Agent Nine and the Jewel Mystery: A Story of Thrilling Exploits of the G Men

by Graham M. Dean

  Bob felt that the time had come to be perfectly frank with the sheriff.

  "I'm down here on a smuggling case," he explained. "I'm going to needyour help and I may need it badly."

  Then he went on to relate in detail everything that had taken place sincehe had left Washington, revealing even the kidnaping of his uncle. Whenhe was through the sheriff whistled through his whiskers.

  "I've kind of suspected that something queer was going on south ofAtalissa, but there were no complaints and I never was able to pick upanything. You think the fellow who kidnaped me was the man on the trainwith you when you came south?"

  "From your description, I'm positive it was Hamsa," replied Bob.

  "Then he's a tough customer if he escaped from that river and got downhere so rapidly."

  "One thing we've got to remember," cautioned Bob, "is that the gang iscompact and apparently extremely well organized."

  The sheriff was silent for a time.

  "Think that plane landing last night might have brought in smuggledgems?"

  "I don't know," confessed Bob. "Everyone in the department has a feelingthat the gang is pointing toward one more big smuggling operation. If thegems had come in last night I have a feeling that more than one man wouldhave been with Hamsa to get them. It just doesn't seem logical that oneman, even though he might be the leader of the gang, would handle thisend of the game. I'd be more inclined to think the contact last night wasfor the purpose of making final plans."

  Chapter XXIX MORE CLUES *

  The sheriff turned this over in his mind for some time as the trainrumbled along the rough right-of-way. Then he nodded and agreed with Bob.

  "Looks like you're right. That means we may be in for a busy time whenthe actual contact is attempted."

  "We'll be busy enough, if we can learn where the contact will be made,"retorted the young federal agent.

  "What about your uncle?" asked the sheriff.

  The exultation which had marked Bob's features vanished.

  "I don't honestly know. From the reputation of this gang I should fearthe worst, but for some reason I have unbounded faith in my uncle'sability to take care of himself in a crisis. The last we knew was that hedisappeared from the waterfront and shortly after that a motorboat speddown the river."

  "Then if a big smuggling operation is under way, it's just possible thathe might be brought down here," argued the sheriff.

  "He might be taken to their hideout," agreed Bob, "but so far our menhave no real clue to that."

  "We may be able to pick up something at Atalissa," said the sheriff."I've a number of friends there who may be able to give me informationyou never could get."

  As the accommodation jogged toward the coast, the country became wilderand they rumbled across narrow bridges that spanned bayous and saltstreams. Undergrowth was thick and almost jungle-like. They were in oneof the wildest sections of the Florida coast--uninviting, inhospitable,and for years the hideout for lawbreakers of various kinds.

  The brakes went on sharply and the little train swung around a curve asthe wheels shrieked a protest. Looking ahead, Bob could see a huddle ofhouses around a large bayou. Beyond that was a narrow opening and furtherout a glimpse of the blue Atlantic. This, then, must be Atalissa, hispresent destination.

  The sheriff stood up, and looked at his watch.

  "Lucky trip this morning," he declared. "Usually the local has a coupleof derailments."

  The train pulled up before a dilapidated station and Bob and the sheriffstepped down on a rough plank platform. The only others visible were thetrain crew and the station agent.

  "Town looks quiet," said the sheriff as they started down the one streetwhich was flanked on one side by the clear waters of the bayou and on theother by a long line of buildings, some of them stores and the othersplaces of residence.

  The first building, a story and a half structure, was a barber shop andthe sheriff turned in here.

  "Morning, sheriff," said the barber.

  "Morning, Emil," replied the sheriff. "Want you to meet a friend of mine,Bob Houston. Northerner. He's down for a few days loafing and maybe alittle fishing. Know anything new?"

  The barber, inclined to stoutness and baldness, shook his head.

  "Not even any good fishing left," he sighed.

  "Everybody behavin'?" asked the sheriff.

  "Just what are you driving at?" the barber asked.

  "Nothing special; just thought you might have heard of something,"grinned the sheriff.

  "Matter of fact, I have," retorted the barber. "Somebody's been flyingaround here the last couple of nights with a plane of some kind."

  "That ain't so unusual, is it?" asked the sheriff. "We've been used toall kinds of things along this coast."

  "Well, that wasn't so strange, but this morning when I was fishing downin Harpey's bayou a boat came through there so fast it was nothing but ablack streak and a flash of spray. Blamed thing must have been doingforty an hour."

  Bob's eyes glinted.

  "Where did it go?"

  "Now I was only in a rowboat and I wouldn't know where a speed boatwent," replied the barber. Then, seeing the chagrin on Bob's face, headded, "I'd almost be willing to bet that it was heading for LostIsland."

  Bob saw a queer expression flit across the sheriff's face.

  "I might have known that's where such a boat would be going," he groaned."Why couldn't it be toward some other island?"

  "I wouldn't know," grinned the barber, who sensed that the sheriff was inAtalissa on some important mission. Bob saw the barber scanning his coatand he wondered if the gun in the shoulder holster was visible. If itwas, it would reveal instantly that he was an officer, and not thevacationer that the sheriff had pictured him to be.

