The Motor Boat Club at Nantucket: or, The Mystery of the Dunstan Heir

“Get the boat hook,” commanded Alvarez.“Jump in after him if necessary. I want thatmeddling boy. I’ve a score to settle with him.”

But, though both remained at the rail forsome time, peering down into the water, TomHalstead did not reappear.

“Fo’ goodness’ sake,” chattered the blackman soberly, “dat boy done sink, fo’ shuah. Heain’t gwine come back, boss.”

“The propeller must have struck him on thehead,” declared Alvarez thoughtfully. Then, with a white face and an attempt at a lightlaugh, he added:

“After all, what does it matter, Pedro?That’s the quickest way of walking the plank.We didn’t mean to drown him – but we’re rid ofhis meddling!”

CHAPTER VIII – TOM DISCOVERS THE HEIR

Tom Halstead wasn’t drowned – notquite. The wicked seldom find safetyin believing that their evil work hascome out in the way that will most benefit them.We shall presently see what did happen to Tom.

Although he tried to pretend that he was notaffected by the tragedy that he believed had justbeen enacted, Señor Alvarez, when he returnedto his seat by the wheel, did not at once call forspeed ahead. Instead he rolled a fresh cigarettewith trembling fingers, spilling so much ofthe tobacco that he had to make a fresh start.When, at last, he had the thing lighted and hadtaken a couple of whiffs, he turned to the blackman to ask:

“After all, Pedro, what difference can itmake if the meddling boy chose the ocean to ourcompany? Am I not a gentleman of Honduras,Don Emilio Alvarez? Am I not descended fromSpanish grandees? Why should I bother myhead because one of the American riff-raff hasgone overboard!”

“Dat’s a fac’, boss. Why should yo’ botheryo’ haid?” responded Pedro, though he did notsay it very heartily.

Don Emilio smoked for some moments in silence.Then the sight of a cabin sloop roundinga point of land to the northeast of them claimedhis attention.

“Pedro,” he called, pointing, “that sloop carriesthe red jack fluttering from her bowsprittip. That, then, is our boat.”

“Fo’ shuah, boss. An’ I done hope dat Cap’nJonas French done got some good news ob dekind dat we wanter heah.”

“Give us some speed and we’ll soon be alongsidethe sloop.”

The launch was soon going along at her usualspeed of some six miles an hour, veering inshore somewhat to cross the course of the sloop.As they came to close quarters a voice from theother boat called:

“The news is all right, Alvarez.”

It was the voice of the florid-faced one, yet he, too, had changed almost as much as had thegentleman from Honduras. Captain French’scheeks were no longer deep red in color. Hisskin had more of a bronze hue. As such changesdo not occur naturally within a few days, it wasevident that the captain must have employedsome dye with much skill. Even the tint of hishair was changed.

“I have something to discuss with you, myfriend,” replied Don Emilio. “I will comeaboard for a while. Throw off your mainsheetand lie to, so that I can come alongside.”

Pedro slowed down the speed considerably.Don Emilio, with a skill that spoke of somepractice, ran the launch around to leeward andup under the sloop’s quarter. The two crafttouched lightly and at that instant Alvarezstepped aboard the sloop. Pedro, with his handon the starboard wheel rope, eased gently awayfrom the sailing sloop.

“Now run into the cove, Pedro,” called backDon Emilio. “Wait there until I come to you, unless danger threatens. If you see signs oftrouble, act in whatever way you may need toact.”

“I’se understand yo’, boss,” replied theblack man.

As Captain Jonas French hauled in his mainsheetand the sloop’s sail filled, Pedro madeobliquely for shore. Having no need of speed,he made less demand on the engine than he hadbeen doing.

Some time later Pedro ran halfway into alittle cove that dented the mainland of Massachusetts.Stopping the speed he stepped forwardand cast over an anchor, reeling in theslack and making fast. This done, the darkydrew out an old pipe, filled it and lighted it, settlingback for a lazy smoke.

And Tom Halstead? He was doing his bestnot to pant and betray himself, but his had beena rough experience. None but a boy as much athome in the water as on land could have stoodthe strain of this performance.

When Tom went overboard, striking thewater, the cold shock had aroused all his faculties.He went over the starboard gunwale and, finding himself going, had had the sense to diveas deeply as he could. He passed under thehull, coming out at port. Then he turned, keepingstill under water until one of his handstouched the port side of the hull.

