THE MIDNIGHT ALARM
"Still the sound of machinery," muttered Dick Davis, pacing the bridge
just before dark. "I imagine the skipper of that other craft wishes he
could have put a mute on his engines."
"He has even taken to blowing his fog-horn again," replied young
Halstead. "It's just sheer luck that he hasn't been run down by some
vessel coming from the opposite direction."
"I guess our fog-horn has protected him," suggested Dick. "We may have
passed some other craft whose fog-horns didn't carry sound as far as
ours. Hearing our fog-horn, such vessels might have given us such a wide
berth that the 'Victor' naturally escaped collision."
It was about eight o'clock, when Tom and Joe were finishing the evening
meal in the captain's cabin, that a sudden sharp blast came through the
bridge speaking tube.
"Right here at the other end, Mr. Davis," Captain Tom answered.
"I think you'll be interested in coming to the bridge, sir. The fog is
lightening a bit, and I can see a couple of stars overhead."
"Whew! That's good news! Do you still hear the 'Victor's' machinery?"
"Yes; I've been keeping very close to her."
Halstead quickly told the news to Joe Dawson. Both reached for their
ulsters, then ran out on deck. Tom's first discovery was that he could
hear, distinctly, the subdued clank-clank made by the invisible steam
yacht.
Yes; the fog was surely lifting. Overhead, especially, things were
clearing.
"We seem to be running out at the edge of the fog-bank, Mr. Davis," was
the young captain's greeting, as he climbed to the bridge, followed by
the young chief engineer.
For five minutes or more Tom Halstead stood there, watching the fog.
"I'm sure enough of the news, now, to go aft and tell Mr. Baldwin," he
declared, finally.
Tom found all the cabin passengers at table in the deck dining saloon,
aft of the owner's quarters. They were not more than two-thirds through
the meal, but the table became instantly deserted.
Twenty minutes later the watchers at the port rail made out, briefly, a
part of the hull of the "Victor." The two craft were but little more
than two hundred yards apart.
Ten minutes later both craft passed almost completely out of the fog. A
cheer went up from the deck of the "Panther." There was no answer from
the pursued craft.
Running up to the bridge, and snatching up a megaphone, Joseph Baldwin
bawled lustily:
"We're still with you, you pirates! You can't shake us!"
Still no sound of human voice came from the steam yacht. The answer was
of another sort. Great clouds of smoke began to pour from the "Victor's"
funnel.
"They're going to try a spurt," chuckled Halstead, gleefully. "Well,
let 'em. We don't even have to get up more steam for a spurt. All we
have to do is to feed in the gasoline quicker."
Within five minutes the "Victor" was racing along at more than twenty
miles an hour. On board the "Panther," however, Joe Dawson did not even
feel it necessary to go below to look at the motors. Jed Prentiss was
down there in the engine room, and Jed was a boy who knew what he was
doing. Second Officer Davis gave the speed orders from the bridge; Jed
carried out the orders. The "Panther," now widening the interval to four
hundred yards in this clearer atmosphere, ran along parallel with the
steam yacht.
"They may fool us yet," chuckled Halstead, turning around to the owner.
"But they'll have to do it with something better than speed."
"If they get away from _you_, Captain Halstead," replied the owner, his
face beaming, "I promise, in advance, to forgive you. It won't be your
fault. Lord, how you've hung to them! What a report I shall have to send
Delavan on the officers he sent me!"
Then, suddenly, Halstead thought of the prisoner down in the brig.
"Pass the word for Second Steward Collins," he directed, and that
yacht's servant soon reported.
"You didn't forget to feed the prisoner, Collins?"
"Oh, no, sir," and the steward rattled off the names of the dishes that
had been supplied the man in the brig.
"He seems to have fed nearly as well as we did," laughed Skipper Tom.
"Well, that's right; just because we lock a fellow up is no reason why
we should starve him. The prisoner had a good appetite?"
"Excellent, sir."
"He's locked in tightly?"
"Yes, sir."
Ten minutes later Captain Halstead took the trouble to go below to the
brig.
It was somewhat stuffy down there, but that couldn't be helped.
From the center of the ceiling a single incandescent lamp supplied the
illumination of the room.
As Tom Halstead peered in through the grating he saw Cragthorpe seated
on a stool in the far corner.
Tom did not speak. The fellow glared at him, then looked away.
