THE YACHT "SEMINOLE"
There was little to do but wait impatiently for some further message of
guidance. McAdams dispatched a few telegrams to nearby lake ports, and
briefly outlined certain plans of action for the morrow, provided nothing
further was heard from the missing boat; these included a possible visit
to Fairlawn, and a city-wide search for Hobart, who both men decided
could not be included among the party on the yacht. West told his new
assistant the entire story in detail, and Mac's interest in ferreting out
the matter became intense. It was the kind of case which fascinated him
with its mystery, but no theory he could spin born from long police
experience, seemed to exactly fit all the revealed facts. The great
puzzle revolved about the strange actions of the girl; her part in the
affair presenting an unsolvable riddle. They must have talked for an
hour, discussing the situation frankly from every angle, yet arriving at
no definite conclusion. The sky in the east was red with dawn when both
men fell fast asleep in their chairs, still waiting.
It was nine o'clock, and still no word. The two had eaten a hasty
breakfast in a restaurant across the street, discussing the situation
again thoroughly, but to no more satisfactory result. It seemed
impossible to reconcile certain facts. If the silver knife, with its call
for help, had indeed been dropped by Natalie Coolidge, and she was being
held a prisoner in the hands of villains on board the _Seminole_, why had
she acted toward West as she did in that house on Wray Street? To all
appearances there she had been hand in glove with the conspirators,
willing even to connive at the Captain's murder if necessary to the
success of their crime. Only one theory was possible; that the girl was
under constraint, driven to her strange act by personal fear. She dare do
nothing else, terrorized by the threats of Hobart, and her own sense of
utter helplessness in his power. This, and this only, must be the answer
to the riddle.
McAdams, unable to remain quiet, departed to get his police search
started in an attempt to discover Hobart in his new hiding place. The
fellow could not be on the yacht, as that had sailed from Jackson Port at
far too early an hour for him to have possibly made one of the party. He
would still be in the city then, securely concealed in some dive of the
underworld, perfecting his plans, whatever they might be, and, perhaps,
arranging to join those on the boat later. The detective even thought
this unlikely, his theory being that Hobart merely desired to get the
girl safely out of the way for a length of time sufficient to enable him
to complete his nefarious scheme. He argued that Natalie was in no real
danger; she would be held no doubt, kept out of sight as long as was
necessary, but otherwise left uninjured. This was no strong-arm crime,
but a high class confidence game, and the important thing was to quickly
lay hands on Hobart. With him once in the toils, the whole conspiracy
would instantly collapse. With this end in view, McAdams took up the
man's trail, leaving West to stand guard over the telephone.
The latter called up Sexton, and hurried him out to Fairlawn, with
instructions to find out all he could from the servants there relative
to any late developments. He expected no important revelation from this
point, as Natalie could not have returned home, yet there might have
been a telephone communication, or some other occurrence of interest to
furnish a clue. Sexton was instructed to report the result of his
investigation at the earliest moment possible. This accomplished,
nothing remained for West to do, but sit down and wait for something
else to happen.
The delay was shorter than he anticipated. There was a sharp ringing of
the bell, the police operator responding quickly.
"Police Headquarters. What's wanted? McAdams; no he is not in just
now. Who is calling him? Harbour Master's office; all right; hold the
wire a minute."
He turned his head around.
"Must be your case, Captain; better hear what they have to say."
West grasped the receiver eagerly.
"Is this the Seminole matter?" he asked swiftly. "Certainly, I
understand about it. What's that. Oh, Winchell told you to call up if
you learned anything. Of course; what is it? Yes, I hear; just found her
tied up at north side of Municipal Pier. What's the trouble? Engine
working bad, and had to come in, hey? All right--thanks; I'll go
straight over and see them."
This was great luck, yet there was very little he could hope to
accomplish alone, without the help and authority of McAdams. Even if the
vessel had been stolen--which was probably not true--he possessed no
power of arrest. All he could hope to do would be to keep the fellows in
sight until Mac showed up, and, if possible, prevent them from putting
out into the lake again. Even in that he needs must be cautious not to be
seen by any of the gang who might recognize him. An alarm, proving they
were being followed, would doubtless send them scattering instantly. If
they were to be trapped, no suspicion could be aroused.
West thought of all these things as a taxi bore him across the city to
the pier, and acted accordingly. The open air restaurant accorded him
every reasonable opportunity for concealment, while affording ample view
of whatever was going on. It was a bright, sunshiny day, the waters of
the lake a deep blue. No crowd was present, yet enough people were at the
tables, or lounging about the pier, to make his presence unnoticeable.
The pleasure boat for Lincoln Park, a band aboard, and with a barker
industriously busy, was close by, surrounded by a bevy of women and
children. Beyond these, on the same side, snuggled close against the
cement wall, lay the yacht. West ordered a drink, and sat down at a table
within easy view, although partially concealed himself by a pillar
supporting the roof.
