CHAPTER VI
THE TREASURE HUNTERS
Excitement and activity pervaded the house. Sunday and Monday everyone, including Harry, soon knew that Pauline was to take Tuesday'ssteamer to Old Nassau, in the Bahamas. Harry intended to quietly boardthe steamer a little earlier than Pauline and surprise the party byappearing after the ship was well out to sea. His plans were'shattered by the young lady's unexpected "early arrival." Harry, witha suitcase in each hand, met her face to face on the pier. There wasnothing for him to do but confess, kiss her goodbye and go. It waswith a pang of regret that she saw him toss his two suitcases coveredwith college team labels into a taxicab and depart.
An hour later the four treasure hunters stood looking over the railwatching the last passengers come aboard. The "pirate," in a new bluesuit, huge Panama hat and light pink necktie, though a rather unusualsight, had been toned down in appearance to a degree that permitted himto walk about among people without causing a crowd to collect. Hicks,too, at Owen's suggestion, had adopted quieter attire.
Just as the gangplank was about to be pulled in the deckhands waited topermit a very feeble and bent old man to hobble aboard. He had long,white hair, and his face was mostly gray whiskers, except a pair ofdark spectacles. A porter followed him bearing two brand newsuitcases.
The adventurous four were soon comfortably perched in steamer chairswatching New York harbor slip by them. They had barely reached theStatue of Liberty when the "pirate" launched forth on one of hisMunchausen-like tales of the sea.
Highly colored, picturesque, untrue and absurd as a stained glasswindow, nevertheless these yams took on a semblance of reality from thecharacter of the narrator himself. In all his stories the "pirate" wasthe hero. Nobody noticed that a steward had placed a fifth steamerchair beside the sailor until that worthy reached one of the mainclimaxes of his narrative. At that point he felt a hand on hisshoulder and looked around into the whiskers and black spectacles ofthe old passenger. The cackling voice remarked:
"It's a lie. It's a lie. It's a lie."
Every one was astonished, but even the "pirate" had a trace of respectfor such great age, and said nothing in reply. After a while hecontinued, only to be interrupted by the same words.
This was too much to endure, and though the if "pirate" held histongue they rebuked the old dotard by walking away and leaning over therail. The conversation wandered to the subject of sharks, and Paulineasked if they were as stupid as they looked.
"Don't you believe it," the "pirate" assured her. "Them sharks lookstupid just to fool you. Why, I remember a time not so long ago downin Choco Bay, on the coast of Colombia, there was an old devil who usedto sneak up alongside sailin' vessels in a fog. He carried in hismouth the big iron shank of an anchor he'd picked up from the wreck."
"What did he do that for?" asked Hicks.
"So the iron would deflect the compass and make them run the ship ontothe Kelp Ledges, off the Pinudas, Islands. If a ship went down hestood a good chance of eating one or two o' the passengers. But Idon't mind sharks. If you want to know what really annoys me, it'sthem killer whales in the Antarctic that come a crowdin' and buttin' upagainst ye."
"It's an internal, monumental, epoch-making lie," cackled a voicebehind him. Every one looked, and there was the old man.
The "pirate" was now thoroughly exasperated. If he couldn't tell astory without being interrupted in this manner life wasn't worthliving. He announced that he would find the old man and thrash him.Owen and Hicks were annoyed, but they feared the result of the sailor'sfury. They might all be arrested on arriving at Nassau. This wouldinterfere with plans, and must not be thought of. To appease thewrathful "pirate" Owen offered to have the old man thrashed so soundlythat he would probably be glad to stay out of sight the rest of thevoyage.
There were some rascally looking men of Spanish blood among the secondcabin passengers who, as Owen and Hicks observed, looked needy andunscrupulous.
The secretary found no great embarrassment in explaining that he wishedthe old man thrashed quietly and privately. The Spaniards agreed tobeat him thoroughly for the trifling consideration of ten dollars.They would even throw him overboard for a very reasonable sumadditional. But the bargain was struck at ten dollars for a moderatebeating, and the foreigners were warned that as he was delicate theymust be careful not to kill him.
During the next hour or two the old man passed the four treasurehunters in their steamer chairs, but each time the "pirate" ceasedtalking before he came within earshot.
At last the old man stopped in front of Pauline and gazed long at the"pirate." He studied the rascal's face, apparently trying to rememberthe identity of the man. Slowly the aged head nodded as if he wassaying to himself. "Yes, he is the same man."
