The "Dock Rats" of New York Part 4

A fortune was at stake, and the shadow of a prison loomed out over across the waters and threatened to close in behind them.

Spencer Vance, the disguised detective, the supposed sea-tramp, moved about with the smugglers, acting as they acted, stepping on tiptoe, and looking pale and anxious, and it did not require that he should a.s.sume the pale excited look, for it was a momentous crisis. He had hit the vessel the first clip, and he had struck the trail which had baffled men who claimed a larger experience in that particular branch of the detective service.

He had "piped" down to a critical moment, but he carried his life in his hands. He was not watched, but one false move might draw attention toward him, and but a mere suspicion at that particular moment would cost him his life; these men would not have stopped to bandy, words or make inquiries.

As stated, there came the gleam of a light flashing across the calm waters, and the men who were not on ship duty strained their eyes. Soon there followed a succession of lights, signal lights telling their story, and then the schooner men let out answering lights, and the sails were lowered and the schooner merely drifted upon the bosom of the deep.

Spencer Vance was speechless with excitement as the little game proceeded.

At this period in our story we will not describe the modus operandi, as later on we propose to fully depict the smugglers' methods under more exciting circ.u.mstances, when Spencer Vance was better prepared to checkmate the game. We have here only indicated in an introductory form the detective's keen plan for running down and locating the haunts of the pirates.

Three days following the maneuvers of the schooner off the coast, the detective appeared at a fishing village, and at once he set to locating his sh.o.r.e men.

It was not the poor sailors, who were mere instruments in the robbery scheme, whom the detective was seeking to "pipe" down.

His game was to follow certain clews until he trailed up to the capitalists, the really guilty parties, the rich men who flaunted in New York in elegance and luxury on their ill-gotten gains.

The detective had got an good terms with one of the gangs. He had been off several times with them an a cruise, and considered that he was fast working down to a dead open-and-shut, and the really guilty parties, when he received the strange wanting at the hands of the weird, but beautiful girl who called herself Renie Pearce.

That same night the detective had engaged to go off in the yacht; it was understood that a smuggler was expected off the coast that night, and he was looking to strike on a big "lay."

We must explain to our readers that the arrival of expected vessels is an uncertain event, and the sh.o.r.e watchers were sometimes compelled to go off night after night, even for weeks, before the vessel, sending out the long-looked-for signals, hove in sight off the horizon; and it was on these vigil nights the detective had sailed out with the men. He had thought his game well played, his disguise perfect, his victory sure, when, as stated, at the last moment, a strange, beautiful girl came along and whispered in his ear the terrible warning that danger awaited him if he went off in the boat that night.

Spencer Vance, however, was undaunted; the warning was not sufficient to deter him going off and braving death in the way of duty, and he would have gone had not an incident occurred that caused him to await another opportunity.

As recorded, after his encounter with Sol Burton, he returned to where his boat lay, determined to go off to the yacht, when a second time an apparition glided to his side and whispered a few startling words in his ear.

CHAPTER IV.

The detective stood by his boat thinking over the thrilling position of affairs, when Renie Pearce once more appeared before him.

"h.e.l.lo! you've come back, eh?" called the detective.

"Yes."

"Well, what now?"

"You are determined to go off to-night."

"Well?"

"You must not go, there's better game for you ash.o.r.e!"

The detective was thrown off; he could not understand the girl. Renie had confessed that she had originally betrayed him to the smugglers, and then, when danger threatened, she came and warned him, and her warning failing, she came tripping to him once more, barefooted, ragged, and beautiful, and held out to him an alluring bait.

There was no misunderstanding the purport of her words. She betrayed the fact that she knew his full purpose, and her words implied that she was ready to throw him a larger and more certain game. Her wards were, "There's better game for you ash.o.r.e!"

"Are you, my friend, Renie?"

"Yes; I am your friend."

"If you are my friend, why did you betray me to the smugglers?"

"I was not your friend then, I am your friend now. I can serve you and you can serve me! Your life is in danger. You will never return if you go out in the yacht to-night. I had prepared you for your doom, but now I will save you, and again I tell you that there's better game ash.o.r.e."

"Why should I trust you! do you not confess to having betrayed me?"

"I only knew you then as a government detective; now I know you are a man."

"You must have made the latter discovery very suddenly."

"I did."

"When?"

"When you knocked Sol Burton down; that man meant me harm. I could have defended myself against him, but a greater peril menaces me to-night."

"What peril menaces you?"

"I have no confidant in the world; shall I make one of you?"

"Yes."

"My confidence may get you into trouble."

"How sad."

"You are a brave, n.o.ble man; you will desire to act as my champion."

"You are a strange girl."

"Yes; mine is a hard lot; I am a waif; I am nothing; I am all outcast; a thing, and yet--"

The girl ceased. She had spoken with a wild. energy, and she had looked ravishingly beautiful while talking.

"And yet, what?" said the detective interrogatively.

"My heart is full of all the ambitions that might fill the heart of a girl born in the midst of splendor and luxury; and although the companion of smugglers, I love only what is pure and beautiful; I cherish the fondest dreams, and yet--"

Again the detective supplemented:

"Well, go on."

"I am a poor, ragged, barefooted girl, the daughter of a boat-keeper, and that is not all!"

"Tell me all."