“But,” said Kitty Whiting, “you wrote me that you were going away. And you’ve been hurt. Oh—your poor hand!”
“I hurt that on someone else, a gentleman by the name of Hellfire Swenson. I met him at Wareham, Buzzards Bay. Maybe you know the place?” He wheeled on Stephen Foster. There was the idea in the back of his head that Swenson might have been caretaker for Foster, the Wareham place the latter’s summer residence. But Foster’s face was absolutely blank. He was either an accomplished actor or—Jim’s theories commenced to suffer from a reaction that immediately grew.
“Never heard it more than mentioned,” said Foster. “How about Lyman writing to you, Kitty? You didn’t tell me anything about it.” Jim looked from one to the other, puzzled. Then Foster didn’t know anything about the sending of the log.
“I haven’t had a chance,” she said. “You and Newton were out of town, to begin with, up to this afternoon. Newton phoned early yesterday morning and told me you were going before the letter came by special delivery. As you were coming tonight it hardly seemed worth while until you told me that Mr. Lyman had missed an appointment with you. That was just before you came in,” she explained to Jim. And Jim, who could not suspect the girl of any connivance at his kidnapping, grew more bewildered, less and less sure of his own reasoning.
“I was telling my niece what happened—what I thought happened,” said Stephen Foster frankly. “My son, against my own judgment—but I told you that over the phone. I will only say that when you did not appear we telephoned, and then ran down to the hotel in the car as soon as it was adjusted. I had a talk with the clerk, who showed me your baggage. It was, er—not of great value. He considered you had left it in lieu of payment. I must admit that I reverted to my original belief that you had in some way got hold of information concerning the Golden Dolphin and had arrived here with spurious information in the hope of a reward of some sort, abandoning the plan on seeing that your proofs would have to be submitted to more than casual investigation. In other words, I thought you got cold feet when I suggested an interview, not with more or less interested and credulous women influenced by sentiment, but with me.
“I apologize. It is evident you have been more or less misjudged by us. Very evident that you have been at—er—some pains to return, after rough treatment that seems to have been extended to both sides of the argument. Now will you tell us what has happened; why you wrote that you were not coming back; why you changed your mind, and, seemingly, fought your way back?”
Despite himself, Jim found his feelings changing toward Stephen Foster. There was a frankness about his regrets, a thawing of his general chilliness, a changing in his eyes, a touch of actual humanity that affected him as the difference between heat and cold. But he did not forego caution, he was unable to cast off all suspicion.
“I went,” he said, “because I found myself regarded by you as a faker; because I feared that Miss Whiting was being swayed by sentimentality, and I thought the chances of finding her father on the island remote; because she offered me a share of the pearls in return for the figures which I considered belonged to her.
“Therefore, I mailed her the little diary, intending to leave. I considered you had a right to such information as I might give about landings and anchorages, so I told you I would come to your house. I have changed my mind about the possibilities of the trip. At any rate I am now inclined to think the pearls are there. Others do, also, it appears. In order to get a chance to get away from my host at Wareham I had to furnish him with false figures. It was very plain he intended going to the island. I hope he’ll try to go to the position I furnished him. I am afraid he won’t. From my short acquaintance with him I should be surprised if he does not make another attempt to get hold of the correct figures—he, or those who may be behind him, who might have been behind the mutiny that Captain Whiting hinted at in his letters to his daughter.
“So, as soon as I could, I wired Miss Whiting, also Miss Warner for security, not to divulge the figures I had given her to anybody under any consideration. And I would advise her to hang on to them until the last necessary moment—that would be after leaving Fiji—if she makes the trip.”
Jim said this almost defiantly, striving to detect some clew that father or son, or both, were what he had surmised. Stephen Foster’s face showed little but grave attention. Newton Foster displayed close interest. Nothing more.
“I consider that an excellent idea,” said Foster. “I commend you, Lyman, for qualities I had not credited you with. Where is this book, Kitty? Have you shown it to anybody?”
“No. It is in my safety deposit box at the Foxfield National.” Foster nodded approval, but not surprise. Jim inwardly applauded the girl’s business capacities.
