CHAPTER XII

GOING STRAIGHT TO HEADQUARTERS

IT was an exhilarating thought that the fellow in the lead of the strange procession, who was unquestionably a sham reporter, was going straight to the headquarters of the whole conspiracy.

Had Ellis been suspicious and looked back, only to behold Tom Halstead in his wake, it would have been easy enough for the fellow to turn aside from wherever he was going. As it was, however, only unknown Hank Butts was visible, once in a while, in the chase, and Hank, in overalls and a farmer’s straw hat, didn’t look like anything clever. Moreover, Hank was doing his level best to appear more simple. He went through the streets greeting people he knew, or thought he knew, in a careless fashion. Once they got beyond the town, on a road going eastward, Hank fell back out of sight of Ellis, though still keeping on the trail. The first time it was necessary for this Long Island boy to let himself be seen as Ellis turned for a look backward, Hank yanked off his hat, nimbly chasing a butterfly, which he missed.

“This friend of Jed’s knows his business all right,” thought Tom Halstead, admiringly, as he followed, just managing to keep in touch with young Butts, yet wholly behind and out of sight of Ellis. “Hank looks like a Simple Simon, which, in itself, is almost a sure sign that he’s no fool.”

After tramping more than a mile down a dusty, lonely country road, Ellis hauled up under a tree, removing his hat and mopping his face. Hank, without shying, went straight on.

“Howdy,” greeted Butts, nonchalantly. Then, sighting another butterfly, he went off after it at full speed, catching this one and wrapping it carefully in a handkerchief.

“Interested in such things?” asked Ellis, following Hank down the road.

“Yep,” replied young Butts, unconcernedly, “when there’s a fool professor in town willing to pay me for such stuff.”

“Oh, you’re collecting ’em for someone else, are you?” Ellis wanted to know.

“Now, did I say quite that?” asked Hank, with a foolish grin. “Say, mister, I’m minding my business, ain’t I?”

“And you’re a regular boor about it, too,” retorted Ellis, sharply.

“I reckon that’s my business, too, ain’t it?” mocked Hank.

Disgusted with this country bumpkin, as he doubtless considered him, Ellis stalked on again. But Hank had accomplished his purpose. Thereafter Ellis, not suspecting him of anything clever, paid no heed to him.

“Hank is as near all right as, anyone I’ve seen,” chuckled Tom Halstead, who, having crept close for once, behind the shelter of a fringe of sumac bushes, had overheard the talk. “I can trust Jed’s friend.”

Thereafter Halstead did not take the risk of getting too close. He was satisfied with keeping track of Hank only.

After more than another mile had been covered, however, Hank came loping back over the course. Tom stepped aside into the bushes.

“Hsst!” he hailed.

“I knew you’d stop me,” whispered Hank, hauling up short. “And I thought you’d better know what’s going on ahead. Quite a bit down the road there’s an auto hauled up at the side, and a feller in it just signaled the chap you set me to watching. Your feller is hiking forward to meet the goggles in the auto. What do I do now?”

Captain Tom’s hesitation was brief. He would have liked to ask Hank to wait near by, but remembered the fact that young Butts was not in the Delavan confidence. It might be better, on the whole, to send Jed’s friend back to East Hampton.

“Skip back and aboard the boat,” the young captain directed, hurriedly. “Don’t tell a soul, except Joe Dawson, what you’ve been doing, and don’t go up into town away from the boat.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” nodded Hank, understandingly. “But don’t stay to watch me out of sight, or your man may skip off in that auto with his goggles friend.”

The advice was good. Keeping off the road, crouching low behind the bushes that fringed the highway, Halstead hastened forward as noiselessly as he could travel. After going a quarter of a mile he heard the quiet running of an automobile engine.

“Whoever has that car wants to be ready to start on the instant without even having to wait to crank up,” throbbed the young skipper, moving more stealthily than before. Instantly, too, he became more excited, for now he could hear the low hum of voices in conversation.

The noise of the automobile’s engine guided the young motor boat captain better than any other sound could have done. Crawling between the bushes, he came, at last, to a point directly opposite the auto at the roadside, and barely more than a score of feet away. Halstead crawled to this spot and lay there, securely hidden.

