The Second Girl Detective Megapack: 23 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Julia K. Duncan

  Having put on the life preservers over their dripping slickers, they sat down and waited. The wind was freshening. A strong, steady draft blew out of the northeast and it was gradually growing colder. The rain had turned into sleet, fine and driving, but not thick enough to entirely obscure the atmosphere.

  “Good gracious, Bill—sleet! That’s the limit, really—do you suppose we’ll ever sight the ship through this?” Dorothy’s tone was thoroughly disgusted.

  “Oh, yes,” he replied cheerfully, “this isn’t so bad. Her masthead lights should have a visibility of two or three miles, at least.”

  Dorothy said nothing, but, hands thrust deep into her pockets and with shoulders hunched, she stared moodily out to sea.

  For about an hour they drifted, the broad-beamed motor boat wallowing in the chop which crossed the ground swell. Twice Bill started the motor and worked back to their original position. He did not like the look of things, but said nothing to Dorothy about it. The wind grew stronger and seemed to promise a gale. The low tide with the line of breakers across the mouth of the inlet would effectually bar their entrance to Great South Bay for the next ten hours. And he doubted if they would have enough fuel for the run of nearly fifty miles to the shelter of Gravesend Bay.

  Then as they floundered about, he heard the distant, muffled bellow of a big ship’s foghorn. Again it sounded; and twice more, each time coming closer. Bill started the engine and headed cautiously out in the direction from whence it came.

  Suddenly there sounded a blast startlingly close to the Mary Jane. This was answered from the lightship, and through the flying scud and sleet they saw a vivid glare. Bill put his helm hard over and when the steamer had passed about four hundred yards away, he turned the motor boat again to cut across the liner’s wake. Faint streams of music reached their ears emphasizing the dreariness of their position.

  Directly they were astern of the great ship, he swung the Mary Jane into the steamer’s course. Running straight before the wind, it was easy to follow the sudsy brine that eddied in her wake. He was by no means certain, however, that he could keep the dull glow of her taffrail light in sight. That depended upon the liner’s speed, which might be more than the Mary Jane could develop. But he soon discovered he had either underestimated the power of the motor boat or, what was more probable, the steamer had reduced her own. Before long he was obliged to slow down to keep from overhauling.

  And so for nearly an hour they tagged along, astern, keeping a sharp lookout on the band of swirling water. Little by little their spirits sank, as no floating object appeared to reward their perseverance. The weather was becoming worse and worse, but the sea was not troublesome; partly because the Mary Jane was running before it and partly because the great bulk of the liner ahead flattened it out in her displacement.

  “If this keeps on much longer, we’re going to run short of gas,” said Dorothy, still peering ahead. “Any idea how long it will keep up?”

  Bill shrugged and swung the boat’s head over a point.

  “Not the dimmest. I’m beginning to wonder if we’ll have to follow her all the way to the pilot station and then cut across for Gravesend Bay.”

  “We’ll sure be out of luck if we run out of fuel with this wind backing into the northwest. It will blow us clean out to sea!”

  “Take the wheel!” said Bill abruptly. “I’m going to see where we stand.”

  Dorothy, with her hands on the spokes, saw him measure the gasoline in the tank and then shake his head.

  “How about it?” she called.

  “Not so good,” he growled, and poured in the contents of another tin. “This engine is powerful, but when you say it’s primitive, you only tell the half of it. The darn thing laps up gas like a—”

  “Bill!” Dorothy raised her arm—“there’s another motor boat ahead!”

  Both of them stared forward into the gloom. For a moment Bill could see nothing but the seething waters and the faint glimmer of the liner’s taffrail light. Then in an eddy of the driving sleet he caught a glimpse of a dark bulk rising on a swell a couple of hundred yards ahead. At the same time they both heard the whir of a rapidly revolving motor distinctly audible between the staccato barks of their own exhaust.

  “The motor sailor, Bill!”

  “Sure to be. It must have cut in close under the steamer’s stern. Let me take the wheel again, Dorothy.”

  “O. K. Do you think they’ve seen us?”

  “Not likely. They’ll be watching the ship and her wake. To see us, they’d have to stare straight into the teeth of the wind and this blinding sleet.”

