Part 11

“I’m inclined to think,” said Kenyon, “that she, personally, would place confidence in me. But she has not, I know, herself, only, to think of. She seems to fear for others.”

“But whom?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps the mysterious ‘he’ whom I have heard referred to now and then. But whatever it is, the girl fears treachery. And I suppose she has good cause to fear it. You heard her say that her reason refuses to accept appearances. I have only the appearance of aiding her, as yet. Another man has befriended her, but she has cause to suspect him, for all that. What assurance has she that it will be different in my case? She even doubts the faith of the conspirators to each other--as we have been inclined to do. How does she know but what I, too, in spite of all that she has lately learned, may be one of them, and willing, now, to throw them all overboard for a personal advantage. She told me once to-night that she was circumstanced strangely, and without a friend who could help her. So you can’t blame her for withholding her confidence; suspicion is her only defence.”

“But she trusts herself in your hands.”

“Did she not trust herself in the hands of the others? The girl has courage and is not afraid to venture anything that promises results.”

Webster bit the end off a cigar and stooped into the shelter of the cabin to light it. He drew at it steadily for a moment after he arose, then said:

“I think you’ve got the right idea, old chap. You’ve got to work for her good opinion. But in spite of all that you might say to the contrary, I rather fancy you’ve got a fair sort of a start. In other words, she’d rather see you win than not.”

Kenyon made no reply. However, her words of a very little while before came back to him, and his blood thrilled with the renewed realization of the fact that what Webster said was true. She had told him that she wished to believe in him. She had put it into words; and her manner spoke so plainly. The way to set every lingering doubt that she might have regarding him, at rest, was to win; and he set his teeth and narrowed his eyes as he looked into the darkness ahead.

“It’s somewhere out there,” he muttered. “We are coming nearer to it with every moment that goes by. I do not know whom I have to fight, or why. But I don’t care, either. It’s for her; and I’m going to do it.”

XX

BAFFLED

“This sort of fox is sometimes more than usually cunning.”

--_The Long Island Huntsman._

THE November mist had settled heavily upon the East River; and when they ran out into it, they could hear the foghorns and bells being tooted and rung all about them.

“A bad night for making out any craft,” remarked the owner of the power-boat. “We can’t see more than a dozen feet on any side of us.”

The man who attended to the engine suddenly lifted his head.

“There goes the _Piedmont_,” said he.

“Well, if you can see her, you’ve got mighty good sight,” laughed Webster.

“I sure would,” returned the man. “But I don’t see her. I hear her. Listen!”

There was a continuous, snuffling, gasping sound ahead, and the steady thump of an engine.

“I could tell that exhaust of hers anywhere,” explained the engineer. “It’s the worst on the river.”

For some time they listened to the coughing of the _Piedmont_. The _Vixen_ was barely creeping along, for it was impossible to make any speed; the danger of a collision was too great.

“She seems to be cruising up and down,” said Kenyon.

“Yes; her skipper knows that this is about the best place to meet any vessel making for the Sound. They come this way to avoid the currents around Hell Gate.”

Backward and forward cruised the _Vixen_ passing and repassing the _Piedmont_ in the darkness. Once those on board the latter seemed to become suspicious, and she crept forward, her port and starboard lights shining through the fog.

“Hello!” cried a voice. “Who is that?”

“Don’t come any nearer,” replied the skipper of the _Vixen_. “I know how that old box of yours steers, Morgan.”

“Oh, is that you, Phylen? All right.”

And then the _Piedmont_ crept away again, resuming her cruising up and down. At this point Dallas re-appeared upon deck.

“I thought I heard someone calling,” she said.

“You did,” answered Kenyon. “We’ve come up with the other boat that the captain was telling us of.”

She gave a little gasp and looked off in the direction of the now distant boat.

“Do you know,” she whispered in a frightened sort of way, “that sound out there reminds me of the cough of Hong Yo.” She had placed her hand upon his arm, and he could feel the shudder that ran through her. “Oh, how I fear that man.”

“You have excellent cause. The man from Butte was close to the truth when he called him a dying devil.”

She gave him a quick, surprised glance but said nothing.

“The murder of that man was one of the worst exhibitions of deadly ferocity that I ever saw--and my career in South America was not without its experiences.”