“You’ve done as well as you could, Ellis, no doubt,” a man’s voice was saying.

“I’m sure of that, Mr. Bolton,” replied the young man. “I’ve made those New York reporters suspicious. I’ve done the trick so strongly, in fact, that everyone of them will send his paper a story that will make Wall Street jump in the morning. Even if any of the reporters suspect that Delavan may be alive, they’ll give some space in their papers to the hint of remorse and suicide. P. & Y. ought to fall at twenty points when the Stock Exchange opens in the morning.”

“It will,” declared the man addressed as Bolton. “But I hope it will drop even more than that. The lower P. & Y. goes, Ellis, the better it will be for me. I want that railroad, and I’m going to get it!”

“Oh, you are, are you?” thought listening Tom Halstead, deeply interested.

“But I’m certain you’ll have to get Delavan to a safer place, Mr. Bolton,” continued Ellis, earnestly. “I’m afraid there’ll be a big search for him. You know Moddridge still has a goodish bit of money that’s not tied up in his new deals.”

“Moddridge!” sniffed Bolton, contemptuously. “Pooh! That’s the least of our worries. Moddridge simply won’t do anything—won’t have courage enough, with Delavan out of the way. Moddridge is a feeble-minded idiot of finance.”

“But there are other people who stand to lose heavily through a drop in P. & Y.,” urged Ellis. “Some of them have money enough to hire an army of detectives and spies. If Delavan is found before P. & Y. touches bottom price in the market your profits will be much smaller.”

“I know it,” nodded Bolton. “But Delavan simply isn’t going to be found, until I’ve got enough P. & Y. stock at my own figures. Then he can come back and boost the stock up again—meaning millions in profits for Justin Bolton!”

“If you’re absolutely sure he won’t be found before our plans go through successfully——” hesitated Ellis.

“Found?” echoed Bolton, with a rough laugh. “Not until I want it, Ellis. See here, this is what I am going to do with Delavan, to-night.”

Some whispered words followed.

“Get him out on the ocean?” cried Ellis, a note of delight in his voice. “And keep him out there for days, a close prisoner? Good! Nothing better can be done, if it isn’t traced back to you.”

“Oh, it won’t be,” declared Justin Bolton, with a grunt of conviction. “Ellis, I’m planning this all too deeply. I couldn’t get in on that Steel business. I don’t know what tips Delavan’s agent got from Gordon, and I don’t know what Delavan and Moddridge started to do in that direction. But when I heard that both had pledged their P. & Y. stock with the bankers I saw at once how to drive the bankers into selling the pledged P. & Y. stock to save themselves. And others will sell. There’ll be a panic in Wall Street to-morrow. We’ll pick up the P. & Y. for song-prices. Delavan’s final return will show the folly of the scare. P. & Y. will then go up again, and I’ll clear the millions I want. Ellis, you and Rexford won’t be poor men any more after that!”

Inch by inch Tom Halstead had continued to creep forward. He wanted to get a good look at Justin Bolton. He wanted, if possible, to find some way of “catching on behind” the touring car when it rolled away, for in that manner, he believed, he could find his way direct to imprisoned Francis Delavan.

Justin Bolton sat alone on the front seat of the machine, Ellis stood in the roadway, two feet off. Beside Bolton dozed an ugly-looking bull-dog.

One of Tom’s movements under the bushes made a slight sound. Neither of the men heard it, but the bull-dog awoke. The animal thrust up its ugly head, sniffing. Then, with a growl it sprang out of the car, dashing into the bushes. Tom had only time to hug the ground more closely, praying that he might escape detection. But the bull-dog rushed straight to the spot of hiding. Too late the young skipper rolled over, to leap to his feet. As he did so, the bull-dog sprang at him. In a moment Tom felt the brute’s teeth at his throat. The teeth did not sink through the skin, but Captain Tom knew that the least movement to shake off the animal would cause those strong jaws to fasten.

Ellis dashed into the bushes after the dog.

“What’s wrong?” shouted Justin Bolton, in a voice of alarm.

“Wrong?” echoed Ellis, glaring down at the hapless young motor boat skipper. “Everything on the list is wrong! Your dog has caught the captain of Delavan’s boat. And the infernal young meddler must have heard every word of our talk!”