  “But they’ll hear us, anyway?”

  “Not a chance. That motor sailor’s got one of those fast-turning jump-spark engines. They run with a steady rattle. There’s no interval between coughs. Ours are more widely punctuated. Anyhow, that’s the way I dope it. They’ve probably signaled the ship by this time, and the contraband ought to be dropped from a cabin port at any time now.”

  “Got a plan?”

  “I think I have.”

  He gave the boat full gas, then a couple of spokes of the wheel sheered her off to starboard.

  “What’s that for?” Dorothy thought he had decided to give up the attempt. “Not quitting, are we?”

  “What do you take me for? Get out that gun of yours and use your wits. I’m goin’ to loop that craft and bear down on them from abeam. If they beat it, O. K. If they don’t, we’ll take a chance on crashing them!”

  “You tell ’em, boy!” Dorothy had caught his excitement. “If they shoot, I’ll fire at the flashes!”

  Bill was working out his plan in detail and did not reply. He felt sure his scheme was sound. The Mary Jane was heavily built, broad of beam, with bluff bows and low freeboard. The motor sailor was a staunch craft, too, but she was not decked and with a load of but two men aboard she would have no great stability. He was certain that if he could work out and make his turn so as to bear down upon her from a little forward of the beam, striking her amidships with the swell of his starboard bow, she would crack like an egg.

  Bill did not dare risk a head-on ram. That might capsize them both. To cut into her broadside at the speed she was making would possibly tear off or open up his own bows. The Mary Jane must strike her a heavy but a glancing blow at an angle of about forty-five degrees. Such a collision meant taking a big chance with their own boat. But the Mary Jane was half-decked forward and the flare of her run would take the shock on the level of her sheer strake.

  Quickly he explained his project.

  “I’m taking a chance, of course, if I don’t hit her right,” he finished.

  “Go ahead—” she flung back. “I’m all for it!”

  Bill grinned at her enthusiasm, and with the engine running full, he started to edge off and work ahead. But he could not help being impatient at the thought that the contraband might be dropped at any minute and hooked up by the others. He took too close a turn. As the Mary Jane hauled abreast about two hundred yards ahead, the smugglers sighted them. Their motor sailor swerved sharply to port, and with a sudden acceleration, it dived into the gloom and was lost to sight.

  “Bluffed off!” he shouted triumphantly.

  He turned the wheel and was swinging back into the liner’s wake when Dorothy gave a cry and pointed to the water off their port quarter.

  “Look! There! There!” she screamed.

  Staring in the same direction, Bill saw what at first he took to be a number of small puffs of spume. Then he saw that they were rectangular. The Mary Jane had already passed them and a second later they disappeared from view.

  Bill nearly twisted off the wheel in an effort to put about immediately. The result was to slow down and nearly stop their heavy boat. Gradually the Mary Jane answered her helm and presently they were headed back in the ship’s path.

  And then as the Mary Jane was again gathering speed, the motor sailor came slipping out of the smother headed straight for the contraband, her broadside
presented toward her pursuers.

  “Stand by for a ram!” yelled Bill and pulled out his automatic.

  Not fifty yards separated the two boats. Bows to the gale, the Mary Jane bore down on the motor sailor. If those aboard her realized their danger, they had no time to dodge, to shoot ahead, or avoid the ram by going hard astern. They swerved and the Mary Jane struck full amidships with a fearful grinding crash.

  Bill caught a glimpse of two figures and saw the flame streak out from their barking guns. He felt a violent tug at his life preserver. Then a yell rang out and the two boats ground together in the heave of the angry sea.

  Steadying himself with a hand on the wheel, he reversed and his boat hauled away. As she backed off he heard the choking cough of the other craft which had now been blotted out by the darkness and driving sleet.

  Bill turned about with a triumphant cry on his lips, then checked it suddenly as he saw that Dorothy had fallen across the coaming and was lying halfway out of the boat.

  CHAPTER X

  WRECKED

  The engine gave a grunt and stopped. But Bill scarcely noticed it. Hauling desperately to get Dorothy inboard, he thought his heart would burst. Suddenly he heard her cry:

  “Don’t pull! Just hold me by my legs.”