“It was dreadful,” said the girl, shudderingly, and she covered her face with her hands.

Now and then a steam vessel would pass them in the darkness, and the skipper of the _Vixen_ would hail its deck and draw alongside. But they were mostly tugs and “truck” boats; as yet no yacht had split the murk.

“Do you feel quite sure that she has not yet gone by?” asked Webster at length.

“I’m positive of it,” replied Kenyon. “She had not the time. But she should be due at almost any minute now.”

“Hark, there!” cried the skipper; “do you hear that whistle?”

There came a low, mournful wailing from down river.

“It’s one of those toy sirens that some yachtsmen fit their crafts with,” the skipper informed them. “Like as not this is the vessel you want.”

“Yes; and there goes the _Piedmont_ for her,” said Webster. The coughing exhaust of the unseen power-boat gurgled and volleyed from ahead; and they could see her port light streaming dimly through the fog.

At Kenyon’s order the _Vixen_ swept around and followed the other boat like a beagle. Suddenly the lights of a large yacht stared down at them, from the distance of about twenty-five yards. Then they heard a shrill hail from the deck of the _Piedmont_.

“Ahoy! Is that the _Wizard_?”

No reply came from the yacht.

“Hello! is that the yacht _Wizard_?” came another voice.

“Farbush,” Kenyon told Webster.

Still there was no answer from the yacht.

“She’s increasing her speed,” spoke the skipper of the _Vixen_. “Her people don’t seem to want to be friendly.”

Bells could be heard jingling from the engine-room of the larger vessel; the rush of water around her bow grew greater; then she shot forward at a swifter rate. The _Piedmont’s_ lights were seen to swing in pursuit; and almost at the same moment the _Vixen_ performed a like manœuvre.

“She can’t outfoot us,” said Kenyon to Dallas, “but we may have some trouble stopping her, if they persist in going ahead.”

“We’ll have to do it before we pass City Island,” growled the _Vixen’s_ skipper. “This craft can’t ride the seas that’s piling into the Sound to-night. She’d swamp if we tried to shove her through.”

They rushed along until they were almost overlapping the _Wizard’s_ stern. However, they were some thirty or more yards to the starboard of her; the _Piedmont_ was upon the port side and apparently directly in her wash.

“It seems as though they were going to try to lay alongside and board her,” cried Webster, suddenly, as he peered through a night glass.

“They’ll go to the bottom if they make the attempt,” prophesied the engineman of the _Vixen_. “They must be damned fools.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” said Kenyon, quietly. “They are out here to board that yacht, and it’s up to them to do the best they can in the matter. If the people on board the _Wizard_ refuse to stop, they must take steps to accomplish their object, anyhow.”

“But it’s impossible to get to the deck of that vessel at her present speed,” protested the skipper.

“I’ll show you in a few minutes that it is not,” Kenyon assured him.

“What do you mean?” suspiciously.

“Just point her nose toward the yacht’s stern. I think I can get her rail in a jump from the cabin roof.”

“You could never do it. Another thing, I’m not going to give you a chance to try. If the _Vixen_ once got so far into the wash of that craft, she’d be swamped.”

Just then a high-pitched voice was heard crying from the _Wizard’s_ deck:

“Sheer off there, you fools, or I’ll run you down!”

There was silence for a moment, save for the beat of the engines and the dashing of the dark water; then a gunshot roared redly through the night, followed by a scream of pain.

“Head her over,” cried Kenyon, excitedly, to the skipper.

“I’m blessed if I do,” replied the man, stubbornly. “What the devil are you folks after, anyhow?”

“Head her over,” ordered Kenyon, sternly.

“I won’t,” replied the other. “And what’s more I’m going to run back to Morris Heights. There is something about this thing that don’t look right to me.”

“We will be responsible for any sort of damage,” Webster told him, encouragingly.

“I don’t care what you do,” returned Phylen, whose mind seemed to be made up. “Slow her down, Ned,” to the man at the engine, “we are going back.”

He was about to change the course of the boat when Kenyon’s powerful grip fell upon him, and he was dragged away from the wheel. At the same moment the long frame of Big Slim slid from the top of the cabin into the little companionway, blocking the entrance of the engineman.

“An engine was once my job,” he told Kenyon, coolly. “Say the word, pal, and I’m here to stay.”

