“Sixteen or so.” Vandam craned his neck, trying to look past Lindsay into the dimly lit cabin. “You haven’t seen him, by any chance?”
Lindsay stayed blocking the doorway. “If he’s sixteen, sir, I wouldn’t worry too much. I should think he’ll turn up soon.”
“Are there more cabins around here?”
“There are several between here and the inn.”
Vandam gave up trying to see past her. “I’ll ask there then. If he does turn up, let me know immediately. It’s urgent.” He turned away and took the path back to the inn.
Lindsay watched him go, then shut the door and locked it. “He was doing his best to look in,” she said. “I think he’s suspicious.”
Adam’s voice came from behind the worn sofa, which sagged against the far wall. “He doesn’t trust anyone, that Vandam.”
Scott stuck his head out from behind the kitchen door. “We should head for the ship before he comes back,” he said.
“What, tonight?” Lindsay said. “It’s a long way, and it’s teeming rain.”
“I know, but there’s no time to waste,” Scott said. “We have to tell someone there’s a gang of spies here, before they get away.”
“Yeah, but who do we tell?” Adam said.
“Start with Captain Plum, I guess.”
“Oh, God, do we have to face him?” Adam groaned.
When Vandam arrived back at the inn, the others were waiting for him. Their reports were all negative – the captive appeared to have gotten clean away.
Pacing back and forth, Vandam said, “You realize what this means. That kid will find his way to his ship. Then he’ll go to the authorities and spill his story.”
“But how much does he know?” someone asked.
“Too much,” Vandam said. “Unfortunately, his friend overheard me talking to Twitch about Heinrik and our plan to deal with the agent following him – the one who went overboard in the rapids.”
“But who will believe them?” someone else asked. “They might think they’re just kids making it all up to get attention.”
Vandam shook his head. “We can’t take the chance. You remember our orders: if any one assignment becomes too risky, it should be abandoned rather than jeopardize the whole mission.”
“So what do you propose?”
“I don’t propose, I order. I am changing the plan. We have important operations to undertake in the United States. We will cross the border immediately by boat and carry on there until things calm down. This storm will make detection unlikely.”
“But if we leave now, what about Operation Blockade?” another wanted to know. “It’s key to the war effort.”
“We’ll come back and tackle that later,” Vandam said, “but first we’ll make our way to Long Island, in time for the next U-boat drop-off. Has anyone seen Heinrik?”
“He was with us when we were searching for the kid,” someone piped up, “but I haven’t seen him since. Shall I go look for him?”
“No time. If Heinrik doesn’t show up, we’ll have to leave without him. He can take care of himself. We can’t risk all of us being rounded up here. That would be disastrous.
“I’ll speak to the front desk and tell them something’s come up and we have to leave immediately. Meet me at the dock. Walther’s contact will be there with his boat to take us. It’ll be a rough crossing in this weather, but it isn’t far. We have to get across before those kids come back with the police, looking for us.”
The storm was gaining in intensity as Adam and Scott set out. “Too risky to use the road,” Adam said. “Twitch will be on the lookout there. Best to follow the shoreline to Prescott.”
“Easier said than done,” Scott replied. “But I guess it’s the only way.”
The first stretches proved to be easy, however, even with the rain and the pounding surf – there were mostly sandy beaches and rows of cottages. Nobody was about at this late hour. Even the dogs were inside, sleeping out the storm.
But they soon had to clamber over rocks and boulders slippery with moss. Lashed by the teeming rain, driven horizontal by the wind, they slid and slithered. Their legs, already scratched from the woods, were bleeding freely, and they were racked with exhaustion as the shoreline stretched ahead of them endlessly.
It was almost morning when Adam and Scott finally trudged wearily up the gangway of the Rapids Prince. The watchman waved at them from under the shelter of an overhang, making it plain he wasn’t about to venture into the open.
They agreed that waking Captain Plum at this hour was out of the question. “It would take more nerve than I have,” Adam said. “I’m so beat, I wouldn’t make sense anyway.”