  She squirmed farther across the coaming and he gripped her by the knees.

  “That’s it,” she panted. “There—I’ve got it! Now haul me in.”

  Bill gave a heave and just then the boat, caught by a huge wave, rolled far over and landed Bill on his back with Dorothy sprawled across him. As they struggled to their feet he saw that she was laughing.

  “Aren’t you hurt at all?” he asked, rubbing a bruised elbow.

  “Only—out of—breath,” she gasped. “They—are all—fastened together. Haul them in.”

  Glancing down, he saw that she was holding one of the white boxes toward him. He made no motion to take it, but stared to windward, listening.

  Dorothy could hear nothing but the wind and the waves and the swirling sleet.

  “What is it?” she jerked out, striving to regain her breath.

  “Wait a minute.” Suddenly Bill snatched up his electric torch and dove into the cabin.

  Dorothy dropped down on a thwart with the box in her hand. After a short rest, she renewed her endeavors to get the remainder of her haul overside. When Bill clambered out of the cabin she was tugging at the strong line to which the boxes were tied.

  “It’s jammed, or caught, or something,” she announced.

  Bill looked overside.

  “Yes, dash it all!” he growled. “We fouled the line and wound it round the tail shaft when I backed off just now. That’s what stopped the motor, of course. Let me see what I can do. You’re blown.”

  He picked up another box bobbing alongside and started to haul in the line. One end of this he found was jammed under the stern, while on the other length a box appeared every thirty or forty feet.

  “Ten, in all,” he told her and drew the last aboard.

  “Hooray! We’ve done it!” cried Dorothy exultantly.

  “We sure have. You just said it all—” His tone was sarcastic. “The boat is leaking like a sieve. That lateral wrench started it. The propeller’s jammed. It’s beginning to blow a gale and there isn’t enough gas to run us out of it. Three cheers and a tiger! Also, hooray!”

  Dorothy’s enthusiasm evaporated. “Gee, I’m sorry. I’m always such a blooming optimist—I didn’t think about our real difficulties.”

  “O. K. kid. I apologize for being cross. That water in the cabin kind of got me for the moment. Let’s see what it looks like here.”

  He wrenched up the flooring and flashed his torch.

  Dorothy gave a gasp of dismay. The boat was filling rapidly.

  “I’ll get that bucket from the cabin,” she said at once.

  “Good girl! I’ve just got to get this coffee mill grinding again, or we’ll be out of luck good and plenty.”

  Dorothy fetched the bucket and began to bail. She saw that Bill was trying to start the engine.

  “The shaft wound up that line while we were going astern,” he explained. “It ought to unreel if I can send the old tub ahead.”

  Switching on the current, he managed to get a revolution or two. Then the motor stopped firing.

  “No go?” inquired Dorothy.

  “Not a chance!”

  He ripped off his life preserver and slipping out of his rubber coat, pulled forth a jack-knife and opened it.

  “What are you going to do?” Dorothy paused in her bailing.

  “Get overboard and try to cut us loose. Don’t stop! Keep at it for all you’re worth. It’s our only chance of safety!”

  Wielding her bucket in feverish haste, she watched Bill lower himself over the stern. The water pounded by this unseasonable sleet must be freezingly cold. She wished it were possible to help him. Fortunately, the Mary Jane was light of draft. He would not have to get his head under, but that tough line must be twisted and plaited and hard as wire. What if his knife broke, or slipped from his numbed fingers? Dorothy shuddered. Meanwhile, the storm was getting worse and the heavy boat drifted before it.

  “Hey, there, Dorothy! Give me a hand up!”

  She dropped the bucket and sprang to his assistance. Then, as his head came in sight, she leaned over and gripping him under the arms, swung him over the stern.

  “My word—your strength’s inhuman—” he panted.

  “Don’t talk nonsense. Get busy and start the engine. The water’s gaining fast.”

  “Confound!” he exclaimed. “I’d no idea the cockpit flooring was awash. Another six inches and it will reach the carburetor.”

