CHAPTER XI
TOM HALSTEAD’S QUICK WIT AT WORK
“NOW, where is Francis Delavan?”
Six gentlemen of the press launched that question at Captain TomHalstead’s head. Their voices and their eyes put the question together.
But the young man, smiling serenely, was ready for them.
“Mr. Delavan left, early this morning, for a pleasure trip on thewater, and he hasn’t returned yet,” replied the “Rocket’s” skipper.
That was wholly the truth.
“Where did Mr. Delavan go?”
“He didn’t tell me where he was going.”
“How soon will he be back?”
“He didn’t tell me that, either.”
“Did he go on the ‘Rocket’?”
“No.”
“Captain,” demanded one of the reporters, eyeing the lad keenly,“pardon me for asking you if you answered that last questiontruthfully.”
“On my honor I did,” Halstead replied, promptly. “Yesterday Mr. Delavanwent out on the ‘Rocket.’ To-day only his friend, Mr. Moddridge, wentout with us.”
“See here, captain,” demanded another reporter, bruskly and somewhatroughly, “don’t you know, quite well, that Delavan has skipped away,probably out of the country, for good?”
“I give you my word, gentlemen, that I don’t know it, or even believeit. Indeed, while I do not presume to feel myself in Mr. Delavan’sconfidence, I am very sure that he cannot be many miles from here atthis moment.”
“Then _where_ is he?”
“Not being in Mr. Delavan’s confidence, I can’t tell you.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“Not—not exactly.”
That reply conveyed the impression the young skipper hoped it would,namely, that he simply didn’t want to tell where the Wall Street manwas supposed to be.
“All I can tell you,” Tom Halstead added, “is that Mr. Delavan isprobably not many miles away from here at this moment, that he willundoubtedly turn up very soon, and that he will be pretty angry overthe stories that his brief absence have caused.”
Not being easily daunted or turned aside, these New York reporterscontinued their siege of the young skipper for at least another quarterof an hour. Tom, however, could not be trapped into saying more thanhe had already said. Yet he spoke so simply, and with such candor, thathe imagined the reporters themselves were beginning to believe that toomuch ado had been made over Mr. Delavan’s brief absence, and that WallStreet had gone astray on another crazy story. However, still intent onseeing Eben Moddridge, and perhaps hoping to find Mr. Delavan himselfbefore the day was over, the reporters lounged about the lobby or atthe hotel entrance.
As soon as he could do so without attracting the attention of anyof the others, Halstead strolled over to the “Sun” reporter, afair-haired, alert, athletic-looking young man.
“Do you know that brown-haired, tall young man, in the blue suit?”asked Halstead, rather carelessly.
“I do not,” answered the “Sun” man.
“Yet he belongs to your party, doesn’t he?” pursued the young skipper.
“Why, he was with us, yes.”
“Do you know the other reporters?”
“All of them.”
“But you don’t know the brown-haired young man?”
“No,” answered the “Sun” man. “I don’t believe he’s from a New Yorkpaper. He may belong to one of the Brooklyn dailies. Shall I ask himwho he is and what paper he serves?”
“Oh, no, thank you,” Tom answered, carelessly. “It’s just the slightestcuriosity on my part. He makes me think, a little, of a fellow I knewin my own town.”
But as the motor boat boy presently strolled away his mind was movingfast. He had already suspected that the brown-haired young man, withthe well-tanned face, did not belong to the party of reporters, thoughhe pretended to.
For Halstead, rarely mistaken in a voice, had heard the fellow speaktwice. Though the tone was low, it had brought back a memory of thenight before.
“If it’s the same fellow,” flashed through the boy’s mind, “then hishair, last night, was lighter, and his cheeks fairer. Since then hemust have dyed his hair and stained his face. He wore a gray suit,then, and a yachting cap, but I’d wager a lot the fellow yonder is theone who directed the fellow calling himself Rexford, and one of thepair that chased me up a tree. The voice is the same, I’m sure, thoughnow he’s talking lower and trying to disguise his voice.”
The more Halstead covertly studied the suspected one the more he becameconvinced of the whole truth of his guess.
“Then, if he’s one of the fellows who tried to tempt me last night,he’s working for or with the very crowd that have caused Mr. Delavan tovanish,” breathed the young captain. Feeling that his excitement mustbe showing in his eyes, Halstead forced himself to cool down a gooddeal.
“That fellow you asked about claims his name is Ellis, and that he’s ona Brooklyn newspaper,” murmured the “Sun” man, drifting by the youngmotor boat captain.
“Thank you,” acknowledged Tom Halstead, courteously, yet almostindifferently. To himself, however, as the real reporter strolled away,the boy muttered:
“Ellis, eh? And a Brooklyn newspaper? What a cool liar the fellow is!”
Though they had now waited but a few minutes after giving up youngHalstead as a bad interviewing job, the reporters were now once morebesieging the desk clerk to send their cards up to Eben Moddridge.
“It’s no use, gentlemen, I tell you,” insisted the clerk. “I’m notto let anyone near Mr. Moddridge until he informs me that he is atleisure.”