“Suits me,” Scott said. Exhausted, he had to lean against the rail to hold himself up. “Let’s get some sleep first.”
“It’ll be a short sleep – it’s practically dawn,” Adam grumbled. He made his way to his room, while Scott headed below to the deckhands’ quarters in the hold. There, he dumped his sopping-wet clothes on the floor, toweled off, and fell into his bunk.
SEVENTEEN
A few hours later, having dragged himself out of bed, Adam set a plate of bacon and eggs in front of Captain Plum with trepidation. The captain put down his coffee and looked up at him. “So you finally decided to come back to work, young man.” “Yes, sir.”
“There have been all sorts of wild rumors going around about your whereabouts. Mind you, I didn’t believe half of them. But nobody could tell me exactly where you’d gone, not even your friend. All I could get out of that boy was that you’d be back soon.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is that all you’ve got to say for yourself? Yes, sir?”
“Yes … I mean no, sir. You see what happened was –”
Captain Plum held up his hand. “Not while I’m having breakfast. Come to my cabin when I’m finished.”
“What’s he doing here?” the captain said, when he opened the door to Adam’s knock and found Scott there, too. “I didn’t say anything about bringing him with you.”
“No, sir. But Scott was the one they were after, not me.”
The captain frowned. “The one who was after? Oh, never mind, you’d better both come in then, but I want the truth, mind, not some long story full of excuses.”
“Yes, sir.” The two boys filed in and stood uncertainly. Scott took in the captain’s quarters, a room he’d never expected to enter during his summer as a lowly deckhand.
A framed map of the St. Lawrence hung on one wall, surrounded by photos of ships – from sleek liners to fat freighters, many emitting dark billows of smoke from their stacks as if proud of this symbol of their might. On the bookshelf, a thick leather-bound Bible propped up a selection of marine manuals. A framed photo of a stout, erect woman, in a black shawl with a severe expression, sat on the desk.
The captain reclined in his chair. “All right, young man, let’s have it. Why have you missed two days’ work? And be quick about it. I haven’t got all day.”
Adam took a deep breath and plunged in. “Well, sir, in a nutshell I was kidnapped and held hostage.”
The captain shot up from his chair. “I thought I’d heard every excuse in the book. But this is a new one. Held hostage where? By whom?”
“By the man in the gray suit who was on the ship last Sunday, sir,” he said, “and his chauffeur. As to where, all I know is I was locked in a room, first somewhere in Old Montreal, then in a farmhouse on the other side of Prescott. I escaped last night with the help of a French Canadian girl, who had befriended me, and –”
Scott saw a purple flush creeping up the captain’s face and cringed. Shut up, Adam, he thought.
The captain brought his fist down so hard, he knocked over the picture on his desk. “I might have known!” he exclaimed. “It always turns out to be the same old excuse in the end. A young woman.”
He quickly set the picture back upright. Maybe it was a mistake for him to hire these students and then turn them loose in Montreal, the city of si
n.
Scott saw it was time to intervene. “But, Captain, he really was kidnapped. It was the man in the Packard and the men with him. They’re Nazis, and they grabbed Adam as a hostage.”
The captain frowned at him. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“I overheard them, sir. When they were sitting in the Packard, parked at the dock in Prescott last Sunday.” And Scott proceeded to relate what he had overheard, leaving out the pie-eating part and blaming his abiding interest in the Packard Touring Sedan for being there.
Having gotten over that hurdle successfully, he hurried on to tell the captain how the men had collared Adam as a hostage when the ship arrived in Montreal so he, Scott, wouldn’t dare tell what he knew.
To his intense relief, the captain didn’t entirely dismiss his account, though he still looked skeptical. “And where are these so-called Nazis now?” he demanded.
“At the Blinkbonnie Inn, just down the road,” Adam said, “searching for me since my escape.”
