THE FATE OF A PRISONER
The _Seminole_ headed straight out into the lake, its course evidently a
little to the north of east. The steady throb of the engine exhibited no
lack of power, the snowy wake behind telling of rapid progress. There was
a distinct swell to the water, increasing as they advanced, but not
enough to seriously retard speed, the sharp bow of the yacht cutting
through the waves like the blade of a knife, the broken water churning
along the sides. West clung to his perch, peering out through the open
port, watching the fast disappearing shore line in the giant curve from
the Municipal Pier northward to Lincoln Park. In spite of the brightness
overhead, there must have been fog in the air, for that distant view
quickly became obscure and then as suddenly vanished altogether. There
remained no sign of land in sight; only the seemingly limitless expanse
of blue water, not so much as a trail of smoke breaking the encircling
rim of the sky.
Except for the occasional tread of feet on the deck above, and the faint
call of a voice giving orders, the yacht seemed deserted, moving unguided
across the waste of waters. No sound of movement or speech reached West's
ears from the cabin, and he settled down into moody forgetfulness, still
staring dully out through the open port. What was to be, would be, but
there was nothing for him to do but wait for those who held him prisoner,
to act. He was still seated there, listless, incapable even of further
thought, when the door was suddenly unlocked. He had barely time to arise
to his feet, when the man with the red moustache stepped within, facing
him, as he pushed tightly shut the door behind. The fellow's eyes saw the
severed rope on the floor, and he smiled, kicking the strands aside
contemptuously.
"Smart enough for that, were you?" he asked. "Well, I would have taken
them off myself, if I had thought about it. How did you manage? Oh, I
see; rather a bright trick, old man. Feeling pretty fit, are you?"
West did not answer at once; this fellow had come with an object in mind,
and his only desire was to baffle him. It was to be a contest of wits,
and helpless as the prisoner was physically, he had no intention of
playing into the other's hands.
"I might be, if I knew what all this meant," he said at last. "Haven't
you got hold of the wrong party?"
The man laughed, standing where he blocked all passage.
"I might have been convinced that I had an hour ago," he answered coldly.
"But since then I find I've made rather a good bet. I have the honour of
addressing Captain West, I believe?"
"You have the name correct; there is no reason why I should deny that.
Unfortunately, I do not know with whom I am conversing."
"Quite easily remedied. I am Joe Hogan, commonly called 'Red' Hogan. The
moniker means nothing to you."
"I never heard it before."
"I thought not, which merely proves you are not a 'fly-cop,' only a
measly busy-body sticking your nose into some one else's business. Well,
we know how to take care of your kind, and this is likely to prove the
last case you'll dabble in for a while, my man."
"What does that mean--a threat?"
"Never mind what it means; it is a straight tip. Now listen,
West--Captain West I believe is the proper term of address--and you will
understand better. When I got you in here I had no real knowledge as to
who you were. I merely took a chance on what Mary had to say, and she
twigged you at once. She's smart, that woman; never forgets a face. She
sure did a good job this time. But after you were locked in safe, and
nobody knew what had happened, and you certainly handled easily enough, I
slipped ashore into the restaurant and called up Jim Hobart on the wire.
Did he give me your pedigree? He did. Jim was about the happiest guy in
the town when he learned we had you bottled. Raised hell last night,
didn't you? All right, my friend, you are going to pay the piper today.
What got you into this muss, anyhow? You are no relation to the Coolidge
girl, are you?"
"None whatever; merely a friend."
"Friend, hey! Well, she's a good looker; so this friendship stuff is
easily accounted for. Friend, hell!" he laughed. "You must have it bad to
put on all these stunts for sweet friendship's sake. You wouldn't even
quit when she told you to."
"I believed she was compelled to say what she did to me," replied West
quietly. "That she was in Hobart's power, afraid of her life. There was
no other explanation of her strange action possible."
"Is that so?"
"I am willing to listen to such an explanation, Hogan, and if satisfied
she really wishes me to keep out of the affair, I will."
"And if not?"
"Then I am going to fight in her cause to the very end of things. You
cannot frighten me; your only chance to influence my action is to make
things clear. I confess I have been fighting in the dark, not even
comprehending your purpose. I do know that the main stake your gang is
after is the Coolidge fortune; that, in order to get hold of it, you are
obliged to keep control over Miss Natalie. But I can conceive no reason
why she should assist in the conspiracy. She certainly cannot be
benefited by having her own fortune stolen. This is what puzzles me, but
it hasn't changed my loyalty to her. I still believe in her, and feel
that she is simply a victim of circumstances beyond her control. Am I
frank enough?"
"Sure; it all means you intend to remain a blunder-headed fool defending
a girl who does not desire any defence--a Don Quixote tilting at
wind-mills. That is your choice, is it?"
"Unless you care to explain clearly just how Miss Natalie's interests are
being protected."
"Which I am not at liberty to do at present. She is satisfied, and has
practically told you so, according to Jim Hobart. If you will not accept
her word, there is no use of my saying anything about the matter.
Besides, West, frankly I don't give a damn what you think. We've got you
safe enough, where you can't do anything, even if you want to--so, why
worry? Twenty-four hours more will finish our little job, and, until that
time is up, you'll remain right here; after that we don't care where in
hell you go, or what you do--the game will have been played."
