deck:
“Sheer off there, you fools, or I’ll run you down!”
There was silence for a moment, save for the beat of the engines and
the dashing of the dark water; then a gunshot roared redly through the
night, followed by a scream of pain.
“Head her over,” cried Kenyon, excitedly, to the skipper.
“I’m blessed if I do,” replied the man, stubbornly. “What the devil are
you folks after, anyhow?”
“Head her over,” ordered Kenyon, sternly.
“I won’t,” replied the other. “And what’s more I’m going to run back to
Morris Heights. There is something about this thing that don’t look
right to me.”
“We will be responsible for any sort of damage,” Webster told him,
encouragingly.
“I don’t care what you do,” returned Phylen, whose mind seemed to be
made up. “Slow her down, Ned,” to the man at the engine, “we are going
back.”
He was about to change the course of the boat when Kenyon’s powerful
grip fell upon him, and he was dragged away from the wheel. At the same
moment the long frame of Big Slim slid from the top of the cabin into
the little companionway, blocking the entrance of the engineman.
“An engine was once my job,” he told Kenyon, coolly. “Say the word,
pal, and I’m here to stay.”
“Take charge of these two men,” directed Kenyon. And Gypsy Brady and
his followers had the skipper and engineer in their midst, forward, in
a moment. Then, with Kenyon at the wheel and Slim at the engine, the
_Vixen_ headed toward the flying _Wizard_.
But the _Vixen_ was a swift boat, and easily closed the gap between
herself and the yacht; before long they were in the wash alongside and
the spray was drenching them. The leap from the _Vixen’s_ cabin top to
the _Wizard’s_ rail would be no great feat, if they could get near
enough, for the yacht had a rather low freeboard.
“Take the wheel, Garry,” said Kenyon, at last. “I’m going to make the
try.”
Webster looked aghast.
“I could no more steer this craft than I could build a bridge across
the Sound,” confessed he.
Kenyon felt a firm hand laid upon the spokes, and shifting his gaze
from Webster found Dallas at his side.
“I will take the wheel,” said she quietly. Then, noting his surprise,
she added, “You need feel no fear. If the vessel will answer, I’ll
bring her up.”
“Good girl!” exclaimed Webster.
But Kenyon said nothing. He leaped upon the cabin, and stood gathering
himself for the spring. With the ease of an expert the girl drove the
_Vixen_ close under the starboard rail of the _Wizard_, and held her
there for a moment.
“Now,” she cried, clearly.
And Kenyon leaped. A sea struck the bow at the same moment and
destroyed his calculations; notwithstanding this, however, he grasped
the yacht’s rail with one hand and drew himself quickly upon her deck.
Then the Vixen fell off; but still he could hear her engine pulsing
and see her lights glimmering through the mist. Then he turned his
attention to the vessel upon whose deck he stood.
All her deck lanterns were lighted. In her waist a man, breathing
heavily, lay stretched near the bulwarks; another stood at the wheel,
a revolver in his hand, while a third was at the port rail, also armed
with a like weapon. There came a snapping of firearms, apparently
from the, to Kenyon, invisible _Piedmont_. The man at the rail swore
furiously and began firing downward; the other man left the wheel and
joined him in the fusillade.
“They seem to be enjoying the pastime immensely,” commented Kenyon,
under his breath, “so it would be a pity to interrupt them.”
He softly crossed the deck and made his way down the iron steps leading
to the engine-room. This was also brilliantly lighted; the engine was
throbbing swiftly, but there was no sign of anyone in charge.
“All the better for me,” muttered the adventurer, as he dropped his
Colt back into his pocket. “I suppose the matter upon deck has them all
interested.”
In an instant he had shut off steam, and the engine began to slow down;
then he ascended the iron stairs once more and gained the deck. The
revolver shots still continued from the _Piedmont_; but those upon
the _Wizard_ were not replying. From the shelter of the housing Kenyon
looked aft. As before, only two unwounded men were visible, and these,
all unconscious, in their excitement, that the engine had stopped, were
crouched under the bulwarks reloading their weapons. The _Piedmont_
had clung to the larger vessel; and now that she had all but lost her
headway, the attacking party came alongside and leaped upon the deck of
the _Wizard_.
While the two sailors were being seized, Kenyon slipped down into the
cabin, a strong suspicion forming in his mind. So when, a little later,
Farbush came bursting in, followed by Hong Yo, who was assisted by a
couple of men, they found the adventurer seated coolly in a steamer
chair, rolling a cigarette. And as they stood staring with eyes of
wonder, he looked up and smiled.
