Part 10

She half arose in her chair. But almost instantly she recovered her self-possession, though the wide-open eyes told plainly of the excitement that her words had betrayed.

“I--I had not heard of it,” she said, trying to smile. “It sounds interesting; pray tell me about it.”

“It’s no great story. Anna was frightened when she met me on the stairs leading to the second floor; she said some things that meant nothing, but her manner caused me to suspect much. Later I was convinced that I was right, by her stealing downstairs to assure herself that I was gone.”

“What did you suspect?”

“That there was another design upon the safe beside my own--that she had someone concealed in the house who was to help her.”

“No, no, that can’t be true. Anna knows nothing of the packet.”

He looked at her in surprise.

“Then you and she were not partners, so to speak; you knew nothing of her movements?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I was so impressed with the notion that she was about to attempt some secret design, that when you caught the glimmer of my torch in the dark hall and came to the office door, I felt sure that it was she.”

A startled look came upon the face of Dallas; her voice was low and frightened as she exclaimed:

“When was this?”

“Before I began operations upon the safe. Don’t you remember? You opened the office door and listened. You could see nothing, the darkness was so thick. You were frightened; and you whispered: ‘Who’s there?’ Then you went slowly down the hall.”

“You heard this?” she demanded, and her face was pale.

“I did.” He regarded her curiously; then a thought struck him. “By George, it was she after all. She must have stolen away to find Forrester.”

“Forrester!”

“Of course. He was there. I saw them together in the lower hall immediately after you snatched the packet and ran. And Farbush was standing before them wild with passion, and with a revolver in his hand.”

Without a word Dallas arose, went swiftly to a small bookcase at the farther side of the room, and opened a secret and cunningly contrived drawer at its base. Then she turned and he saw that her face was as white as death.

“It’s gone!” she said.

“Not--not--?” he could not finish.

“Yes, the packet.”

He stood for a moment overwhelmed.

“You are sure that it is gone?” he cried. “Look again!”

She shook her head.

“No use. I am quite sure.”

“And you are positive that you placed it there?”

She nodded.

“It was the safest place I knew of,” she answered.

“But the drawer is a secret one! Who knew of it beside yourself?”

“Anna, only.”

“Ah!” and a look of intelligence came into his face. “And when was she here last?”

“Less than an hour ago.”

XVIII

KENYON SHOWS HIS METAL

“He is a young man of quick observation and sure judgment. And once he has made up his mind, he acts like lightning.”

--_Extract from a letter of Nunez._

FOR a moment Dallas Gilbert and Steele Kenyon stood looking into each other’s face in silence; each was reading a suspicion akin to their own.

“I’m inclined to think that Anna has the packet,” stated Kenyon, slowly.

“I am sure of it,” cried the girl. “Oh, I have always hated myself for not believing in her! She seemed so child-like in some things, and she is so clinging and pretty.”

“Ah! Then there has always been a sort of distrust of her?”

“Yes. I could not make up my mind, at times, that she was quite sincere; I often thought that I detected a hidden purpose in her apparently artless questions. Once or twice I have noticed--” But she paused, hesitatingly, then broke out: “But I must not talk this way to you. You do not understand the situation.”

Kenyon bowed.

“There are a great many things, as I have had occasion to remark upon one or two previous occasions, that I do not understand in this case,” said he, smiling.

Again he saw hesitancy in her eyes; then she suddenly held out her hand.

“I ask your pardon,” she said, simply.

Quickly he took the hand; but his manner told her that he did not understand.

“For things that I have said, and things that I have done. I did not believe in you--then.”

“And now?” eagerly.

“I know you to be a brave man.”

A slight shadow came upon his face.

“There are many sorts of brave men,” he said. “Some of the greatest villains have been as courageous as lions.” She understood and hung her head. “Do you know,” he went on, “I think I have been much more generous than you in this matter. You have come upon some sort of evidence that has proven to you that I am not an out and out blackguard; and so, in part, you have repented your first opinion of me.”

She colored, but her beautiful eyes were lifted to meet his, inquiringly.

“I did not require any evidence to prove your worth to me,” Kenyon continued. “You suspected me because you were convinced that I was associated with Hong Yo and the others. I had every reason to believe the same of you--at first--but I did not.”

