Thick fog lay upon the water when Jimmy wakened. He slipped off the
locker and, standing with his bent head among the deckbeams, looked at
Bethune with heavy eyes.
"Is it dark?" he asked. "How long have I slept?"
"It is not dark yet. How do you feel?"
"I think I'm all right. Did you get the case?"
"Sure!" smiled Bethune. "It's safe under the floorings and heavy enough
to make the salvage worth having. But I came down to bring you this note
from Aynsley. One of his men brought it and his gig's waiting
alongside."
Jimmy opened the note and read it aloud in the dim light of the cabin.
_"I shall consider it a favor if you will come across at once.
My father seems very ill and he insists on seeing you."_
"I'd better go," Jimmy said. "After all, we couldn't have got the case
without his help, and, in a way, I'm sorry for him. He must have known
he was running a big risk, but he was very plucky."
"It can't do much harm," Bethune agreed. "Somehow I feel that we have
nothing more to fear from him. For all that, I wish I could go with
you."
"I suppose that wouldn't do," said Jimmy thoughtfully.
"No; you can't take your lawyer along when you visit a sick man. Still,
if he's not quite as bad as Aynsley thinks, you may as well be on your
guard."
Jimmy got into the waiting boat and the men plied the oars rhythmically.
A bank of clammy fog rested on the slate-green heave that moved in from
seaward in slow undulations. The damp condensed on the boat's thwarts
and her knees were beaded with moisture. The air felt strangely raw, and
the measured beat of the surf rose drearily from the hidden beach. At
intervals the tolling of a bell sounded through the noises of the sea;
and when the yacht appeared, looming up gray and ghostly, her rigging
dripped, her deck was sloppy, and the seamen at the gangway had a limp,
bedraggled look. Everything seemed cheerless and depressing; and
Aynsley's face was anxious as he hurried toward Jimmy.
"It was good of you to come," he said. "I hope you're none the worse."
"Not much. I'm sorry your father has suffered from the trip, but I
really did my best."
"I'm sure of that," Aynsley responded. "But he's waiting to see you."
He led Jimmy into a handsome teak deckhouse between the masts, and
opened a door into the owner's cabin, which occupied the full width of
the house. Two electric lamps were burning, rich curtains were drawn
across the windows to shut out the foggy light, and a fire burned
cheerfully in an open-fronted stove, encased in decorated tiles. Its
pipe was of polished brass; the walls and the ceiling were enameled a
spotless white, with the moldings of the beams picked out in harmonious
color; two good marine pictures hung on the cross bulkhead. The place
struck Jimmy as being strangely luxurious after the cramped, damp cabin
of the sloop; but he soon forgot his surroundings when his eyes rested
on the figure lying in the corner-berth.
Clay had thrown off the coverings and was propped up on two large
pillows. His silk pajamas showed the massiveness of his short neck and
his powerful chest and arms; but his face was pinched and gray except
where it was streaked with a faint purple tinge. Jimmy could see that
the man was very ill.
"I hear you got the case," Clay began in a strained voice, motioning
Jimmy to a seat.
"Yes. The others brought it up; I haven't examined it yet."
"You'll find it all right." Clay smiled weakly. "I suppose you know
there's another case and a couple of small packages still in the
strong-room?"
"We understood so."
"Get them up; they're in the sand. You can have my diver, and it
shouldn't take you long. You're welcome to the salvage; it isn't worth
fighting you about. After that, there will be nothing left in her. I
give you my word for it, and you can clear out when you like."
"None of us wants to stay; we have had enough. I suppose you have no
idea of going down again?"
"No," Clay answered rather grimly; "it doesn't seem probable. I haven't
thanked you yet for bringing me up." He turned to Aynsley. "Mr. Farquhar
stuck to me when I was half conscious and helpless. I'd like you to
remember that. Now I want a quiet talk with him."
Aynsley left them, and Clay was silent for a moment or two. He lay back
on the pillows with his eyes closed, and when he spoke it seemed to be
with an effort.
"About the bogus case? What are you going to do with it?"
"We have been too busy to think of that. You spoke of an exchange, but
of course we haven't the thing here--"
"No," said Clay. "Your partner's pretty smart and I guess you have got
it safely locked up in one of the Island ports. The chances are that you
won't be able to give it to me."
Jimmy understood him. Clay seemed to know that he was very ill. He lay
quiet again, as if it tired him to talk.
"It has been a straight fight on your side," he resumed after his short
rest. "I guess you might give that box to Osborne. You're white men,
and, though you might perhaps make trouble about it, the thing's no use
to you. You know Osborne?"