“Fine. Go on, Lyman.”
Jim told his story, tersely enough. He was a little thrown off his guard by Foster’s manner, but he was not entirely disarmed. The connection between Swenson and Foxfield, particularly with regard to his knowledge of his own whereabouts that evening on his way to the Foster house, needed explaining. But Jim felt that it could do no harm to say what had happened in front of the Fosters. If one or both was in league with Swenson they would, sooner or later, know all about it, up to the time of his escape in the fog, if they did not know it already. He was a little inclined to acquit Newton Foster. His jealousy of the son had evaporated somewhat since Kitty Whiting’s exclamation of “Oh, your poor hand!” with its genuine sympathy. With both the women, Newton showed no signs of discredence of his yarn, melodramatic as it was. But he fancied that Stephen Foster’s pursing mouth disclosed symptoms of doubt. The various expressions that followed his story were typical.
“What a terrible experience!” This from Kitty Whiting. “I think you showed great resourcefulness and bravery, Mr. Lyman. I think a great many men would have given the true figures under such circumstances. If you had not been able to get away, and to jump over—in the fog—with the tide running out—You have increased my indebtedness to you.”
“It is just what I should have expected,” said Lynda Warner. Her eyes were shining as she nodded at Jim. “I mean Mr. Lyman’s share in it.”
Newton Foster was ungrudging enough.
“I wish I had been along,” he said, “You handled it in bully shape. I hope you broke Hellfire’s jaw for him. But how he found out where you were on the road to our house, how he knew you had the figures, how he knew about the pearls, is a mystery to me.”
“Quite romantic,” was the start of Stephen Foster’s contribution. “As to Swenson,” he went on, “there has been a good deal of publicity, now and again, concerning the Golden Dolphin, when it sailed and when it was reported missing. Swenson may have read it long ago and retained interest. One of your men who was with you in the boat, Lyman, after he was wrecked might have got in touch with him. There are several possibilities. The local end of it is mysterious. The main factor is that Swenson has failed. He may think you drowned; he may think you were hit when he fired. If he has any idea you got clear, he will be likely to lie low. He may well be one of the rum-running community, and he and his schooner will readily disappear for a while. We could stir up the Wareham police, but that again might give notoriety that would be inadvisable. I should advise you to see a doctor about that hand, Lyman, I recommend my own, Dr. Dimmock. I will call him up if you like.”
“I thank you,” said Jim. “It is not uncomfortable. It seems to me there are more important things right now.” Foster was the cold-eyed business man once more, his mouth tight-lipped.
“As you like,” he said. “Kitty, I still think that the chances for success are extremely limited. Personally I should vote against it. However, I have already told Newton that if he is determined to join with you I withdraw opposition. My chief worry is for your ultimate disappointment concerning your father. Castles built on hopes that are largely sentimental fall with a crash too often, and you might get hurt in the ruins.
“Newton has money of his own. He has a
lso an equal interest with me in my share of the pearls.…”
“I am not going after the pearls, Father. I am going because—because Kitty should not be allowed to go alone. Of course Lynda has offered—but I mean without a male relative.”
“Of course. And youth is naturally adventurous. I was about to say that Newton has ample funds to bear the entire expense if he wants to make the gamble.”
“I intend to. Let me do that, Kitty. If—if the thing should peter out all round, you wouldn’t want to feel that you had nothing to come back to. Unless—” The word and the pause that followed it were eloquent of Newton’s personal interest in his cousin, rather than the actual objects of the trip. But he saw that he had been precipitate and hurried on to cover the slip. “It wouldn’t do for you to burn all your bridges and sell this business.”
“I have already sold it,” said the girl. Her uncle made a muffled exclamation.
“The deal has been closed by wire. The transfer will be made tomorrow. The purchaser is coming up from Hartford. It was a good bargain on both sides. I got my price, sufficient, I hope, for expenses. Twenty-seven thousand dollars.”