An impulsive answer seemed to tremble upon her lips; her eyes shone through the gathering tears. But she held herself in check.

“I can tell you nothing now,” she said, and her voice faltered a little. “Because it would seem so strange and unconvincing. I am but a girl, and for months have been circumstanced as a girl has never been before. When one is constantly surrounded by hidden dangers and secret foes, one fears to trust--anyone.”

“I wish I could do something to make you trust me,” he said. “It is not enough for a man to have a girl tell him that she thinks him brave. Mere courage is not an uncommon thing. I don’t know what this evidence is that you have discovered in my favor, but I do know that it must be incomplete. I do not ask to know the meaning of any of the strange things that I have encountered during the past week. All I know is that, somehow, and for some reason, you are engaged in a sort of warfare with a number of men. Let me complete the testimony. Let me fight upon your side and convince you that I am honest, as well as brave.”

For a long time--it seemed minutes to Kenyon--she searched his face. Then with sudden resolve she said:

“I will. I accept you as a recruit.”

“And I,” exclaimed Kenyon, “will serve you as I never served a leader before! Name the deeds that you desire done,” laughing, “and I shall do them.”

But her face was grave; indeed, discouragement was written heavily upon her.

“Oh, I am so helpless to deal with it all,” she almost sobbed, suddenly breaking down. “It is more than a girl’s work. At every turn I see things that appear beyond my strength to overcome. I cannot plan with these men; their cunning overmatches mine. Even at this moment everything seems black. If Anna took the packet from the secret drawer, she has turned it over to Griscom Forrester before this, and he--” She paused suddenly, drawing in her breath in short gasps, then she sprang toward Kenyon and grasped his arm. “Quick, quick!” she cried. “The _Wizard_.”

He looked at her in astonishment.

“It is Griscom Forrester’s yacht; she lies in the East River not far from Twenty-third Street. If she has given him the packet he will get up steam at once.”

Like lightning his mind grasped the situation. He stepped to the desk, took up the ’phone that stood there, and asked for the Waldorf-Astoria. With the receiver to his ear awaiting a reply he turned to her, calmly.

“What sized yacht is the _Wizard_?”

“About seventy tons.”

“And her crew?”

“I think, fifteen men.”

“Thank you.” Then he spoke into the ’phone: “Ah, is that the Waldorf? I’d like to speak to Mr. G. A. Webster, if you please.”

While the connection was being made with Webster’s apartments, Kenyon said to the girl, quietly:

“Take the ’phone book, and find me the name Schmelzer.”

She nervously took up the book and began to flutter the pages. Just then Webster called:

“Hello.”

“Hello, Garry. This is Kenyon.”

“Ah, still on the quest?”

“I want you to meet me at the foot of Twenty-third Street, East River, as soon as you can get there.”

There was a snort of astonishment at the Waldorf end of the wire. Then Webster demanded, excitedly:

“What’s doing, Ken?”

“There promises to be plenty.”

“All right,” exultantly. “I’m with you.”

“Good; ring off, and call an auto. You can’t get there too quick.”

Kenyon hung up and turned to Dallas.

“Well?” he inquired.

“Here they are.”

She laid the directory before him and indicated a list of names. He ran his finger along this, and then gave an exclamation of satisfaction. Schmelzer, who kept the pool-room in Pell Street, also possessed a telephone; so in a few moments he was talking to the ex-divekeeper, Gypsy Brady.

“What do you want the men for?” asked the latter, after some talk.

“A tough job, perhaps. And I want tough men. The pay will be large.”

“I’m your man,” answered Brady. “The large pay is the thing that counts. I’ll be at the place with the bunch as soon as you will.”

Calmly, and without the slightest indication of hurry, Kenyon called up a neighboring garage and ordered a motor-car; then he had himself connected with the information-desk of a popular newspaper, and received much concise information upon the subject of power-boats and where they were to be had. Person after person was summoned over the humming wire; then he hung up, finally, with a satisfied air.

“I think I have done about all I can do in the way of precaution,” said he, smiling. “If the matter stands as you think, I will be ready to offer some sort of opposition to Mr. Forrester’s departure.”

“You are wonderful!” she said. And then she threw back her head and laughed.

