The Case and the Girl

by Randall Parrish

  CHAPTER XXIV

  THE SINKING YACHT

  Lying there motionless, yet wide awake, his senses alert, every slightestsound and movement made clearer the situation. He could feel the labouredefforts of the vessel, the slap of waves against the side, the rush ofwater astern. Occasionally the echo of a voice reached him from the deckabove, and once footsteps were audible almost over his head. The enginestrokes were regular, but slow, the vibrations shaking the boat in itssturdy battling against the forces of the sea. The _Seminole_ rolledheavily, yet there was nothing at all alarming in her actions, and Westfelt no premonition of illness, or fear as to the sea-worthiness of thelittle craft. Whoever was handling her was evidently a seaman, quitecapable of conquering a storm of this magnitude. No noise came to himfrom the cabin, yet he had no thought it could be deserted. Hogan wouldcertainly retain a guard there, and probably others--with no duties ofseamanship weighing on them--would seek refuge there from the wind-sweptdeck above. No doubt the fellows had a skipper, as neither Hogan, nor theman Mark, bore any resemblance to a lake sailor. Quite possibly theentire crew were innocent of what was actually transpiring aboard, andequally indifferent, so long as their wages were satisfactory. Yet it waseven more probable that they had been selected for this special servicebecause of lack of ordinary scruples; men who would never question solong as the pay was adequate for the danger involved. It seemed to Westthe wind and sea were slowly decreasing in violence; there was less noiseand turmoil. The movement of the vessel began to lull him intoforgetfulness, his vigilance relapsed, his mind drifting in thought. Heendeavoured to arouse himself, to keep awake, but finally fatigueconquered, and he sank into a deep sleep. He had no knowledge of how longthis slumber lasted, or what suddenly awakened him, so startled at themoment that he sat up in the berth, staring into the blackness. Was it adream, or a reality? Had some one spoken? He could neither see nor hearanything; the boat seemed to be motionless, not even throbbing now to thebeat of the engine--the silence was uncanny. It seemed to him his ownheart had stopped, so still it was, and he felt a cold perspirationbreak out on his flesh. Something was wrong, must be wrong. Where werethey--at anchor in some harbour? or helplessly adrift on the lake? Thesea must have gone down; waves no longer dashed against the side, andthere was no shriek of wind overhead; the yacht rocked gently, as thoughthe swell of the sea no longer buffeted her; there was no sound of actionon the deck above. Then he heard a voice again, outside, reaching himthis time plainly through the open port.

  "All set, Mapes," it said sharply. "Come on down. You finished the job?"

  "Ay, ay, sir," the answer gruff, but with a tinge of excitement in thetone. "She's fixed all right. Hold hard, now, mate."

  West, thoroughly aroused, realizing instantly the importance of thisnew move, and as quickly suspecting its purpose, leaped to theport-hole, and, endeavoured to gain a glimpse without. The night wasstill intensely black, the sky overcast and starless, the only glimmerof light the reflecting of foam tipped surges. If land was near itremained invisible, nor could he even be sure of the close proximity ofa boat. There seemed to be a smudge there at the left, a black, lumpingshadow, shapeless against the background of sea; yet he could not besure. Even as he gazed at it doubtfully, the dim object disappeared,fading away like a mirage. No sound reached him to cause the vision toseem real--no voice, no creak of oars, no flap of a sail; yet somethingtold him that mysterious shadow was a boat, a boat filled with men,creeping away silently into the night, fleeing from the yacht, andvanishing into the darkness.

  My God, what could such action mean? Why were these fellows deserting the_Seminole_, leaving him helpless aboard, locked into that stateroom? Wasthe yacht disabled? sinking? and had they merely forgotten him in theirown eagerness to escape? Were they in mid-lake? or close to some point ofland? Had every one gone, leaving the vessel totally abandoned, a wreckbuffeted by the surges, doomed to go down, unseen, its final fateunknown? Unknown! The word rising to his brain was the answer. There wasthe crest of the plot. What could be easier, or safer, than this ending?Who would ever know the truth? Who could ever prove anything, even ifthey suspected? And who was there to suspect?

