toroni gave his friends a look, but no word passed between them. A
windlass had been rigged up over the side of the barge, and the diver at
once went back to the wreck, taking a supple steel wire with him.
The group on the boat stood stiff and motionless in silent expectation;
the men looked like coal-black shadows in the steady rays of the
searchlight; it was pitch dark all round. Tom, sick with suspense,
sought the back of a chair as support. Everything had gone so fast and
in such a business-like manner that time after time he was forced to
repeat to himself: "The gold is there, it is there."
Again, in despair, he asked: "Where can Wallion be, what can prevent him
from coming?"
*CHAPTER XXII*
*MADAME LORRAINE'S SURPRISE*
There were suspicious movements in the saloon behind them, and Elaine
uttered a cry. It was Madame Lorraine, but a greatly changed Madame
Lorraine; her sea-green eyes shone with a peculiar emotion, and she
looked at them both with an expression that made Tom hurriedly get up
from his chair. She went close up to him and put a revolver into his
hand.
"You are stout-hearted," she said in so low a voice that he could
scarcely hear her. "Your friend says the time has come; take this, it
is loaded ... I have always kept it by me as a last resource."
He hardly understood her.
"What do you mean?" he said.
"Do not speak so loud," she answered. "It was I who slipped the card
under your door, I have a surprise in store for you ... and _them_," she
added, in still more subdued tone. Through the ventilator she cast a
look of intense hate upon the silent group outside.
Then Tom grasped the fact that Madame Lorraine had deserted her
associates and come over to the enemy! He remembered that her conduct
throughout had often puzzled both Wallion and himself. Now she had come
to a decision, driven thereto by the loathsome presence of Toroni. The
cabin occupied by Madame Lorraine had been the only place not subjected
to the rigorous search made for the "Problem Solver."
With one bound Tom dashed through the half-open door into Madame
Lorraine's cabin ... there, at the table, stood Maurice Wallion, in the
act of loading a revolver.
"I am just coming," he said, looking over his shoulder and smiling.
"You know, it was rather cute of you to let yourself be caught this
morning," he added, coming out into the saloon. "You see, I had sent a
few wireless messages to McTuft during the night, but obviously that
could not go on much longer; and when that big raid was on I had the
good luck to find Madame Lorraine alone here in the saloon, so I
persuaded her to come to a noble and reasonable decision" (here he made
a polite little bow). "Thanks for your hospitality, Madame, it will
never be forgotten," he said. Then he shot a keen glance through the
window and frowned.
"The time has come," he said abruptly, "they are much too busily engaged
out there to suspect our plans."
"What plans are those?"
"To take possession of the yacht."
Tom was just as eager for action as his friend. "Yes," he said, almost
breathless with excitement, "go on, you'll have me near you."
They left the ladies in the saloon and hurriedly went out.
"Where is McTuft?" asked Tom.
"He is chasing us in the 'Albatross,' a patrol-boat; and, acting on my
instructions, he will be here soon."
Tom's confidence in Wallion rose many degrees at that piece of
information. He had no doubt that they could have surprised the
conspirators without assistance, but to deliver them up to the law was a
more ticklish affair; for that purpose McTuft and his "boys" would prove
very useful.
They looked about them for a few minutes from the top of the gangway.
On the larboard side lay the barge, well-lighted up by the rays of the
searchlight, whilst all was dark and still on the yacht. The crew stood
leaning over the railings, looking on with great interest; on the bridge
near the wireless hut were Captain Hawkins and the pilot Weston. Tom
accompanied Wallion along the dark deck to the bridge. Scattered lights
from the wharf were reflected in the water, but there was no danger to
be apprehended from that quarter.
"Moreland is in the wireless room," said Wallion. "When we get there
you must go straight up to him and point your revolver at his head. I
shall persuade the captain and pilot to go in there too; the rest I will
take into my own hands."
They stole up to the bridge like a couple of cats, only stopping
occasionally to take breath.
The well-lighted wireless room was just behind the chart-house; and
immediately in front, on the other side of the steering-wheel, they saw
the unmistakable silhouettes of Hawkins and Weston.
The rhythmic suction of the air-pumps and the sharp creaking of the
windlass could be heard far and wide in the stillness of the night.
