23. The Chandler’s Shop

A few days after the events aboard the black freighter the boys landed from the Lassie in Boston. They had been to the city once before when they were younger, but neither of them remembered the place. Terry had never been there, although he had always wanted to go. So it was with eager interest that the three boys looked around the famous city.

Before leaving on the cruise their father had given them a letter to a former business partner by the name of Ferris, and soon after landing in the city the boys looked him up. They found him in his office, busily engaged in his work as an importer. He scanned the letter Don handed to him from his father and his clear-cut face lighted up in recognition.

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“Well, well,” exclaimed Mr. Ferris, as he smilingly shook hands with the boys. “So these are the Mercer boys and their friend, eh? I’m very happy to know you, I’m sure. How is dad?”

Mr. Ferris turned out to be an excellent host. He insisted on finishing up his business with unusual rapidity and then taking them around Boston. Some of the sections of particular interest were covered on foot and some in Mr. Ferris’ own car. The boys visited all of the historic houses in the city and the monument at Bunker Hill. And at the end of the day their host took them to his own house, a magnificent place on one of the fine, secluded old drives of the city. There the boys were made perfectly at home, and that night, after a delightful evening spent with the Ferris family, which consisted of two young daughters and Mrs. Ferris, beside Mr. Ferris, they slept in real beds once more.

“By golly, it surely feels good,” commented Jim, as he snuggled down in the large bed which had been made ready for him.

“No doubt that it does,” retorted Terry, who was to occupy the same bed. “But I’d thank you to move over, instead of sprawling all over the bed as if it was yours.”

“If you want any of it, you’ll have to fight for it, Chucklehead,” taunted Jim.

But when Don saw the light of mischief that leaped into Terry’s eyes he promptly vetoed the proposition.

“Nothing doing, you two,” he warned. “That would be all right if we were out on the boat, but we’re not. You can’t roughhouse in here. You’ll have to move over, Jim.”

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Jim sighed. “Suppose I’ll have to. But anywhere else Terry would have to win his half of this bed! I got here first!”

On the following day, after the boys had enjoyed a splendid night’s rest, Mr. Ferris took the day off to entertain them. Although the boys did not know very much about the gentleman they did know that he had been very intimate with their father several years ago, and so they appreciated his efforts in their behalf. They spent most of the day simply enjoying themselves around the house, and in the afternoon Don proposed that they visit some chandler shops near the waterfront.

“We might be able to pick up something useful for the sloop,” he suggested. “We broke the frame of one porthole, and I’d like to hunt up a new one.”

Mr. Ferris knew the location of several ship shops and the boys visited one or two of them, but were unable to find a porthole frame to fit the one which had been broken on the Lassie. After they had visited the larger shops Don was ready to give it up.

“I guess we’ll have to order one, to be made special,” he said.

But Mr. Ferris knew of one more shop that they had not visited. It was down in a small alley that ran off the docks, he said, and while it was not much of a place, he felt that they might have the good luck to find what they were in search of. So they drove down to the docks in his car and parked near the mouth of the alley. Midway down this dark street they found the place, a dark little hole in the wall, and they entered.

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The proprietor, a little humpbacked man, appeared with wonderful rapidity from a green curtain at the back of the darkened store and waited on them. Don looked over his badly arranged stock of ship fittings in the corner and Terry and Jim wandered around the store, examining various articles. The store was not in any way neat, ropes, clocks, wheels, anchors, glasses and other articles being piled carelessly all over the place. Mr. Ferris stood with Don, looking over the porthole fittings.

Don had found what he was looking for, and he examined it with unusual care, to make sure that there was no flaw in it. The portholes on the sloop were of an odd size and he had had to use unusual care in selecting one to fit it. After looking this particular one over he decided that it would do.

“This one is all right,” he told the proprietor. “I’ll take it.”

The owner went to wrap it up and Don turned his attention to other objects. He noticed that Jim was standing apart examining a ship’s clock, but thought nothing further about it at the time. But he would have been more curious had he known what was attracting his brother’s attention.

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Jim had been picking up various articles during the time in which Don was looking over the porthole frame, and his attention had been especially drawn to the few ships’ clocks that the chandler had on display. One of them attracted him more than the others and he picked it up and looked closely at it. He turned it over in his hand, a puzzled look on his face.

“Jeepers, that looks like my clock, the one that was stolen,” he muttered.

Out of the corner of his eye he noted that the dealer was wrapping up Don’s purchase and he acted upon a thought which came to him. It was more of a memory than a thought, for he had just remembered that he had scratched his initials on one of the flanges on the back of his clock. Quickly he turned the clock over, tilted it up, and on the ornamental overhang of the clock he saw faintly the markings “J. M. M.” Without a doubt it was his own clock.

Without saying anything he put the clock back and they all went out of the shop. It was not until they had left the neighborhood that he asked Mr. Ferris to draw up to the curb while he told his story. It created quite a sensation.

“Then that’s the headquarters of the marine bandits,” declared Don, with conviction.

“Well, you can’t be sure of that,” said Mr. Ferris. “It is possible that the man might have simply bought stolen goods. But we’ll report this to the police at once. It is well worth knowing, and we may be on the right track, or have a very valuable clue.”

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Without loss of time they went to the nearest police station and reported the matter to the local chief. He was much interested.

“This may prove to be a big thing,” he said, pushing a row of buttons on his desk. “We’ve been after these fellows all along the waterfront for a long time, but up until now they have managed to slip through our hands with ease. This may be the finishing touch. I’ll put my men on the trail at once.”

Several detectives reported to the chief, who informed them of the details of a raid which he planned. He decided to go down personally and the boys begged to be allowed to go. He assented and they rode down in Mr. Ferris’ car.

“We’ll go around to the alley at the back,” the chief decided. “I have men who are to raid the place in the front and I think it best that we look in at the rear. There may be some means of exit there that will bear watching.”

They ran down the alley that passed back of the ship chandler’s place and sat in the car, waiting. After what seemed like a long time a whistle suddenly shrilled out from the other street. Instantly the captain was out of the car, the boys and Mr. Ferris following.

“I guess we can get in this way,” the chief said, leading the way between two narrow houses. They arrived at the back of the shop in time to see two detectives come out with two men, one of whom was Frank and the other the man called Marcy.

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“Got these two sleeping in the back, chief,” one of the detectives said. “The boss of the place is out front, safely collared. I guess this is a dumping ground, all right. The cellar is full of stuff.”

“Do you boys know either of these men?” asked the chief.

“Indeed we do,” answered Don. “This man Frank helped to imprison me, and later on he tried to capture the sloop when Terry was on board. The other man is the one who followed me through the cellar at Mystery Island.”

“I wonder what became of Benito the leader?” mused Jim.

One of the detectives shook the two captives. “Where is your leader?” asked the detective.

“Don’t know,” said Frank, sullenly.

“Look here,” said the detective. “We——”

At that moment a small door in a house a short distance from the chandler’s shop opened suddenly and a man bolted out. The boys recognized him at once.

“Benito!” shouted Don and Jim, in a breath.

The man hesitated for a second and then began to run. But that second was his undoing. Just as the chief started after him Terry launched into action. He was nearest and he moved swiftly. A few running steps he took and then dived in a fine football tackle, catching the running bandit just at the knees. Benito went down like a log, and before he could get up the chief and the boys were upon him.

“Got you this time,” panted Terry. “First down and goal to go, though you won’t be worrying about that now.”

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They lifted the leader of the gang to his feet and handcuffed them all. The chief was pleased with the day’s work.

“Fine work, my boys,” he cried, enthusiastically. “I think this spells the end of that marine bandit gang.”

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