CHAPTER VI
THE SIGN OF MISCHIEF
THE next instant after that rousing hail there was a sound ofscrambling below. Halstead did not wait. Turning, he raced around theend of that pile of freight. He was in time to hear a loud splash inthe water astern of the little freight steamer, though not in time tosee who or what jumped. Then he heard Joe and Jed on the “Rocket’s”deck.
“Over here, fellows!” he called. “And come quickly!” Then as his twofriends, partly disrobed, rushed to his side, Captain Tom pointed tothe water.
“Someone threw a weight at me,” he explained. “He jumped in. Watch tosee him rise. Jed, you watch from the other side of the pier. Joe, takethe end—and hustle!”
Thus distributed, the crew of the “Rocket” watched and listened for therising of Tom Halstead’s recent assailant. Time went by, however, untilit was certain that no human being could any longer remain under water.Yet no head showed, nor was any being heard making the shore. Thenthe two other boys came back to their young leader, who was lookingextremely thoughtful.
“I wonder,” mused Tom, aloud, “whether I’ve had a good one played onme? You see that weight resting yonder on our gang-plank. That wasthrown at me from behind this pile of freight. After yelling for youfellows, I rushed over here just in time to hear a splash. And now ithas struck me that some mighty smooth chap may have pitched anotherweight into the water, then doubled around the freight and so gotashore and away.”
“That was the trick, I guess,” nodded Joe Dawson, thoughtfully. “Butwhat on earth was it all about, anyway, Tom?”
“We’ll take a look over this freight tub first, and then I’ll tellyou,” proposed Halstead, swinging himself on board the little steamer.But every door and hatchway on that craft had been made fast for thenight, and there appeared to be no one aboard. Then the young skipperled his friends back to the “Rocket.”
“Now, let’s have the yarn,” begged Jed, who, from being sleepy tenminutes before, was suddenly very much awake.
After they had seated themselves on the top of the cabin, Halstead, inlow tones, described his brief adventures of the evening.
“Whatever someone’s plan is,” he wound up, earnestly, “it seems to bea sure thing that they don’t want this boat to keep in commission. Thatweight, if I hadn’t jumped, would very likely have broken one of mylegs. So, fellows, do you believe we’ve any right to sleep all hands atthe same time, while tied to this pier?”
“Though I’m soon going to be pretty drowsy,” admitted Joe Dawson, “Ihonestly don’t believe we’ve any right to go below without a watch. I’mready to stand my share of watch.”
“Me, too,” pledged Jed, ungrammatically.
“Then we’ll divide the night, to six in the morning, into threewatches,” concluded the young motor boat skipper, looking at histimepiece. “You fellows go below as soon as you like. I’ll take thefirst third of the night.”
Joe and Jed were not long in going below, but the former was soon ondeck again.
“Here’s something from the engine room that may come in handy, in caseof need,” hinted Dawson, laying two wrenches on top of the deck-housebeside the young captain. “You can use ’em for clubs, or throw ’em, ifyou see anything more’n shadows about.”
Tom Halstead laughed, though he held the wrenches, balancing them andfiguring on what sort of missiles they would make at need.
The night grew late as Captain Tom still watched. Even the lights inthe nearby hotels began to go out. All life on the water had stoppedsome time before. Halstead had already brought the weight aboard andstowed it in the cabin below. He wanted to show it to his employer inthe morning.
Once or twice Halstead thought he heard suspicious sounds near thepier. Each time, gripping a wrench in his right hand, he went boldly toinvestigate. No real sign of a prowler, however, appeared as the timeglided by.
“It’s so quiet I could _almost_ think I had been dreaming thingsto-night,” thought Tom, musingly, as he looked out at the few lightsthat shone over the water. “We fellows will have to try to keep thisweight-throwing affair from Mr. Moddridge, or the poor fellow will haveanother heavy nervous attack. I don’t believe Mr. Delavan will tellhim, if we don’t.”
At two bells past midnight (one o’clock) the young skipper called Jedon deck, then turned in. The crew’s quarters on the “Rocket” consistedof two tiny staterooms, each containing two berths, and little else.Tom and Joe berthed together. Joe was breathing soundly, in deepestsleep, when Halstead turned in. The latter, later in the night, was sodeep in slumber that he did not know when Jed called Joe to take thelast night watch on deck.
Captain Tom, in fact, knew nothing until Joe Dawson stepped into thelittle stateroom and shook him by the shoulder.
“It’s nearly eight o’clock, old fellow,” rang Joe’s cheery voice, “andJed has nearly finished cooking the best breakfast he could find onboard. Can’t you smell it?”
“Indeed I can,” answered the young skipper, turning out hastily, andwith an almost guilty feeling over having slept so long. What if theowner should come aboard, wanting an immediate start made? Whiledressing he made a remark of that kind to Dawson, who only smiled.
“Where’s the boat that belongs at the port davits?” asked the youngskipper, as he stepped on deck and immediately noted the absence of thesmall boat.
“Oh, a fellow came along and asked if he could have the boat for alittle while,” said Joe, dryly.
“And you let him have it?”
“I figured that I had to,” laughed Joe. “The fellow was our owner.”
“Mr. Delavan? What did he want the boat for?”
“He said Mr. Moddridge was sound asleep, for a wonder, and that he hadslipped down for a little early morning exercise.”