"Yes," Jimmy answered rather awkwardly, because he saw what the question
implied. Clay had judged him correctly; for Jimmy had no wish to extort
a price for keeping a dark secret. He thought he could answer for his
comrades, though he would not make a binding promise without their
consent.
"I believe you know Ruth Osborne," Clay went on with a searching glance
at him.
Jimmy was taken off his guard, and Clay noticed his slight start and
change of expression.
"I met Miss Osborne on board the _Empress_," he replied cautiously.
Clay smiled.
"Well," he said, "she's a girl who makes an impression, and my notion is
that her character matches her looks." He paused and went on with a
thoughtful air: "Anyhow, she wouldn't have Aynsley."
Jimmy colored. Clay's manner was significant, but not hostile. Ill as
the man was, Jimmy imagined that he was cleverly playing a game, and,
with some object, was trying to turn his recent opponent into an ally.
For all that, Jimmy thought his motive was good.
"I mustn't keep you talking too long," Jimmy said. He did not wish to
discuss Miss Osborne.
"I soon get tired; but there's something I must mention. You'll clean
the wreck out in a few hours, and then you may as well blow her up. My
diver will help you, and we have some high-grade powder and a firing
outfit."
"It might be wise. If she washed up nearer the bight she would be
dangerous. The island's charted, and I dare say vessels now and then run
in."
Clay looked at him with a faint twinkle.
"Yes; I think we can take it that she's a danger. I'll tell my man to
give you the truck you want and you had better get finished while the
weather's fine."
Moving feebly, he held out his hand in sign of dismissal, and Jimmy took
it. He had no repugnance to doing so, but he felt that he was making his
helpless enemy a promise.
Aynsley was waiting on deck and insisted on Jimmy's staying to dinner.
Although well served, it was a melancholy meal, and Jimmy had a sense of
loneliness as he sat at the long table. Aynsley was attentive to his
comfort and tried to make conversation, but he was obviously depressed.
"What are your plans?" he asked.
"We start to get out the last of the gold at daybreak," Jimmy answered.
"If we're fortunate, it should take only three or four hours."
"And then?"
"I agreed with your father that we had better blow up the wreck."
"You should get that done before dark to-morrow."
"I think so, if the water keeps smooth. In fact, I dare say we'll have
finished in the afternoon."
"That's a relief," declared Aynsley. "Perhaps I'm not tactful in
reminding you that I don't know--and don't want to know--what your
business with my father is, but he's seriously ill, and we ought to get
away at once in order to put him in a good doctor's hands as soon as
possible. The trouble is that he won't hear of our leaving until you
have completed the job."
"We'll lose no time," Jimmy assured him. "The glass is dropping, but I
don't expect much wind just yet."
"Thanks!" Aynsley responded with deep feeling. "There's another
thing--if the wind's light or unfavorable, we'll start under steam and
could tow you south as long as it keeps fine. It may save you a few
days. And you could stay with us if your friends can spare you. To tell
the truth, it would be a kindness to me. I'm worried, and want somebody
to talk to."
Jimmy agreed, and was shortly afterward rowed back to the sloop.
By noon the next day they had brought up the last of the gold. After a
hasty luncheon, they went down again, but their next task took some
time, because the diver insisted on clamping the charges of dynamite
firmly to the principal timbers and boring holes in some. Then a series
of wires had to be taken below and coupled, and it was nearly supper
time when Jimmy came up from his last descent.
A faint breeze flecked the leaden water with ripples too languid to
break on the sloop's bows; the island was wrapped in fog, and the swell
was gentle. Only a dull murmur rose from the hidden beach. To seaward it
was clearer and the yacht rode, a long white shape, lifting her bows
with a slow and rhythmic swing, while a gray cloud that spread in a hazy
smear rose nearly straight up from her funnel. The sloop's cable was
hove short and everything was ready for departure. Her crew sat in the
cockpit watching the diver fit the wires to the contact-plug of the
firing battery.
The men on the sloop were filled with keen impatience. They had borne
many hardships and perils in those lonely waters, and, now that their
work was finished, they wanted to get away. There was a mystery
connected with the wreck, but they thought they would never unravel it,
and, on the whole, they had no wish to try. They were anxious to see the
end of her and to leave the fog-wrapped island.
"I guess we're all ready," the diver said at last. "See that you have
left nothing loose to fall overboard: she'll shift some water."
