The Motor Boat Club at Nantucket Part 28

"All wrong, I'll bet a hundred cookies," mocked Tom Halstead under his breath.

"Come along, now," directed Don Emilio. He seemed to be the leader in to-night's work.

"I don't believe I'm included in that invitation to 'come along,' but I'm going to cheek my way along," grinned the young skipper.

He had no need to keep them exactly in sight, these industrious workers in the dark. Laden as they were, it was enough to keep within sound of the rather regular shuffle of their feet.

As Tom had surmised, the four pairs of men, keeping together, proceeded toward the sh.o.r.e. Once, on the way down the slope, they halted to give the weaker ones an opportunity to rest their muscles. Then, picking up their heavy cases once more, the men went on down the slope toward the pier.

"That is the stuff that was billed under 'machinery' labels!" muttered the young skipper to himself. "I'll wager those boxes contain guns and cartridges to start a new revolution with down in stormy Honduras. But is their filibustering craft here? Are they getting ready to sail before daylight? If that's the game, then I must get awfully busy."

As Tom, taking advantage of the uneven ground and dodging behind bushes and trees, followed un.o.bserved and came within sight of the pier he made out with certainty that no craft was tied there.

"That doesn't prove a lot, though," he reflected, watching the procession of toilers from behind a bush. "If they have a tug or some other steam vessel it could slip in here two hours before daylight and be away again in another hour. But what's that? Where are they going now?"

In the darkness it was not quite easy to see more than that the procession had moved into the shadow of a depression in the ground near the pier. Crawling that he might not be seen against the dim skyline, Halstead secured another point of observation. He thought, now, he could make out the outlines of a small building.

"I'll wait until the crowd gets away from there before I try for a closer look," thought the young motor boat skipper.

Nor had he long to wait ere the same eight filed by not far from his hiding place. Halstead watched until they were out of sight behind Sanderson's house.

Then the youthful investigator slipped down the slope and into the shadow. He went cautiously, though, for fear that Don Emilio might have posted a guard below.

There was none, however. Tom found himself staring at what looked like a new boathouse on sh.o.r.e, such as is used for the winter storing of yachts or motor boats. There were no windows. The door, a strong affair, was secured by a padlock.

"If they're putting the stuff in there and locking it up, then they don't intend to ship it to-night," Halstead wisely decided.

He had learned, apparently, all that was to be learned at this point. To keep his eyes upon the case-carrying toilers might mean only to witness a repet.i.tion of the same monotonous work through all the night.

"That one bright light up in the attic," Halstead wondered, the memory of it coming back to him. "I wonder what's going on up there? And I mean to know, too."

Satisfied that he knew all about the waterfront business, Halstead took such a wide, curving sweep in getting back to the farmhouse that he ran no risk of running into the busy eight.

Once more he sought the deep shadow of the wagon shed, from which point he stared long and wonderingly.

Beneath that attic window was a kitchen annex of one story. And Tom made out, presently, that a lightning rod ran down the back of the main building close to that brilliantly lighted window on the third floor.

The rod touched the roof of the kitchen annex, running thence down to the ground.

"It's a job for stocking feet, anyway," Halstead decided at last. Having removed his shoes and feeling about in the dark, the young skipper ran his hand against a coil of rope hanging on a peg.

"Good enough!" he cried inwardly. "I don't believe there are many climbing jobs where a rope won't come in handy."

As he removed the coil of rope from the peg he discovered a few lengths of cord. These he stuffed into one of his pockets.

"For I can't tell what kind of a sling I may need to rig before I get through," he thought.

The busy eight were returning from still another trip to the water front. Halstead stopped all movement, remaining utterly quiet until they had started sh.o.r.eward with the next load.

"Now I've got to work fast," thought Captain Tom thrilling. "I reckon it's about fifteen minutes between their arrivals here. That means fast work, my boy."

Shoes in hand, the coil of rope fast at his waist, Halstead stole out toward the southern side of the kitchen annex. Leaving his shoes on the ground Tom found it an easy task to climb up onto the roof of the annex.

Now he felt carefully of the lightning rod, next giving it harder and harder pulls, to make sure that it was strong enough to hear his weight.