“You don’t mean to tell me you got that price for your stock and good will?” exclaimed Stephen Foster incredulously, seemingly annoyed, perhaps at not having been consulted, perhaps—thought Jim—at finding his niece so close to independence.
“I am afraid, uncle, you never did properly value the selling price of antiques as compared with the buying. There is a big demand for them, and I know a good piece when I see it. Most of these were bought for small sums and then restored. At retail the stock would easily bring fifty thousand dollars. It has cost me less than ten. And I had only twenty-five hundred to start with at the very beginning. And there is the good will.
“If Newton wants to come—as he has the right to and as your representative—he can bear half the expense. Mr. Lyman has a master’s certificate. I want him to have command of the expedition. It seems to me he has earned it—and the sixteenth share I offered him in the pearls if they are recovered—aside from having given us the position of the Golden Dolphin. Please do not protest, Mr. Lyman. It is purely business. I am sure uncle would consider such a bonus only fair. And it can come out of the Whiting share.” Stephen Foster got up and walked up and down the room.
“I wash my hands of it,” he declared. “I consider it folly, though I shall be more than happy if you find your father, glad also to get my returns from the original investment. Make your own plans. Newton, are you coming with me? I suppose not. You’ll be wanting to start tomorrow night, I imagine.” He seemed to be trying to be heavily humorous.
“The day after tomorrow,” said Kitty. “There are my own things to transfer to storage. Not much to pack to take with us. We are going to San Francisco to charter a ship.”
“Why San Francisco? None of my business, of course. But—”
“Mr. Lyman recommends it, uncle. It will save time and expense.”
Stephen Foster shrugged.
“Then I’ll be going,” he said. “Send back the car for you, son?”
“I don’t believe Kitty and Lynda ought to be left alone in this house, Father. There’s only Ellen Martin, After Lyman’s experience—”
“It might make us—me, at all events—seem safer if both of you stayed. You could share the guest room,” suggested Lynda to Lyman. “I imagine I am sufficient chaperone. As for Ellen, I know she has been listening at the door. It is a trait that she regards as a privilege. She’ll need protection anyway.”
“If you would,” said Kitty Whiting. The young men looked at each other. Whatever their thoughts, neither could well demur. “But your hand?” she said to Jim.
“I’ve had a worse one,” he answered. “I’ll see a doctor in the morning.”
“Then I’ll send your things over from the hotel,” said Foster. “And some duds for you, Newton. See you sometime tomorrow, I suppose. Good night, you pack of adventurers.”
With his exit he again achieved a degree of bluff humanity. Again Lyman was in doubt. Foster reappeared, hat in hand.
“About those figures,” he said. “I’d recommend you take means to conceal them, Kitty. Even from Newton here, until the time comes. He might talk in his sleep. Lyman, you know them, too. Don’t let anybody hypnotize you.” His tone was ironical; it might have once more been meant for humor.
“I don’t want to know them, Kit,” said Newton as the door closed.
“I am going to mail that diary ahead,” she said. “I suppose we make certain ports of call, Mr. Lyman, for water and provisions?”
There was a globe in the stockroom under the portrait of Kitty’s grandfather. They set this on the table and sat about it. Ellen, discovered suspiciously close to the door between them and the kitchen, was sent packing without excuse for lingering.
“I packed her off for a walk,” said Kitty. “She’s probably heard more than is good for her. If curiosity was a fatal disease, Ellen would have died long ago. The funny part is that she appears to think herself absolutely entitled to knowledge of everything that happens, and usually offers her opinion freely.”
“Taking her along?” asked Newton.
“I’ll give her the chance, but I don’t believe she’ll go. She’s got some love affair on. She’s close-mouthed enough about that; but I understand he’s younger than she is. She has some money saved up—”
“And the bounder is after that. Sure isn’t her looks.”
Lynda Warner flushed. Jim Lyman realized the sensitiveness that lay behind her plain exterior and wanted to kick Newton for his lack of tact.
Kitty Whiting broke up the awkwardness. “How about the itinerary,” she asked.
