A Man and His Money

by Frederic Stewart Isham

  CHAPTER XI

  MISCALCULATIONS

  Two days later, on a bright afternoon, a young man stood on the edge ofa sea-wall called the Battery. It was not _the_ Battery, commanding aview of the outgoing and incoming maritime traffic of the continent'smetropolis, but another Battery, overlooking another harbor, or estuary,landlocked save for an entrance about a mile in width. Behind him lay,not a great, but a little, city; hardly more than a big town; before hima few vessels of moderate tonnage placidly plied the main or swashchannels.

  The scene was tranquilizing; nevertheless the young man appeared out ofharmony with it. His face wore a feverish flush; his eyes had a restlessgleam. He had only a short time before come to town, entering inunconventional fashion. As the train had slackened at a siding on theoutskirts he had quietly, and unperceived, slipped off the back platformof the rear car; then made his way by devious and little frequented sidestreets to the sea-front.

  There, his eager gaze scanned the craft, moving in the open, ormotionless at the distant wharfs. An expression of acute disappointmentpassed over his features; his eyes did not find what they sought. Hadthat mad flight been for nothing? Had he but run into a new kind of"pocket" here, all to no purpose?

  Mr. Heatherbloom sat down; he was weary and worn. The dancing sparkleslaughed at him; he did not feel like "laughing back". Even as he leanedagainst the parapet a newsboy close at hand called out:

  "All about the mysterious abduction! One of the miscreants traced tothis city! Superintendent of police warned of his probable arrival!"

  The lad looked at Mr. Heatherbloom as he shouted; that gentlemanreturned his gaze with unflinching stolidness.

  "What abduction?" he asked.

  "Beautiful New York heiress."

  The voice passed on; the fugitive was once more alone with his thoughts.If they had been wild, turbulent before, what were they now? His handsclosed; at the moment he did not bemoan his own probable fate, only thefact that the clue bringing him here had been false--false!

  Another voice--this time a man's--accosted him. Mr. Heatherbloom sprangswiftly to his feet but the person, an old darky, did not appear veryformidable.

  "Got a match, boss?" he inquired mildly.

  Mr. Heatherbloom's bright suspicious glance shot into the good-humored,open look of the other; that person's manner betrayed no ulteriormotive. Perhaps he had not yet heard the newsboy; did notknow--Mechanically the young man answered that he did not possess thearticle required, but the intruder still lingered; he had accosted theother partly because of a desire for desultory conversation. Mr.Heatherbloom, after a moment's careful scrutiny, showed a disposition tobe accommodating in this regard; he even took the initiative--suddenly,asking question after question about this boat and that. Her name; whenshe had come; where she was going; of what her cargo consisted? Theother replied willingly. Like many of his kind in the port, although hecould not read or write, he was wise in harbor-front knowledge, knew allthe floating tramps and the sailing craft.

  "I suppose it's always about the same old boats drop in here?" Mr.Heatherbloom, after a little, observed insinuatingly.

  "Yes, always de same ole tubs," assented the darky.

  A shadow crossed the other's face, but he managed to assume a light air."Battered hulks and sailing brigs of a past generation, eh?" He put thecase strongly, but the darky only nodded smilingly. His strong point inconversation was in agreeing with people; he even forgot patriotismtoward his own port in being amiable.

  Mr. Heatherbloom glanced now beyond them to the right and the left; butno one whom he had reason to fear came within scope of his vision. Hisfigure relaxed. When would they come to take him? The newsboy's wordsreiterated themselves in his mind. "Traced to this city!" Of course;Miss Van Rolsen's millions were at the command of the secret-servicebureau; his description had been telegraphed far and wide. And when itshould be fruitful of results, what would become of his theory?Nevertheless, he would go on, while he could, to the last.

  If he tried to explain they would consider it but a paltry blind tocover his own criminality. He could expect no help from them; he had totriumph or fail through his own efforts. To fail, certainly; it wasdecreed.