"Now then, go ahead," said Wallion.
Tom straightened himself and noiselessly entered the hut. Moreland
looked up, and turned pale when he saw the revolver pointed at his head.
"Sit still," said Tom, in a commanding tone; "if you move I fire."
The telegraphist sat as motionless as a stone image.
Meanwhile Wallion crept up behind Hawkins and Western.
"Gentlemen," he said, "this is no time for talking; I shall fire without
compunction, if necessary. Go to the wireless room at once in front of
me."
They obeyed with hands up, and he ordered them to sit down with their
hands in front of them. Then he locked the door.
"Now for a little explanation," he said with a smile. "I regret having
to act in this cavalier fashion, but I had to make you hear what I have
to say, without raising an alarm; you take us for two bandits belonging
to the Black Hand gang, don't you?"
"Mr. Dixon said so," retorted the captain sullenly.
"Very well, listen now; Mr. Dixon told a downright damned lie. My name
is Maurice Wallion, and I am a detective from Sweden, and this
gentleman" (pointing to Tom) "is my friend and assistant, Mr. Murner."
Captain Hawkins stared distrustfully at him. "Anybody might say that,"
he growled.
"But I can swear that it _is_ so."
"In that case there should be no difficulty in proving your identity."
"My own papers have been lost, and Murner's have been taken away from
him."
The captain shook his head. "Excuse me if I don't believe you; besides,
what business could you have on board Mr. Dixon's yacht?"
"My business here is to arrest Ricardo Ferail for murder and theft, and
Dixon and Corman for aiding and abetting," Wallion said very quietly.
Captain Hawkins stared as if he had heard something perfectly
impossible. "You're a good 'un," he said scornfully, "you can tell that
tale to the marines."
"Then you don't believe what I say?"
"I don't."
Tom cast a troubled look at Wallion; it seemed to him the situation was
becoming critical.
"It will afford me much pleasure to prove every word I have said,
Captain Hawkins."
"How are you going to do that? ... It would be rather amusing," was
Hawkins' answer.
"It will be very simple: a few nautical miles from here is an American
patrol-boat, the 'Albatross,' with Detective McTuft from Seattle on
board. He knows me well, and is, like myself, on the track of the same
delightful trio."
"Oh," said the captain, with growing interest.
"What could be easier than to make an inquiry by wireless, requesting
McTuft to prove our identity?"
The captain rose, but immediately sat down again. "Not impossible," he
said at last, "Moreland, call up the 'Albatross,' then we shall hear."
Wallion exchanged a look of triumph with Tom, but their present position
was rather hazardous all the same. The operator bent over his
apparatus, whilst the others kept silent; he called up the 'Albatross,'
and waited for an answer. It came at once:
"Who wants 'Albatross'?"
"Maurice Wallion, on board the 'Ariadne,'" replied Moreland. "Ask
McTuft if he will, please, come to the apparatus."
"So far I have told you the truth, you see," remarked Wallion, while
they were waiting for the reply. "I presume fire-arms will no longer be
needed."
"No," replied the Captain, curtly; "but I mean to get to the bottom of
this," he said, adding: "if you have told the truth and anybody down
there in the barge heard you, this room may prove a dangerous place for
you."
"There is no danger; the air-pump and windlass drown the wireless, and
what is more, their attention is entirely taken up with those gold
chests."
Moreland made a sudden movement as the reply came: "McTuft is here, go
ahead, 'Ariadne.'"
"Will you speak, Captain, or shall I?" said Wallion.
He and Tom laid aside their arms as being no longer required. Captain
Hawkins was deeply interested, and said:
"Let me, please, Mr. Wallion." Then he proceeded to dictate his message
to Moreland: "Request McTuft to furnish us with a description of
Wallion."
Moreland sent it off immediately, and after a scarcely perceptible delay
a prompt answer came through space: "Maurice Wallion, detective from
Sweden; tall, thin, eyes gray, complexion dark, hair brushed back from
forehead; has Thomas Murner with him, do you want HIS description as
well?"
Whilst the captain was hesitating about the next inquiry to make,
further signs of life arrived from McTuft; he asked: "What's the matter
with Wallion? Anything gone wrong?"