That point settled, Halstead began to ascend. It was not a difficult task for a boy trained aboard seagoing craft.

Up and up he went, making little if any sound. At last he was able to lean outward from the rod, resting one elbow on the ledge of the lighted window. Yet, on peering into the room the young skipper received a shock that almost caused him to lose his hold on the lightning rod.

At the further end of the bare-looking attic stood a plain pine table, which held a reading lamp that gave a strong light. With his back to the window, seated in a rocking chair and his feet on another chair, lounged a boy, reading.

Even with his back turned, the unseen face bent over a book, that boy was known beyond the possibility of a doubt to Tom Halstead.

"Ted Dunstan, himself!" the young skipper almost cried aloud.

Not for one moment did Halstead even think of slipping down from the window and running for help. If he did so Ted was as likely as not to be gone upon his return.

"I've got to get him out of here, and on the jump, too," puzzled the young captain. "But how is the thing to be done?"

An appeal to young Ted himself would be worse than useless. That young heir, as the spy at the window knew, had altogether too complete a faith in his present comrades.

While Tom still hung on there another happening caused his heart to b.u.mp against his ribs. The busy eight were returning. He could hear the light tread on gravel under their feet.

Not a second was to be lost. Inwardly breathing a prayer, Halstead raised himself to the window sill with the utmost stealth. In another moment he was over the sill and in the room on his stockinged tip-toes.

Ted did not turn. Plainly he was too absorbed in his book to suspect any other presence. Not daring, of course, to remain near the window, which would place him in sight of the busy eight in the yard, as soon as they should reach the outbuildings, Halstead slid noiselessly along the wall, pressing his hands against it. His strained, intense look was all the time on the unsuspecting Dunstan heir.

"Ho, ho, ho!" chuckled Master Ted, throwing his head back, but he did not look around. Evidently something in the book on his lap amused him immensely.

Tom stood there, still praying under his breath, praying that the eight might quickly take up their new burdens and hasten sh.o.r.eward.

At last there came the sound of crunching against gravel. Tom, trying to stifle the sound of his own breathing, listened intently until the dying out of sounds outside made him believe that the men were once more out of the way.

Now trembling in every muscle, Halstead stole forward toward the Dunstan heir. The floor creaked; he stopped short in great alarm. For Halstead felt certain that, somewhere near at hand, there must be some one intrusted with the responsibility of watching over this young heir.

Master Ted, however, did not turn. Taking heart Tom stole forward as softly as ever Indian trod. Crouching, he was near enough now to reach out and touch the back of young Dunstan.

Of a sudden Halstead made the plunge. He leaped forward with the agility of a panther, fairly yanking Ted Dunstan out of the rocking chair and dropping him softly on the floor beside it.

Taken in this fashion, Master Ted would have let out a l.u.s.ty yell. Yet the instant he opened his mouth Tom Halstead's fingers gripped at his throat, shutting off the youngster's wind.

"I don't want to hurt you," whispered Halstead sharply yet half apologetically. "But I've got to keep you quiet no matter what I have to do to you."

Ted's face betrayed absolute fear as well as unmistakable loathing, as that choking shut off his breath. His mouth opened, his tongue lolling out.

"Now you may breathe again, if you'll keep quiet," Tom informed him.

"But, remember-I _won't_ have any noise!"

As soon as he could breathe again panting Ted's wits also began to clear. He raised one of his feet, as he lay prostrate with Halstead a-top of him, and brought that heel down against the floor. Halstead promptly threw his own body so that Master Ted could not again raise either foot.

"I see that I've got to go to extreme measures with you; you don't understand that I'm deadly in earnest," panted Tom, finding that this wiry, out-of-door, agile boy of ten could be wonderfully slippery. "Now listen, Ted Dunstan. If you don't want me to be ugly and to choke you until your senses fade, then prepare to mind me. Now then roll over on your face-and don't you _dare_ to make any noise doing it."

A good deal cowed by the fierce glint in Tom's eyes, Ted almost pa.s.sively obeyed, though the young skipper was obliged to roll the young man himself.