The man's tone, and air of confidence was impressive; beyond doubt
he felt that the cards were all in his hands. West drew in his
breath sharply.
"Apparently you are right," he said quietly. "May I ask a question or
two?"
"Fire away; I'll answer as I please."
"Who is the woman on board?"
"Mary, you mean? Hobart's wife."
"She came from the place on Wray Street last night in an auto?"
"Yes; I brought her along myself."
"Alone?"
"There were two of us, Mark and I--why? what are you driving at?"
"Just putting some broken threads together. Then Natalie Coolidge is not
on this yacht?"
"I should say not. What would we be doing with her out here?"
"Where is she then?"
"Oh, I begin to see what brought you aboard so easily, West. You thought
we had the lady kidnapped, and was sailing off with her. Some stunt that.
What put the idea in your head?"
West hesitated a moment, but decided a truthful answer would do no harm.
"I knew an automobile had driven out of the alley back of Mike's Place;
and that a woman was in it. When I got away a little later, I picked up a
message--a note which had been dropped. It was written in a woman's hand
but unsigned--"
"The little cat! She dropped it?"
"It seems so. You forgot yourself that time. So she was with you, was
she?"
"I don't know what you mean. I told you who were with me. Go on; what did
the note say?"
"It was only a request for the police to search the _Seminole_ at once."
"Oh, that's the way the wind blows. But you preferred to tackle the job
yourself. I am certainly obliged to you, West."
"You have no reason to be. I took that note to the police, and they are
on the case. They are combing the city right now for Hobart, and if they
get him, this bubble of yours is likely to be pricked."
"Hell, they won't get him. There isn't a fly-cop in Chicago who could
locate Jim in a week, and as for Natalie, believe me she is quite able to
take care of herself."
"But where is she?"
"At home, of course, if you must know--'Fairlawn,' isn't that the name of
the place? We left her there on our way to Jackson Park."
"Then the girl was with you?"
"Spilled the beans, didn't I? That comes from talking too much.
However, there is no harm done. Sure she left with us, but we dropped
her out at Fairlawn. It was her machine we were riding in. Say, you've
questioned me about enough, so let up. Listen now--you will stay in
this stateroom until we get ready to let you out. Don't try any funny
business either, for if you do, you are going to get hurt. There is a
guard outside in the cabin, and we are not afraid to shoot out here on
the lake. Nobody knows where you are, West; so if you want to live,
keep quiet--that's my advice."
He started back, one hand on the knob of the door, but West stopped him.
"Do you mind telling me where we are bound?" he questioned.
Hogan smiled, but the smile was not altogether a pleasant one.
"You will have to wait, and find that out for yourself, Captain. My
orders are not to talk."
"From Hobart?"
"Sure; Jim is engineering this deal, and whatever he says goes, for he's
the guy who has his hands on the dough--see?"
He slipped out, closing and locking the door behind him. West, more
thoroughly confused than ever over the situation in which he found
himself, paced the brief length of the narrow stateroom, and then paused
to stare moodily out of the port. His eyes rested on the same wide
expanse of water, no longer brightened by the glow of the sun. A mass of
clouds veiled the sky, while a floating bank of fog obscured the horizon,
limiting the scope of his vision. Everything appeared grey and desolate,
and the restless surge of waves were crested with foam. It was hard to
judge just where the sun was, yet he had an impression the vessel had
veered to the north, and was proceeding straight up the lake, already
well out of sight from either shore.
He had learned little of the slightest value; merely that Natalie had
been of the party leaving in the automobile the night before. She,
undoubtedly, had been the one who had dropped the note. Then, in spite of
all they said about her, in spite of what she had told him, she was
actually a prisoner, desperately begging for assistance to escape. As to
the other things Hogan had told him, the probability was they were mostly
lies. West did not believe the girl had returned to 'Fairlawn,' the story
did not sound natural. If she had written that note, these fellows would
never trust her alone, where she could communicate with friends. They
might venture to send her in to talk with him, knowing her every word was
overheard, but surely they would never be reckless enough to leave her
free to act as she pleased. That was unthinkable. Besides why should they
have taken this yacht, and sailed it out secretly in the night unless she
was hidden away aboard? The only conceivable object would be to thus keep
her safely beyond sight and hearing. And that would be a reason why
Hobart's wife should also be on board--to look after the girl. The longer
he thought it all over, the more thoroughly was he convinced they were
both prisoners on the same vessel. Yet what could he do? There was no
answer forthcoming; no possibility of breaking forth from that room was
apparent; he was unarmed, helpless. If he did succeed in breaking through
the door, he would only encounter an armed guard, and pit himself against
five or six men, criminals probably, who would count his death a small
matter compared to their own safety. He sank down, with head in his
hands, totally unnerved--it was his fate to attempt nothing; only to wait
on fortune.
Mark brought in food, merely opening the door slightly, and sliding the
tray in on the floor. No words were exchanged, nor was the tray removed
until just at twilight, when the fellow appeared again on a similar
mission. It became dark, but no light was furnished. Outside the clouds
had thickened, and a heavy swell was tossing the vessel about rather
roughly. Seemingly the engine was merely endeavouring to maintain
head-way, with no port in immediate prospect; they were steering
aimlessly into the promise of a stormy night. No sound reached him from
the cabin, and finally, worn out mentally and physically, West flung
himself on the lower bunk, and lay there motionless, staring up into the
intense darkness.