  While Bill talked he was priming the cylinder. A heave of the crank and the motor started with a roar. Then he flashed his light on the compass and after noting the bearing of the wind, laid the Mary Jane abeam it.

  “Take the wheel,” he said to Dorothy. “And steer just as we’re heading now.”

  “What about the bailing, Bill?”

  “My job. You’ve had enough of it.”

  “But I’m not tired—”

  “Don’t argue with the skipper!”

  “But you’re soaked to the skin!”

  “Of course I am—what I need is exercise—I’m freezing!”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry—here—turn over the wheel, skipper.”

  Dorothy grabbed the spokes and Bill hastily slipped into his rubber coat and adjusted the life belt over it.

  “How are we headed?” she inquired. “I can’t see the compass without a light.”

  “Straight for shore, and we’ll be lucky if the old tub stays afloat that long. The whole Atlantic Ocean’s pouring in through her seams.”

  “Maybe the pump would be better?”

  “No-sir: not that pump. I’ve seen it!”

  “Mmm. That’s why I chose the bucket. Say, I hope you won’t get a chill.”

  “I’ll hope with you,” returned Bill and kept his remaining breath for his labors.

  A heavy wave broke against the Mary Jane’s bow and swept them both with a deluge of water. Dorothy paid off the boat’s head half a point.

  “Lucky that didn’t stall the motor for good and all,” she observed grimly. “One more like it, and we’ll be swimming.”

  “Tide’s on the ebb,” grunted Bill. “Wind’s barking around—it’ll be blowing off the land in half an hour, I guess.”

  “Do you think the old tub will last that long? She’s getting terribly sluggish. Steers like a truck in a swamp!”

  “Listen!” he cried. “There’s your answer.”

  From somewhere ahead came the unmistakable booming roar of breakers. As they topped the next wave Dorothy saw a white band on the sea. She steadied the wheel with her knee and tightened her life preserver. She knew they could not hope to reach the beach in the Mary Jane. Low and open as she was, the first line of breakers would fill her. The motor was still pounding away when she leane
d forward and raised her voice to a shout.

  “Stop bailing, Bill! Stand by to swim for it!”

  “O. K., kid.”

  Bill dropped the bucket and dove for the cabin. A second later he was back in the cockpit with a three fathom length which he had cut from the anchor line. He fastened one end about Dorothy’s waist and took a turn about his own body with the other. Then, catching up a bight of the line which secured the boxes he made it fast to his belt with a slip hitch.

  The Mary Jane was forging strongly ahead, her actual weight of water being about that of her customary load of passengers. The swells began to mount, to topple. Searching the shore, Dorothy could see no sign of any light or habitation.

  “If I’d known we were so nearly in, we might have raised the coast guard with the flash light.” Bill groaned his self-contempt. “I ought to have kept an eye out—and the Navy said I was a seaman!”

  “Don’t be silly! It was my fault, if anyone’s. You were busy bailing. Chances are the light couldn’t have been seen from shore, anyway. Gosh, what weather! Who ever heard of sleet in August!”

  “Look out—behind you!” yelled Bill.

  A moment later she felt herself snatched from the wheel and was crouching below the bulwark with Bill’s arm around her waist. Then as a brimming swell lifted them sluggishly, its combing crest washed into the boat. The next wave flung them forward and crumpled over the gunwale.

  The Mary Jane’s motor gave a strangled cough and stopped. The boat yawed off and came broadside on her stern upon a line with the beach.

  “This is what I hoped for,” he shouted in her ear. “Gives us a chance to get clear.”

  She saw him gather up the boxes and fling them overboard.

  “Keep close to me. We’ll need each other in the undertow!” she yelled back at him, as he pulled her to her feet.

  Then as the next big comber mounted and curled, they dove into the driving water and the wave crashed down upon the sinking boat. Dorothy felt her body being whirled over and over, sucked back a little and driven ahead again. The water was paralyzingly cold, but she struck out strongly and with bursting lungs reached the surface. A second later, Bill’s head bobbed up a couple of yards away. Blowing the water from her nose, she saw they were being washed shoreward. Her life preserver, new and buoyant, floated her well—almost too well. She found it difficult to dive beneath the curling wavecrests to prevent another rolling.