He inserted the firing-plug; and a moment afterward the sea opened some
distance ahead and rolled back from a gap in the bottom of which
shattered timber churned about. Then a foaming wave rose suddenly from
the chasm, tossing up black masses of planking and ponderous beams. A
few, rearing on end, shot out of the water and fell with a heavy splash
among fountains of spray, while a white ridge swept furiously toward the
sloop. It broke before it reached her, but she flung her bows high as
she plunged over the troubled swell, and the yacht rolled heavily with a
yeasty wash along her side.
Jimmy ran forward with a sense of keen satisfaction to break out the
anchor. The powerful charge had done its work; the wreck had gone.
While the _Cetacea_ drifted slowly with the stream the yacht's windlass
began to clank, and a few minutes later she steamed toward the smaller
craft. Her gig brought off a hawser, and a message inviting Jimmy to
come on board. As soon as he reached her deck the gig was run up to the
davits and the throb of engines quickened. The sloop, swinging into line
astern, followed along the screw-cut wake, and in half an hour the
fog-bank about the island faded out of sight.
Jimmy felt more cheerful when he dined with Aynsley in the saloon. The
depression that had rested on them all seemed to have been lifted with
the disappearance of the wreck. Even Clay appeared to be brighter. He
sent a request for Jimmy to come to him as soon as he finished dinner.
When Jimmy entered the cabin, Clay lay in his berth, comfortably raised
on pillows. He gave Jimmy a friendly nod.
"She's gone? You made a good job?"
"Yes," Jimmy answered cheerfully. "We didn't spare the dynamite."
Clay beckoned him forward, and, reaching out awkwardly to a small table
by his berth, took up a glass of champagne. Another stood near it, ready
filled.
"I make a bad host and soon get tired, but Aynsley will do his best for
you," he said cordially. He smiled and raised his glass. "Good luck to
you; you're a white man!"
Jimmy drained his glass, and took Clay's from his shaking hand. When the
elder man thanked him with a gesture, Jimmy saw that he was too ill to
talk, and he went out quietly and joined Aynsley on deck.
He spent three days on board the yacht, which steamed steadily south,
but late on the fourth night a steward awakened him.
"It's blowing fresh, sir," he said. "The captain thought you'd like to
know your boat's towing very wild and he can't hold on to her long."
Jimmy had been prepared for such an emergency, and he was on deck in
five minutes, fully dressed with his sea-boots and slickers on; and
Aynsley joined him in the lee of the deckhouse with a pilot coat over
his pajamas. The engines were turning slowly, and the rolling of the
yacht and the showers of spray showed that the sea was getting up.
"They're launching the gig," Aynsley said. "I wish we could keep you,
but I suppose your friends need you?"
"Thanks! They couldn't navigate her home."
Jimmy ran toward the bulwarks and shouted to a group of seamen:
"Don't bother with that ladder, boys!"
Somebody lighted a blue flare on the deckhouse top, and the strong light
showed the gig lurching on the broken heave on the yacht's lee side.
Near by, the _Cetacea_ lay plunging with her staysail up, while a dark
figure on her deck flashed a lantern. Jimmy shook hands with Aynsley and
sprang up on the rail; then, leaning out, seized a davit-fall and slid
swiftly down. A man released the tackle-hook and pushed off the gig; the
oars splashed and a sea swept her away from the yacht. In a few minutes
Jimmy jumped on board the sloop and helped Moran to cast off the hawser
while the gig struggled back. Another flare was burning, and he saw the
boat hoisted in. Then the blaze sank down and, with a farewell blast of
her whistle, the steamer vanished into the dark.
Spray leaped about the rolling sloop, her low deck was swept by the
hurling sea, and a tangle of hard, wet ropes swung about the mast.
"We've double-reefed the mainsail and bent on the storm-jib," Moran
said, above the noise of the sea. "She'll carry that lot with the wind
on her quarter."
"She ought to," replied Jimmy. "Up with the throat!"
Fumbling in the dark, they hoisted the thrashing sail, and when the
_Cetacea_ listed down until her rail was in the foam Jimmy went aft to
relieve Bethune at the helm.
"She'll make a short passage if this breeze holds," he said cheerfully.
"As I've had three nights' good sleep, I'll take the first watch."
While the sloop was driving wildly south before the following seas, or
beating slowly in long tacks when the breeze fell light and drew ahead,
the yacht skimmed over the water at her best speed; and one gray morning
she steamed up Puget Sound, and a low blast of her whistle rang
dolefully as she passed Osborne's house. Clay had made his last voyage;
she brought his lifeless body home.