  For the moment something in his breast pocket seemed to burn there, atiny object, now without the frame. Involuntarily he raised his hand;then his figure swayed; the street waved up and down. He had eatenlittle during the last two or three days. Scornfully in his own mind heberated that momentary weakness and steadied himself. His eyes, cold andclear, now returned to the colored man; he groped for and took up thethread of the talk where he had left it.

  "Old hulks and brigs! You don't ever happen to have any really fineboats come in here, do you? Like Mr. Morgan's big private yacht, forexample?"

  "No; we ain't never seen dat craft yere. Dis port's more for lumberand--"

  Mr. Heatherbloom looked down. "I saw an item in the paper"--he strove tospeak unconcernedly--"a Marconigram--that a certain Russian prince'sprivate yacht--the _Nevski_--had damaged her propeller, or some otherpart of her gear, and was being towed into this harbor for emergencyrepairs."

  "Oh, yes, boss!" said the man. The listener took a firmer grip on theparapet. "You done mean de big white boat w'at lies on de odder side obde island; can't see her from yere. Dey done fix her up mighty quick an'she gwine ter lebe to-night."

  "Leave to-night!" Mr. Heatherbloom's face changed; suppressed eagerness,expectancy shone from his eyes; he turned away to conceal it from theother. "Looks like good fishing over there near the island," he observedafter a pause.

  "Tain't so much for fishin' as crabbin'," returned the other.

  "Crabbing!" repeated Mr. Heatherbloom. "A grand sport! Now if--are you acrabber?" The darky confessed that crabbing was his main occupation; hisboat swung right over there; for a dollar he would give the otherseveral hours' diversion.

  Mr. Heatherbloom accepted the offer with alacrity. A few moments later,seated in a dilapidated cockle-shell, he found himself slamming over thewater. The boat didn't ship the tops of many seas but it took in enoughspray over the port bow to drench pretty thoroughly the passenger. Inthe stern, the darky handling the sheet of a small, much patched sail,kept himself comparatively dry. But Mr. Heatherbloom didn't seem to mindthe drenching; though the briny drops stung his cheek, his facecontinued ever bent forward, toward a point of land to the right ofwhich lay the island that came ever nearer, but slowly--so slowly!

  He could see the top of the spars of a vessel now over the highsand-hills; his body bent toward it; in his eyes shone a steely light.Their little boat drew closer to the near side of the island; thehillocks stood up higher; the tapering topmasts of the craft on theother side disappeared. The crabber's cockle-shell came to anchor in atranquil sandy cove.

  Mr. Heatherbloom, although inwardly chafing, felt obliged to restrainimpatience; he could not afford to awaken the darky's suspicions,therefore he simulated interest and--"crabbed". He enjoyed a streak ofgood luck, but his artificial enthusiasm soon waned. He at lengthsuggested trying the other side of the island, whereupon his pilotexpostulated.

  What more did his passenger want? The latter thought he would stretchhis legs a bit on the shore; it made him stiff to sit still so long. Hewould get out and walk around--he had a predilection for desertedislands. While he was gratifying his fancy the darky could return to hismore remunerative business of gathering in the denizens of the deep.

  Five minutes later Mr. Heatherbloom stood on the sandy beach; he startedas if to walk around the island but had not gone far before he turnedand moved at a right angle up over the sand-hill. The dull-hued bushesthat somehow found nourishment on the yellow mound now concealed hisfigure from the boatman; the same hardy vegetation afforded him ashelter from the too inquisitive gaze of any persons on the yacht whenhe had gained the summit of the sands.

