Chapter IX · A PLEASURE TRIP.

It was fully fifteen minutes after I gained the deck before the slightest attention was paid to my appearance, and this period I made full use of in close scrutiny of my surroundings.

Never, even aboard a man-of-war, have I seen such decks. Holystoned they were, every inch of them, and at that very instant four fellows were scouring away for dear life.

And that immaculateness was everywhere apparent. I could see well enough why it was that I had awakened alone in the forecastle with only old Steve to watch over me.

Brass shone to brisk burnishing; mahogany glowed to the chamois; every man jack of ’em was furbishing, except the helmsman.

And the craft was well worth such grooming. Even in the anxiety that, of necessity, was mine at the moment, I glowed over such fitness; everything O. K. to the dot. Bowsprit to taffrail I scanned her, and didn’t find an “out.” Her forestay she carried pretty well inboard, for the ’sprit was short, according to the modern custom.

The masts, clear Oregon pine, raked a trifle, giving a dash that was a bit reminiscent of the old America. It may not make for speed, but I never saw a real sailor that didn’t favor it.

Guessing the direction by the sun, I reckoned our course to be somewhat east of south, and the freshening west wind bellied the creamy canvas into unwrinkled corpulence. Besides her lower standing, she was carrying ballooner and club topsail.

But no foretopsail met my upward search, and it didn’t take long to see why. Between her masts stretched wireless rigging.

Now, all this time of my survey of the schooner, not one of the full score of sailors that were working all about me, as I paced the forward deck, gave me a word. But I judged, from an occasional furtive glance or two I caught, that I was nothing if not interesting.

I suppose, though, as old Steve had intimated, “orders were orders.” But that kind of thing gets on a man’s nerves as only such inactive suspense can, and I was upon the very point of striding aft to stir up something when I spied some gilt emerging from the companionway.

The little captain gave a word to the man at the wheel, then whirled and faced forward.

“Stevens once more!” said I to myself, though I was not oversurprised at the recognition.

His grin when he caught sight of me was all the satisfaction I got before he popped immediately back down the companionway. But I didn’t have long to wait for further developments, for I don’t believe it was a full minute before a little Jap glided up the steps, and came directly toward me.

“You come follow me,” said the flunky abruptly, as he whirled a most ridiculous rightabout. But naturally I was in no mood to read humor in things, so I followed meekly enough.

The Jap led down the steps, and across a saloon; then he tapped almost reverently at a door that gave off from a passageway beyond.

To a sharp summons to enter, he opened the door, and stood aside for me to pass him, which I did. Then the door closed behind me, and I faced the strangest stateroom I ever saw.

But it was not the room itself, remarkable as it was, that focused the entire attention, for a man in a broad-backed chair, busied at something on the table before him, sat facing me.

The whole breadth of the room was between us, but I could feel every nerve of my ill-controlled features pass under the appraising scrutiny of that pair of half-closed gray eyes that drilled at me as he glanced up from what had been engrossing his attention.

It will be remembered that on the two occasions I had seen this man, Carl Stroth, I had not got a fair and square look at him. Back there on the launch at Port Washington he had stood steadily at the wheel, peering ahead, while I, of necessity, was busied with the engine.

And that other time when, as the accommodating “deck hand,” he had made a fool of me, his disguise had been of the cleverest.

But now I had ample opportunity for a searching survey of the man, for he let a minute pass in silence. And I availed myself of this opportunity to the full; though now, as I attempted to word the impression his face made upon me, I am forced lamely to state that its strongest characteristic lay in its very indefinableness; a sort of haunting fitting of something I decidedly didn’t like across features which seemed more naturally to fit themselves into something I instinctively did like.

Even seated as he was, there came to his shoulders suddenly that forward hunch which I had before noted, and which now I could see was accompanied by a forward craning of the neck in riveting his eyes upon me. Vulturelike it was, and more.

And then, as suddenly, the posture shifted to ease as he said quietly:

“None the worse for the episode, Mr. Grey?”

It was not so much surprise at his knowing my name—which I knew his methods well enough by now to see would be easy—as it was the lightness and even friendliness of the tone; a friendliness which consorted ill with the stare he had favored me with the moment before. But I strove to match it as I replied:

“It was more for adventure than money that I entered the detective service, Mr. Stroth.”