At that moment, there was a knock on the door. The captain opened it and found the second mate standing there. “Boat wreckage spotted across the river, Captain,” he said. “I thought you’d want to know.”
“Wreckage? How big a boat?”
“Hard to say, sir. A motorboat, I think. It must have got caught in the storm last night.”
The captain reached for his binoculars. “I’ll have a look.”
When the second mate saw Scott, he said, “Oh, there you are. I have a message for you. They said it was urgent.” He turned to the captain. “There was a young man here earlier – the one who drives for the Blinkbonnie Inn, you know – and he said he had an important message for Scott Graves. I told him to come back later, but he insisted it was urgent. Nobody knew where Scott was, so he gave it to me.” He handed an envelope to the captain.
The captain passed it to Scott. “I suppose you’d better open it,” he said. “It might be pressing news about your family.”
Scott looked at the envelope with hesitation. What could possibly be so urgent? An accident? He was conscious of three pairs of eyes fastened on him as he took out the note. But it was from Lindsay, in her neat private-school handwriting: Thought you should know that Vandam and company checked out suddenly last night. They were last seen boarding a Chris-Craft around midnight.
“Is it about your father?” the captain said. “Not bad news, I hope?”
“No, sir, it’s not about my family.” Scott passed him the note. “It’s about the Nazi spies. Looks like they’ve fled across the border by boat. And just when we were about to turn them in!”
The captain skimmed the note, then gave it back. “Well, if there was anything to your story, all I can say is good riddance –”
“But, sir,” Scott protested, “shouldn’t we alert the –”
“That’s enough, young man,” Captain Plum interrupted sternly. “Just because I’m a friend of your father’s doesn’t mean you can argue with me. A captain’s decision is final, and I’ve heard all I want to hear about Nazis. It’s high time you got back to work. I expect extra effort to make up for all your lost time.”
At that, he ushered the boys out, picked up his binoculars, and headed for the bridge. “Now show me this wrecked boat,” he said to the second mate.
“What do you bet it’s a Chris-Craft?” Scott whispered to Adam.
EIGHTEEN
Scott found out later from Bert, the helmsman, that the captain had indeed identified the wreckage on the U.S. shore as that of a Chris-Craft. The motorboat had apparently been blown aground by the storm. The cabin was still above the water level and clearly visible through binoculars. Uniformed figures were seen at the site.
The occupants, the captain concluded, might have reached land, or they might not have, but the boat was in the U.S. Coast Guard’s hands now.
Scott went looking for Adam to tell him the news. He found him working with a polishing rag on a mountain of silverware piled in front of him in the dining room, his hands black with tarnish.
“The steward’s given me extra chores to make up for the time I was away,” Adam said gloomily. “Chasing a French girl, he claims. Nobody believes us.”
“Don’t I know it,” Scott said.
Adam put down his rag. “I wonder what’s happened to Colette? Is she all right? Will I ever see her again?”
Scott tried his best to reassure his friend. “Maybe Twitch drove her back to Montreal in the Packard,” he said.
“I wish,” Adam said skeptically, just as the steward came in and stood with his hands on his hips, frowning at him.
“You’re supposed to be working, not talking to your pal,” he said. Adam picked up a gravy boat and began polishing vigorously. Scott slipped out the door, leaving Adam wondering how he could possibly go about finding Colette again.
He would have an opportunity to search for her when the Rapids Prince arrived in Montreal after the next excursion. But he had no idea where she lived or even, he realized, what her last name was.
He found that polishing silver, like any repetitive manual work, actually helped him think, and he began to put together a plan. But it would take money, and he hadn’t received his first month’s pay yet.…
That evening, Lindsay told Scott what she could about the ill-fated crossing.
“The night porter happened to see them getting into the Chris-Craft around midnight,” she said. “He thought it was awfully strange, considering the late hour and the storm, but figured it was none of his business. Then, when I got to work this morning, I heard that the wreckage had been spotted on the American shore. That was when I sent you the note.”