“Take charge of these two men,” directed Kenyon. And Gypsy Brady and his followers had the skipper and engineer in their midst, forward, in a moment. Then, with Kenyon at the wheel and Slim at the engine, the _Vixen_ headed toward the flying _Wizard_.

But the _Vixen_ was a swift boat, and easily closed the gap between herself and the yacht; before long they were in the wash alongside and the spray was drenching them. The leap from the _Vixen’s_ cabin top to the _Wizard’s_ rail would be no great feat, if they could get near enough, for the yacht had a rather low freeboard.

“Take the wheel, Garry,” said Kenyon, at last. “I’m going to make the try.”

Webster looked aghast.

“I could no more steer this craft than I could build a bridge across the Sound,” confessed he.

Kenyon felt a firm hand laid upon the spokes, and shifting his gaze from Webster found Dallas at his side.

“I will take the wheel,” said she quietly. Then, noting his surprise, she added, “You need feel no fear. If the vessel will answer, I’ll bring her up.”

“Good girl!” exclaimed Webster.

But Kenyon said nothing. He leaped upon the cabin, and stood gathering himself for the spring. With the ease of an expert the girl drove the _Vixen_ close under the starboard rail of the _Wizard_, and held her there for a moment.

“Now,” she cried, clearly.

And Kenyon leaped. A sea struck the bow at the same moment and destroyed his calculations; notwithstanding this, however, he grasped the yacht’s rail with one hand and drew himself quickly upon her deck. Then the Vixen fell off; but still he could hear her engine pulsing and see her lights glimmering through the mist. Then he turned his attention to the vessel upon whose deck he stood.

All her deck lanterns were lighted. In her waist a man, breathing heavily, lay stretched near the bulwarks; another stood at the wheel, a revolver in his hand, while a third was at the port rail, also armed with a like weapon. There came a snapping of firearms, apparently from the, to Kenyon, invisible _Piedmont_. The man at the rail swore furiously and began firing downward; the other man left the wheel and joined him in the fusillade.

“They seem to be enjoying the pastime immensely,” commented Kenyon, under his breath, “so it would be a pity to interrupt them.”

He softly crossed the deck and made his way down the iron steps leading to the engine-room. This was also brilliantly lighted; the engine was throbbing swiftly, but there was no sign of anyone in charge.

“All the better for me,” muttered the adventurer, as he dropped his Colt back into his pocket. “I suppose the matter upon deck has them all interested.”

In an instant he had shut off steam, and the engine began to slow down; then he ascended the iron stairs once more and gained the deck. The revolver shots still continued from the _Piedmont_; but those upon the _Wizard_ were not replying. From the shelter of the housing Kenyon looked aft. As before, only two unwounded men were visible, and these, all unconscious, in their excitement, that the engine had stopped, were crouched under the bulwarks reloading their weapons. The _Piedmont_ had clung to the larger vessel; and now that she had all but lost her headway, the attacking party came alongside and leaped upon the deck of the _Wizard_.

While the two sailors were being seized, Kenyon slipped down into the cabin, a strong suspicion forming in his mind. So when, a little later, Farbush came bursting in, followed by Hong Yo, who was assisted by a couple of men, they found the adventurer seated coolly in a steamer chair, rolling a cigarette. And as they stood staring with eyes of wonder, he looked up and smiled.

“Ah, gentlemen,” he greeted, “how do you do?”

For a moment neither Hong Yo nor Farbush was able to speak; then the former waved his hand in dismissal to the two men who had helped him down into the cabin; when they were gone, he turned to Kenyon once more.

“Well?” asked he, and his deathly face was set like stone.

“I’m sorry to say that it does not seem to be at all well,” replied Kenyon. He lit the cigarette and pointed to a couple of chairs. “Won’t you sit down?”

“Where is Forrester?” inquired Farbush. His face was flushed, and there was anger and suspicion in his eyes.

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

Both men sat down and looked at him silently for a time. Apparently they were wholly unable to account for him. At length Hong Yo spoke again.

“What are you doing on board the _Wizard_?” he asked.

“My errand is exactly the same as your own,” smiled Kenyon. “I came to find Forrester.”

A light of intelligence crossed the countenance of Farbush.

