ROLLINGS'S LAST RUSE
Both approaching men were regarding the deck, talking in earnest tones
as they came astern.
"If we should pass out of this fog," Rollings was saying, "and if the
'Panther' should prove to be close to us----"
Just at this point the speaker stopped. He panted, then staggered back,
clutching at his uniformed companion.
In almost the same instant both caught sight of lone Tom Halstead.
Though not quite alone, either, for Tom had succeeded in unlimbering his
rifle, and both strangers now found themselves staring down into the
muzzle.
"Don't stir, please!" mocked Tom Halstead, coolly.
"How in the world _did_ he get on board?" faltered Rollings, hoarsely,
his face ashen with terror.
The uniformed man with him saw the grappling hook resting over the stern
rail, and did not need to ask.
At this instant Tom Halstead felt himself being pushed from behind, and
took a step forward. Then Ted Dyer bounded onto deck beside him,
bringing another rifle into play.
"They're boarding us!" gasped Rollings, in the voice of a man who felt
himself dying from fright.
The uniformed man with him did not move; neither did he show any signs
of fear, though he was facing the business ends of two rifles.
Joe Dawson was on deck, now. Joe turned long enough to toss down a light
line. It came up again, carrying the hooks of a boarding-ladder. Joe
dropped this into place, then, with a quiet grin, turned to inspect the
scene on deck.
Suddenly the man in uniform turned and ran, defying possible shots.
"Turn out the whole crew!" he bawled. "A posse is coming on board. Stand
by to fight!"
"Shall I drop the fellow?" quivered Ted.
"No," came Halstead's quick answer. Then, as Frank Rollings summoned the
strength to wheel about as if to bolt, Halstead shouted, warningly:
"Rollings, if you try to move, you won't get three steps away!"
At this instant one of the United States deputy marshals came up over
the rail.
"Officer," called Tom, "there's the man you've cruised so far to
arrest."
Though he had a rifle strapped over his back, the marshal drew his
revolver as he ran forward.
"Frank Rollings, you're a United States prisoner. Put up your hands!"
With a moan that was half a scream, Rollings, instead, sank to the deck
in a huddled heap.
[Illustration: Rollings Sank to the Deck in a Huddled Heap.]
"A man with no more nerve than you have should not try to loot a bank,"
growled the officer, as he snapped handcuffs onto the wrists of the
seemingly palsied wretch.
The other deputy was on board, by now, and other members of the boarding
party were coming up fast. Mr. Jephson was among the foremost of them.
"Come forward to the bridge," he called, now taking charge. "We'll take
command of this whole craft. Deputy, make it your whole business to
prevent your prisoner from getting away. Hold on to him, but come
forward with us."
The same uniformed, bearded man appeared suddenly around the pilot house
as the party swept forward along the port side of the yacht. Rollings,
his knees doubling under him, had to be dragged.
The uniformed man suddenly raised a rifle, shouting:
"Stand by, men! We'll put a stop to this nonsense!"
"Drop that gun, or we'll open fire on you!" shouted Mr. Jephson,
sternly.
The boarding party moved swiftly forward. Behind the captain stood a
mate and four or five seamen, all looking irresolute. Of a sudden the
mate wheeled, throwing a rifle over the rail at starboard. The seamen
with him instantly followed his example.
Even the bearded captain had lowered the muzzle of his rifle. It is
easier to be brave on the side of the law than against it.
"Put that captain in irons," Mr. Jephson ordered the marshal who had no
prisoner to cumber him.
Sullenly, the captain of the "Victor" submitted to being handcuffed.
"All of the rest of the officers and crew muster up in the bow," called
Mr. Jephson. "Captain Halstead, I call upon you to take command of this
yacht for the present. The quartermaster of this craft may remain in the
wheel house if he'll take orders straight."
"Aye, aye, sir," the quartermaster called, briefly, through one of the
lowered windows of the pilot house.
Tom Halstead, still carrying his rifle and holding it ready, ran up to
the bridge.
Stepping over to the signaling apparatus, Halstead rang for speed enough
to furnish bare headway.
"Quartermaster," the new commander of the "Victor" called down through
the wheel house speaking-tube, "you'll keep to the same course you've
been following, and sound the fog whistle every thirty seconds."
"Captain," called Mr. Baldwin, a few moments later, "can you put one of
your party up there on the bridge? We have yet other duties to perform
here."
"Take the bridge, Mr. Prentiss," called Tom, for he understood instantly
what other work was likely to be on hand, and he knew that Joe Dawson
would want a hand in it.