“What time did he take the boat?” questioned Captain Tom.
“About six o’clock. He rowed out south over the bay, and I haven’t seenhim since.”
“Well, I suppose it’s the owner’s business if he wants to borrow hisown boat and go for a row on the bay,” replied Tom.
“Breakfast!” hailed Steward Jed. The chums disappeared below decksforward, and for the next half hour gave most of their thoughts to theenjoyment of the morning meal. Then the young engineer and captainreturned to the deck.
“Mr. Delavan said he wasn’t likely to use this craft to-day, and I’llbe as well pleased if he doesn’t,” said Halstead. An August morningmist was just more than barely visible as it formed out on the ocean,rolling slowly inward. The remainder of the forenoon was likely to beas foggy as on the day before.
“The rest will do the engine good,” said Dawson meditatively. “Theseengines that are made for racing speeds are all right at the trick ifthe speed isn’t pushed too often. We did quite some speeding yesterday,so I’m glad if the engine _does_ get a rest.”
“That’s right,” nodded Tom. “No matter if you take the finest carepossible of a gasoline motor, if the engine is pushed too hard and somelittle thing goes wrong, the average owner is likely to think he has anincompetent engineer.”
“That wasn’t the way, though, with Mr. Prescott,” argued Joe. “Nor withMr. Dunstan, either. They both trusted everything about the boats tous. They’d sooner blame the boat or engine-builders than blame us.”
“From all indications,” pursued Captain Tom, “Mr. Delavan is likely toprove the most indulgent owner of all. Say, I wonder what Mr. Delavanwould look like, worried?”
“It would be easier to guess what Mr. Moddridge would look like,”laughed Joe.
“‘Speaking of angels——’” quoted Captain Tom, dryly. Joe wheeled aboutto look up beyond the shore end of the pier. Eben Moddridge was comingtoward them on a nervous, jerky run. He reached the pier and boardedthe boat, all out of breath.
“Is Mr. Delavan aboard?” he demanded, pantingly.
“Mr. Delavan took the small boat from the port davits and went for arow, sir, at about six this morning,” reported Captain Tom.
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��And hasn’t returned?” asked Mr. Moddridge, eyes and mouth opening wideat the same time. “Which way did he go?”
“Out toward the inlet, sir,” Joe answered, pointing southward.
“And the fog rolling in there now!” exclaimed Moddridge, looking morenervous every instant. “Then what are you doing here? Why aren’t youout yonder trying to find your employer?”
“We will start, if you wish,” Captain Tom agreed.
“Wish?” echoed the nervous one, “I command it!”
Eben Moddridge, not being the owner, could issue no order that theyoung skipper was bound to obey. But Halstead himself thought it wouldbe wholly wise to go out in search of his employer. The “Rocket’s” bowand stern hawsers were quickly cast off by Jed, while Joe gave thewheel a few vigorous turns in the engine room. The craft fell off fromthe pier, then, at slow speed, nosed straight out for the inlet.
“Jed, take a forward watch, at port side,” called the young skipper.“Mr. Moddridge, do you mind keeping a lookout at starboard?”
The nervous one stationed himself on the side indicated, not far fromthe young helmsman.
“Something has happened to Frank! I know it, I know it!” muttered EbenModdridge, in deep agitation. “Oh, why did I sleep so late? Why didn’tI keep an eye open to watch that reckless fellow? But he’ll neverconsent to be governed by me.”
Tom, though he said nothing, smiled a bit grimly, at thought of what itwould be like for one to be ruled by Eben Moddridge.
At first, despite the growing fog, the searchers could see for a fewhundred feet to either side of them. This gradually narrowed down totwo hundred feet, or so, at the inlet. A little further out they couldmake nothing out distinctly at a distance greater than sixty feetCaptain Halstead sounded the whistle frequently, now.
“Stop the boat!” yelled Eben Moddridge, frantically, after a while, ashe peered ahead at starboard. “Don’t you see it? Don’t you see that?”
He was pointing, jumping up and down, staring wildly. Tom caught sightof the object, too. He did not stop the boat, but slackened her speeddown to little more than bare headway, throwing the helm hard over andbringing the boat’s nose sharply around to starboard.
“Jed, a boat-hook!” shouted the young skipper. “Be ready to make fastas soon as we get alongside.”
Joe Dawson sprang up from the engine room for a brief look. No wonderhe started, for the “Rocket” was slowly, cumbrously, describing acircle around an object that proved to be the port boat, bobbing up anddown on the light waves. The small boat was keel up. Eben Moddridge, ashe stared at it, became speechless from dread and terror.
Jed, at the right moment, made fast with the boat-hook, drawing thesmall craft in alongside. While he was doing so Joe suddenly cried:
“And say! Look there!”
Coming in on the start of the flood tide, floated a straw hat and acoat—beyond a doubt those lately worn by Francis Delavan.
“Now, what do you say to that?” gasped Eben Moddridge, turning deathlypale and looking as though he must sink to the deck.
A great fear was tugging at the heart of Captain Tom Halstead, thoughhe managed to reply, calmly enough:
“I don’t know just what it means, Mr. Moddridge, but it’s surely thesign of mischief of some sort.”
The Motor Boat Club off Long Island; or, A Daring Marine Game at Racing Speed Page 6