Then, turning to Pauline and shaking a warning finger, the old mandelivered a surprising message.
Pauline was startled. The three men leaped to their feet. It was withthe utmost difficulty that she was able to prevent violence.. Owenexcused himself to hunt up his Spaniards and demand an explanation fortheir slowness. To his surprise they declared that they had tackledhim and that he was as quick and powerful as a gorilla. He hadthrashed them both and they were glad to escape with their lives.
The ex-secretary was incredulous, but they showed cuts and bruises anddemanded their money, saying that a joke had been played on them. WhenOwen refused one of them drew a stiletto and the ten dollars wasforthcoming.
Returning, ruefully, he related the failure of the Spaniards. The"pirate" at once said:
"Now, let me handle him."
A few moments later Boyd cornered his ancient adversary on a desertedand wind-swept piece of deck.
"Old man," snarled the "pirate," "you say all my stories are lies.Only your gray hairs have saved you from a thrashing before this."
"If it's my gray hairs that stop you, I'll remove that obstacle."
The "pirate" was amazed to see the aged person take off his hat andremove a gray wig with his left hand while his right fist collided withthe "pirate's" eye. When consciousness returned he was lying on thedeck with no living thing in sight but a seagull aeroplaning on slantedwings over his head. His return to the party was more rueful thanOwen's.
"What is the matter with your eye, Mr. Boyd?" asked Paulineinnocently.
"Why, you see," said the "pirate," "I was looking at a girl with one ofthese new slit skirts and I stumbled and bumped against a ventilator."
"I see," commented Owen to help him out. "You sort of slipped on asex-appeal, so to speak."
"Yes," said the sailor, gratefully. "It was just like that."
"It's a lie," said a high, thin voice from somewhere, and they noticedthat a porthole behind them was open.
Pauline found conversation difficult. Hicks, as a man of few words,which gave him an undeserved reputation for wisdom. The "pirate" hadgiven up spinning yams on account of the old man's unfailinginterruption. Owen's mind, too, was preoccupied with a growingsuspicion. So the adventurous young lady went to her stateroom andwrote a letter to Harry.
The sailor intimated that he had important news which could be onlytold in the privacy of Owen's stateroom. The secretary suspected thisto be only a maneuver on the "pirate's" part to get acquainted with thewhiskey he knew Owen kept with him. But the seafarer unfolded the taleof his black eye not truthfully nor accurately, except in that he hadrecognized Harry under the disguise of the old man.
"I more than half suspected it," said Owen, "and I have been watchinghis stateroom. But there is no way any one can see into his roomunless by getting a look in through the porthole."
"And there's where you get a good idea," said the "pirate."
"But there's no good having a peep' at him without his disguise nowthat it's Harry," objected Hicks.
"No," said the "pirate," turning on Owen his lusterless sea-green eyes,faded by much grog to a dimness that reminded one of the faint lightsset in ships' decks and known as "dead-eye
s." "No, but your portholeidea is just the scheme to get at him and get rid of him. I can slipdown a rope tonight when all is quiet and the fool passengers are overon the other side looking at the bloody moon."
"And then what?" said Owen.
"I goes down the rope and shoots the old fool! I mean the young fool--through the porthole."
"Why, that's murder!" cried Owen. "We'd all swing for it."
"No, it ain't murder; it's suicide, 'cause I'll throw the gun in therewhere they'll find it when they break the door in, and everybody'llthink he shot himself."
"It's practical," commented Hicks, but Owen protested. At last it wasdecided that a fourth man was necessary to do the shooting, and the"pirate" volunteered to produce him.
"There's an old shipmate o' mine down in the stoke hole working like anigger. He'll be glad to do the trick for ten dollars, but we'll makeit fifty because the poor fellow has a wife and children and needs themoney. I'll go get him."
Owen and Hicks went on deck while Boyd descended to the fiery vitals ofthe steamer. It is not an easy matter to smuggle a grimy stoker fromhis furnace to the upper passenger decks, but the "pirate" managed it.
Meanwhile Harry was not losing time. He had taken a dictograph fromhis baggage, borrowed a few dry batteries and a coil of wire from thewireless operator. He carefully installed the instrument in hisstateroom, and led the wires out under his door to the passageway.From there it was an easy task to carry them along the edge of thecarpet to the door of Owen's stateroom. Arrived at the point, he wascompelled to leave pliers, wire and the receiving instrument under achair.
Like many another stateroom door, Owen's could not be locked easilyfrom the outside, so when the three conspirators went out they left itunlocked. The old man slipped in a moment later and quickly placed thedictograph under the lower bunk.