I know now that nothing I could have said would have had more effect upon him, or quicker.

“Ah!” he cried delightedly, as he sprang to his feet, shoved back his chair, and strode toward me. “Good! There we have it—adventure—spice—zest! The only thing worth while, isn’t it?”

It certainly was an unexpected way to open conversation, under the circumstances; and, next second, he seemed to realize it, for his tone altered to one of less enthusiasm:

“But first it’s probably best for us to understand each other.”

He nodded for me to be seated, and resumed his own chair.

“Mr. Grey,” said he, “who is, or was, your employer in this case?”

My smile was almost a wince at his shift of tense to the past; then I replied evasively:

“This case?”

“Come, now, man,” he retorted sharply, and I regretted my attempt at fencing; “you look like more sense. And I believe, if you’ll remember our several positions at the present minute, that probably out-and-out frankness will strike you as the best policy. It is natural that I am puzzled about you at some points in reviewing the events of the past two days, and I see no better or quicker method of clearing the air than direct question and answer. So now, what say you? Of course, I can handle my own end in either course you choose to pursue, though personally I prefer candor.”

He was right; the upper hand was his, and it didn’t take me many seconds to reconcile my conscience to my superior’s, by saying:

“Let it be the truth, then, Mr. Stroth. And I certainly hope that something’ll come out that will make things a bit clearer to me. The Lord knows I’m in the dark deep enough myself. I’m ready.”

“First, then,” said he, as he handed me over a humidor of dusky-hued panetelas—though I noticed he didn’t take one himself—“perhaps it would be best for me to state my difficulties, eh?”

“As you will, sir,” I agreed, lighting the welcome cigar, which I really stood in need of.

“Here we have it, then,” he continued. “First I see you on the dock at Port Washington, and it’s the first time I ever saw you in my life, I believe.”

“Exactly,” I broke in, “and I believe I was at that time instrumental—was of some service?”

“Wait! That’s just the point. You were of service, immense service, I admit. I never would have thought that Pawlinson would have the nerve to risk fooling Stevens into hiring him for engineer of my own launch. And it might very well have succeeded but for you, as you say.”

“But then?”

“But next I stumble on you at the Portland wharf. Apparently your rôle had, by that time, decidedly shifted. Stevens, who came from Stamford, where he left the launch, even tells me that both you and Pawlinson traveled in the same sleeping coach with him to Boston.”

“I didn’t know it at the time,” I said, but he paid no attention to the interruption as he concluded:

“And now, last night, came the final mystery, for my searchlight revealed both you and Pawlinson at fisticuff loggerheads in a wabbly punt, with a speed-boat accompaniment. As to your place in this little series of events, I confess myself completely mystified; and so it is that I ask you—who was your employer in this thing, and where do you stand, anyway?”

I saw no way to answer except in the strictest truth, and I couldn’t see, for the life of me, how it could hurt matters at all then, for I certainly was completely in his power any time he should choose to apply the thumbscrews.

“I am one of Chief Garth’s men,” said I. “You know him?”

“Old Garth, of the United?” he chuckled. “I should say I did. Yes?”

“Now, it was mere coincidence that made me figure back there at Port Washington. I didn’t even know Pawlinson then.”

“I have had enough whirls with coincidence to credit improbability on that score. Well?”

He was attention itself, and, had I resolved upon a lie, I might well have feared the brain behind those eyes. But truth is deliciously easy. So I continued quietly:

“So when I returned to Chief Garth’s house that night I found that Pawlinson had asked him for a man upon a difficult case, and that——”

“Yes, yes. I’ve got you. The same case. Coincidence again, and, as I say, I believe you. You left Portland with what plan?”

“Simply to spot you,” I replied. “You see, I read the steamer’s name on the stern out there in the Sound when you boarded her. I knew her port, for I have sailed on her myself.”

There was a short interval of silence, during which he fitted things together. Then he came out with:

“So Pawlinson followed you to Portland, made his authority known to you, and you worked together after your meeting there?”

“Exactly!”

“But come, finish it! What was the meaning of that disagreement between you alongside the hydroplane?”

“You didn’t catch the motive, then?” I queried.

