by Roy Rockwood
CHAPTER II
FOUL PLAY
Captain Paul Broadbeam came up on deck, his face red as a peony, hisbrow dark as a thundercloud.
He was manifestly irritated. In his great foghorn bass voice he gaveout a dozen quick orders. His evident intention was to break up thelittle groups discussing the happening of the hour.
"Avast there!" he roared to a special set of four seamen they had takenon at Mercury Island a week previous. "No mutinous confabs allowedhere. If you expected something never promised, that's your lookout.Those that can't be satisfied with plain square wages can take theirkits ashore."
Amos Fearless had followed the captain from the cabin. The veteranocean diver looked greatly disappointed and distressed. He made out Daveand went over to where he sat.
"Well, my son," he said, disturbing Dave's deep reverie by placing atrembling hand on his shoulder, "this is a bad piece of news."
"Yes, father," replied Dave gravely.
"We've been big fools," continued Amos Fearless, with a sigh and adejected shake of his head. "Might better have kept to our sure payback at Quanatack. We are only humble folk, Dave, and should have beensatisfied with our lot. Might have known million-dollar fortunes don'tcome falling on such as we, except in story-books."
"Wrong, father!" said Dave sharply. "I don't look at it that way atall. We are the legal Washington heirs, and had a right to expect whatwas our due. It was a clear-cut, honest piece of business."
"Well, it's turned out worse than nothing for us."
"I don't see that, either," observed Dave. "We went at the matter right.We located the sunken treasure. Someone has stolen it. Surely, father,you don't mean to tell me that you will fold your hands meekly and makeno effort to recover the fortune we have worked so hard for? Why,father," declared Dave, with spirit, "all we may have to go throughcan't begin to be as difficult and dangerous as what we have alreadyaccomplished. It looks simple and plain to me--our duty."
"Does it now?" murmured the old diver in a thoughtful way.
"Yes. Someone stole that treasure, and of course it was the Hankers andCaptain Nesik and that crew of rascals. Well, father, they can't spendit on a desert island in mid-ocean, can they?"
"Why, I suppose not," said the diver.
"Certainly not. They will try to get back to civilization. Now I havebeen thinking out the whole matter. Mr. Drake, our boatswain, saw theHankers make a great show of putting the gold into the four woodenboxes. Now we find out that this was just a pretense to deceive thecrew of the _Raven_. Later, of course, they secretly removed it. Towhere, father? To the _Raven_? If so, they ran into a bad predicament.From what the Island Windjammers told Pat Stoodles the last they saw ofthe _Raven_ she was scudding along in the cyclone, completely disabled.If she stranded, of course they hurried out the treasure before shesank. Then it is hidden somewhere among those islands where we had ourhard fight for existence. The survivors are either waiting there hopingsome ship will stray their way, or they fixed up the _Raven_ and aremaking for the South American coast."
"That's a pretty long talk, but a sensible one, Dave," said the olddiver, brightening up a good deal. "Go ahead, my son--supposing allthis?"
"Yes, father," said Dave, "supposing all this."
"Well, what then?"
"Why, the next thing is to prove I am right or partly right. We must goback to the Windjammers' Island and hunt for a trace of the _Raven_.Stoodles can make his old subjects, the natives, tell what they know.If we find that the _Raven_ was not wrecked and has made for the SouthAmerican coast, then we must put right after them."
"Dave, you give me a good deal of courage," said Amos Fearless--"youmake me ashamed of my despair. I'm old, though, you see, and this is abig disappointment."
"Don't you fret, father. I feel certain that prompt work will soon putus on the track of the treasure."
"I'll speak to Captain Broadbeam right away," said the old diver, andDave was pleased to see how nimbly his father started off, encouragedand hopeful from the little talk he had given him.
Bob Vilett had been watching Dave all this time. The young diver didnot sit meditating any longer. He had thought out what had to be done.Now he must decide how to do it. He paced up and down with smart steps.Bob started to rejoin him. There was an interruption.
A man half-dressed, one boot on and carrying the other in his hand, camebanging up the cabin steps.
"Bad cess to it! Begorra! Who tuk it--who tuk it?" he shouted.
This was Pat Stoodles. He seemed to have just awakened and to havelearned of the astounding discovery of the hour. Making out Dave, whowas a great favorite with him, Stoodles sprinted with his long limbsacross the deck.
"Wirra, now, me broth of a boy, tell me it's false!" implored Pat.
"If you mean that we've got four boxes of junk aboard instead of gold,"said Dave, "unfortunately it's true."
"Acushla! luk at that now," groaned Stoodles, throwing up his hands insheer dismay. "And I was to have had a thousand dollars."