“That fellow who calls himself Ellis is the only one who doesn’t insistat all,” muttered the young skipper, covertly watching the game.
Bye and bye, however, “Ellis” drew two of the real reporters aside,engaging them in low, earnest conversation. The other reporters joinedthe party, all hands talking together for some fifteen minutes. Thenonce more the “Sun” reporter, as soon as he could do so withoutattracting attention from his comrades, sauntered up to Captain Tom,standing on the veranda just outside the entrance.
“That fellow Ellis claims to have a whole lot of inside track,”whispered the “Sun” man. “He tells us he _knows_ that Francis Delavan,overcome with remorse at having looted the assets of the P. & Y.Railroad, drowned himself near the mouth of the inlet this morning. Heclaims that the body has been recovered, but that an effort is beingmade to keep it from the coroner.”
“Then the fellow lies,” retorted Tom bluntly, indignantly. “You’ve beengood to me in telling me this, so I’m going to assure you again, on myhonor, that Mr. Delavan isn’t dead; and I’m equally certain that he hasdone nothing wrong.”
The “Sun” man looked keenly at the boy, concluding that theblue-uniformed young skipper was telling the truth as he knew it.
“Thank you,” said the reporter, simply. “I’ll try to keep you postedon any other wild rumors I hear. But I wish you’d lead me, alone, toDelavan.”
“I will,” promised Tom, artlessly.
“When?”
“When the time comes that I have a right to.”
Just as the “Sun” reporter walked away the young skipper caught sightof Jed, standing under a tree in the grounds, making signs. BesideJed stood a big, broad-shouldered hulking young fellow with a face asfreckled as the map of the Thousand Islands.
Taking a last look inside, and seeing Ellis still chatting with two ofthe New York reporters, Halstead ran down the veranda steps, crossingthe grounds to his Nantucket friend.
“Say, cap,” began Jed, affectionately, “I’m terribly sorry, but I guessI’ve got to quit this cruise. It’s mean, but there’s trouble at home.Mother’s ill. I’ve just had a wire from Dad. He doesn’t say it’s theworst, Tom, but he advises me to come home. So I’ve got to go by thenext train, which leaves in twenty minutes. You won’t blame me, oldfellow, will you!”
“Blame you?” repeated Halstead, quickl
y. “Of course not. I’d dropanything if I had the same kind of a telegram. We’ll miss you, ofcourse, Jed, but it can’t be helped. Well get along somehow.”
“Oh, I’m not going to leave you thrown down,” retorted young Prentiss.“Cap, this is my friend, Hank Butts. Hank is right out of sea-faringstock for a hundred years back. And he can _cook_, too. Say, Tom,he was down at Nantucket, two years ago, on the Life Saving Servicecutter. Even then he could cook, eh, Hank?”
“Some,” laconically responded the freckle-faced youth. “And I canhandle boats—some—though I don’t know much about motors.”
“I just ran into him on the way up here, Tom,” confided Jed. “But say,I know all about him, from two years ago. Can you give him the jobuntil I show up back again, anyway?”
“Yes,” agreed Halstead at once. “Of course, subject to Mr. Delavan’sapproval.”
“Then good-bye, and good luck to you all,” cried Jed Prentiss, afterhastily looking at his watch. “I’ve got to run. I’ve said good-bye toJoe already. Tom, I’ve left my uniforms on board—if you can squeezeHank into ’em.”
With a hasty hand pressure for both youths Jed Prentiss scurried away,intent on reaching his Nantucket home at the earliest possible moment.
Captain Tom had stepped around so that the bush was between himself andthe hotel entrance. Hank followed.
“Shall I go on board and look about at the new job?” queried Hank Butts.
“Yes,” nodded Tom, instantly adding: “By hokey—no!”
For at that very moment Ellis was coming out alone through the hotelentrance. The fellow glanced backward, to make sure he was not observedby any of the genuine reporters. Then he slipped rapidly through thegrounds.
“See that fellow hurrying over there, in the blue suit?” questionedyoung Halstead.
“Yep,” nodded Hank Butts.
“Think you could follow him, no matter where he goes, so he wouldn’tsuspect you were following him?”
“Sure,” nodded Hank. “Nothing easier.”
“Then do it,” blazed Tom Halstead, in a frenzied undertone. “And Iwill follow, keeping only you in sight. In that way, he won’t have anychance to know I’m after him, and he doesn’t know you.”
Hank, like a well disciplined follower of the sea, sauntered awaywithout asking another question. Captain Tom watched him for a fewmoments, then, when Ellis had passed out of sight, the young skippertrailed after Hank Butts, at that moment about to vanish from his view.
“Ellis was hanging around, to spread stories against Mr. Delavan, andalso to find out what is happening,” quivered the young motor boatcaptain. “Now, I’ll bet Ellis is going straight to his employer—and I’mgoing to follow him right up to that same rascally chief!”
The Motor Boat Club off Long Island; or, A Daring Marine Game at Racing Speed Page 11