“Ah, I think I understand!” exclaimed he. “You received my message after all.”

“It is very seldom that I miss anything of importance,” evaded Kenyon, evenly. “It is a thing that I have drilled myself to, you see.”

“And when you learned the circumstances, you suspected Forrester of the burglary,” cried Farbush, triumphantly. “Hong Yo said that you would not--that like himself you had confidence in the traitor.”

Kenyon drew the cigarette smoke deeply into his lungs, and expelled it slowly.

“I am astonished at Hong Yo’s trusting anybody,” commented he.

“It was not trust,” spoke the Chinaman, coughing hollowly. “It was my fixed belief that it was to his advantage to remain faithful.”

“A fool can never be trusted even to see an advantage,” declared Farbush.

“I would not be quite so confident of his folly,” advised Kenyon. “He seems to have been shrewd enough to escape us to-night. He suspected that the yacht would be stopped on her way out, apparently; so he did not venture aboard her. And, to gain time possibly, he sent her out in charge of three of her crew. There is no knowing where he has gone in the meantime.”

“Have you searched the yacht?” asked Farbush.

“No.”

“Then he may be aboard, after all.”

A half-dozen men searched the _Wizard_ from end to end; but, as Kenyon had reasoned, Forrester was not on board. Steam was gotten up and the _Wizard_ was headed toward Pelham Bay, the two power-boats following in her wake.

“That, then, was your boat that we heard all along,” said Farbush, as he leaned over the _Wizard’s_ stern rail, his eyes upon the two low-lying, shadowy crafts.

“Very likely, you did hear us,” answered Kenyon.

“You seem to have quite a crew on board of her,” commented Farbush, peering through the night.

“Of course. Like yourself I was not at all sure as to what resistance I’d meet with. Success only comes to the ready man.”

Just then a great beam of white light shot across the water and brought all three vessels into strong relief. It was the searchlight at Fort Schuyler; the firing had evidently been heard, and they were endeavoring to locate the trouble. At the first swinging sweep of the light the _Vixen’s_ decks were flooded. Kenyon saw Gypsy Brady and his followers still grouped about the rebellious skipper and engineer; at the wheel was a slim, girlish figure enveloped in the long coat, and near by was Garry Webster.

At the first flash Farbush uttered an exclamation; then he turned upon Kenyon with distorted face and upraised hand, his whole frame shaking with what looked like fury. For a moment he stood thus, glaring at the imperturbable adventurer. Then his hand dropped and the look gave place to a smile, while he said, hurriedly:

“What the devil! That confounded light almost startled me out of my wits!”

XXI

KENYON BEGINS TO SEE THE LIGHT

“And, so, the youth he sat him down in the shade of the tree, and told him many things that he had not heard before.”

--_The Amazing Adventures of Mansour Bi._

IT had been after dawn when Kenyon reached his hotel, and he had slept all day. So it was about six in the evening when he arose and bathed and shaved and put on a well-fitting business suit of gray which his tailor had lately delivered.

“I’ve been living in my evening clothes of late,” said he; “and it feels rather good to get into something else.”

A knock came upon the door.

“Come,” said he.

A bell-hop opened the door, and said:

“A gentleman to see you, sir.”

Kenyon looked at the card. It contained the name:

PHILIP AUSTIN.

“Again it begins,” muttered he. Then to the boy he said: “Send him up.”

The lad closed the door, and Kenyon threw the card upon the table.

“I had intended to have a turn at hunting up that last name,” said he. “But this will probably save me the trouble.”

A few moments later a stout, stoop-shouldered young man was ushered in. He stuck a pair of glasses upon his nose and looked Kenyon over carefully. Then he said:

“Mr. Kenyon, I thought it as well to call upon you.”

“Quite right,” returned the adventurer, affably. “Will you sit down?”

“Thanks.”

All the lights were turned on and Kenyon inspected his visitor with the same care that the latter had bestowed upon himself. As he sat holding out his hands toward the gas logs, for the November evening was decidedly cold, he looked small and placid and good-humored; nevertheless there was a keenness about him that was unmistakable.

“I had expected to hear from you,” said he. “The understanding was, if I remember correctly, that you were to come to me immediately upon my grandfather’s death.” He looked inquiringly at the adventurer. “But, perhaps,” he added, “you had reasons for not doing so.”