"More than that, Mr. Stoodles," answered Dave. "You have been one ofour good loyal friends, and my father has often planned starting you ina nice paying business, had we reached San Francisco with the treasure."
"Hear that, now!" cried Stoodles. "Didn't I write that same thing to mybrother in New York? Didn't I tell him I'd be home, loaded down withgold? I sent the letter from Mercury Island. And now I must write himagain, telling him it was all a poor foolish old fellow's dream. AllI've got is my losht dignity as king of the Windjammers."
Poor Stoodles tore his sparse hair and looked the picture of gloom anddiscontent.
"I'll write to my brother at once," he resumed. "Have you a postagestamp to spare, Dave?"
"They use the Chilian stamps here, I believe," replied Dave. "You willhave to go to the town to get one, Mr. Stoodles."
"I can accommodate you," spoke a brisk, pleasant voice promptly.
All hands turned sharply to view the speaker. Dave, in some surprise,saw a bronzed bright-faced young man coming up a rope ladder swung overthe side of the _Swallow_.
Dave had never seen him before. The newcomer had rowed up the creek ina skiff. Looking down into this, Dave saw an artist's sketching outfit,also a camera.
"Excuse me," said this newcomer, "if I am intruding here. I am atraveling artist out for health and views. Thought I'd take a pictureof your ship, if you don't object."
"Not in the least," answered Dave courteously, although the request cameat a time when his thoughts were absorbed with more important matters.
"And again," said the young fellow, "I wanted to see some home faces andhear home voices. My name is Adair. I live in Vermont. By the way,though," he continued to Stoodles, taking out a wallet, "you asked for apostage stamp, I believe?"
The speaker ran over the compartments in the wallet. A stray gust ofwind caught a little paper fragment it held, blew it up into the air,and Stoodles caught it just as it was being carried over the rail intothe water.
"Good," said Adair gratefully. "I wouldn't like to lose that, I cantell you."
"A postage stamp, too, isn't it?" asked Stoodles, looking at it.
"Yes," nodded Adair, "and a pretty valuable one. You see it is canceledand ragged. That don't matter. For all that, the little scrap of paperis worth over two hundred dollars."
"You don't tell me!" gasped Stoodles, staring at the stamp vaguely.
"That's right," insisted Adair. "Here's an island stamp," he added,extending one to Pat. "No, don't bother making change for that trifle.Want to see it?" continued the young man, extending the canceled stampto Dave.
"I used to have quite a collection myself at home," explained Dave,glancing with interest at the canceled stamp. "Morania? I never heardof that."
"No, a short and solemn history, that of Morania," said Adair. "It wasone of the South Sea islands with a population of about one thousandnat
ives. Some shrewd Yankee got their king to establish a post office,so he could sell the government a stamp-printing outfit. There wasn'tmuch business, but one day Morania without any warning was swept todestruction by a tidal wave. Very few letters had ever been sent out.Of course the few stamps to be had became immensely valuable. I havemanaged to pick up four of them in my travels. I value them at onethousand dollars."
"Why----" said Dave, with a sudden start, and glanced at Stoodlesqueerly. Whatever the artist's story had suggested, however, Dave didnot have time to explain. Captain Broadbeam came storming by like a madlion.
"There's foul work here," he roared--"foul work all around. First thatstupid, drunken pilot runs us afoul of a snag and stove a hole in ourbottom. Now that rascally governor sends word asking a small fortunefor the timber and truck and men to mend up the _Swallow_. All right.Pipe the crew, bosun. We'll have to overhaul the keel ourselves and dothe best mending we can. Then I'm out of these latitudes mighty quick,I can tell you!"
"Don't he know?" inquired Adair, stepping closer to Dave's side andspeaking confidentially.
"Know what?" inquired Dave, in some surprise.
"Why, that the snag he ran into, or rather the snag the pilot ran himinto, was a sunken brig that everybody on the island has known for yearsblocked the creek bottom."
"Is that so?" said Dave.
"As I get it from the talk of the natives here, yes," said Adair.
"Did the pilot know it was there?" asked Dave.
"Could he miss knowing it?" demanded Adair. "Truth is, I came down herewith a sort of fellow-feeling in my mind for you people. The governorhere and his friends bleed every American they get hold of. They are aprecious set of thieves, and when I heard of your predicament I wonderedwhat new mischief they were up to."
"Then," said Dave, in a startled way, "you mean to insinuate that thepilot ran the _Swallow_ into her present fix purposely?"
"I do," nodded Adair.
"Why?" demanded Dave, with a quick catch of excitement in hisvoice--"why did he do it?"
