Part 12 (1/2)
Seldom had the Flying Fish been urged to greater speed than she was a short time after the discovery of the looting of the scouts' armory.
She fairly flew across the smooth waters of the inlet and out on to the Atlantic swells, leaving a clean, sweeping bow-wave as she cut her way along. Her four young occupants, for Tubby had been called on and notified of the occurrences of the night, were, however, wrapped in slickers borrowed from the yacht club, so that the showers of spray which fell about them had little effect on them.
The run to Topsail Island was made in record time, and as they drew near the little hummock of tree and shrub-covered land the boys could perceive that something unusual had happened. A figure which even at a distance they recognized as that of Captain job Hudgins was down on the little wharf, and had apparently been on the lookout there for some time. A closer view revealed the captain waving frantically.
”Something's up, all right,” remarked Tubby, above the roar of the motor-boat's engine.
The others said nothing, but kept their gaze riveted on the captain's figure. With the skill of a veteran boatman, Rob brought the Flying Fish round in a graceful curve and ran her cleanly up to the wharf without the slightest jolt or jar.
”Ahoy, lads, I'm glad yer've come!” exclaimed the captain, as he caught the painter line thrown out to him by Merritt, and skillfully made the boat fast.
”Why, what has happened?” demanded Rob, as he sprang on to the wharf, followed by the others.
”Happened?” repeated the captain. ”Well, in a manner of speakin', about twenty things has happened at once. Lads, my spirits and emotions are in a fair Chinese tornado--every which way at once. In the first place, I'm seventy-five dollars poorer than I was last night; in the second, poor old Skipper's been given some kind av poison that's made him so sick I doubt he'll get over it.”
”You've been robbed?” gasped Merritt.
”That's it, my lad. That's the word. My poor old safe's been scuttled and her hold overhauled. But I don't mind that so much--it's poor old Skipper I'm worried about. But come on up ter the house, lads, and see fer yerselves.”
Followed by the sympathetic four, the old man hobbled up from his little wharf to a small eminence on which stood his neatly whitewashed hut. He opened the door and invited them in. A first glance discovered nothing much the matter, but a second look showed the boys poor old Skipper lying on the floor in front of the open fireplace which was filled with fresh green boughs--and evidently a very sick dog indeed. He gave the boys a pathetic glance of recognition as they came in, and with a feeble wag or two of his tail tried to show them he was glad to see them; but this done, he seemed to be completely exhausted, and once more laid his head between his forepaws and seemed to doze.
”Poor old dog,” said the captain, shaking his head. ”I doubt if he'll ever get about again.”
The safe now engaged the boys' attention. It is true that it was a rickety old contrivance which might well have been forced open with an ordinary poker, but to the captain, up to this day, it had been a repository as safe and secure as a big Wall Street trust company's vaults.
”Look at that, boys!” cried the captain, with tragic emphasis, pointing to the door, which had been forced clear off its rusty hinges. ”Just busted open like yer'd taken the crust off'n a pie! Ah, if I could lay my hands on the fellers that done this, I'd run 'em tip ter the yardarm afore a foc'sle hand could say 'Hard tack'!”
”Why, we think that--” began Tubby, when Rob checked him. The captain, who had been bending over his dog, didn't hear the remark, and Rob hastily whispered to Tubby:
”Don't breathe a word to anyone of our suspicions. Our only chance to get hold of the real culprits is to not give them any idea that we suspect them.”
After a little more time spent on the island, the boys took their leave, promising to come back soon again. First, however, Rob and his corporal made a brief expedition to see if they could make out the tracks of the marauders of the previous evening. Whoever they had been, however--and the boys, as we know, had a shrewd guess at their ident.i.ty--they had been too cunning to take the path, but had apparently, judging from the absence of all footmarks, made their way to the house through the coa.r.s.e gra.s.s that grew on each side of the way.
”Well, what are we going to do about it?” Tubby inquired, as they speeded back toward home.
”Just what I said,” rejoined Rob. ”Keep quiet and not let Jack or his chums know that we suspect a thing. Give them enough rope, and we'll get them in time. I'm certain of it.”
How true his words were to prove, Rob at that time little imagined, although he felt the wisdom of the course he had advised.
As they neared the inlet, Rob, who was at the wheel and scanning the channel pretty closely, for the tide was now running out, gave a sudden shout and pointed ahead. As the others raised their eyes and gazed in the direction their leader indicated they, too, uttered a cry of astonishment. From the mouth of the inlet there had stolen a long, low, black craft, gliding through the water at tremendous speed.
In the strange craft the boy scouts had little difficulty in recognizing Sam Redding's hydroplane.
”So he's got her back,” exclaimed Merritt, recovering from his first astonishment.
”Yes, and she seems little the worse for her experience,” remarked Tubby. ”It doesn't appear, though, that they are going to profit by their lesson of the other day, for there they go out to sea again.”
”Probably consulted the gla.s.s this time,” remarked Rob. ”It read 'set fair' when we started out.”
”Well, that's the only kind of weather for them,” commented Merritt; ”though as both Jack and Bill can swim, I wouldn't mind seeing them get a good ducking.”