The Motor Boat Club at Nantucket Part 27

CHAPTER XVIII-THE MESSAGE UNDER THE ROCK

"And so you've gained until another day, anyway, sir," Tom wound up his account of the "accident" to the "Meteor's" motor.

"I fear it will do us but little good," sighed Horace Dunstan. "I feel that possibility in the way of search has been exhausted. It looks as though we were doomed to defeat."

"I don't like to think, Mr. Dunstan, that any such thing as defeat is possible as long as there's more time left us," was Halstead's answer.

"I trust, my young friend, that your faith will be justified."

"Any instructions for to-night, sir?"

"No; nothing remains to be done and you young men deserve your rest at last."

"Then Joe and I may stretch our legs on sh.o.r.e."

"That will be all right, as long as Jed Prentiss and Bouncer remain aboard to watch the boat."

Joe started first that night, hurrying away before Gambon had left his cottage. Tom remained behind, in hiding near the gate, to follow the Frenchman. Gambon came out, half an hour after dark, armed with the same heavy walking stick. As before, he turned straight in the direction of Nantucket the young skipper following just out of sight.

To-night there seemed to be more need of caution. Several times the Frenchman turned or halted and listened, but each time the young skipper was not to be seen.

Just before Gambon reached the grove where the rock lay Joe stepped up beside his chum.

"There's a message there and I read it," whispered Joe.

"What was it?" Tom eagerly demanded.

"Simply this: 'Oceanside, 332.'"

"What do you make of that, Joe?"

"Telephone number is my guess."

"It must be. You put the message back under the rock?"

"Yes, indeed."

"Then, see here, Joe. I'm going to slip into the woods and hurry on ahead to Nantucket. I'll find out where 'Oceanside, 332,' is. You follow Gambon, and see if he goes to a telephone. If he does, try to hear what's said. Whatever you do to-night, though, Joe, don't let Gambon get out of your sight. Remember, slim as it is, it's our last chance!"

"And you?"

"All I can say," Tom replied, "is that you'll see me again, old fellow, whenever and wherever we happen to meet. Good-by, now, and be sharp to-night."

"Good luck to you, Tom."

Moving through the woods, Halstead was quickly in Nantucket. In a drug store he picked up the telephone directory, scanning the pages until he located "Oceanside, 332." He could have jumped from sheer excitement. It was the telephone number of the farmer, Sanderson, on the east side of the island. Sanderson was the man who had been receiving so many cases of "machinery" from the mainland.

Slipping out of the drug store, Halstead went swiftly down one of the side streets. He did not want to run any risk of encountering Gambon.

"So the scene shifts back to Sanderson's?" thought the young skipper excitedly. "Then if Don Emilio's crowd isn't there, there must at least be some one there who has authority to telephone orders to Gambon.

Whatever those orders are Joe will have to find out-if he can."

Down at the further end of this side street, as Captain Tom knew, was a shop where a bicycle could be rented. Within two minutes the boy felt the saddle of a wheel under him. He pedaled fast, yet he did not take the princ.i.p.al highway that led past Sanderson's.

"There's too much chance of being seen by the wrong folks if I go openly on the main road," Tom told himself.

From Jed he had learned the lay of the roads in that part of the island.

Well trained to sailing by chart, Halstead found that he could pick his roads and paths, even at night, from the mental map of the east side of the island that Jed had supplied him.

When he dismounted it was on a side road, at a distance of a quarter of a mile from Sanderson's house. Most of the land between was covered by young woods.

First of all, Halstead looked about for a thicket that offered a secure hiding place for his rented wheel. When that had been stowed away the young skipper secured his bearings once more.

"And now to see what's going on at Sanderson's to-night, and who's there," Halstead told himself, as he plunged through the woods in what he knew must be the right direction.

After a few minutes he came out in the open. Ahead the well-remembered old farmhouse showed dimly in the darkness.

The night was so dark that Tom could easily approach the house, though he kept a keen lookout against running unexpectedly into anyone.

Cautiously he surveyed the house from all sides. The two lower floors were in darkness and had a closed-up appearance. Through one of the rear attic windows, however, a bright light shone and the sash was raised.

"Sanderson, Don Emilio and some of the others may be meeting up there,"

thought Halstead with a sudden thrill of wonder. "Oh, if I can only find a way to get up there and listen!"

As he stood, well in the shadow of a carriage shed, staring up at that lighted window, a hum of low voices came to his ears.

"Gracious!" muttered the young skipper, stepping further back into the shadow. "There's crowd enough down here on the ground."

On came a group of men, trudging like laborers going to their toil. Dark as the night was, not one of them carried a lantern. From their course it looked as though they came up from the sh.o.r.e. In his eagerness Tom bent forward more, that he might scan them. His eyes were keen-sighted in the dark.

"There's Don Emilio," Halstead told himself. "I'd know him by his size and his walk. And there's Jonas French. There's the little brown chap, I think, who helped to capture Joe the other night. And that stooping figure at the rear is Sanderson. But there are four others."

"I am not used to this hard work, but I will do all I can," Tom heard Don Emilio complain, as the group stopped before one of the larger outbuildings, while Sanderson drew out a key and unfastened a padlock.

"Whew!" Tom Halstead thrilled more intensely than before when he saw the men come out of the other building, two and two, each pair carrying a long box. "This must be one of their big nights. Yet what on earth is up?"

He was destined, soon, to be able to make a good guess.

CHAPTER XIX-THE SIGHT BEHIND THE ATTIC LIGHT

"All right?" asked Farmer Sanderson questioningly.

"All right," agreed Don Emilio. Click went the padlock.