"No, nothing," dictated Hawkins, gloomily; "only that he wants to
impress upon the 'Ariadne's' company that certain proceedings are
unavoidable; send information regarding his business on board the yacht
for registration."
The reply, a very emphatic one, came at once; one might have fancied it
was in McTuft's own indignant tones: "It is Wallion's business to arrest
every single soul on board the 'Ariadne,' if they make a fuss; first and
foremost the owner and his party; will that do for you?"
"That's enough," said Hawkins, and laughed; then he added rather
seriously: "I am quite convinced now, Mr. Wallion. It is an unsavory,
horrible story, and my own plight is most deplorable; but, of course, I
must bow to the law. What do you wish me to do?"
"That depends" ... said Wallion. He turned to Moreland and dictated as
follows: "It is I, Wallion, speaking. Thanks for information, how long
before the 'Albatross' will reach Hurricane Island?"
Out of the darkness came McTuft's reply: "Thanks to you for information
given last night; the 'Albatross' will be up in half-an-hour." There
the odd conversation ended. Wallion got on to his feet and laughingly
remarked to Tom:
"I begin to appreciate McTuft's tenacity. He has no intention of
missing the last act of the tragedy. I fancy I see him now on the
'Albatross.'"
He put his head out of the window for a moment. The work on the barge
below was being carried on undisturbed; the pumps moaned and the
windlass creaked at regular intervals.
"Are the crew to be trusted?" asked Wallion.
"Yes, if I may have the handling of them," answered the captain.
The pilot undertook to call the men in one by one and to explain the
circumstances to them.
"Yes, that would perhaps be the best," Wallion agreed; "what is your
opinion about the five men on the barge?"
"They belong to the wharf and they will give no trouble," said the
captain. "I don't think any of the workmen on the wharf are
particularly delighted with their employers."
"First rate. I propose that you will call your men to the chart-room
and tell them to be quiet; it is not necessary for them to interfere.
Dixon and his two associates are armed, but we shall get the better of
them before they have finished their business down there."
All except Moreland left the cabin.
"Tom," said Wallion in a low voice, "in about ten minutes there will be
a nice scuffle; you keep an eye on the barge whilst I help the captain
to prepare the crew, and come up to the chart-room if any of our three
friends make as though they meant to return to the yacht."
Tom leant over the rails on the bridge and looked down into the barge;
he felt that never again in all his life would he find himself in such
company or such a situation as this. He was calm and resolute, and his
gaze was firmly fixed on what lay before him.
*CHAPTER XXIII*
*GO SHARES ... THEN PART*
The rays of the searchlight fell upon the deck of the barge, on the rude
planks of which a strange scene was being enacted, In the background lay
Fir Island, like a dark side-piece, and the water in the channel rose
and fell in glittering, heaving billows. On the stage, below where Tom
stood, were eight performers all told.
Dixon and Corman, in the center of the barge and still motionless, were
smoking, and had lighted their cigarettes without exchanging a word;
Toroni sat on the railing as close as possible to the spot where the
ever-seething air bubbles in the water indicated the place where the
diver was working on the wreck sixty feet below. Two men attended to
the air-pumps, one looked after the tube and signal-rope, and two others
stood ready by the stake, from which wire ropes hung down into the deep.
But the picture had undergone a marvelous change since Tom had watched
it from the loophole in the saloon. A collection of wooden cases of
dark and curious appearance had been deposited on planks in a pool of
muddy water. These cases were almost square and provided with thick iron
bands; the offside of each showed letters carefully incised. Tom
thought he could detect the name "Craig Russel" on one of the chests....
They contained gold from the ill-fated "King Solomon," which, after
sixteen years, had at last come up from the bottom of the sea.
He counted the chests and had got as far as ten when the man in charge
of the signal-rope raised his hand; the two on duty at the stake rushed
over the tackling to the edge of the boat, and half a minute later the
eleventh chest was hauled up over the railing and placed by the side of
the others; then the wire rope slackened.
Toroni bent over this last chest and closely examined it on all sides.
Like the others it was sound and uninjured; made of good, stout oak, the
chests were in a wonderful state of preservation, though the wood had
turned nearly black and the iron bands had been eaten away by rust and
came off in bits. Apparently satisfied, Toroni returned to his post of
observation in silence; his two companions had not stirred.