Aft of the captain's quarters there was a main deck house. Into this
cabin Rollings and the captain of the steam yacht were taken. Mr.
Jephson was now talking to the two prisoners as solemnly as though
holding actual court.
"Do you think the 'Panther' will overtake us here, out on the high seas,
Captain?" questioned Mr. Baldwin, just as they entered this cabin.
"That is, will he recognize the 'Victor's' fog-whistle?"
"He'll make a good guess at it, I think," laughed Halstead. "I've just
directed Mr. Prentiss, in ten minutes more, to begin sounding whole
bunches of blasts in quick succession. Ab will be clever enough to guess
that it is our crowd celebrating a capture."
"Now, then, Rollings," declared Mr. Jephson, sternly, "it is time for
you to tell us where the money stolen from the Sheepmen's Bank is hidden
aboard this craft?"
"You won't find five hundred dollars on board," replied the cashier,
with a ghastly smile.
"My man, it may save you some years on the sentence that is coming to
you if you tell us promptly where to find the stolen money," warned the
United States assistant district attorney, sternly.
"I've said all I'm going to say," returned Rollings, sullenly.
"Captain Blake," asked Jephson, turning toward the bearded one, "you
also have much to answer for in the courts. Do you desire to win any
leniency by telling us, now, what you can?"
"All I've anything to do with here," retorted Captain Blake, "is the
running of this yacht. That work you've taken from me. So I've nothing
to do, and nothing to say."
Mr. Jephson, however, continued to question first one prisoner, then the
other, though in vain, until Mr. Baldwin broke in:
"Jephson, you can't make these fellows talk. They're afraid they'd only
run their necks further into the noose of the law. Besides, this rascal,
Rollings, hopes that, if you can't find the money, he'll win complete
pardon in the matter by restoring most of it later on. It'll save a good
deal of time, I imagine, if you place both these fellows under close
guard by one of your deputies, then lead us in a search through this
craft."
By this time Jed Prentiss, following orders, had begun to turn loose on
the fog-horn, sounding it so rapidly that Ab Perkins, somewhere behind
in the mist with the "Panther," must be able to guess what had happened.
One of the deputies now guarded Rollings and Captain Blake, while the
other had gone below to the engine room. There the engineer's crew had
agreed to serve faithfully under the new command, but the deputy was
there to see to it that they didn't change their minds. Quartermaster
Bickson and one of his seamen had driven the crew of the "Victor" to the
forecastle, and mounted guard over them.
The searchers, comprising Mr. Jephson, Mr. Baldwin and the latter's
captain, Halstead, were joined by Mr. Ross, Joe Dawson and Ted Dyer.
"There are enough of us here," laughed Mr. Baldwin, "to turn this craft
inside out in another half hour."
First of all, Frank Rollings's own quarters were searched, as a matter
of course. It had been learned, since coming aboard, that the absconding
cashier was now the owner of the "Victor," having bought her secretly
three days before his flight.
There was no safe in the owner's cabin. The desk stood wide-open, with
hardly a scrap of paper in it. The mattress was yanked from the bed,
ripped and thoroughly searched, but not a trace of the stolen money was
found. The pillows were served in the same fashion, with no better
results. Other nooks and corners of the cabin were explored, without
success. Nor were any better results achieved in the captain's cabin.
Cabin, dining room and state-rooms below were explored. By this time the
searchers had broken up into smaller parties. The more they searched the
more dispirited did the hunters become.
"We're not going to find the missing money with ease," announced Mr.
Jephson, when he had rounded up all his searching force on deck.
"We've looked in about every possible place except the forecastle, the
water butts and the coal bunkers," declared Jason Ross, disgustedly.
"The money isn't likely to be in any of those places," declared Mr.
Jephson, shaking his head. "Hullo, what's that racket?"
Off in the fog a horn was sounding frantically.
Tom Halstead laughed.
"You ought to know that tune, Mr. Jephson. You've heard it days enough.
That's the 'Panther' coming up with us, with Ab Perkins in command. He
understood our signal, as I thought he would. He'll be hailing us within
two minutes."
"But that won't be finding the money," broke in Joseph Baldwin,
impatiently.
"Nor do I believe we're going to find it--not immediately, anyway,"
answered Mr. Jephson. "This boat doesn't seem to be full of hiding
places, and I believe we have done all the searching we can do out here
at sea. We shall have to run the 'Victor' in at anchorage at San
Francisco, then put aboard a force of officers under experienced
detectives, and leave the search to them."
"Confound it," growled Jason Ross, "I know, as well as I know I'm
standing here, that there are three million dollars in actual cash
somewhere within a hundred feet of us. It makes me almost frantic to
think that we can't put our hands right on it."
