CHAPTER XV
THE MASTHEAD GAME
WHILE the game that frenzied men were playing in Wall Street had beenhurrying Mr. Delavan and Mr. Moddridge into a ruin that would dragscores of others into the crash, Engineer Joe Dawson had been goingahead very methodically under his young captain’s orders.
The “Rocket’s” gasoline tank had been filled. In addition, as manyextra cases of the oil had been taken aboard and stored as the boat’sspace below could provide for.
“But be mighty careful what you do, Hank, with the galley fire,” urgedthe young skipper, seriously. “Any blaze that starts aboard this boatwhen we’re out on the water is pretty sure to blow us a thousand milespast Kingdom Come.”
Just after dark, on the night of that day when Eben Moddridge threw hislast dollars into the frantic game of speculation, Tom was summonedin haste from the boat to the cigar store near the pier. There was atelephone booth there, and the young skipper was wanted at the ’phone.
“This is Theodore Dyer,” announced the speaker at the other end.
“Oh, yes; you’re one of the watchers,” Halstead remembered, swiftly.
“That launch you set us to watching for has just gone into Henderson’sCove, a mile north of here.”
“Oh, bully for you, Dyer!” throbbed the motor boat boy. “Has she hadtime to leave yet?”
“Not yet.”
“One thing more. Was the launch showing all her lights?”
“Every one of them.”
“You’re absolutely certain it’s the launch?”
“Top-sure. My side-partner, Drew, first sighted her coming down thecoast just before dark fell. It’s the launch, all right, or her exacttwin.”
Captain Tom had only time to thank the watcher up the coast, thenbolted back to the boat.
“Get everything ready, Joe,” he called. “We ought to be under way infive minutes. I’m off to speak to Mr. Moddridge.”
“I’m going with you,” cried the nervous one, leaping up as soon as heheard the news in his room at the hotel.
“We may be out a long while, sir,” suggested the young skipper. “Howabout your broker?”
“I gave Coggswell final orders, two hours ago, to do the best he couldand not to communicate with me until he has better news—or everythinghas gone to smash. Hurry, lad!”
By the time they reached the hotel entrance Moddridge was trembling sothat Tom bundled him into a waiting cab. Two minutes later they were atthe pier.
“Cast off, Hank,” Halstead called, at once. Then, as he reached thedeck:
“Joe, be ready at the speed-ahead.”
In a jiffy the “Rocket” was moving out from the pier.
“Hank,” called the young skipper, at the wheel, “down with thatmasthead light.”
“Why, it’s against the law to sail at night without a masthead light,”gasped Butts. “And look at the weather out yonder.”
“We can sail with a bow light when we have no mast,” Tom retorted,doggedly. “And in twenty minutes we won’t have a mast. Down with themasthead light.”
Wondering, Hank Butts obeyed.
“Trim the side-lights down to just as little as the law will standfor,” was Tom’s next order. “Just at present they’re too bright—for ourpurpose.”
This, too, Hank obeyed, though he was plainly enough of a seaman to bedisturbed.
“Shall I turn the searchlight on, to pick up the inlet?” Butts nextinquired.
“Blazes, no!” the young skipper ejaculated. “I don’t want to show theglimmer of a glow that I don’t have to.”
“How are you going to pick up the inlet in this dark, nasty weather?”Hank inquired.
“Feel for it,” Captain Tom retorted, dryly. “Get up forward, Hank, andpass the word back.”
A native of this section, Hank was a competent pilot. Thus they gotout through the inlet from Shinnecock Bay, heading southwest forHenderson’s Cove, ten miles away. As soon as they were safely indeep water Halstead summoned Joe and Hank, sending them forward tounstep the mast. Moddridge looked on in silent wonder at these unusualproceedings. They were going at slow speed after a little, as it was nopart of the young skipper’s purpose to show his own boat to those whomhe intended to watch and follow.
“You can take the wheel now, Hank,” called the young skipper, andstepped forward, carrying a pair of the most powerful marine glasses,which he had persuaded his employer’s friend to order from New York.Moddridge followed, keeping close to the young skipper.
“Stop the engine!” Tom Halstead soon called back, his eyes at theglasses. “Do you see that searchlight ray against the sky, Mr.Moddridge? That’s over by Henderson’s Cove. The racing launch is comingout. And, by Jove, she’s carrying her masthead light. Bully for her!”
For some little time the young skipper watched the searchlight andmoving masthead light of the distant craft with keen interest. Then,out of the dark weather a squall struck the “Rocket,” rolling her overconsiderably. Sheets of rain began to drive down. Captain Tom made adive below for his oilskins, bringing up another outfit for Hank Butts.Mr. Moddridge, too, disappeared briefly below, coming up clad for theweather.