"The door is locked tightly, all right," murmured Captain Halstead to
himself, after rattling the bars and examining the lock.
No sooner had he turned away, and stepped out of sight, than Cragthorpe
rose like a caged tiger. A leer expressive of the utmost cruelty parted
his teeth. He shook his fist menacingly after the departing young
skipper. He was able to do that much, for Mr. Costigan, following the
usual course in such cases, had removed the handcuffs after depositing
the prisoner in the brig.
"Perhaps you think I'm here, simply awaiting your pleasure, my young
salt water cub!" snarled Cragthorpe to himself.
Tom Halstead, however, gave the fellow little further thought. He was
too happy over the lifting of the fog. It is possible for two craft of
the size of these to run all day within two hundred yards of each other
through a fog, judging each other's positions only by sounds. The slow
speed of fog-time makes this possible. Yet it requires splendidly expert
seamanship on both craft. The ordeal is bound to be wearing on the deck
and watch officers. Tom and his three mates felt utterly tired after
their experience, but the passing out of the belt of the fog had brought
huge relief to them.
Up to ten o'clock that evening the "Victor" maintained her fast speed.
The air was now thoroughly clear in every direction. Tom could have
kept the other craft in sight even had the steam yacht shown no lights.
But the commander of the "Victor" had all his running lights going.
"You'll call us, if anything whatever happens that's worth our knowing,
won't you, Captain?" asked Joseph Baldwin, joining the young sailing
master, who stood close to the bridge steps on the port side.
"Yes, sir. Certainly."
"All of us chaps in the cabin are going to turn in soon," continued Mr.
Baldwin, with a slight yawn. "We're fagged, both from the lack of sleep
and the suspense. Now, however, our minds are easier. Yonder is the boat
that carries Frank Rollings and the millions he stole from the bank. Our
fuel will last as long as theirs will. We can follow as far as they can
go."
"Wouldn't it be a jarring surprise if it turned out that we've been
following a dummy, Mr. Baldwin?" Halstead asked. "What if we follow for
days and days, yet, and then learn that neither Rollings nor his plunder
is on board?"
Joseph Baldwin started, then retorted:
"Yes; but it won't happen, Captain. In the first place, the detectives
of the Bankers' Association found out positively that Rollings had gone
aboard, and that the yacht had then got under way at once. The captain
of that boat was expecting Rollings--was prepared for him--and has the
defaulter on board at this moment."
"I hope so, sir, for I'm satisfied that we're yet going to lay alongside
of that craft and search her."
"Of course we are. Good night, Captain."
"Good night, sir. I'm going to turn in, myself, for a while."
Half an hour later the young skipper was sound asleep. So, for that
matter, were all the officers and crew who were not on duty.
Sky and surrounding atmosphere continued clear through the rest of Dick
Davis's watch on the bridge. That young second mate was pacing back and
forth contentedly. The two yachts, now making about a fourteen-mile
speed, were close together, and Davis had little to watch save the
general handling of the boat.
Out of a hatchway forward a head was cautiously thrust up. Davis did not
happen to see that head. There was no reason why he should be looking
for it.
The owner of that head saw Davis turn and pace over to starboard.
Swiftly, and silently, the man sprang out of the hatchway, after
observing that the quartermaster's head was bent over the compass. The
sailor in the wheel house with the quartermaster was not looking in
Davis's direction at the moment.
So the prowler gained the port side of the deck-house, and stole aft
without hindrance. It was Cragthorpe, the late prisoner in the brig.
Now, besides being free, he carried a five-gallon can of gasoline that
he had found below deck.
Away back to the after deck he ran, crouching low. There he halted,
staring about him. An evil smile flickered over his lips. With little
conscience, he was also without fear for himself.
An instant later he began sprinkling gasoline about him. The task was
quickly accomplished. He drew out a box of blazer matches, striking one
of them and tossing it down where a pool of gasoline lay.
There was a flare, in a second, but Cragthorpe had vanished almost as
quickly as the flare appeared.
Dick Davis caught a glimpse of the glow.
"Quartermaster, send your man aft to investigate a blaze there. Let him
run!"
The blaze, however, was spreading and mounting so fast that the alert
young second officer did not have to pause to guess.
"Fire!" shouted the sailor, running forward. But Dick Davis had already
sprung to the alarm bells.