"Ahoy, there!" roared a voice off in the fog.
Though the other craft was invisible, and though the voice came through
a megaphone, the hearers knew it was Ab Perkins's voice. Jed snatched up
a megaphone to shout back:
"Ahoy, 'Panther'!"
"Ahoy! Then you've found the 'Victor'?"
"Aye, and captured her."
"Did you find Rollings!"
"He's a prisoner, under close guard."
"And the money?"
"That's what we all want to know," Jed admitted, sadly.
"You can't find it?"
"Not even a dollar bill!"
There was a pause, during which those on board the steam yacht knew that
their friends on the motor yacht were discussing this chilling news.
"What are Captain Halstead's orders?" shouted Ab, finally.
Jed bent over the bridge rail to talk with Captain Tom, then answered:
"Keep about abreast of us, and a quarter of a mile off. Proceed with
us, straight for the Golden Gate. Keep your fog-horn sounding at
intervals of one minute, or at such other intervals as you may hear us
sounding. Three sharp blasts of the whistle will mean for you to stand
by to find out what we're doing in the fog."
"Aye, aye," answered Ab Perkins. "Is that all?"
"That's all, Mr. Perkins."
The "Victor" now proceeded on her way to the home port at about eight
miles an hour. Though no one on board could see the "Panther," the sound
of the latter's fog-horn was always with them.
"The prisoner, Rollings, wants to see you, Mr. Jephson," called the
deputy marshal from the deck-house cabin.
Jephson went back.
"Well, Rollings, have you come to your senses? Are you going to tell us
where the missing money is?" demanded the assistant district attorney.
"I know nothing about any missing money," replied the bank cashier,
doggedly. "See here, man, what I want to ask is: Do you intend to
torture me needlessly?"
"No; what do you want?"
"Let me go to my own cabin, and let me have these handcuffs off,"
pleaded the prisoner. "I need rest; I'm nearly a wreck."
"I can let you go to your cabin, and even remove the handcuffs," agreed
Mr. Jephson. "But I'll have to place a guard in there with you.
"All right, then," sighed the prisoner.
He was taken to his own cabin, the handcuffs removed, and the cashier
threw himself upon his bed, while the deputy marshal took a seat where
he could watch his man.
Captain Blake begged a similar privilege, which was refused. He was made
to go out on deck where he could be watched by all hands.
For half an hour Rollings lay on the bed, his eyes closed, as though
asleep. Occasionally he twitched, or made some slight movement. That was
all. The deputy seated opposite began to find the situation a dull one.
At last the prisoner half sat up, to take off his shoes.
"My feet are burning," he complained, as he dropped the shoes at the
foot of the bed, then sank back on the pillow.
"You're nervous; that's why your feet trouble you," observed the deputy,
with a knowing smile.
Then Rollings began to breathe heavily; bye and bye two or three snores
escaped him. The deputy, finding it duller and duller, unintentionally
allowed his eyes to close. Instantly the cashier's own eyes opened a
trifle. At last, smiling cunningly, the cashier moved slightly, securing
one of his shoes. He poised it, aimed and threw. The heel of the shoe
struck the deputy on the head, causing him to drop forward out of the
chair and lie apparently senseless on the floor.
Suppressing a cry of exultation, Frank Rollings leaped from the bed.
There was now the light of mania in his eyes. This thief, disgraced,
about to be despoiled, and presently to be sent to prison for a long
term, preferred to die.
This he might have accomplished with the deputy's revolver, but that
would not enable him to carry out all of his purpose. On one wall of the
cabin stood a rack containing a water-bottle and two glasses.
Over to this rack stole the captured thief. He swung the rack to one
side, then pressed a certain nail in the wood-work there. Instantly a
door in the wall swung open.
Rollings's eyes eagerly peered into the recess thus laid bare. Then,
with a nearly inarticulate cry of joy, he drew out a small though
heavy-looking iron box.
"Neither me nor the money shall they have!" uttered the wretch, in
insane joy.
With a last look at the still unconscious deputy, Frank Rollings threw
his cabin door open.
As he sprang to the deck three or four watchers saw him.
"Look out! There's the prisoner trying to escape!" shouted Joseph
Baldwin.
There was not time for anyone to reach Rollings ere that crafty,
unbalanced wretch, clutching desperately at the iron box, bounded to the
rail, stood there tottering for an instant, and then leaped far out into
the water.
It was Tom Halstead who first saw the iron box and comprehended the
meaning of the scene.
"There he goes!" yelled Halstead. "And the box with the three millions
in it will sink like a stone!"