  "Guess we'll be getting a boat and heading south," said the sheriff."Just don't say anything to anyone else on what you saw this morning."

  "Not a word, sheriff," said the barber, and they left the small shop.

  "Queer fellow," nodded the sheriff as they proceeded down the streettoward a wharf. "He knows everything that's going on and he protects alot of people, but when some outsiders come in and start breaking thelaw, I can always figure he'll tell me the truth."

  "What do you make of it?" asked Bob.

  "I'd say that the more men you can get in here, the better it will be.Emil knows something queer is going on at Lost Island and it was just hisway of telling me to get there in a hurry. But I don't like that place.It's too lonesome and it's so big a man can get lost on it for days."

  "I didn't know there were any islands that large along here," repliedBob.

  "It isn't actually an island," explained the sheriff, "but there's wateron three sides of it and it's swampy and about as dismal as the lastplace on earth. Always been a favorite hiding place for men trying to getaway from the law."

  Chapter XXX READY FOR ACTION *

  At the wharf the sheriff dickered for the rental of a boat and a 20-footcraft with a sturdy four cylinder motor was secured. There was nothingspeedy about it, but it looked eminently safe.

  "We may be gone a couple of nights. I know where I can get some duffeland grub. You'd better send word for more of your men to get in here,"said the sheriff, and while he went in quest of the camping supplies, Bobwalked back to the station.

  He had been warned to use extreme caution in sending out any messagesfrom Atalissa, but there was no time to drive to another town and hepreferred to telegraph rather than to telephone.

  The message went in code and it took him some time to compose it. Verybriefly he outlined what he had learned from the sheriff, concluding,"Now believe Merritt Hughes has been brought to Lost Island and thatattempt to bring in large amount of gems will be made soon."

  Bob did not leave the old depot until the telegram was humming over thewires on its way
to Washington. Then he returned to the wharf and foundthe sheriff waiting.

  "We'll start at once," said the officer. "I've got a snack put up for ourlunch and we'll eat on the way. Save time."

  Bob stepped into the bow of the boat where the sheriff had stowed awaythe federal agent's large bag and the officer jumped into the stern. Themotor was turning over smoothly. The sheriff threw in the clutch and theymoved away.

  The young federal agent looked back at the sleepy village which wasstrung along the bayou. The barber came out of his shop and waved at themand the man on the wharf, from whom they had rented the boat, watchedthem, his hands shielding his eyes from the glaring rays of the mid-daysun.

  Sheriff McCurdy headed the boat toward the seaway, but before theyreached it swung it sharply to the right and they chugged through anarrow passageway that twisted and turned interminably.

  "How under the sun can you find your way through all this maze ofchannels?" asked Bob, understanding now why it was an ideal spot to carryon smuggling operations.

  "Been in this country all my life," explained the sheriff, "but once in awhile I get lost. Then I usually just sit still until someone hunts meup."

  A larger expanse of water opened ahead of them.

  "Harpey's bayou," said the sheriff. "This is where Emil was fishing whenthat black speed boat came through."

  The sheriff put the rudder bar between his legs and unwrapped a packagewhich had been resting on the floor boards in the bottom of the boat.Inside were half a dozen thick sandwiches, heavily laden with butter andwith generous slices of cold ham between the bread.

  They ate the sandwiches as the launch chugged through the quiet waters ofHarpey's bayou.

  The sheriff produced a jug of cold water and after a deep drink apiece,they nosed the boat out of the bayou and into another twisting channel,which, while deep, was heavily overgrown with trees which arched abovethe water until they formed a perfect tunnel.

  The air was cool and dank and Bob shuddered involuntarily as he thoughtof the loneliness which would descend upon such an area when the sun wentdown.

  "How far is it to Lost Island?" he asked the sheriff.

  "Depends on just which part we're going to. The nearest point is abouteight miles from here."

  They went on for some distance without speaking, the sheriff devotingpractically all of his time to watching the channel.

  A little more than half an hour later he shut off the engine andskillfully guided the boat into a backwater where they would not bevisible from the main channel.

  Sheriff McCurdy dropped the heavy piece of iron which served as an anchoroverboard and Bob was surprised to note that the water was at least eightor nine feet deep.

  "Better look over your guns. We may need them in a hurry," advised thesheriff.

  Chapter XXXI A BOAT FLASHES PAST *

  Bob got out his Gladstone bag and opened it, removing the case which heldhis rifle.

  He assembled the gun and filled the magazine with shells. Placing itagainst his shoulder, he aimed at a spot some distance away when a sharpcall from the sheriff stopped the steady pressure of his finger on thetrigger.

  "Don't take any chances with a shot now giving an alarm to anyone," hewarned. "Remember that the men who hide out down here are all wary of anygunshots."

  Bob lowered the gun and he knew that his cheeks were burning for, had hethought of the possible result, he would not have attempted a practiceshot or two.

  The sheriff, probing his own roll of duffel, unearthed a serviceablelooking gun.

  "Borrowed this from the barber," he grinned. "It isn't quite as fancy agun as yours but it will carry well and I've used it once or twicebefore, so I'm used to handling it."

