A PAIR OF SCHEMERS
"The treasure is on the Windjammers' Island!" exclaimed Bob Vilett.
"Yes," nodded Dave confidently, "I have every reason to think so."
"Begorra!" cried the Irishman excitedly. "On my paternal dominions? On
the principalities of King Patrick Stoodles? A horse, my kingdom for
a--no, I mane a ship. Lad, if the goold those Hankers stole is anywhere
among my subjects, we'll have it back, mind me!"
"Well, let me explain," said Dave, "and then hear what you have to say.
We three have shared too many perils and secrets together, to need to be
told that all I tell now is in strict confidence until we get ready to
act."
"Spoke like a lawyer," commented Stoodles.
"Like a friend, you mean," corrected Bob. "Leave it to smart Dave to
work a way out of a dilemma. I'm interested and excited, Dave."
"Well, first and foremost," continued Dave, "do you recognize that
picture, Bob?"
Dave handed out the photograph that Adair had given him on the
_Swallow_.
"Why, sure," answered Bob promptly. "It's a picture of that rascally
pilot."
"No, no---I mean the other figure in the photograph."
"Oh--oh!" said Bob slowly, studying it. "N-no," he continued, quite as
slowly. "Yes--no. H'm! One minute the face looks familiar, the next it
looks strange. I can't fix it, although it seems as if I've seen that
man before."
"You have," declared Dave. "Here, Mr. Stoodles, you take a try."
"Yes, there's the pilot," announced Stoodles. "The other is the ould
pawnbroker that was on the _Raven_."
Dave's face grew eager and bright with satisfaction.
"Good for you," he said. "I knew I was right. Yes, that is the man the
Hankers picked up at San Francisco--a pawnbroker named Gerstein. He
furnished some of the money to fit out their ship for the expedition.
Well, my friends, Gerstein, under the false name of Schmitt-Schmitt, is
now on this island."
"Then the _Raven_ crowd escaped!" exclaimed Bob.
"I don't know that," answered Dave. "I do know that Schmitt-Schmitt
appeared here a few days ago. He has been trying to engage a ship to go
after a fortune he says he can find. Of course it's our treasure."
"The spalpane! Of coorse it is!" cried Stoodles excitedly.
"My theory," went on Dave, "is that the _Raven_ was terribly disabled or
lost in the cyclone. I am also pretty sure that the treasure was saved.
Perhaps it was already hidden somewhere on land. At all events,
Schmitt-Schmitt was in the secret, either as the partner and emissary of
others of the _Raven_ crowd or on his own account. He managed to get a
small boat afloat, was taken up by a liner, and landed here. Now his
whole time is given, as I said, to finding a ship that will go after a
fortune, as he terms it, on shares."
"Your theory is raisonable, your theory is right," insisted Stoodles.
"Schmitt-Schmitt," proceeded Dave, "made friends with the governor here.
He seems to be staying at the pilot's house. When the _Swallow_ was
sighted he at once reasoned it out that we had discovered the real
contents of those four boxes, that we might be bound straight back for
the Windjammers' Island. He induced the pilot to run us onto the sunken
brig in the creek."
"Dave, I believe you've got this matter just right," said Bob
thoughtfully.
"If that is true," continued Dave, "they will do all they can to delay
us. Who knows but what this rascally governor and his crew may intend
to take the _Swallow_ away from us and furnish Schmitt-Schmitt with the
very means he wants to go after the treasure, with no chance of being
followed?"
"Dave, have you told Captain Broadbeam about all this?" inquired Bob
anxiously.
"I haven't had the chance. I learned what I have told you only in the
past hour," responded Dave. "As soon as we return to the _Swallow_,
though, I shall warn him. I had a purpose in coming ashore."
"Are we to help you, Dave?" asked Bob.
"All hands must help. I want to locate the pilot's house, I want to be
sure that this Schmitt-Schmitt is really there and that he is the same
fellow we knew as Gerstein on the _Raven_."
"That's easy," declared Stoodles. "The picture gives us a hint as to
the house."
"We will separate so as to excite no notice or suspicions," directed
Dave. "Let each one of us find out all he can, and report at this spot
in three hours."
"In three hours be it," nodded Stoodles, looking very businesslike.
"All right," assented Bob, taking another good look at the picture of
the pilot's house.
Dave allowed his two friends to select their own course. Then, when
they were out of sight, he took an independent route.
He surmised that the pilot would probably live near the water's edge.
In this he found his calculations correct, and an hour's search brought
some results.
"That is the house," spoke Dave finally, peering from a clump of thick
high bushes. "Yes, there is the very bench the pilot and Schmitt-Schmitt
sat on when Mr. Adair took their picture."
Before Dave lay a ground plot of considerable extent and fairly
smothered in luxurious vegetation, sloping down to the beach. In its
center was a lone hut, open and rambling, and having a broad porch that
ran clear around it.
It was a typical tropical habitation of the poorer class. No one seemed
stirring about the place except far back in the rear. Here there was a
thick plantation of high resinous bushes. One man was feeding these
into a rude grinding mill operated by a big lazy mule treading in a
circle.
Dave stood quietly in his place of concealment for fully half an hour.
The man drove his mule away. The place seemed now entirely deserted.
However, just as Dave was about to leave the spot someone came out on
the front porch.
"It's the man. Yes, sure, it is Gerstein--Schmitt-Schmitt!" said Dave.