Returning to his own room, the old man took up his instrument andlistened. But he was not a very expert electrician and the dictographfor a long time failed to give anything but roars and crackling sounds,though he was convinced there were several persons talking. A last hegot the thing adjusted in time to catch the last sentences of theconversation. He recognized the voice of the "pirate." It said:
"An then we lowers you down the rope to his porthole. You sticks yourgun in and shoot the old fool. Don't forget to throw the gun inafterward, so they'll think he killed himself. See?"
"Sure, I got yer, matey," replied a strange voice.
After this the dictograph must have got out of order as nothing furthercame over the wire.
After closing the porthole Harry started to take off his disguise witha view of revealing himself and having Owen, Hicks and the "pirate"arrested. Then it occurred to him that he had not heard Owen or Hickstalking and very likely they were not in the room at all.
It was probably a crazy, drunken scheme of the old sailor whom he hadtormented. Neither Owen nor Hicks had any suspicion, so far as heknew, that behind the whiskers and eyeglasses was Harry. Owen couldhave no object in shooting him.
"Can it be that I am jealous of this man Owen?" he wondered. "Pollyhas been taking his advice against mine lately. What can that mean?"
Peace reigned during the evening while the old liner plunged and rolledpast wicked Cape Hatteras. While the passengers listened to the sadorchestra in the saloon Harry, still in his whiskered disguise, sent awireless to a lawyer in New York requesting him to telegraph Pauline atNassau something that would make her come home. Then he went back tohis stateroom and locked the door.
As he stepped in he caught sight of the unbeautiful countenance of Mr.Boyd squinting wickedly at him from far down the passageway.
"Just for that evil grin of yours, Mr. Pirate," thought Harry, "I amnot going to let you or your friend shoot me until after daylight." SoHarry kept his porthole closed tight that night, sleeping ratherrestlessly without his accustomed ventilation.
Twice he heard a faint scraping sound on the outside of his cabin, anda dark shadow eclipsed the faint nimbus of light which the foggy nightsent through his porthole. On the deck directly over his head threedark figures sat in deck chairs, while a fourth paced the deck, hiscigar glowing like the tail lamp of a distant automobile.
The fog began to lift just before dawn, and the stoker, making anothertrip down his rope, found the porthole open. A hasty inspection of thedecks indicated that it was safe to go ahead.
Owen, Hicks and the "pirate" quickly lowered the stoker, sitting in alittle swing known on the sea as a "bo'sun's chair." In his hand hecarried a pistol which Hicks had provided. Each of the threeconspirators had revolvers, but the racetrack man's weapon was chosenbecause he had obtained it from a source to which it could not betraced. Down went the stoker, his bare feet clinging to the gentlyswaying side of the ship.
The porthole was open, and there in the dim interior of the cabin thelight was reflected from a pair of spectacles. There, too, were thewhiskers and gray hair. The old man seemed to be asleep in his chairright near the porthole. The stoker cocked his revolver and held itready for instant action.
The steamer's fog horn blew a blast at the fast thinning fog. Thisnoise was just what the stoker wanted. He quickly plunged his pistolinto the porthole and fired it point blank in the very face of the oldman. There could be no question of missing. He looked up at the threeeager faces and nodded that all was well.
"I've got him," he called out, and was about to hurl the pistol intothe stateroom when an unpleasant and unexpected thing happened. Abrawny fist shot out of the porthole and collided with the stoker'scoal-blackened jaw.
More from surprise than the force of the blow, the stoker fell backwardinto the sea. The three watchers on deck saw the proceeding, and onlyone, the "pirate," had presence of mind to hurl a lifebuoy. No alarmwas sounded. The steamer went on into the sparkling morning sea,leaving behind her a profane and disgusted stoker. This unfortunatehad only a lifebuoy to aid him on a fifteen-mile swim to shore.
"Never mind," said the "pirate" after the conspirators had gotten overtheir first fright at the dashing of their plans. "I have an idea;it's a corking idea, and you'll all like it."
"What is it?" asked Owen nervously. "Here is your drink now; what'syour idea?"
But the "pirate" wouldn't tell. He objected that it was too startlingfor them to carry in their timid brains. He would unfold it when thetime came, and he promised them that it would be the greatest and mostdaring project they had ever heard. A murderous glare lit up the fadedeyes and he chuckled to himself, but no offers nor threats would inducehim to part with his secret.