The _Seminole_ was a much larger boat than he had anticipated seeing,
yet he could not doubt her being the vessel sought. The name was plainly
stencilled on the bow, as well as upon the dingy towing astern. Her deck
lay almost even with the promenade, and he was able to trace her lines
clearly from where he sat. The craft had evidently been constructed for
comfort as well as speed. He noted two short masts unrigged, a bridge
forward of the wheel-house, together with a decidedly commodious cabin
aft. The deck space between was clear, except for the hatchway leading
down to the engine. The planking was clean, as though newly scrubbed,
while every handrail glistened in the sun. The cabin appeared tightly
closed, even the windows being heavily draped. Some mechanics were
evidently working below; there was a sound of hammering, and occasionally
a fellow in overalls appeared at the hatch opening. No one wearing any
semblance of a yacht uniform was visible, although four or five men
lounged about the deck, or close at hand on the pier, apparently
connected with the vessel. Two were well-dressed, rather gentlemanly
appearing fellows, the others of a decidedly rougher class, although
bearing no outward marks of being sea-men. While an air of carelessness
was assumed by all these, yet West, watching them closely, felt that
they were very much on their guard, anxiously waiting an opportunity to
depart. No face among the party had any familiarity; he had encountered
none of them at Mike's Place the evening before. Satisfied as to this, he
left the table, and strolled out on to the promenade, joining the crowd
watching the Lincoln Park boat get underway. So far as he could observe
this movement attracted no attention, although a moment later his eyes
plainly caught a bit of drapery drawn slightly aside at one of the cabin
windows of the _Seminole_, and, he felt convinced, the quick gesture of a
woman's hand.
There was a woman on board then! This certainty of knowledge by evidence
of his own eyes, set his blood leaping. Whatever the purposes of these
people he was again upon the right trail. The uplifted curtain was
immediately lowered, and, if any signal had thus been conveyed, there was
no other evidence visible. A little later one of the two better dressed
fellows loafing on the pier, a rather heavily built man, with closely
clipped red moustache, and a scar over one eye, slowly crossed the deck,
and entered the cabin. He came forth again a moment later, asked some
question of the workmen below and then clambered back carelessly over
the rail, joining his companion on the pier.
"A half hour yet; it was quite a job the boy's had, but they are making
time. Come over here a minute."
They walked forward, out of earshot from where West sat on a bench in the
sun. He watched the fellows closely, yet without neglecting the boat, but
they neither glanced toward him, or seemed aware of his existence.
Convinced that they felt no suspicion, but were merely exercising
ordinary precaution not to be overheard, the watcher soon banished all
fear of them from his mind. His whole thought centred on the early
arrival of McAdams. Until the detective came, there was nothing he could
do but sit there quietly and wait. But what if the necessary repairs were
completed, and the _Seminole_ sailed before Mac got there? The fellow
called Joe had mentioned half an hour, and he probably meant that was the
time set by the mechanics for completing their job on the engine. Beyond
doubt, the intention was to depart immediately. Was there any means in
his power by which this could be prevented? The only suggestion which
came to him was the picking of a quarrel in some way, with the two men
ashore. The boat would never depart unless they were aboard, as they
were evidently the leaders of the gang, yet this would be a most
desperate expedient, to be resorted to only when all other effort had
failed. The two were husky chaps, and he would probably be the one to
suffer most in such an encounter. Besides it would put them on their
guard, and possibly avail nothing. Why not speak to the fellows
pleasantly, and naturally? They had no reason to be suspicious of him; he
was but one of many others lounging idly about the pier. His curiosity
would seem reasonable enough, and he might thus gain some clue as to
their destination. Then, even if they did sail before Mac appeared, they
could be safely intercepted in time for a rescue. Indeed, such
information, if it could be gained, would give opportunity to plan
effective action.
Circumstances seemed to work to this end, the two men strolling
carelessly back toward where he sat, pausing within a few feet of him,
all their attention apparently riveted upon the yacht.
"Had some hard luck?" he ventured. "Engine give out?"
The red-moustached one glanced about, his eyes surveying the speaker
indifferently.
"Broke a piston, and had to be towed in," he replied carelessly, "We'll
be off again presently."
"Nice day for a sail."
"Sure is."
The very indifference of the fellow led West to take a chance.
"Some nice boat you've got there. The Coolidge yacht, isn't it? Haven't
seen it out lately."
"Are you a yachtsman?"
"A bit of an amateur, yes; have a cat-boat I play with some. Belong to
the Columbia Club."
"Off Grant Park; this boat quarters in the Jackson lagoon. We left there
last night. You knew Coolidge?"
"No, never met him; recognized the boat though. Has it been sold?"
"Not yet. It wasn't his anyway; belonged to the estate. I'm one of the
trustees; that's how I've got the use of it--see? Ever looked it over?"
West shook his head.
"No, but I wouldn't mind; she's a dandy."
"She sure is; better inside than out to my notion. Come aboard; we've got
time enough. Not thinking of buying a yacht, are you?"
"Well, I might, if the price is not too steep. I've got the fever all
right; what I lack maybe, is money. It costs a lot to run a yacht."
"Oh, I don't know. We operate this with three men as a crew. That's not
so bad. Come along with us, Mark; we'll take a look at the cabin first,
and then go forward."
The three men stepped over the low rail, and moved aft across the deck,
the leader talking fluently, and pointing out various things of interest.
His only object apparently was to arouse in West a desire to purchase.
The other man never spoke, and the latter gave no thought to his
presence. He had been rarely fortunate so far, and was looking for an
opportunity to question his guide on the purpose of their voyage. He
would wait until later; until the examination had been completed,
perhaps, when they believed him a possible purchaser. Joe opened the
cabin door, and West stepped inside, the interior darkened by drawn
curtains. The dusk was confusing, and he stood still after the first
step, hearing the latch click behind him.