Schmitt-Schmitt was dressed in a thin linen suit. He carried a large
but light wicker valise. This he set down beside a bench, looked at his
watch, then in the direction of the town, and stretched himself out
lazily in a hammock.
"Looks as if he was going away," mused Dave, critically analyzing all
the movements of the person he was spying on. "Looks too as if he was
expecting and waiting for somebody--probably the pilot."
Dave thought out the situation and its possibilities for about five
minutes. He decided to go back to the yawl. Then he realized that he
would be considerably interested in hearing what the pilot and his guest
might say when they met.
Schmitt-Schmitt lay with his back to Dave. On this account, and because
of the shelter of many shrubs and bushes, Dave found it no task at all
to cover the space unnoticed between his present hiding-place and the
porch.
Its floor was nearly two feet from the ground. Dave crawled way back
under this open space, got pretty nearly under the hammock, and lay on
his back. The porch boards were badly warped and splintered, and he
could look right up at the hammock and its occupant.
At the end of about ten minutes Dave heard footsteps coming up the
graveled walk. He turned his eyes sideways and was gratified to
recognize the pilot.
"Whew, this is hot!" ejaculated the owner of the place, stamping heavily
across the porch and throwing himself into a chair near the hammock, in
which Schmitt-Schmitt now arose to a sitting posture. Then the speaker
glanced in the direction of the plantation where Dave had noticed the
treadmill.
"Ah," continued the pilot, with an angry scowl. "That lazy rascal has
ceased making the frew-frew? I will cut him half a day's pay."
"Yes, it is hot," answered his guest. Each of the precious twain had a
language of his own, so they compromised on very broken English.
"What you done?" asked Schmitt-Schmitt. The pilot chuckled and grinned
from ear to ear.
"I have undone," he said gleefully. "Have I not? But the governor went
too far. He charged them prices for repairing the _Swallow_ the captain
wouldn't stand, and he is doing his own repairing."
"He is?" cried Schmitt-Schmitt, in a tone of alarm. "He is quick,
smart. He will be off in twenty-four hours."
"Not at all," declared the pilot calmly. "You wish him delayed? Delay
it shall be, a long delay. Delay after delay. Only--my pay must come.
The governor's too. We are exceeding the law for you."
"Both of you shall be rich--rich! As soon as I get my fortune,"
promised Schmitt-Schmitt recklessly. "Have you found out for me yet--do
they think they have the treasure aboard the _Swallow_?"
"They have just found out differently, my spies tell me," said the
pilot.
"Then they will go right back to search for it," declared
Schmitt-Schmitt. "I know them--plucky fellows, all. They must be
stopped."
"Fear not. As I told you," interrupted the pilot calmly, "that end of
it is easy. I hope your getting the treasure is as simple."
"Get these fellows out of the way, get me a ship, and I will show you,"
said Schmitt-Schmitt eagerly.
"One thing at a time, then," Dave heard the pilot say next in order.
"See, my friend."
"A brush, a little bottle of paint?" inquired Schmitt-Schmitt.
Dave wriggled and twisted his neck to get a focus on these two articles,
which the pilot held up. Then the pilot leaned over and said something
to his companion in so low a tone that Dave could not catch its import.
"Capital, capital, oh, that is just famous!" gloated Schmitt-Schmitt.
"You have found the man to experiment on?"
"He will be here to-night."
"And after the stuff is on?"
"Bah--a sponge and some turpentine, and the patient recovers."
"Good, good!" said Schmitt-Schmitt. "Yes, that will indeed delay the
_Swallow_. Now, listen, my friend: I must not run the risk of being
seen by any of the _Swallow_ people."
"No, indeed."
"It would at once give them their cue--my escape from the Windjammers'
Island. I have packed my valise, I will disappear for a few days."
"Excellent. You will go at once?"
"I think so. You will remember! A blue light, I am sick or in danger.
A red light, I need provisions."
"Signal any time from ten to twelve. I will be on the watch. If you
say so I will start up the launch at once and take you to your
destination."
"H'm," mused Dave, as double footsteps sounded the length of the porch.
"Some new mysterious trick to delay the _Swallow_? Schmitt-Schmitt going
away somewhere? This is too interesting to miss."
Dave crept out from under the porch. He dodged in among some bushes.
Peering thence he saw Schmitt-Schmitt leading the way towards the beach,
the pilot carrying his wicker satchel.
Dave did not venture to follow them direct. He lined the "frew-frew"
plantation, and at a clearing in it near the treadmill cut across it.
From the grinding-mill a rude wooden trough extended. This was full of
a sticky resinous mass, and the ground all round was spattered with the
glutinous substance.
"Frew-frew must be a sort of gum or oil they make from those stalks
yonder," decided Dave. "The mischief! it's worse than fly paper."
Dave's shoes stuck to broad leaves and lifted them bodily as he walked;
they became tangled in vines which raised about him like ropes. He made
an effort to get out of the direct zone of stickiness.
Dave leaped over the edge of a board where the wooden trough ran in
among tangled vines and plants.
"Oh, yes!" he gasped. In an instant, as his feet struck a soft, giving
mass, Dave knew he was in danger. Unconsciously he had landed in the
center of an immense cistern--the storage receptacle for the frew-frew
product.
He tried to reach its edge but was held fast. He struggled to release
his limbs but was pulled back and dragged down.
Dave sank in five seconds to the neck. His chin went under. As he
started to yell his mouth was submerged. With a last dip eyesight was
shut out and Dave sank under the sticky mass entirely submerged.