The diver down on the wreck seemed working with a will, and ere long the
twelfth case made its appearance. There were three more to come up, and
Toroni and his accomplices had all but attained their object.
There was something rather ghastly in the grim silence observed by these
three, within reach of the coveted six millions they had agreed to
share. What was it that so deeply engrossed their thoughts at this
moment?
Tom was inclined to believe that he could pretty well guess what was in
Dixon's mind; he meant to have the gold conveyed to the big motor-boat
from the wharf and to smuggle it over the frontier into Canada, before
abandoning the "Ariadne" with Elaine, Tom, and the other intruders on
board. There was every prospect of such a plan proving successful,
provided nothing occurred to nip it in the bud, but ... did that plan
fit in with Toroni's calculations?
Tom narrowly scrutinized that little man's ill-favored countenance with
its black beard, shifty eyes and pale brow; he appeared no longer to
worry about Dixon or Corman, his eyes swept the water's which concealed
"King Solomon."
Chests thirteen and fourteen also were safely transferred to the barge;
water flowed over the planks freely, and masses of seaweed were thrown
up all around.
Tom looked uneasily at the clock. Wallion had said ten minutes, but
already twenty had elapsed. He turned his head; deliberations still
seemed to be going on in the hut; he could distinguish the captain's
broad back, Wallion's clear-cut profile and the pilot's anxious
features; the last of the sailors had left and gone down. Tom turned
his eyes to the deck; the crew had disappeared, but inquisitive eyes
peered from the forecastle. The men were evidently prepared.
All at once the door of the hut was pushed open, and Wallion came out,
followed by Hawkins and Weston, pocketing their fire-arms.
The windlass creaked for the fifteenth time ... the last remnant of
"King Solomon's cargo was on its way up. Wallion looked down, his sharp
features had assumed a hard, resolute expression.
"Just right," he said. "You, Mr. Weston, had better go down and keep an
eye on the men and will you, Captain Hawkins, please remain on the
bridge. You and I, Tom, will move a little nearer to our
fellow-travelers down there."
Noiselessly they climbed down to the "Ariadne's" lower deck, then made
their way along under the bridge which brought them within five yards of
Dixon and Corman, who were standing with their backs turned to the
yacht, not suspecting anything. Toroni was just getting on his feet
again after a minute inspection of the fifteenth and last chest, which
stood dripping beside the others. The diver came up and climbed over
the side of the barge; his helmet was unscrewed and the air-pump ceased
working.
All was quiet. Toroni turned to his two friends.
"None of them have been damaged," he said, in a voice which ended in a
hoarse whisper. "Look sharp now, it's all done.... Let's get away with
the stuff as fast as we can. Quick."
Dixon sighed as if he were just waking from a bad dream. He threw away
the stump of his cigarette, turned his head in the direction of the
bridge and shouted: "Captain Hawkins, give the signal for the motor-boat
to come here."
The Captain neither moved nor spoke, but Wallion leveled his revolver.
"No signal is required, Dixon," he answered, "everything is arranged."
Dixon and Corman swung round and stared Wallion full in the face.
The Doctor muttered an oath and felt for his pocket. Wallion and Tom
looked at him fixedly, and the former said:
"Don't add another to the list of your crimes; that would be foolish."
Dixon's lips had assumed an ashen hue, and he had evidently to make a
tremendous effort to stand steady.
"Oho, so it was you, Mr. Wallion," he said with some bitterness in his
tone. "Well, I give in, I have got into deep water. Corman, my boy, it
wasn't written in the stars that this was the way we were to get
rich...." Then, looking at Wallion, he said: "And what do you intend to
do with us?"
"You are my prisoner, Dixon, and you too, Corman. Go shares and then
dissolve partnership, that was your program, wasn't it? Well, the six
millions will be shared, but not with you, and the partnership will be
dissolved, though not quite in the way you intended."
Toroni, whom Wallion had kept well under observation, stood as if glued
to the spot, his piercing black eyes fixed on the "Problem Solver."
The five bargemen and the diver were huddled together in a frightened
heap. Toroni looked round.