“So were they all on the Chris-Craft?” Scott asked. “Or just the ones from the Blinkbonnie?”
“He didn’t say. But I did see the Packard go by early this morning, when I was on my way to work. It was coming from the farmhouse, so some of them were still there. The chauffeur was driving, and there was a passenger in the back. The car was going so fast, I couldn’t tell who it was. That was the last any of us saw of them.”
NINETEEN
On the next excursion of the Rapids Prince, it was the usual crowd – a busload of seniors, summer-school students, teachers on holiday, families, and honeymoon couples.
Captain Plum was in a good mood. His missing crewman was back on the job, and the inspection had confirmed his ship had suffered only minor damage from the mishap the previous Sunday. He was looking forward to an uneventful trip.
While waiting for the ship to get under way, the purser took some of the passengers on a tour of the ship. He started with the working deck, where he pointed out all the equipment it took to keep the ship in good trim – coils of rope, life jackets, buoys, wooden fenders, paint, cleaners, and other seagoing items. The photographers in the group snapped pictures, with the deckhands posed self-consciously in the background.
One of the photographers, a tall man with a mustache and cap who walked with a limp, appeared to be particularly interested in the ship, snapping pictures wherever he went. He had a miniature camera and carried an expensive-looking leather shoulder bag, loaded with equipment. He asked if they could see the engine room.
The purser shook his head. “Sorry, the chief engineer won’t let us down there. Besides, it’s hotter than Hades. We’ll head up to the bridge next.”
The group followed the purser, all except the tall man with the miniature camera. He looked around the working deck, then turned to Scott, who happened to be nearby. “Is that a washroom over there?” he asked.
“It’s the crew’s washroom,” Scott said. “You can use it if you want, but the passenger washrooms on the upper decks are much nicer.”
“This one will do just fine, thank you,” the tall man said, which left Scott shaking his head.
The rest of the excursion that Sunday finished uneventfully, and the ship pulled into Victoria Pier ahead of schedule. Adam came down from the dining room to see Scott as the deckhands unloaded the l
uggage.
“Hey, I’m flush again,” he said, rattling the change in his pocket. “A bunch of big tippers today.”
“Good,” Scott said. “Now you can pay me back the three bucks you owe me.”
“Don’t worry, I will,” Adam said. “But would you mind waiting for it? I’m going to look for Colette, and I’ll need all the money I can raise to pay the taxi. As a matter of fact, I was hoping you could lend me another fiver.”
Scott sighed. “I suppose. At least it’s for a good cause. But how are you going to find her again? I never did figure out exactly where the duplex was they took you into.”
“Neither did I – I was blindfolded,” Adam said. “But I know she works part-time in a library, so that’s a start. I’ll ask the purser for an advance on my pay, and, with that and your fiver, I can grab a taxi and get going.”
Scott couldn’t help but admire his nerve. He couldn’t imagine asking for an advance on his pay, or spending it all on a taxi. Adam must surely be in love.
By the time Adam got to the pier, there was only one taxi left. But just as he opened the door, a tall man wearing a cap limped up from the ship, jumped in ahead of him, and slammed the door in his face.
“Hey!” Adam said. Passenger or not, he wasn’t going to let him get away with that, even if he did have a limp. He rapped on the glass.
The man looked up at him, then turned quickly away. He picked up his cap, which had been knocked off as he got in, and jammed it back on his head. But not before Adam had seen his distinctive blond hair.
“Drive on,” the man ordered. The taxi did a U-turn and took off, leaving Adam staring after it, wondering where he had seen the man before. Then it struck him. It’s either Heinrik or someone who looks very much like him! But it can’t be. Heinrik crossed the border with the others on the Chris-Craft, didn’t he?
At that moment, another taxi pulled up and Adam got in before anybody else could claim it. Finding Colette was what mattered, and he promptly put the man who looked like Heinrik out of his mind.
Man Overboard! Page 7