  No one had reason to believe he was aboard the _Seminole_; not evenMcAdams. If it was to their interest to get him permanently out of theway--if Hobart had so decided--what simpler method could be found thanthe sinking of the yacht? The very crew might be innocent of thepurpose, dupes of the conspiracy; they might even be unaware of hispresence aboard, and deceived by Hogan into the belief that the vesselhad opened a seam, and must sink shortly, would take to the boat withoutsuspecting any one was left behind. They could so testify in all honestyif any question ever arose. The very simplicity of the scheme meantsafety; yet the possibility of such cold blooded murder had never beforeoccurred to him. Unknown! without a trace left; only a boat crew landingsomewhere on the coast at dawn, and scattering to the four winds. It wasa plot infernal.

  West stopped, his hands clinched, his heart seeming to stop its pulsing.But if Natalie Coolidge was also prisoner on board, what of her? Wasn'tthat the very thing most probable? Of course it was; how foolish he hadbeen. These men, recklessly criminal, as they were, would never sacrificethe yacht, and risk their own lives, merely to put him out of the way. Hewas not important enough for that; he was but an incident. It was anaccident which had made him a prisoner. While this was--must be--acarefully arranged plan. The girl then must be the real victim; his ownplight arose merely because he chanced to be there, and the villains darenot leave him alive to tell the story.

  The certainty of this acted like an electric shock. He had not feltseriously alarmed before as to his own fate. He had only been consciousof a deep anger, a mad determination to make Hogan pay. If the _Seminole_was sinking, and beyond doubt this was the intention of those deserters,it was going down slowly, so slowly there would be ample time for escape.He was not asleep, but wide awake, and far from paralyzed by the danger.He was not the sort to give up while there was any hope left. Surely theguard in the cabin would have departed with the others, leaving him freeto act. He could smash his way out through that door, and find somethingon deck to construct a raft from. This was Lake Michigan, not the ocean,and not many hours would pass before he was picked up. Vessels wereconstantly passing, and daylight would bring rescue.

  But now the task became difficult. He must find the girl, and serve her.To his surprise, his heart beat rapidly in contemplation of the task.Surely she must welcome his coming to her assistance now. She would bealone, free to reveal the truth of all this strange mix-up of affairs;perhaps the old trust, the old confidence between them would be renewed.At least in the midst of such peril, alone on the sinking yacht, facingpossible death together, he would again discover the real NatalieCoolidge. The hope instantly inspired action. Every minute might meanlife or death; the work must be accomplished now, if ever. The _Seminole_was evidently deserted, the boat containing the fleeing crew already farenough away to be beyond sound of any noise he might make. He alreadyfelt the wallowing of the deck beneath his feet, a dead, dull feeling,evidence enough that the deserted vessel was slowly, but surely goingdown. The condition could not last long; faster and faster the waterwould seep into her hold, until suddenly, without warning, perhaps, shemust go down like a stone.

  All these thoughts flashed across his mind almost in an instant; therewas no hesitancy, no waste of time. His eager eyes searched the narrowconfines of the stateroom for some possible weapon with which to assailthe door. The stout stool alone seemed available. Swinging this over hisshoulder, hampered by the narrowness of space, he struck again and again,with all his strength, the upper panel splintering beneath the thirdcrashing blow. He could see nothing, but felt with his fingers along thejagged ends of the shattered wood, and redoubled his efforts, strikingwildly, but with effect, until suddenly the lock gave, and the door burstopen. He was in the main cabin, which was unlit and deserted. Standingthere confused in the grim silence, unable for the instant to determinehow to adv
ance in the dark, he could hear the rapid beating of his ownheart, and the continuous lap of waves outside. God! how sodden the deckfelt under foot; what a sickening swell hurled the craft, and suchstillness! If the girl was aboard why did she not cry out? Surely shemust have heard that noise, the rain of blows, the crunch of wood.