“See that masthead light, sir?” called Halstead, jubilantly. “It oughtto be easy to follow. That boat is headed due south—putting straightout for the high seas.”
“And do you imagine Frank Delavan is a prisoner on that craft?”demanded Moddridge.
“From what I heard Bolton say I’m sure of it. Bolton has been makinghis arrangements, and now he’s going to put it beyond Mr. Delavan toescape until P. & Y. has gone clean to the bottom.”
The wind was increasing so that the “Rocket” rolled and pitched in thetroubled sea.
“Good heavens!” gasped Eben Moddridge. “This boat can’t live long insuch a gale.”
“The ‘Rocket’ ought to be fit to cross the ocean, in any weather, ifher fuel lasted,” Captain Tom replied, coolly.
“But this is going to be a regular gale.”
“It looks that way, sir.”
“Then, by all that’s certain, that launch can’t weather it,” criedModdridge, his pallor increasing. “Poor Frank! To be sent to the bottomin that fashion!”
“Why, the launch isn’t a large craft, it’s true, sir,” Captain Tomresponded. “But she’s built for a sea-going craft. With decent handlingshe’ll go through any weather like this.”
“You’re not getting any nearer. You’re not overtaking them,” wasModdridge’s next complaint. The “Rocket” was moving, now, at abouteighteen miles an hour.
“I don’t want to overtake that boat,” Captain Halstead replied, withvigor. “I don’t want to get near enough to let them see our lights.We can’t see anything but their masthead light, since they’ve stoppedusing the searchlight.”
Even had it been daylight, the two boats were now so far apart thatfrom the deck of either, one could not have seen the other’s hull. Inthe chase that must follow the young motor boat skipper intended topreserve that distance in order to avoid having his pursuit detected.In the thick weather it was not possible to see the launch’s mastheadlight from the “Rocket’s” deck with the naked eye. An ordinary marineglass might not have shown the light, either, but the one that CaptainTom held in his hand kept the light in sight.
“If Frank is really aboard that launch,” inquired Mr. Moddridge, “whereon earth can they be taking him?”
“One guess is as good as another when you don’t know,” smiled Halstead.“It may be that they have picked out some lonely little island in thesea for their purpose. I hope they don’t increase their speed to-night.That other craft could get away from us if our pursuit were suspected.”
All through the night the gale continued. The “Rocket” rolled a gooddeal, and strained at her propeller, but she was a sea boat and heldher own well. When morning dawned the motor craft was getting outtoward the edge of the storm. Hours before the course of the quarryahead had changed to the east, and both boats were now south o
f regularocean routes and far east of coast-going vessels.
Daylight brought the racer’s masthead in sight.
“We’ll keep just about the upper two feet of that masthead in sightall day,” proposed the young skipper. Soon afterward he called Hank,who had had three or four hours’ sleep, to the wheel. Joe, when therewas nothing to do, slept on a locker beside his engine. Eben Moddridgedozed in a deck chair.
At noon, when Halstead again took the wheel, the relative positionsof the two boats were the same. Through the glass only about two feetof the racer’s mast could be made out above the horizon. There was noreason to suppose that those aboard the racer had caught the leastglimpse of the “Rocket.”
By sun-down this sea-quarry’s masthead was still in sight, each boatgoing at about nineteen miles an hour.
“We can carry gasoline to go as far as they can,” laughed Tom Halstead,confidently.
At dark the launch’s masthead light again glowed out, so that the chasecontinued to be a simple matter of vigilance. The young navigatorscaught their sleep well enough, only the helm requiring constantattention.
Soon after the second morning out had dawned clear and bright, CaptainTom, who was at the wheel, caught sight of something so interestingthat he yelled to Hank Butts, asleep on a mattress on deck:
“Wake up, steward! Hustle Mr. Moddridge on deck. Tell him there’ssomething ahead of huge interest!”
Joe, just rousing from a nap on an engine room locker, heard and washastily on deck. He and Halstead were using the glass and their owneyes when Hank appeared with Eben Moddridge in tow.
“What is it?” demanded the nervous one.
“See the tops of a schooner’s masts ahead?” challenged Halstead. “Youcan make ’em out with your own eyes. And the glass will show youthe tip of the launch’s masthead. The power-boat is making for theschooner.”
“For what purpose?” trembled the nervous financier.
“For what purpose?” chuckled Tom, gleefully. “Why, sir, undoubtedly sothat those aboard the launch can transfer Mr. Delavan to the sailingcraft. The two vessels must have met here for that very trick, and byprevious arrangement of Justin Bolton!”
“How is that going to help us any?” queried Eben Moddridge, wonderingly.
“How is that going to help us?” repeated the young skipper of the“Rocket,” staring hard at his questioner. “Why, if the guess iscorrect, it’s going to be the greatest piece of good luck that couldcome to us!”