“Not at all. I was called to the deck only in time to see him lift you clear of the punt, and hurl you overboard. And,” he added, with a smile, “old Steve’s boat hook did the rest.”

“So you haven’t yet tumbled to the reason for quitting the speed boat?”

“No; though I did understand that there wasn’t time for you to connect with the police launch.”

“Well,” said I, “granting a fiend’s viewpoint, the plan was not so bad, for it certainly would have stopped you. That craft was built stancher than most hydroplanes, and carried a terrible way on her. She’d have made a nasty-enough hole——”

“What!” He sprang erect in the sudden mount of fury at the full realization. “Do you mean to tell me that the scoundrel actually meditated——”

“Not only meditated,” I interrupted coolly. “He’d already ordered me into the punt, and set the rudder before I myself could——”

His tone lowered as he broke in on my explanation:

“So that was the reason for the fight?”

“Naturally,” I replied. “Much as my ways lie in dark places, I am not taken with such methods; where women are concerned especially.”

“Then you knew that my daughter was aboard with me?”

“I didn’t know till this minute that the young lady was your daughter,” said I. “But the inference that she was on the vessel was natural enough after I had chased you pretty well over Portland.”

Stroth made no direct reply to this. He seemed rather to be settling some course. Then he shot out abruptly:

“What did Pawlinson tell you he was after my scalp for? Did he let you that far into his confidence?”

Now, it’s no easy matter to tell a man of Stroth’s type that he’s a thief, and in spite of me I couldn’t word Pawlinson’s revelations into much softer phrase.

He noted my hesitation, but didn’t spare me a whit.

“Come, Grey, out with it exactly! I want it all—and unvarnished!”

“Well,” said I, bracing my voice with a swallow, “those affairs at certain country places along Long Island Sound have long been puzzling us, and——”

I might have spared myself my hesitation, for he didn’t so much as turn a hair.

“Oh, so that was all, eh? Then he said nothing about——” He checked the sentence to another question: “What do you know about Pawlinson, anyway?”

“Precious little,” I answered him, and I let my manner tell as much as it could of my contempt for the fellow. “In fact, I never heard of him till he came into prominence about three years ago at Washington. And that’s about all any one in the service knows. He’s understood to be something of a mystery.”

Stroth grunted.

“I don’t doubt it—I don’t doubt it,” said he, as to himself.

Then came another slight interval of silence, during which I puffed away contentedly at the panetela, for I felt no presentiment of coming trouble. In fact, I was beginning rather to enjoy the situation.

I knew men well enough to read in Stroth that he had not lost sight of the saving part I had played the night before; though, as I sat there looking at him, I confessed to myself he was a puzzle in some way—distinctly a puzzle.

He came out of his momentary abstraction with a shout of enthusiasm that was positively boyish:

“Then it’s to be a little pleasure trip, after all! Good enough, Grey! And I believe you’ll find that——”

Here I was fool enough to enter a wedge of curiosity.

“Then all that dope about this being the schooner that has been working the Sound is absolute bunkum, Mr. Stroth?”

It was as if I had touched a match to bomb.

His brow darkened, and he bit out:

“I believe I’m doing pretty well by you! But, of course, you have your choice—that is—pleasure trip—or otherwise. Understand me? Otherwise.”

I hastened to shift.

“Nothing I like better than a sailing voyage, Mr. Stroth,” and I let him know by my laugh that I realized he had me.

“I didn’t think you were a fool,” he replied, in lighter vein. “So here we have it, then, and it’s the last word I want spoken on the subject. We’re bound for Savannah, Georgia. Simple enough, eh? Till then you’re my guest, we’ll say. And, after we reach port, I’ll have your word that you let three days go before you get the wires hot to headquarters. Now, take the proposition or leave it!”

“I understand at last, Mr. Stroth,” said I slowly, “and my worst enemy can’t say I’m not a man of my word.”

As suddenly as he had left it he whirled back to boyishness.

“Fine—fine!” And he actually slapped me heartily on the shoulder. “By the way, what time is it?”

As if in answer, seven bells rang out.

“Good enough! There’s plenty of time to show you something before dinner. And if you’re interested in that sort of thing we’ll certainly have an enjoyable trip!”

Well, here, indeed, was a man of moods.

TO BE CONTINUED.