It was as though all her anxiety and fear had been dissolved before the sudden rush of his thorough personality. In an instant he had assumed all her cares; she felt herself strangely at peace and weakly willing to allow him to bear the weight of everything. His masculine grasp and sharp military decisions had wonderfully comforted and soothed her.

Kenyon as he looked at her gathered some of this, and his heart beat swiftly. It was the sort of thing that tells heavily with a woman; and he had progressed.

“If I can succeed,” was his thrilling thought, “there will be no one stand higher than I! And I _will_ succeed!”

He heard the gruff grunting of the car’s signal outside; and he turned to Dallas, catching up his hat.

“I must go; the men whom I have engaged will be waiting for me; and then Forrester must not be given too much time.”

She pinned on her hat and took her long coat from a chair where it had been thrown.

“Good-bye,” said he.

“I’m going with you,” she told him, briefly.

“Impossible!” he cried.

“And why so?” She drew herself up in that proud fashion which he had come to know so well; the head lifted imperiously and the beautiful eyes flashed.

“There will be danger, perhaps.”

She laughed, scornfully.

“Danger! Am I not accustomed to danger? The past week has been crowded with perils that I could not see. This, to-night, will be at least visible.”

He looked at her with quick admiration. And at that moment he learned that it was her spirit and not her beauty alone that drew him to her.

“You are determined?” he asked, after a short pause.

“I am.”

“Very well.”

Without another word he led her out to the car which stood at the curb. The night had turned overcast, and a damp wind blew from the east.

“It will be a bad night upon the river,” commented Kenyon.

He assisted her into the huge car.

“Foot of Twenty-third Street, East,” he said to the driver. “And make good time.”

They spoke hardly a word all the way uptown; when the foot of Twenty-third Street was reached Kenyon noticed another car.

“That must be Webster,” he exclaimed. Sure enough, in the tonneau he espied Garry, enveloped in a huge overcoat and holding a cigar between his teeth.

“Hello, Kenyon,” cried that young gentleman, removing the cigar and waving his hand. “Here I am, on deck and waiting!”

“I knew you would be!” Kenyon’s car drew up beside the other. “Mr. Webster--Miss Gilbert.”

The girl inclined her head, but Webster, so great was his astonishment, blundered woefully.

“Great Cæsar!” was his mental exclamation. “Kenyon’s coming along, sure enough. And she _is_ a beauty. I never saw such eyes and such a great lot of dark hair.”

“Wait here for us,” said Kenyon to his driver. Then to Webster he added: “And you’d better have your fellow wait, also; we may need him.”

He helped Dallas out, and the three of them made their way to a pier close by. Webster never asked a question; he knew that something of great importance was expected to occur, or Kenyon would never have summoned him. And then the presence of Dallas Gilbert lent an air of suspense to the thing which he would not have broken for the world.

From a dusky spot along the pier a man arose and approached them.

“Mr. Kenyon?” he asked.

“That’s right. Are you the man I spoke to over the ’phone?”

Kenyon was brusque and direct; for in times of emergency the old military habit was difficult to shake off.

“Yes, sir. I keep the public boat-house down below here a piece.” Then he turned and pointed out into the stream. “I gave an eye to the yacht _Wizard_ as you told me. That’s her out there with all the lights going. Some people boarded her about a half hour ago; I had a night glass on her, and I think they are trying to get up steam in a hurry.”

“Have you the glass with you?”

“Yes, sir. Here it is.”

The east wind had driven the murk in masses above the city; and along the waters of the river a sort of thickening was noticeable in the darkness. But Kenyon’s keen eyes and the night glass managed to gather the salient features of the proceedings aboard the _Wizard_. Steam was up and the anchor was being weighed.

“Can you get us out to her before she starts?” asked Kenyon.

The boatman looked at the yacht through the glass.

“It’s too late,” said he, positively. “She’ll be off before I could get you to the launch.”

Kenyon handed the man a bill, the size of which made him stare; then with Dallas and Webster he hurried back to the place where they had left the cars. A group of men stood upon a corner not far from them.

“Ah, there are my fellows, now,” said Kenyon, in a tone of satisfaction. “Everything is moving on schedule. Take my car with Miss Gilbert, Webster, while I speak to them.”

He strode over to the group. There were seven altogether, and Gypsy Brady and Big Slim were among them.