  He stood, crouched, listening intently for something to guide him in theright direction. And yet, even if Natalie had heard, what reason wouldthe girl have to suspect the truth? Likely enough she was sound asleep,completely worn out, and with no knowledge of what had occurred on board.It was only the sound of that voice speaking loudly in the boat alongsidewhich had aroused him. She had no reason to suspect desertion, nooccasion to believe any other prisoner than herself was aboard. The noiseof crashing wood, even if it awoke her, would have no special meaning toher mind, only perhaps to add to her terror. He must act alone; there wasno other way. If he could only have a light of some kind, and not becompelled to grope blindly about in that intense darkness.

  He stepped cautiously forward, with hands outstretched, swaying to thesudden roll of the sinking hulk underneath his feet. He struck a piece offurniture, a bench bolted to the deck, and then his groping fingers camein sudden contact with the cabin wall, which he followed, circling to theleft. In this manner he succeeded in finally locating the door openingout on to the deck, and had grasped the knob, when a deep moan from theblack void behind caused him to become suddenly erect, his heart beatinglike a trip-hammer. No other sound followed, no repetition, and yet therecould be no mistaking what he had heard. It was a groan, a human groan,emanating from a spot but a few feet away. He took a single step in thatdirection; then hesitated, fearful of some trap; in the silence as hestood there poised, he could faintly distinguish the sound of some onebreathing unnaturally.

  "Who is there? Who moaned just now?" he asked, struggling to controlhis voice.

  "I did," the answer was a mere husky whisper out of the darkness."Masters, the watchman; but who are you? I don't know your voice."

  "It makes no difference; are you hurt? Where are you? How can Iget a light?"

  "Yes, sir; I'm about done for I guess; you're over by the door, ain'tyou? There's a hangin' lantern just up above, if you've got a match withyou. Say, that looks good; I didn't hardly know but I was dead, it was soblack. But I never saw you before; how did you get aboard here?"

  The flame of the match caught the wick, and flared up, throwing a dimillumination over the cabin interior. West drew down the glass, before heventured to glance in the direction of the voice. A man lay facing him,curled up on the deck, his hair, matted with blood, hanging over eyesthat were burning with fever. He made no attempt to rise, apparently wasunable to move, and a dark, bloody stain covered the deck. West sprangforward, and lifted the head on his arm.

  "You are hurt--badly?" he exclaimed. "What can I do for you?"

  "Nuthin', I reckon," still in that same strained whisper. "I'm donefor; no doubt of it. That guy got me. You ain't one o' that murderin'gang, are you?"

  "No; I was a prisoner on board; I came here to help a girl."

  "A girl! Miss Coolidge you mean, sir?"

  "Yes, Natalie Coolidge; do you know anything about her? Where she is?"

  "Sure, I know; the damn whelps left her here; that was their dirty game,sir. 'Twas because I tried to unlock her door that Hogan slugged me. Theboat's goin' down, ain't it? I know'd it was; I heard the skunks talkabout what they was goin' to do, an' then I tried to get her out, sir."

  "You were the watchman?"

  "Yes, sir; down in the lagoon at Jackson Park. These fellows come off tothe yacht about midnight, an' they had Miss Coolidge with 'em. That'swhat fooled me, sir, an' I let 'em get aboard, thinkin' it must be allright. After that I couldn't do nuthin'--there was six to one, an' that'Red' Hogan had a gun in his mitt. They hustled me down into the cabin. Ididn't even know she was a prisoner until they locked her into astateroom; then I got wise, but it was too late."

  "And she is there yet, Masters? What room is it?"

  "The last one to the right, sir. Don't you mind about me; I'm done for,but maybe there's a chance for you two."