“We would naturally stop at Hawaii,” said Lyman. He had tacitly accepted command. Since the girl was determined to go, and since he was persuaded that there were others determined to thwart her, he had made up his mind to take the trip. The question of the share could rest. It was not an unusual offer, after all. He wanted to pick his own crew, remembering the letters of Captain Whiting.
“Two thousand and ninety-eight miles from San Francisco to Honolulu,” he went on. “Call it ten days with power equal to eight knots. We must get a boat with an engine, or we may drift for weeks trying to pass the line. The run to Suva in the Fijis is about twenty-seven hundred. That would be fourteen days more, full speed. But we do not know what capacity we will have for gasoline and we want to sail when the wind favors us. We ought to get a schooner capable of making ten to twelve knots with wind abeam or astern. Fourteen and ten. Call it a month. We should fetch Suva in a month, outside of stopovers or delays from engine trouble. Hardly from storms at this time of the year. There may be headwinds, of course.
“Our real trip begins at Suva. We should take on water and supplies there, and I should like to add to the crew with native boys. They will be wanted to handle the landing boats. They’ll be better for many of our purposes than whites such as we are likely to get. We’ll ship a working crew at San Francisco.”
“How about arms?” asked Newton.
“You said there were no natives, but—”
“It is best to go prepared,” said Lyman gravely. “I was only ashore a little while and at one place. That is one reason why I did not want to urge Miss Whiting to go.”
“There were women in the war,” she said. “I am not afraid of taking the same risks as a man. And I fancy I could shoot on occasion. We can practice on the way down.”
Jim had other reasons he could have advanced, but he forbore. The pluck of the girl was wonderful. He had no doubt of her ability to hold her own outside of sheer strength. But the thought of what might happen to her if they fell among the savage tribes locked his jaws tightly and cemented his resolve.
It was midnight when they broke up. The two women got together a little supper. The car arrived with a bag for Newton and Jim’s pitiful belongings. He was glad that he possessed a decent suit of pajamas. Such things did not
matter, but though much of his first antagonism toward Newton Foster had disappeared, he was human enough not to want to appear at any special disadvantage.
He took a hot bath, somewhat clumsily. Newton shoved his head into their bathroom and asked if he could help.
“Jupiter, but you’re banged up!” he said. “I imagine you put up a tidy scrap, Lyman. I envy you your muscles. I’m soft as a rag doll. I’d like to shake hands with you as soon as your fin gets in shape. Over this trip, you know. Mighty glad you’re going to be along. It’s a pretty serious proposition when you come to think of it. For Kitty—and Lynda—I mean. It’s up to you and me to look out for them. And you’ll have to make a sailor out of me. So far I’m not a shining light in any profession. But I’m willing to play general utility.”
It was impossible to hold much of a grudge after that speech. It began to look as if there was good stuff in Newton Foster after all. With his father Jim still reserved judgment.
“Here’s my left hand on it, for the time being,” he said. And they turned in together.
There was no alarm in the night. The next morning Jim went to see Dr. Dimmock, the purchaser of the antique store arrived and Ellen Martin gave notice to quit.
VI
Under Way
The trip to San Francisco established a camaraderie between the four. Lyman was the most reserved. He had much to think about and he did not possess Newton Foster’s ready knack of conversation. He envied his ready intimacy with Kitty Whiting and devoted himself to squiring with Lynda Warner. His liking for her readily ripened into real friendship. She would have made a wonderful wife for some chap, he thought, but she had been handicapped. Naturally a man preferred a girl with a pretty face and good figure—such as Kitty Whiting—though Jim did not allow his thoughts to wander in that direction, consciously at least. He found in the elderly spinster a quick appreciation of affairs, discussing with her details of the voyage while Newton haled his cousin off to the observation platform. Not that they did not all have serious consultations. Newton was a partner in the enterprise and full of suggestions, but it was plain that to him the expedition was one of romance and adventure intimately connected with his pretty cousin. He was gay, impractical, good-looking and likeable, if he did attempt to monopolize Kitty. Jim acquitted him early of being a snob.
The Pirate Story Megapack: 25 Classic and Modern Tales Page 10