“Ah, gentlemen,” he greeted, “how do you do?”
For a moment neither Hong Yo nor Farbush was able to speak; then the
former waved his hand in dismissal to the two men who had helped him
down into the cabin; when they were gone, he turned to Kenyon once more.
“Well?” asked he, and his deathly face was set like stone.
“I’m sorry to say that it does not seem to be at all well,” replied
Kenyon. He lit the cigarette and pointed to a couple of chairs. “Won’t
you sit down?”
“Where is Forrester?” inquired Farbush. His face was flushed, and there
was anger and suspicion in his eyes.
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
Both men sat down and looked at him silently for a time. Apparently
they were wholly unable to account for him. At length Hong Yo spoke
again.
“What are you doing on board the _Wizard_?” he asked.
“My errand is exactly the same as your own,” smiled Kenyon. “I came to
find Forrester.”
A light of intelligence crossed the countenance of Farbush.
“Ah, I think I understand!” exclaimed he. “You received my message
after all.”
“It is very seldom that I miss anything of importance,” evaded Kenyon,
evenly. “It is a thing that I have drilled myself to, you see.”
“And when you learned the circumstances, you suspected Forrester of the
burglary,” cried Farbush, triumphantly. “Hong Yo said that you would
not--that like himself you had confidence in the traitor.”
Kenyon drew the cigarette smoke deeply into his lungs, and expelled it
slowly.
“I am astonished at Hong Yo’s trusting anybody,” commented he.
“It was not trust,” spoke the Chinaman, coughing hollowly. “It was my
fixed belief that it was to his advantage to remain faithful.”
“A fool can never be trusted even to see an advantage,” declared
Farbush.
“I would not be quite so confident of his folly,” advised Kenyon. “He
seems to have been shrewd enough to escape us to-night. He suspected
that the yacht would be stopped on her way out, apparently; so he did
not venture aboard her. And, to gain time possibly, he sent her out in
charge of three of her crew. There is no knowing where he has gone in
the meantime.”
“Have you searched the yacht?” asked Farbush.
“No.”
“Then he may be aboard, after all.”
A half-dozen men searched the _Wizard_ from end to end; but, as Kenyon
had reasoned, Forrester was not on board. Steam was gotten up and the
_Wizard_ was headed toward Pelham Bay, the two power-boats following in
her wake.
“That, then, was your boat that we heard all along,” said Farbush,
as he leaned over the _Wizard’s_ stern rail, his eyes upon the two
low-lying, shadowy crafts.
“Very likely, you did hear us,” answered Kenyon.
“You seem to have quite a crew on board of her,” commented Farbush,
peering through the night.
“Of course. Like yourself I was not at all sure as to what resistance
I’d meet with. Success only comes to the ready man.”
Just then a great beam of white light shot across the water and
brought all three vessels into strong relief. It was the searchlight
at Fort Schuyler; the firing had evidently been heard, and they were
endeavoring to locate the trouble. At the first swinging sweep of the
light the _Vixen’s_ decks were flooded. Kenyon saw Gypsy Brady and his
followers still grouped about the rebellious skipper and engineer; at
the wheel was a slim, girlish figure enveloped in the long coat, and
near by was Garry Webster.
At the first flash Farbush uttered an exclamation; then he turned upon
Kenyon with distorted face and upraised hand, his whole frame shaking
with what looked like fury. For a moment he stood thus, glaring at the
imperturbable adventurer. Then his hand dropped and the look gave place
to a smile, while he said, hurriedly:
“What the devil! That confounded light almost startled me out of my
wits!”
XXI
KENYON BEGINS TO SEE THE LIGHT
“And, so, the youth he sat him down in the shade of the tree, and
told him many things that he had not heard before.”
--_The Amazing Adventures of Mansour Bi._
IT had been after dawn when Kenyon reached his hotel, and he had slept
all day. So it was about six in the evening when he arose and bathed
and shaved and put on a well-fitting business suit of gray which his
tailor had lately delivered.
“I’ve been living in my evening clothes of late,” said he; “and it
feels rather good to get into something else.”
A knock came upon the door.
“Come,” said he.
A bell-hop opened the door, and said:
“A gentleman to see you, sir.”
Kenyon looked at the card. It contained the name:
PHILIP AUSTIN.
“Again it begins,” muttered he. Then to the boy he said: “Send him up.”
The lad closed the door, and Kenyon threw the card upon the table.
