PLYMOUTH--DERELICT
“The Great Film!” Somehow those words impressed Pep deeply. He stood
still, staring at Professor Barrington. Randy moved a step nearer to
him. Vic had been forgotten.
“Bless me!” murmured Mr. Strapp. “Something new and lively in the
movies line all the time, it appears to me.”
From the first the professor had outlined his films in a way that led
his business friends to expect great things of the future. More than
once, too, he had given an exciting hint as to some novel and original
themes that were being worked out by his foreign assistants. They
would startle the movies world, he had declared. Thinking of that, Pep
instantly decided that his present emotion was caused by some slip in
his plans.
“You have received bad news, Professor Barrington?” inquired Frank, and
the elderly man roused sufficiently to select one of the telegrams he
had just opened.
“Read,” he said. “You know how I wired to all northern points from New
York City, directing the replies to come here. The Plymouth has not
been seen at a single point until this message from Trinity. Read,” and
the speaker, overcome, could say no more.
They were a family, in a sense, those in the room. Frank read the
dispatch which had so affected his old friend. It ran:
“Plymouth sighted in a great sleet storm off Despair Bay two nights
since. Dismasted, no one seen on board, and a drifting wreck.”
“And Randall was aboard of the Plymouth,” quavered Professor
Barrington, “and the film--the great film!”
“Don’t take it so hard, Professor,” said Frank in a soothing tone,
placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Your friend may have escaped.”
“No, no, Durham,” groaned the professor. “It would not be the way of
Randall to neglect advising me by the first wire if he had met with a
disaster and had escaped.”
“And as to the great film--is it really that, now?” went on Frank.
“Can you ask that, after knowing that half I had in the world was
staked on the securing of motorphoto pictures on a subject never
yet covered by the film maker? Think of it! That unique variety of
subjects, showing the crowning glories of the universe. Ah, it is a
cruel blow!”
“Frank, is it something serious?” whispered Pep, stepping to the
side of his chum. Frank did not reply. He stood for a moment lost in
thought, his eyes fixed on Professor Barrington. He appeared to be
groping mentally to find some means of relieving the distress of his
friend.
Suddenly Frank’s face lit up as if he had solved a problem. His hand
went to an inside pocket and he drew out a wallet well filled with bank
notes. He ran them over, estimating what sum they represented, rather
than actually counting them. The inspection seemed satisfactory and
Frank replaced the money in his pocket. Then Pep, who had watched every
shadow that crossed his face, saw the impression there that always told
that his clever chum had made up his mind to something.
Professor Barrington crouched in his chair as if all his hopes had been
crushed. He had sunk into a kind of lethargy of despair. Frank roused
him with the words:
“I am going to find out.”
“You are going to find out what, Durham?” questioned the professor in a
hollow tone.
“The best--the worst--whatever it is. Don’t give up hope. We will know
a good deal more when I return than we do now. That, at least, is sure.”
There came a dash of rain against the window. Frank glanced out at
the wind-swept street. Then he went to a wardrobe, and donned a heavy
raincoat.
“Hold on, Durham,” spoke Mr. Strapp, worked up to a high pitch of
excitement. “Isn’t there something to say before you go away?”
“Just step into the hall for a minute, Mr. Strapp,” asked Frank. Pep,
with ears wide open, tried to catch some inkling of what was going on,
but Frank had closed the door after himself and the Westerner. Then in
about half a minute the ex-ranchman returned to the room alone. He sank
into a chair with a grave face, speaking the words half aloud:
“If anybody can do it, Durham can.”
A gloom had spread over the apartment so recently filled with
cheeriness. Professor Barrington sat with his face buried in one
hand. Mr. Strapp got up and moved about in a fidgety way. Vic, half
understanding that something of serious importance had interrupted his
interview with the young leader of the motion picture chums, retired
to a corner of the room, feeling uneasy and out of place. Pep came up
to him.
“I say, Vic,” he observed, “I wish you’d put off this tour of the
movies for to-night.”
“Why, certainly,” responded Vic. “Say, what’s the matter--some trip-up
in the plans of you people?”
“Yes,” returned Pep, with a disturbed face, “and it’s taken the heart
clear out of me for any junketing or fun.”
Randy had gone out into the hall. Pep soon joined him and then Vic
followed them.
“I feel as if I was in the way, somehow,” he observed.
“You needn’t,” responded Pep. “It’s a kind of a mystery to me, all
this; but you can trust Frank Durham to clear things up if it’s
possible. What do you think’s up, Randy?”
“Why it’s plain to be seen that some ship that Professor Barrington
sent out, or that was coming to him, had someone aboard with ‘the great
film,’ as they called it. The professor seems to have set great store
by it, the way he acts.”
“But if that telegram says the ship is wrecked and nobody saved, what
Frank expects to do is what is puzzling me,” observed Pep.
The trio tramped up and down the hall to pass the time. Then they went
down to the lobby of the hotel. They sat down in arm chairs and tried
to get interested in the guests about them. Pep, however, could not
keep still. He had Randy on the jump, keeping track of his movements.
Vic never spoke a word, but followed them about like a faithful dog.
Finally Pep ventured but into the street. The rain soon drove him and
his companions under shelter again, however. Then they returned to
their room. The professor still sat as they had seen him last. Mr.
Strapp still seemed worried.
“See here, boys,” he spoke after a period of silence, “you had better
get to bed. Durham may not be back for hours.”
“I sha’n’t stir a step until he comes back,” declared Pep, “I’m too
worried to sleep.”
Randy seemed of the same mind, for he sat down as if planting himself
for an all-night vigil, and Vic placidly followed his example. In about
half an hour, however, Pep, glancing toward them, saw that both were
napping.
“H’m! this is dismal enough,” he commented, stirred up by the suspense.
He must have nodded and dozed for some time, Pep realized, for he awoke
with a start as the knob of the room door clicked. Mr. Strapp was
yawning and stirring himself.
“It’s Frank!” cried the quick-eared Pep, springing to his feet, and,
half-way across the room, he faced Frank as he entered.
“Good news or bad, Durham?” asked Mr. Strapp, arising stiffly.
“The best in the world!” replied Frank promptly, his eyes snapping, his
face one smile of satisfaction.
“Why, where have you ever been?” inquired Pep in wonder, for Frank’s
coat was glistening with rain, his cap was dripping and his face
weather beaten and flushed.
“I’ve been trying to find out something,” explained Frank, “and I have.
It’s a queer adventure. There was one thing only to try in an effort to
gain news of the wrecked Plymouth, in whose safety or loss there is so
much at stake for us.”
“Frank, quick! Is she a goner? Is the great film----”
“Safe, I have every reason to believe,” replied Frank.
“Hurrah!” shouted the excited Pep, with a fervor that brought Randy out
of slumberland and to his feet.
“For fifteen minutes,” went on Frank, “under special orders from the
Government, the wireless service has been combing the North Atlantic
and the air above it with orders to every station and ship in the
service to find out what has become of the derelict, Plymouth.”
“What’s that? What’s that?” shouted Professor Barrington, scrambling to
his feet with wide eyes.
“From off the Newfoundland coast, near Trinity,” went on Frank Durham,
“one response, among over a hundred, came: ‘Steamer Montreal homeward
bound with the Plymouth in tow. All on board safe.’”
“The great film! The great film!” chattered rather than spoke the old
professor. Then he sank in a heap on the floor.