CHAPTER XXV

The Fog Pirate at the Bobstay

Suddenly Guy was thrilled with a romantic explanation. The diamonds! But where?

Apparently the visitor had no suspicion of the presence of anyone else on the yacht. He did not look into the place where the boys lay. He moved straight ahead as if bound for a certain point and disappeared around the port side of the deck house.

Guy arose and went to his sleeping brother and shook him gently. Walter awoke and sat up.

“Keep still, Walt,” whispered Guy. “There’s somebody on the boat. It’s Gunseyt.”

“What!”—also whispered.

“Yes, it is. I just saw him.”

“How could you recognize him in the dark?”

“It’s moonlight, and he’s got ways and actions you couldn’t mistake. He’s shaved off his mustache and goatee, but I know him anyway.”

“What does he want here?”

“The diamonds, I suppose. You know Watson said he’d got rid of them somewhere at sea.”

“Hid ’em on this boat?”

“Must ’ave. Watson was asleep. He ought to ’ave guessed the truth.”

While this whispered conversation was going on, the boys slipped on their trousers and were soon ready to move silently out on the deck and watch the movements of the midnight visitor. They walked around to starboard of the deck house and to the forward end. Here they stopped. Mr. Gunseyt was in plain view and busy. He was on his knees at the bow, pulling up from the water something attached with a small rope to the bobstay chain. While still engaged in this strange occupation he cast behind him a look of instinctive watchfulness and saw the boys almost as soon they saw him.

With a cry of alarm and rage, the man cut the rope with a knife and sprang to his feet. That voice was the last needed evidence to remove any remaining doubt from Guy’s mind as to the fellow’s identity. It was the voice of the “fog pirate.”

Gunseyt held in one hand a small package, dripping wet. With the other hand he drew a pistol.

The boys now realized that they were in a dangerous position and began to back away, while the intruder moved toward the wharf. But suddenly there was a second change in the situation. Another man appeared on the scene.

This new arrival also had a pistol. He stepped out of the shadow of the bluff, pointed his weapon at the smuggler, and commanded:

“Drop that gun, or I’ll shoot.”

A great shudder shook Gunseyt. A gasp escaped his lips, and he dropped his firearm. As it hit the deck the man on the wharf said:

“Pick up his gun, boys, and stand ready to help if he gets ugly.”

Walter sprang forward and snatched up the weapon. Then the newcomer stepped aboard and snapped a pair of “bracelets” on the wrists of Gunseyt.

“I’m a secret service man,” he announced as he secured the prisoner.

“Did Mr. Watson send you?” Guy inquired.

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t he come himself?”

“He’d ’ave been recognized, and there’d ’ave been nothing doing. I followed this man from New York. Watson couldn’t ’ave done that. By the way, he told me to tell you his name isn’t Watson. It’s just plain John Smith.”

“Our story’s finished,” said Guy quickly, turning to his brother.

“What story?” the latter inquired blankly.

“What story, you simp! Why, your story and mine. You’re the chief hero, and I’m the second. Think of it! Trip to Europe, mysterious man on the train, Pickett—his confederate in London, Smithers—their agent on the steamer, Gunseyt—the detective—the wreck—the iceberg—radio—rescue—and now, the arrest of the leading villain. I’d been wondering if it ’u’d ever be our luck to have this adventure finished so we could be real heroes of a novel.”

“If it’s ever written,” returned Walter dubiously. “And it isn’t quite finished, too. There are Smithers and Pickett to be arrested. Suppose they’re never caught.”

“That doesn’t make a particle of difference,” declared Guy. “The jewels have been found in the cleverest hiding place—tied to the bobstay—and the most interesting villain is arrested. How do you like that for a compliment, Mr. Gunseyt, ‘most interesting villain’?”

But the smuggler was not in appreciative mood. He only snarled.

The secret service man introduced himself as Mr. Hunt. Then he made note of the names of the boys, informed them that they would hear from the department of justice later, and left with the package of smuggled treasure in one hand and leading his handcuffed prisoner with the other.

* * * * *

Guy spoke truly when he remarked that his and Walter’s story was finished. There were indeed a few odds and ends of the tangles of mysteries to be cleared up, but all this required time and did not come with the rapidity of succeeding melodramatic chapters. Gunseyt was convicted and sent to a federal prison after several months’ delay. From some mysterious source he obtained all the money he needed to pay the expenses of his defense, but Walter and Guy were not much puzzled over the mystery. Stanley Pickett also was arrested, but was discharged because of a lack of evidence to convict. However, almost as these words are being written, there comes announcement that he has been taken into custody on another similar charge.

Mr. Smithers is still at large in London, a “respectable jeweler” in Bond street. Artie Fletcher had something to say regarding the gentleman in several letters written to Guy, and as one of those letters is of particular interest at this point, we reproduce it here:

“Dear Guy—When I got your letter telling of the arrest of those two smugglers, I just couldn’t rest until I’d sprung it on Smithers. I saw things differently and a lot of explanations flashed before me like a bobby’s light in a fog. Smithers had left the hotel, but I went to his store and presented myself to him. He pretended not to know me, but I grinned in his face and said:

“‘Oh, come, now, Mr. Tennis Racket Wireless Shoes, you know me very well. Have you forgot the time you fixed it up with one Gunseyt of the funny voice, him to hold up the young American, Guy Burton, in the fog, so you could jump in sudden with a pistol and save him from being robbed?’

“He turned as pale as a ghost, and I knew I’d hit him where it hurt. But I didn’t stop there. I gave him another before he could recover.

“‘Gunseyt and Pickett have both been arrested in America,’ I said.

“You ought to have seen him. I thought he was going to collapse. Then he pulled himself together and flew into a rage and after me. I knew what was best for Artie and cut sticks. He didn’t catch me.

“What do you think happened next day? I was discharged at the hotel. I know Smithers did it, although no explanation was given to me.

“But it was the best thing for me that ever happened, and I hope it will prove the worst for Smithers. I went to a detective agency and told the boss my story. He was interested right away. I found they’d been watching Smithers for somebody over on your side, maybe the government. I told them I wanted to be a detective, hardly expecting it would do me any good; but, Guy, the boss, after a secret confab with somebody else, offered me a job and told me if I made good on this smuggling case, he’d keep me.

“I thought, from the way the chief talked, he was going to make me one of his star ‘sick-’em dogs’, but he didn’t. He gave me only a position as clerk, with a salary four shillings less than I got at the hotel. But I didn’t care for salary, just so I had enough to live on. It was just the opportunity for me. And I haven’t forgotten, Guy, that I owe a whole lot of it to you.

“They really needed a boy in the office and to run errands, but I soon found out that the reason I got the job was because of what I knew about Smithers. And I’m having some real detective work to do. They’re after Smithers hard, but they haven’t been able to get the goods on him. I hope before long I’ll land him. If I do, you may be sure I’ll let you know right away.”