“I had intended to have a turn at hunting up that last name,” said he.
“But this will probably save me the trouble.”
A few moments later a stout, stoop-shouldered young man was ushered
in. He stuck a pair of glasses upon his nose and looked Kenyon over
carefully. Then he said:
“Mr. Kenyon, I thought it as well to call upon you.”
“Quite right,” returned the adventurer, affably. “Will you sit down?”
“Thanks.”
All the lights were turned on and Kenyon inspected his visitor with
the same care that the latter had bestowed upon himself. As he sat
holding out his hands toward the gas logs, for the November evening
was decidedly cold, he looked small and placid and good-humored;
nevertheless there was a keenness about him that was unmistakable.
“I had expected to hear from you,” said he. “The understanding was, if
I remember correctly, that you were to come to me immediately upon my
grandfather’s death.” He looked inquiringly at the adventurer. “But,
perhaps,” he added, “you had reasons for not doing so.”
“Good reasons,” replied Kenyon, grimly.
“I waited patiently; but when I learned from Miss Gilbert that the old
man was dead, and still you did not put in an appearance, I could wait
no longer. I got into town this afternoon, and called up about all the
hotels in New York, inquiring if they had anyone of your name. I got to
this one about a half hour ago, and so I came immediately upon learning
you were here.”
“I’m glad you did so,” replied the other. Then as an afterthought,
“Have you seen Miss Gilbert to-day?”
“I have never seen Miss Gilbert.” Austin ran his fingers through his
sandy hair. “In fact I never knew that there was a Miss Gilbert until
the other day.” He looked at Kenyon speculatively for a moment, and
then continued. “Do you know that you have her puzzled, more or less.”
“Indeed.”
“At least I so gathered from her letter. She seems to be not at all
sure of you. She told me that she desired to believe you a friend to
me, but that she could not honestly assure me that you were. She feared
that you were leagued with the others.”
Kenyon nodded, coolly; but he was amazed.
“Is it possible,” he mentally exclaimed, “that I have here the
mysterious unknown!”
“But look here,” said the young man, “I think this whole situation
is really farcical. There is no common sense to it. You see, because
I’ve always been messing among inventions and things of that sort, my
grandfather got the notion that I was far from practical, and actually
not qualified to take care of myself.”
“Old men have rather odd fancies at times,” said Kenyon.
“Just so. And he would not listen to any of my protestations; he
ordered me under cover until you had come along and pronounced
everything safe. The whole thing was absurd; but what was I to do? Even
now I’m going against his wishes.”
“So it would seem,” agreed Kenyon.
“The idea of these partners of his being such formidable and ruthless
persons, got to be a sort of obsession with him,” proceeded Philip
Austin. “Why, he feared them, as far as I was concerned, as he had
never feared anything before. You see,” lowering his voice and leaning
toward Kenyon, confidentially, “he had the notion that they wanted my
cousin, Scott Austin, to inherit the control of the business, in order
that the contraband end of it should continue.”
“Ah!”
“You know, this branch of the business of Austin & Co. was largely
carried on by Farbush, at New York, and Hong Yo, at Hong Kong. I don’t
think,” and the young man looked at Kenyon, appealingly, “that my
grandfather ever profited a dollar by it.”
“Perhaps not.”
“When it became known that the old man was about to die--that he could
not live above a few months at most, he sent a young man, a minor
partner, Forrester by name, to acquaint me with many things which
he felt that I should know--he meaning that I should be his heir. I
remember very distinctly expressing myself plainly as to the illegal
features of the business of Austin & Co. If I should ever come into
control, I promised to smash the contraband end as flat as a board.”
“And Forrester told the other partners at Hong Kong and New York?”
“He must have. At any rate they both appeared at Seattle; and what they
said and did must have frightened my grandfather thoroughly. It was
then that he ordered me to lay low until you came along to take charge
of things.”
“Why I, in particular?”
“His first thought was to secure the services of General Nunez. But
he learned that Nunez was dead. It seems that he had heard much of
you through Nunez; and, rather naturally, you were the next person
considered.”
That the young man was speaking the plain truth Kenyon never
questioned for a moment; he saw that the time had arrived to make
some sort of a finish to the case, and that to have a free and frank
understanding would perhaps serve him better than anything else.
So, beginning with his coming upon the _Blenheim_, he related his
adventures since arriving in New York. Philip Austin listened as
Webster had listened, in astonishment, and silence. When he had heard
all, he remarked, slowly:
“Do you know, that is all very wonderful? I now begin also to get
an idea of what Miss Gilbert hinted at in her letter.” He looked at
Kenyon, curiously, and then laughed. “Things do turn out strangely,
don’t they?”