“How are you, pal?” saluted the latter. “I’m taking a chance, being out, but I need the money.”

“What’s the game?” inquired the Gypsy.

“Jump into that car, there, the lot of you,” directed Kenyon, shortly, pointing to the machine that Webster had arrived in. As they scrambled in, hurriedly, he continued to the driver: “Follow the other car; keep close behind, or you might lose us in the darkness.”

Then he leaped into the car with Dallas and Webster.

“Morris Heights,” he ordered. “And let us see you break a record.”

“We’ll be pinched if we try that,” protested the driver.

“We must take the risk. It is late, and there are not many people upon the streets, so there is little danger of an accident. Open her up!”

“All right,” said the man, as the big car swept around. “The chances are all yours. I’m used to it.”

And he followed his instructions to the letter. The machine was a powerful one, as was the one behind; and stray pedestrians were startled to see the two big vehicles flash by and vanish amid a cloud of dust. Now and then a policeman waved a frantic club and shouted; but they never heeded him, burning the streets until they reached their destination.

“Now, then, all of you,” cried Kenyon to Gypsy Brady and his followers.

The men tumbled out, as Kenyon paid the drivers of the ears. Then they all made their way along the river front, until Kenyon halted them at a covered pier, the small, private door to which stood open.

A man with a big ship’s lantern stood there.

“Mr. Kenyon’s party?” inquired he.

“Yes. Is the _Vixen_ ready?”

“All but casting off.”

“Then let us get aboard.”

In a few minutes they were upon the tiny after-deck of a long, narrow power-boat of something less than fifteen tons. Brady and his men were gathered forward and upon the top of the low cabin. Kenyon saw the last one aboard; then he handed Dallas down into the cabin.

“Cast off,” said he to the men in charge. “And let us see what time you can make between here and North Brother Island.”

XIX

ON BOARD THE VIXEN

“Through the scud and fog, and the flying spray We drove all night till the break of the day. Yo ho, my lads, yo ho.”

--_An Improvisation of Garry Webster._

THE lines were let go and the boat shoved off; then the gasoline engine was started, and after a moment’s hesitancy in getting under way, the fleet craft buried its nose in the water and shot down the Harlem toward East River.

“Now,” said Garry Webster, in a low tone to Kenyon; “now that there seems to be a moment in which we can take breath, what in the name of the fire-eyed gods does all this mean?”

Kenyon laughed.

“If you will come down into the cabin,” said he, “I’ll try and tell you about it.”

Dallas sat there, still enveloped in her long coat; and Kenyon noticed, with a quick shock, that she was very pale.

“You should not have come,” said he, and Webster nodded significantly, aside, at the gentleness of the tone. “It has been too much for you.”

“Do I look bad?” she asked. “But perhaps it is the lantern light,” and she smiled bravely.

“I have calculated to catch the _Wizard_ about North Brother Island,” said Kenyon. “You see the stretch of water from the Twenty-third Street anchorage to the mouth of the Harlem is one of the most congested on earth. A craft is forced to proceed at low speed at any time, and more especially upon a dark night like this. The cars brought us up like hurricanes, and we’ll get into the big stream in good time, if nothing goes wrong.”

“Good work!” applauded Webster. “I tell you what, Miss Gilbert, it takes Kenyon to do this sort of thing properly. At college now, he was especially excellent in planning things. Do you notice the blush?” with a chuckle at his friend’s secret and impatient gestures. “I think modesty is so becoming in a man, don’t you?”

“I do, indeed,” smiled the girl.

“Now, Garry, before you relapse into a state of hopeless idiocy,” remarked Kenyon, “pay attention, and I’ll tell you what has happened.”

So while Webster listened Kenyon told him what the reader already knows. When he had finished Webster arose.

“Miss Gilbert,” said he, bowing as well as the swaying of the flying boat would permit, “I bend the knee before courage. Now, that little scene of yours with an apparently desperate cracksman,” and his blue eyes snapped with admiration, “was one that required doing, and I tell you what, Ken,” with a wise nod toward his friend, “you should be mighty glad that it happened. It has set you right, somehow.”

After some further discussion Webster went upon deck.

“I suppose I shall only be able to approach our conspirators as an open enemy now,” said Kenyon to the girl.

She looked at him inquiringly.