"Don't expect you'll get any help," said Wallion sternly. "Come here,
Toroni.... What? ... You would? ... Look out, Tom."
Quick as lightning Toroni had taken refuge behind the gold chests,
pulled out his revolver and fired; the bullet made a hole in the wall of
the hut. Wallion stooped and took aim, but he could not sight his
adversary. Tom caught a glimpse of Toroni's right hand as he again
raised his weapon between two of the chests and fired at random without
any particular aim. A flash and a bang followed; Tom felt something like
the sting of a whip on his left temple. He put up his hand; his fingers
were wet and smeared with blood. He let fall his Browning and believed
he heard himself call out: "I am wounded"; but in reality no sound
passed his lips. He took a few steps without knowing where he was
going, staggered and fell forward unconscious.
Toroni had dropped on his knees. He was grinning and showing his teeth
like a wild beast. Under cover of the gold chests, he shot time after
time at Wallion, who promptly returned the fire, and knew he had not
missed his mark, but Toroni seemed possessed of an evil spirit.
"Give in," shouted Wallion. "I want to take you alive."
Toroni rose to his full height and threw away his weapon; he had fired
his last shot. In his eyes there was the look of an untamed tiger....
Furious anger at the loss of what he thought already safe within his
sordid grasp, lust of the millions upon which his thoughts had centered
through sixteen years, had obliterated every trait of humanity.
"Never," he said huskily; he took a step forward.... A long, sharp
knife gleamed in his hand as he raised it towards Wallion. At the same
instant Madame Lorraine's voice was heard:
"You devil! It was you who dragged us down to perdition."
She had come to the railing of the yacht and picked up Tom's revolver.
She looked as if she were intent on fulfilling a long neglected duty.
She fired.... Toroni dropped the knife and reeled backwards, his
failing eyes still sought the gold chests, then he folded his hands upon
his breast, turned, staggered against the side of the barge, and blindly
stretching out his arms, fell into the water. As his body sank, great
bubbles rose to the turbid surface; the thirteenth passenger of the
"King Solomon" had returned to where the gold had lain which lured him
to his fate. Madame Lorraine silently retired to her cabin.
Dixon and Corman had looked on at the short but unforgettable scene with
indifference and apathy. Their parts were played and they had neither
the power nor the will to offer any resistance to the law.
Weston and two of the sailors went on board the barge and conveyed the
two friends to the upper deck of the "Ariadne." They moved listlessly,
like automatons, and Dixon sank wearily into one of the basket-chairs.
He buried his head in his hands and, looking up at Wallion's approach,
said feebly:
"I suppose jail will be our next destination, Mr. Wallion?"
The latter nodded and said nothing. He rather pitied Dixon, whose gray
and crestfallen features had aged in a few days by ten years.
Doctor Corman stood behind him, stoical and resigned, with folded arms.
"Ah, well," he muttered. "Toroni came off best after all."
By Wallion's orders Tom had been carried down into the saloon. The
young man had only a flesh-wound, and that a slight one, on one of his
temples; but the shock had stunned him and he was still unconscious.
As soon as Wallion had satisfied himself that his friend was not in
danger, he returned to the upper deck. He had heard distant signals
across the water. The lights of a steamer soon became visible in the
channel. She was approaching at full speed. It was the "Albatross,"
with McTuft on board, his red hair blowing round his head like flames of
fire.
"Hallo, Wallion," lie cried, "are things all right, or have I come too
late?"
"You have come in the nick of time," was Wallion's answer, "to take
these fifteen chests, which contain gold, on board the 'Albatross,' and
set the police seal on them. There you see Mr. Dixon and Doctor Corman;
it is now your duty to arrest them. We shall remain on the 'Ariadne'
with Captain Hawkins to take us back to Seattle. That's all, I
think...."
"But what about Ferail?"
"Ferail, otherwise No. 13 Toroni, is dead."
McTuft cast a long inquiring look at Wallion.
"If only you were a Scotchman now proud I should be of you," he said.
*CHAPTER XXIV*
*AFTER THE CONFLICT*
When Tom regained consciousness it was with the feeling that his body
was lying at full length in a swing and that a screw was being driven
into his head. He heard the clank of chains and the starting of
machinery. His memory came back by slow degrees. A snapshot in black
and white representing the deck of the barge, figures moving and smoke
curling up in thick clouds floated across his brain. "Yes, of course, I
have been wounded," he thought confusedly.