  There, he peered through the leaves down upon a beautiful vessel. Shelay near the shore; whatever her injury, it seemed to have been repairedby this time for few sig
ns of life were apparent on or about her. Steamwas up; a faint dun-colored smoke swept, pennon-like, from her whitefunnels. Some one was inspecting her stern from a platform swung overthe rail, and to Mr. Heatherbloom's strained vision this person'sinterest, or concern, centered in the mechanism of her rudder. Thetrouble had been there no doubt, and if so, the yacht had probably come,or been brought near the island at high water, and at low tide anydamage she might have suffered had been attended to. Her injury musthave been more vexatious than serious. Would she, as the darky hadaffirmed, leave when the tide was once more at its full? Her lying inthe outer, instead of in the inner harbor, seemed significant. Timepassed; the person on the platform regained the deck and disappeared. Inthe bushes the watcher suddenly started.

  Something at one of the port windows had caught his glance. A ribbon? Afluttering bit of lace? A woman's features that phantom-like had comeand vanished? He looked hard--so steadily that spots began to dancebefore his sight, but he could not verify that first impression. Yet heremained. The shadows on the furze grew longer, falling in strangeangular shapes down the hillside; the sun dipped low. At length Mr.Heatherbloom, after the manner of one who had made up his mind tosomething, abruptly rose.

  He walked back toward the cove where he had disembarked. As he drew nearthe darky caught sight of him, pulled up "anchor" and paddled his boatto the shore. But Mr. Heatherbloom did not at once get in; his eyesrested on the bushel or so of freshly caught, bubble-blowing crabs. Hestrove to appear calm and matter-of-fact.

  "What do you expect to get for them?" he asked, pointing.

  "'Bout fifty cents de dozen, boss. Crab market ain't what it ought terbe jest now."

  "Why don't you try to sell them to the yacht over there?" Mr.Heatherbloom managed to speak carelessly but it was a difficult task.

  "Jest becos she is 'over there', boss," returned the darky lazily."Mighty swift tide sweeping around de head of dat island!" heexplained.

  "And you don't like rowing against it?" Quickly. "See here, I'll tellyou what I'll do. I like a bit of exercise, and just for the gamble,I'll give you sixty cents a dozen for the lot, and keep all I can getover that. The owner of that craft is a Russian and all Russians likesea food. When they can't get caviar, they'll no doubt make a bid forcrabs."

  "Dat sounds like berry good argumentation, boss. Make itseventy"--avarice struggling on the dusky countenance--"an'--"

  "Done!" said Mr. Heatherbloom, endeavoring to disguise the fierceeagerness welling within him. "Here's on account!" Tossing his last billto the other. "And now, get out. It'll be easier pulling without you."

  The darky grinned and obeyed. This was a strenuous passenger truly, notaverse to stiff rowing, after a stiff walk, "jest for pleasure". But thedusky pilot had met these anomalous white beings before--"spo'tsmen",they called themselves. And a certain sense of humor, as Mr.Heatherbloom sat down to the oars, caused the colored man involuntarilyto hum: _I'se got a white man a-workin' for me_. He had only finished abar or two, however, when the tune abruptly ceased on his lips. "Dat'stoo bad," he said. "I guess de deal's off, boss." Regretfully.

  "Eh?" Mr. Heatherbloom looked around. He meant to keep the man to hisbargain now, by force if necessary.

  "Look dar!" continued the darky.

  Mr. Heatherbloom did look in the direction indicated. A puff of blacksmoke could be seen rising over the island, and--significant fact!--thedark smudge seemed to be crawling along beyond the sky-line of thesand-hill. The young man turned pale.

  "It's de Russian yacht, boss. She's under way all right!"

  Mr. Heatherbloom continued to gaze. Where the island was lower he sawthe topmasts moving along--then the boat herself, white, beautiful,swinging out from behind, with bow pointed seaward and steaming fast.

  "Dat's too bad," murmured the colored man. "I done be powerfuldisappointed, boss!"

  The other did not answer. Going! going! He had waited too long to boardher. He could not reach her now--he would never reach her. The flame ofthe dying sun flared in Mr. Heatherbloom's face, but he continuedmotionless.