  The sheriff drew out his pipe and lighted it, settling back against thegunwale.

  "Aren't we going on?" asked Bob.

  "Not much use right now," replied the officer. "We'd be spotted in aminute. We'll wait until dusk. Then we can cruise along the island.They'll be sure to have a fire of some kind for the nights are gettingchilly."

  Bob knew that the sheriff was right, but the thought of inactivity whilehis uncle was in the hands of gangsters galled his active spirit.However, he made the best of it and tried to doze.

  An hour slipped away when the exhaust of a motorboat, evidently coming athigh speed, echoed through the lowlands.

  The sheriff sat up quickly, glanced at his rifle, and then picked up anoar and paddled their boat closer toward a thicket so that they were wellhidden from the channel which passed within a short distance of the bayouwhere they had sought temporary refuge.

  The noise of the oncoming boat was clearer.

  "Coming fast," grunted the sheriff, balancing his rifle in his hands.

  Bob, crouched in the bow, saw a gray boat shoot into sight in the mainchannel. It was not more than 200 feet away and only one man was in theboat. With a start he recognized the crouched figure of Joe Hamsa. Thenthe gray speeder was gone, only a broad, spreading wake remaining to markits passage.

  The federal agent turned to the sheriff.

  "We've got to follow him. That was Joe Hamsa."

  The sheriff shook his head.

  "We're not following him now; still too light. Besides I know he's headedfor the island. Listen to him go!"

  The roar of the exhaust gradually died away and the sheriff turned toBob.

  "You're sure that was your man?"

  "Positive," replied Bob.

  Sheriff McCurdy looked at his borrowed rifle once more and Bob saw thedeep lines of the peace officer's face tighten.

  They remained for another hour in the seclusion of the small bayou andbefore they started out again the shadows were deepening and the warmthof the afternoon was vanishing.

  Sheriff McCurdy started the motor of their boat and Bob pulled up themud-covered anchor. With the motor throttle well down they started forLost Island and Bob was thankful that their boat had an underwaterexhaust which it was almost impossible to hear.

  After leaving the shelter of the bayou, Sheriff McCurdy operated theirboat with extreme caution and just before they came within sight of LostIsland he stopped the boat and spoke to Bob.

  "We may be poking our heads into a hornet's nest," he warned. "Want to goon or wait until additional federal men can get to Atalissa and we canbring them down here?"

  "That might be too late," decided Bob. "We'll go on."

  The sheriff started the motor and once more they were in forward motion,the bow of their small boat knifing its way through the waters of alarger lagoon.

  Chapter XXXII LOST ISLAND AHEAD *

  Ahead of them lay a long, low mass of tangled undergrowth.

  "Lost Island," said the sheriff cryptically and Bob felt his bloodbeating faster. It was toward this spot that the black speed boat sightedby the barber had been going and it was also toward this spot that JoeHamsa had been hurrying in the gray motorboat.

  The motor of their own boat died suddenly and Bob looked toward thesheriff, whose face was still dimly discernible in the faint light.

  "No more noise; we'll use oars from now on."

  Bob helped put the oars in their sockets. There were two pairs and theybent their backs to the task of rowing.

  "This may be an all night job," grunted the sheriff, "but it will beworth it if I can catch up with the fellow who threw me out of the carlast night."

  The boat, although not large, was heavy and in less than half an hour Bobhad blisters on both hands and his back ached mightily.

  "Ease up a bit," advised the sheriff. "We'll drift along here and rest."

  Bob welcomed the chance to straighten up and he let the oars rest in theoarlocks while he stood up in the boat.

  A flicker of light to the left caught his eye and he spoke quietly to thesheriff.

  "There's a light to your left," he
said. "Stand up and look at it."

  Sheriff McCurdy stood up in the stern.

  "I expected something like this," he grunted. "Might as well rest a bit,though, for I've too many kinks in my back now to think of a good scrap."

  The boat drifted gently and the sheriff told what he knew about theisland.

  "This is one of the highest parts," he explained, "and one of the driest.Not much swamp right here and the footing should be good. On the otherside there's an old pier and a sort of hunting house that was built yearsago by some northerners. I expect we'll find the men we want over there."

  Bob was too impatient to rest very long, and at his insistence, they tookup the oars again and turned the bow of their boat toward shore.

  Moving like a shadow and with as little noise, they guided their craft intoward the island. The bow stuck in soft mud three or four feet from theshore and the sheriff grunted his distaste.

  "We'll have to wade in," he complained. "I'll get wet and that will makemy rheumatism bad again."

  Bob dropped their anchor over into the mud and the sheriff stuck two ofthe spark plugs from the motor in his pocket, effectively disabling theboat from use.

  With Bob in the lead, they dropped over the side. The muck and ooze wascold and slimy and Bob felt his legs plowing in about six inches of theclammy stuff. Fortunately they were ashore in about four long strides.

  They paused long enough to loosen the guns in their shoulder holsters andto look at the safeties on their rifles. Then, with the sheriff in thelead, they started for the far side of the narrow island.