And then something even more strange occurred, and that quite close to
his side. Someone was breathing hard and saying in a broken voice:
"Wake up, dearest, look at me, and say that you are not in danger, my
dear one, my love." ... Two soft, warm lips were pressed on his, then
shyly withdrawn, only to return in a passionate kiss. It was indeed
marvelous!
"I expect I am dreaming," he thought as he opened his eyes.
Elaine's tear-stained, lovely face was very near to his, an expression
of unspeakable anxiety and distress in her eyes. He raised himself upon
his elbow and put a hand up to his head; it was tightly bandaged.
"Won't you say once more what you said just now?" he murmured, rather
incoherently.
She bent her head and blushed.
"It is all over now," she said softly; "Dixon and Corman are prisoners,
and Toroni is dead; it was he who fired at you, and oh ... I am so glad
that the wound is not dangerous."
Tom fell back against the cushions. He had discovered that he was lying
on the couch in the saloon and they were alone.
"I don't know," he said, hesitating. "I fancy it might be most
dangerous unless I have a kind and loving nurse."
"I shall try to do my best," she replied in a gentle tone.
He sat up with a bound and drew her to him.
"Elaine," he said, "I love you."
She lay still in his arms; he raised her head and kissed her. "I have
loved you from the first moment I saw you," he said.
She smiled faintly. "That's an old, old story which you can read in any
book."
"Yes, I know that. I only said it as the correct thing and as a matter
of form. But really, Elaine, I have loved you from the time when you
were recovering from the fever of your wound, and I saw you at the
window in my smoking-room. My darling, say once more what you said just
now when I opened my eyes."
She bent down, looked into his eyes, and said: "I love you."
"No, say it in Swedish," he said, in a tone of command.
"_Jag aelskar dig_," she repeated obediently.
* * *
A month later Maurice Wallion was sitting in a chair facing the Chief of
the Secret Service Division of New York in his private office. They were
smoking the cigars the Chief had once mentioned on the telephone, and he
was listening with intense interest to Wallion's graphic story.
"Well, and what do you think of McTuft?" he said genially when the story
was finished.
"A fine, intelligent fellow, but as obstinate as a mule," replied
Wallion, laughing. "I strongly recommend him for promotion."
The Chief sat quiet for a time, turning over in his mind the tale he had
just heard.
"It will be a perplexing business to discover all those heirs and share
out the gold properly."
"A local Seattle paper is going to take the initiative and form a sort
of Managing Committee," said Wallion, "but William Robertson was not
anxious that all the world should know about it and, I suppose, the
higher powers will also have a word to say in the matter."
"Naturally. By the way, I conclude you will not be present when Dixon
and Corman come up for trial?"
"No, I have other business in hand, but I left with the Public
Prosecutor a clear and full account of my part in the affair. In a way,
I am rather sorry for Dixon: his power and influence were in reality
only nominal ... he coveted wealth and position, and was dragged down
against his better knowledge. As to Madame Lorraine, she is sure to be
acquitted, for she was entirely under her brother's sway. But Doctor
Corman deserves and must expect severe punishment; he knew well enough
what he was doing."
"Yes," said the Chief Detective, meditatively, "we humans are a queer
lot to be called the 'crowning piece' of creation. And the nice little
lady ... Elaine Robertson, what promises does the future hold out to
her?"
"Elaine Murner, once Robertson, you mean; she is very well, judging from
Tom's jubilant telegram despatched immediately after the wedding. Her
father is coming over to Sweden to take up his abode with Christian
Dreyel. Elaine, of course, will be with her happy--architect
husband...."
For a time they continued to smoke without speaking, then the Chief
asked:
"Now, as to your own plans, Wallion: the man who saved King Solomon's
millions has a right to a good big reward."
But Maurice Wallion interrupted him, and stooping, unlocked a Gladstone
bag which lay at his feet. Extracting therefrom twelve brown wooden
dolls, he set them in a row on the table, and said with a laugh:
"As a reward I claim these ... as a souvenir of
NO. 13 TORONI."
* * * * * * * *
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