“Undoubtedly,” Kenyon answered. Then with a change of tone: “Who is
Miss Gilbert?”
“I don’t know,” answered the other frankly. “You see I had little or
no knowledge of my grandfather’s household. I never visited there; we
did not even correspond, for he always fancied that I was next door to
a fool for not giving up my experimenting in chemicals and mechanics
and settling down to practical business. But,” and young Austin
wrinkled his brow, “it seems to me that I did hear something about his
adopting the daughters of an old friend, years ago, when I was quite a
youngster. However,” and he nodded his head confidently, “whoever she
is, she must be all right; for the old man seems to have trusted her in
everything.”
Kenyon had passed the other his cigarette-case; and now they smoked
silently for some time. Finally the sandy-haired young man spoke, and
his voice was grave.
“Do you know, what you have said has astounded me! All along I have
been holding this thing lightly, as a sort of hallucination which a
man desperately ill is likely to be seized with. I could not seriously
consider that, at this late day, any such ornate scheme of murder would
be undertaken by the settled and prosperous members of a great business
enterprise.”
“One can never tell,” replied Kenyon. “The crooked element in the
business of Austin & Co. may have proven so very profitable that Hong
Yo and Farbush would rather risk their necks than give it up.”
Just then the telephone bell rang.
“Pardon me,” said Kenyon, rising. He took down the receiver and called.
“Hello! Who is it?”
“Kenyon of Saginaw wants the other Kenyon,” answered a voice.
“Well, here he is. But how’s the head?”
“Fine and fancy. I’m still under wraps, but it’s only to make sure. I
really don’t need ’em. It felt so good to-day, that I went out hunting
that guy, the ‘Stalker.’”
“And did you find him?”
“In a minute! You see I had picked up a fellow that knew him, and he
pointed him out to me. Well, I wasn’t taking any chances of mixing it
with him; I wasn’t just ready for _that_ yet. So I followed the plug
around to see where he was stabling. I wanted to be able to pick him
up any time I wanted him, you see. And after a while he gets so funny
in his actions that I felt sure that he had something on. You know,
you told me that if I could dig up any more news about this Selden’s
Square thing, to do it; and it struck me that I was just ripe to find
something out if I stalked the ‘Stalker.’”
“And did you?” eagerly.
“I did. You see, when--”
“Just a moment. Come over to the hotel. I’ll leave word at the office
to have them send you right up.”
“All right, bo, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Kenyon then called the office, after which he hung up and turned to
Austin.
“We will possibly have some news of consequence in a little while,”
said he.
“I hope so,” returned the other, “as the thing stands it’s rather
unsatisfactory. This little matter of Forrester is really aggravating.”
Promptly at the expiration of ten minutes, the pugilist from Saginaw
was shown in. He seemed all eagerness, and at Kenyon’s invitation
immediately began his story.
“As soon as I falls to it that I’m due for some information, why, I
begins to play the fox myself, see? So the more this Stalker throws his
gaze around, the hotter I’m on the Sherlock thing. After getting a lot
of stuff together at different places, he hikes out and gets a train
for South Norwalk. But he can’t shake me, so I’m about three seats
behind him all the way down. Once or twice I notices him piking me off.
It’s the bandages on my top that does it; he’s sure that he’s seen them
before and is trying to locate them. But I keep the innocent look, and
have my nose pointed into a magazine; it’s a plain thing to me that
I’ve got him guessing.
“He gets out at South Norwalk. I pike him on the platform waiting to
see if I follow him. But I have the wisdom with me, and make my duck on
the other side. He waits awhile; but as I’m not to be seen he starts
straight off. He gets a buggy and I get another. About five miles
outside the town he meets another party, quite a big stuff, who has
another buggy, and hands over the things that he’s brought along. They
talk for some time, and then his Stalkers turns his horse and starts
back. I’m pulled off the road into a kind of wagon track, all this
time, you see, so he drives by and goes on his way to the station,
while I pull out and starts to follow up the other party.”
“Excellent!” praised Kenyon.
“It was only a chance,” continued the other. “I thought it might have
something to do with the affair you were asking me about, you see.
Well, at last the big guy comes to kind of a fine-looking old house
standing away back in a little woods, and there he meets a girl with
yellow hair that seems mighty glad to see him.”