Just as this happened Halstead’s other handstruck a line trailing in the water. Then theboy was forced to come up for air. As he didso he heard the voices of the pair aboard overat the starboard gunwale. That gave Tom asafe chance to give the trailing rope a pull.It held, showing that it was made fast on board.

Necessity makes one think fast. To Tom thediscovery of this rope was a most unexpectedbit of good fortune. As soon as he had time toget his breath, he tied a loop in it securely.Through this he could thrust one or both arms,at need.

The trailing overboard of a line in this fashionwas a piece of disorderly ship’s housekeeping ofwhich an American skipper would hardly beguilty. But the sailors of the Latin races areless particular. That line might have been overthe gunwale for hours or even days, but a manlike Alvarez would give little heed to it.

When the launch went on her way again Tomhad his right arm hooked well through the loop.He floated, his feet astern along the side, thoughin no danger from rudder or propeller. Hishead, out of water, was hidden by the bulginglines of the launch’s side hull. He was not likelyto be discovered unless one of the occupants ofthe launch leaned well out and looked down.

“If only they’d run a little slower this wouldbe about as easy as lying in a soft bed,” chuckledthe young motor boat captain gleefully. Hehad grinned broadly at Don Emilio’s seemingunconcern over his fate.

“I reckon where they go I’m going too,” Halsteadtold himself with great satisfaction. Hisclothing, filled with water, would have been uncomfortable, even dangerous, had he attemptedto swim far, but as it was the launch’s enginewas doing all the work. Tom simply allowedhis rather buoyant body to be towed. None theless the speed of the towing, so greatly in excessof a swimmer’s speed, began to tell uponhis endurance. Later that cabin sloop wasbriefly in the boy’s sight. Halstead was forcedto lower his head all he could in the water, butCaptain French, having no reason to scanthe launch’s water line, did not happen to detectthe strange “tow.” As the two boatswent alongside it was the launch’s starboardbow that touched, so that Tom, at port, wasin no danger of being seen from the othercraft.

Nor was the young motor boat captain againin sight after the two craft parted. Pedro’sslower speed, making for the cove, came as ahuge relief to the “boy overboard.”

While the anchor was being dropped, Halsteadhad opportunity to see how wild and deserteda bit of nature the surroundings were.There was not a house or other sign of humanhabitation anywhere in sight.

While Pedro sat up forward, smoking, a voicesounded that thrilled Captain Tom Halsteadwith instant wonder.

“Hullo, Pedro! What a nap I must havehad.”

“Yo’ shuahly did sleep fast, chile.”

“I’m coming out, now.”

“Ef yo’ do, young boss, be kyahful,” warnedthe black man.

“Oh, there’s no one around here to see me,”contended that other voice, and now it soundedas though the owner were in the bow of thecraft.

“Ef Ah done thought Ah could trust yo’ Ah’dtuhn in in dat forrad cubby mahself,” declaredthe negro. “Ah’s powahful drowsy.”

“Go ahead, Pedro,” agreed the other speaker.“You needn’t be afraid of me. I’ll keep abright lookout.”

There was the sound of the negro stowinghimself away in the forward cubby, muchroomier than the one Tom had tried at thestern.

Halstead had heard the conversation with afeeling at first as though his brain were whirlinginside his head. The long dousing in the waterwas beginning to make itself felt in a chill, butit was not wholly this that made the young skippershake.

“That’s Ted Dunstan’s voice,” he told himself, trembling. “He’s on board this very craft.I’ve found the missing Dunstan heir.”

Soon Pedro’s snores could be heard. ThenTom Halstead hauled himself up along the ropeuntil he could just peer over the gunwale. Hislast doubt vanished; he could no longer questionhis ears, for now his glance fastened uponthe living heir of the Dunstans!

CHAPTER IX – TED HURLS A THUNDERBOLT

The youngest of the Dunstans was sittingwhere Pedro had been seated only ashort time before. Ted held a book inhis hands, his gaze fixed on one of the pages.

“He’s playing crafty,” thought Tom. “He’swaiting until he’s sure that black man is sound, sound asleep. Then he’ll make his dash forfreedom. Oh, if he only knew how close afriend is!”

“Whirr-ugh!” Pedro’s snore smote heavilyon the air.

“He’ll sleep now, as only a colored man cansleep,” thought Tom jubilantly. “There’s onlyjust one time to do this thing, and that’s now!Here goes to let Ted Dunstan know that help isright at hand.”