“Good reasons,” replied Kenyon, grimly.

“I waited patiently; but when I learned from Miss Gilbert that the old man was dead, and still you did not put in an appearance, I could wait no longer. I got into town this afternoon, and called up about all the hotels in New York, inquiring if they had anyone of your name. I got to this one about a half hour ago, and so I came immediately upon learning you were here.”

“I’m glad you did so,” replied the other. Then as an afterthought, “Have you seen Miss Gilbert to-day?”

“I have never seen Miss Gilbert.” Austin ran his fingers through his sandy hair. “In fact I never knew that there was a Miss Gilbert until the other day.” He looked at Kenyon speculatively for a moment, and then continued. “Do you know that you have her puzzled, more or less.”

“Indeed.”

“At least I so gathered from her letter. She seems to be not at all sure of you. She told me that she desired to believe you a friend to me, but that she could not honestly assure me that you were. She feared that you were leagued with the others.”

Kenyon nodded, coolly; but he was amazed.

“Is it possible,” he mentally exclaimed, “that I have here the mysterious unknown!”

“But look here,” said the young man, “I think this whole situation is really farcical. There is no common sense to it. You see, because I’ve always been messing among inventions and things of that sort, my grandfather got the notion that I was far from practical, and actually not qualified to take care of myself.”

“Old men have rather odd fancies at times,” said Kenyon.

“Just so. And he would not listen to any of my protestations; he ordered me under cover until you had come along and pronounced everything safe. The whole thing was absurd; but what was I to do? Even now I’m going against his wishes.”

“So it would seem,” agreed Kenyon.

“The idea of these partners of his being such formidable and ruthless persons, got to be a sort of obsession with him,” proceeded Philip Austin. “Why, he feared them, as far as I was concerned, as he had never feared anything before. You see,” lowering his voice and leaning toward Kenyon, confidentially, “he had the notion that they wanted my cousin, Scott Austin, to inherit the control of the business, in order that the contraband end of it should continue.”

“Ah!”

“You know, this branch of the business of Austin & Co. was largely carried on by Farbush, at New York, and Hong Yo, at Hong Kong. I don’t think,” and the young man looked at Kenyon, appealingly, “that my grandfather ever profited a dollar by it.”

“Perhaps not.”

“When it became known that the old man was about to die--that he could not live above a few months at most, he sent a young man, a minor partner, Forrester by name, to acquaint me with many things which he felt that I should know--he meaning that I should be his heir. I remember very distinctly expressing myself plainly as to the illegal features of the business of Austin & Co. If I should ever come into control, I promised to smash the contraband end as flat as a board.”

“And Forrester told the other partners at Hong Kong and New York?”

“He must have. At any rate they both appeared at Seattle; and what they said and did must have frightened my grandfather thoroughly. It was then that he ordered me to lay low until you came along to take charge of things.”

“Why I, in particular?”

“His first thought was to secure the services of General Nunez. But he learned that Nunez was dead. It seems that he had heard much of you through Nunez; and, rather naturally, you were the next person considered.”

That the young man was speaking the plain truth Kenyon never questioned for a moment; he saw that the time had arrived to make some sort of a finish to the case, and that to have a free and frank understanding would perhaps serve him better than anything else. So, beginning with his coming upon the _Blenheim_, he related his adventures since arriving in New York. Philip Austin listened as Webster had listened, in astonishment, and silence. When he had heard all, he remarked, slowly:

“Do you know, that is all very wonderful? I now begin also to get an idea of what Miss Gilbert hinted at in her letter.” He looked at Kenyon, curiously, and then laughed. “Things do turn out strangely, don’t they?”

“Undoubtedly,” Kenyon answered. Then with a change of tone: “Who is Miss Gilbert?”

“I don’t know,” answered the other frankly. “You see I had little or no knowledge of my grandfather’s household. I never visited there; we did not even correspond, for he always fancied that I was next door to a fool for not giving up my experimenting in chemicals and mechanics and settling down to practical business. But,” and young Austin wrinkled his brow, “it seems to me that I did hear something about his adopting the daughters of an old friend, years ago, when I was quite a youngster. However,” and he nodded his head confidently, “whoever she is, she must be all right; for the old man seems to have trusted her in everything.”