“If Forrester has the packet, he has learned what you learned, that I am not the sort of person I seemed to be. Though,” and he looked puzzled, “Farbush must have known its contents all along, now that I think of it.”

“There is nothing in the packet that would cause them to suspect you of being an honest man,” she assured him. “That is, not unless,” and her voice sank a little as she realized what she was saying, “they are inclined to believe it of you.”

His heart bounded madly and his blood went tingling through his veins. But he only said:

“Thank you. That is kind of you.”

Webster put his head into the cabin. “I say, Kenyon,” called he, “the captain would like to speak with you for a moment. It looks important.”

“Pardon me,” said the adventurer to the girl.

He went upon deck. The owner of the craft, a round-bodied, good-natured looking man, was at the wheel.

“Excuse me, Mr. Kenyon,” spoke he, “but your friend here tells me that it is the steam yacht _Wizard_ that you want to meet.”

“That’s her name.” Kenyon saw that the man had something to impart, and added: “Well?”

“It just happens, sir, that I lay alongside of the power-boat _Piedmont_ this evening. And just before I got your message to have my boat ready, a party comes on board of her; and from what I heard the engineer say before they started out, they, too, were going to meet a steam yacht. And it just happens that it, also, is the _Wizard_.”

Kenyon leaned back against the cabin and lit a cigarette; Webster shrugged his shoulders. The group of hard-faced men upon the top of the cabin listened intently, nodded to each other, and muttered their opinions of the cruise upon which they had volunteered. A clear voice spoke from the little companionway which caused them all to start and turn. It was Dallas who stood there, her long coat and the curling ends of her dark hair blowing in the wind.

“What sort of people were they who engaged this other boat?” she asked.

“A queer looking lot, miss,” and Kenyon smiled as he saw the speaker shoot a quick glance at the group forward. “About ten all told, I should think. One of them appeared to be pretty far gone; they had to carry him aboard. It was a Chinaman.”

She looked at Kenyon and he saw her face go whiter than ever.

“Hong Yo,” she whispered. “Oh, if we only knew what that means.”

“It means, I should think, that Forrester has summoned his friends,” said Webster. “From what Kenyon has told me, Forrester and Hong Yo seem to be particularly intimate.”

There was a curious expression upon the face of Dallas. Kenyon wondered when he had seen it before, and then suddenly remembered that it had stolen across her countenance that night in Selden’s Square, when she gazed at Anna at the old man’s bedside. And he now recognized it as a species of doubt.

“But, surely,” cried Kenyon, “you do not think that this move of Forrester’s is upon his own hook--that he is playing the Chinaman false!”

“I do not know what to think,” she replied, slowly; and though he could not see, because her head was turned from him, he felt sure that there were tears in her eyes. “I have seen so much treachery of late that my reason refuses to accept appearances. I have cause to thank Griscom Forrester, as you know; but I also have cause to fear him. He may be my friend, he may be a friend to Hong Yo, or he may be seeking to further his own personal ends. I cannot tell.”

Shortly after this she went down into the cabin once more; and Kenyon and Webster talked in low tones.

“It would seem,” remarked the young man from Chicago, “that she is not any more sure about Forrester than you were some days, or nights, ago. The fellow seems to be a puzzle.”

“It will not take a great while now to solve him,” answered Kenyon, grimly. “We are coming into the East River, and once on the _Wizard’s_ deck, I’ll not waste words.”

“Yes; I don’t think a little straight talk will do any harm; the time seems about ripe for it. But, I say, Ken, doesn’t she,” with a nod toward the cabin, “do any talking of an enlightening nature?”

Kenyon frowned and looked down into the ghost-like billows which the craft was throwing up upon either side. They frothed for a moment in the lantern light and then disappeared in the darkness.

“To speak the plain truth,” said he slowly, “I doubt if she knows a great deal more than I can guess.”

“But what little she might know,” persisted Webster, “she keeps pretty closely to herself.”

“Yes,” reluctantly.

“I wonder why. You are upon her side; you are helping her to win out.”

“Yes. But how can she be sure of that. You heard what she just said about Forrester? Yes? Well, consider and weigh it carefully. Do you suppose that she referred to him only?”

Webster opened his eyes widely, and whistled.

“You mean to say that she does not altogether trust you. Why, I thought you had become pals.”