Kenyon and Austin exchanged looks, but the other continued:
“They went inside and I lingered around for a while to see if there
would be anything doing; but as all was quiet along that section of
the pike, I drove along a little farther until I sights a young heck
cutting wood. In a minute I was framed up against him, handing him the
wise talk; and he told me all he knew--that is, all of it that I wanted
to hear. The people at the old house in the woods had only come last
night. As far as he knew a man and a woman arrived then--late. But
this morning about a dozen men landed. He had no idea what was up; but
he had a kind of hunch that it wasn’t quite level. So after that I got
back to the station and caught a train for New York.”
“It’s Forrester and the girl Anna,” said Austin, promptly.
“Precisely.” Kenyon picked up a time-table and began studying it. “I
rather think I’ll pay them a visit to-night.”
“Good,” cried the other. “And shall I go with you?”
“Glad to have you.” Kenyon then went to the ’phone and called up
Webster.
“What is it,” answered the young man from Chicago.
“Another adventure. Are you game for it?”
“Only try me,” came the eager reply.
“Very well, I’ll pick you up on the way to the station.”
The motor-car which Kenyon ordered was announced, and he and Austin had
drawn on their overcoats when the little pugilist said:
“I say, if you think you could use a guy of my tonnage, pal, why, just
give the word.”
“I wouldn’t think of trying to do without you,” replied Kenyon. “Come
along.”
XXII
THE LIGHT GROWS STRONGER
“The plans of men have various terminations.”
--_The Strategy of Nunez._
THE little party left the train at South Norwalk; it was shortly after
nine o’clock when they engaged a carry-all from a liveryman and began
the journey along the road which the youth from Saginaw indicated.
“Rather a dark night,” commented Webster.
“Like ink,” replied Philip Austin.
A lamp hung at each side of the trap, and they projected their
struggling rays for a very short space ahead; the horses, with ears
cocked, jogged briskly along. The road, when they had left the town
well behind, grew lonely and still.
The lines of rail fencing went wavering by in the lamp-light; trees by
the wayside seemed vast and shadowy and full of strange murmurings;
now and then, from far across the fields, they caught the flicker of a
light in a farmhouse.
At length after they had been on the road about a half hour or more,
they heard a faint whistle.
“This is the place where the Stalker met the other party,” whispered
the pugilist. “I can tell it by the cross-roads.”
Kenyon drew in the horses, and a man emerged from the shadows. He
peered into the vehicle and seemed disappointed.
“Excuse me,” said he. “I thought you were some friends of mine.”
“Sort of a lonely place to wait, isn’t it,” asked Kenyon, examining the
man keenly.
“It’s not very lively,” returned he, rather surlily. “Going on to
Cranberry?”
“Beyond that,” answered Kenyon. He was about to drive on when the man
suddenly placed his hand upon the shaft, as though struck by a thought.
“Say,” said he, “did you have anybody walking ahead?”
“No. Why?”
The man ignored the question.
“Did you see anyone on the road as you came along?” continued he.
“No.”
“It’s damned funny!” muttered the fellow, and with that he turned away
and was lost in the darkness.
Kenyon touched the horses with the whip; a little further on he
remarked: “That would appear to be one of the men who arrived this
morning, eh?”
“It must be,” answered Webster. “And apparently he’s posted at the
cross-roads as a sort of lookout.”
“Did it strike you that he seemed a little bewildered?” asked Austin.
“He’s ‘seeing things at night,’” put in the pugilist. “And when a guy
begins to do that in a nice, dark, lonely place, it kind of gets him
going.”
“Someone probably passed along the road, and paid no attention to his
signal, if he gave one,” suggested Kenyon.
“Um-m-m!” grunted Webster. And as they proceeded slowly along he
narrowly scanned the roadside; also he listened attentively for any
sounds that the night might hold, beyond his line of vision.
After a time the youth from Saginaw said:
“See that bunch of deeper black over there? Well, I’m pretty sure
them’s the trees that I told you about. The house stands right in the
thick of them.”
A dense black mass loomed against the sky to the right; and as they
looked they caught the glimmer of light through it. Kenyon was about
to pull up the horses when a second whistle fell upon their ears; so,
instead, he shook the reins and went jogging on.
“Apparently Mr. Forrester is a most cautious person,” said he, in a low
tone. “He seems to have the place as thickly picketed as the camp of a
flying column. I wonder why.”
“He fears visitors, perhaps,” suggested Webster.
“Then why does he remain so close to the city? Why did he not put a
long distance between himself and pursuit.”