The Motor Boat Club in Florida: or, Laying the Ghost of Alligator Swamp

“On the Ninth National, of New York?” Halstead asked.

“Yes.”

“Then I guess the check part is good, as far as you’re concerned,” nodded Tremaine. “The nine thousand is probably part of the ten thousand that the fellow stole from my stateroom on the ‘Restless’ and sent to New York. Halstead has just put me straight on that matter.”

“Then he stole that money from your trunk?” asked Mrs. Tremaine, opening her eyes very wide.

“Yes, my dear; we’ve every reason to think so. But tell me, Haight, how did you come to cash that note so promptly – so – er – easily?”

“Why, you told me, only yesterday, my dear Tremaine, that you’d cheerfully endorse any commercial paper that Dixon had or chose to present,” replied the bank president.

Henry Tremaine groaned.

“That’s what comes of my being so cursed good-natured and obliging,” he muttered, with a ghastly smile. “Now, see here, Haight, if it comes to the worst, and your bank is up against a big loss, I’ll stand by what I said yesterday. But I’m fairly itching to lay my fingers on Oliver Dixon. The – ”

He stopped immediately, aware of the presence of the ladies.

“I beg your pardon, my dear, and Ida,” said Tremaine. “I’m so angry that I almost let violent language escape me.”

As the train sped along, with a clear track ahead and no stops necessary, Mr. Haight went on to explain:

“Dixon told me he had closed negotiations for a fine place a little way outside of Tampa; that he needed some of the cash for paying for the place, and the rest to turn over to a contractor so that improvements on the place could start at once. It all sounded fearfully plausible; and, with your ready and extensive guarantee for young Dixon – ”

“Please don’t remind me of my idiocy again until I’ve had time to pull up a notch,” begged Tremaine.

The two Tampa officers had seated themselves together at the forward end of the car. They were lean, quiet men, of undying nerve, and crack shots in the moment of need.

It did not take long to haul the one-car special down to the port. As the train began to run out onto the long mole, all hands in the car crowded at the forward doorway.

Before the engine came to a full stop Tom Halstead and Joe Dawson were off and running at a great burst of speed for the extreme end of the mole. Halstead was the first to gain it.

“The ‘Buzzard’ is gone from anchorage,” he cried, as his gaze swept the harbor.

“That little bit of hull we can see away down past the harbor looks like the ‘Buzzard’ heading south,” declared Joe.

“It must be,” nodded Tom Halstead. “But Jeff will very likely know.”

A busily-throbbing little naphtha launch was hovering close in the water.

“Hurry in for a fare, can you?” shouted Captain Halstead, framing his mouth with his hands.

The launch turned in at the float, and by this time the other members of the party had hastened up.

“Out to the ‘Restless’, and give your whistle head enough so that our man on board will hear you,” cried Tom, as the launch cast off.

In response to the screeches of the whistle Jeff Randolph soon appeared on the deck of the motor cruiser, waving his arms in answer.

“Get everything ready for a lightning start!” yelled the young skipper over the water. This Joe supplemented with some strenuous signals.

“Do you know whether that’s the ‘Buzzard’ vanishing to the southward?” demanded young Captain Halstead, the instant he clambered over the side.

“Yes; it is,” nodded Jeff, promptly.

CHAPTER XXII

KICKING WATER IN THE WAKE OF THE “BUZZARD.”

“DID you see what passengers she carried?” added Tom Halstead, breathless with suspense.

“A young man. I didn’t note him particularly at the distance,” Jeff Randolph drawled.

“Could it have been Oliver Dixon!”

“Why, yes, about his build, though the distance was considerable, and the fellow’s back was turned this way as he went on board.”

“Just one passenger went to the ‘Buzzard’, eh?” broke in Henry Tremaine.

“All I noticed,” confessed Jeff. “I wasn’t paying particular attention.”

Joe, in the meantime, had made a straight break down into the motor room. Now his engines were running.

“Lay out forward, here, Jeff, to help me stow the anchor away,” called the youthful skipper. One of the Tampa officers also aided.

“Crowd the speed on, Joe, as fast as you properly can,” shouted down Halstead as he took his place at the wheel.

Almost with a jump the “Restless” started. The boat supposed to be the “Buzzard” was now about hull-down. Her solitary signal mast would be a hard thing to keep in sight across an interval of several miles.

By this time Jeff Randolph was in possession of the main facts. He knew they were in frenzied pursuit of Oliver Dixon, who was believed to carry with him some sixty thousand dollars, in all, that Henry Tremaine stood to lose.

Now that President Haight knew his bank did not stand to lose a large sum, because of Tremaine’s unfaltering guarantee, the bank man was no longer near a state of collapse. Still, he keenly felt Tremaine’s suspense.

“I’ll never be such a fool again,” muttered Tremaine, to his wife. “I’ll never go security for anyone after this – not even my brother.”

“I can’t understand why you were so easy over the loss of the first ten thousand dollars,” murmured his wife.

“That was because I believed the whole matter would come out presently. I didn’t want to suspect Halstead, and I didn’t want to suspect young Oliver Dixon. So I didn’t know where the lightning might hit. Rather than stir up trouble I preferred to wait and see what the developments would be. Ten thousand dollars I could stand the loss of, if I had to, but sixty thousand – ”

The “Restless” was kicking the water at a furious gait, now, but Captain Halstead groaned when he realized that the “Buzzard” had succeeded in taking her hull wholly out of sight.

“Mr. Tremaine, I’ll have to press you into service,” called the young sailing master, firmly.

“Yes; do give me something to do,” begged the charter-man, stepping up beside the wheel.

“The ‘Buzzard’ is now so far away, sir, that I’m not quite sure whether I can see her signal mast or not. Sometimes I think I do; at other times I’m in doubt. You might take the marine glass, sir, and see if you can pick up that mast and keep it in sight.”

“Indeed, I will,” breathed Tremaine, anxiously.

“Joe,” Captain Tom called down through the forward hatchway, “kick on every bit of speed you can crowd out of the motors. We’ve got to hump faster.”