“How early?” Florence asked.
“Oh, about seven o’clock.”
“That’s practically the middle of the night.”
“I’ll come by for you at a quarter to seven. Wear warm clothes and don’t you dare keep me waiting. I have to put in a good eight hours tomorrow on Miss Amhurst Finds a Way, or I’ll never make my deadline on time.”
The next morning heavy mists shrouded Greenville’s valleys and waterfront.
I put on my Macintosh as both a precaution and as protection against Betsy’s sodden upholstery. Then I drove through the darkness to the Radcliffs’. I pulled up at the curb and got out.
All the windows were dark, so I huddled against the gate post and whistled several times. I finally tossed a pebble against the window of Florence’s room. A moment later the sash went up.
“Oh, is it you, Jane? Surely even you wouldn’t insist on going sailing on a morning like this.”
“The fog will clear away just as soon as the sun gets up. Hurry and climb into your clothes.”
Florence slammed down the window. Ten minutes later she appeared, walking awkwardly.
“What are you wearing?” I asked.
“A red flannel union suit, two pairs of beach pajamas, and three sweaters. Think we’ll freeze?”
“You won’t freeze.” I gave Flo a hot thermos bottle full of coffee. “Don’t open it until we’re out on the water.”
By the time we reached the dock, the rising sun had begun to scatter the mist. Patches of fog still hung over portions of the river, however, and it was impossible to see the far shore.
“Shouldn’t we wait another hour?” Florence said as I leaped aboard the dinghy.
“By the time we get the sail up, the river will be clear,” I said. “Toss me the life preserver cushions.”
While I put up the mainsail, Florence wiped the seats dry of dew. My fingers stiff with cold, I cast off the mooring ropes, and the Maybelline drifted away from the dock.
“Well, the river is all ours this morning,” I said. “That’s the way I like it.”
“Where’s the breeze?” demanded Florence, eyeing our limp sail.
“We’ll get one in a minute. The headland is cutting it off.”
“You’re a chronic optimist.” Wetting a finger, she held it up. “I don’t believe there is any breeze. We’ll just drift down stream and then have to row back.”
“We’re getting a little breeze now,” I pointed out as the sail became taut.
The boat gradually picked up speed, but the wind was so sporadic that we did not attempt to cross the river. Instead, we sailed in midstream, heading toward the docks where the shipping vessels came in. The mists had not entirely cleared away, and I began to shiver.
“If only you’d had the forethought to wear your flannel union suit. And don’t you wish you had one of my sweaters?” asked Florence.
I shook my head as I poured myself a cup of steaming coffee from the thermos bottle, but before I could take my first sip, a large, flat vessel loomed up through the mist ahead.
“Now don’t try to argue the right of way with a barge,” Florence advised.
“It’s adrift,” I said, bringing the dinghy about.
“What makes you think so?”
“You can see it’s out of control. There’s no tow boat anywhere near.”
“It does seem to be drifting,” Florence acknowledged. “No one appears to be aboard, either.”
The large vessel would block off all the wind if I approached too close to it, so I steered the dinghy away. The barge, almost crosswise to the current, was floating slowly downstream.
“How do you suppose it got loose?” Florence speculated.
“Maybe someone cut it loose?”
“The big mooring rope has been severed.” Florence pointed at the enormous frayed rope dangling from the vessel.
I brought the dinghy about again, tacking in closer to the drifting barge.
“It looks like the barge Clarence Sinclair was hired to guard. Can you read the numbers, Flo?”
“519-9870.”
“Then it must be his barge. I wrote the whole number down somewhere, but I clearly recall that it ended in 870.”
“Mr. Sinclair must have deserted his post again.”
“In any case, that barge is a great hazard to other vessels,” I said. “Not even a signal light on the bow or stern.”
“Oughtn’t we to notify the Coast Guards?”
“We should, but while we’re searching for a telephone, the barge may ram another boat. Why don’t we board her and put up signal lights first? In this fog, one can’t see a vessel many yards ahead unless it’s lighted.”
“It doesn’t look possible to climb aboard,” Flo protested.
“I think I can do it,” I said, handing the tiller to Flo.
“You know what happens when I try to steer.” Florence shrank back from the tiller. “I’ll be sure to upset. The wind always is tricky around a big boat.”
“Then I’ll take down the sail,” I said, moving forward to release the halyard.
The billowing canvas came sliding down. I broke out the oars and maneuvered the dinghy until it grated against the hull of the barge.
“Even a trained monkey couldn’t get up there,” Florence said. “I don’t know how you intend to do it.”
I rowed around to the other side of the barge. Discovering a rope which did not give to my weight, I told Florence that I intended to climb it.
“You’ll fall,” Flo predicted.
“I won’t, but if I do, at least I’ll have a nice soft landing.”
“Well, I hope for your sake and mine you don’t fall. This water is absolutely putrid.” Flo took the oars from me and used one of them to deflect a swirling island of trash that brushed against the side of the Maybelline.
“Just hold the dinghy here until I get back,” I told Flo. “That’s all I ask.”
“Which shouldn’t be long. I expect to hear your splash any minute now.”
I grasped hold of the dangling rope. With far more ease than I had anticipated, I climbed hand over hand to the deck of the barge.
From below I heard Flo mutter something under her breath about how I’d be right at home in a zoo, but I let it go.
Once on the deck of the barge, I immediately lit the signal lamps at bow and stern with matches I found resting underneath the bracket holding one of the lamps in place.
That task accomplished, I was moving amidships when I thought I heard someone moving around inside the deck house.
“Is anyone there?” I called out.
There was no answer, but I heard a scraping noise as if someone were pushing a chair against a wall.
I crossed the deck and tried the door of the cabin. It had been fastened from the outside. I fumbled with the bolt but was finally able to push it back. The door swung outward.
For a moment I could see nothing in the darkness, but after my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I saw a man lying on the floor. A gag covered his mouth, and his hands and feet were tied with cord.
The prisoner was Clarence Sinclair.
Chapter Sixteen
I threw the door open wide to admit more light and entered the cabin. I bent over the prisoner and began to untie the cords which bound his wrists.
“I’ll have you free in a minute, Mr. Sinclair,” I said.
The cords had been tied very loosely, and I wondered that Mr. Sinclair had not been able to escape under his own power. I undid the knots and pulled away the gag which covered his mouth.
“What happened, Mr. Sinclair? Who did this to you?”
The old watchman sat up, stretching his cramped arms. He did not reply but instead watched me intently as I loosened the ropes which bound his legs. Getting up, he walked a step or two across the cabin.
“Tell me what happened,” I urged him. “Don’t you feel able to explain?”
“I’m disgusted,” Mr. Sinclair said. “Plumb disgusted.”
“I’m through with this job! I didn’t want it in the first place.”
“Suppose you stop grieving over your bad luck for a minute and tell me what happened.”
“Well, it was about midnight when they sneaked aboard.”
“The men who attacked you?”
“Yes, there were three of ’em. I was in the cabin at the time, reading my newspaper. Before I knew what was happening, they were on top of me.”
“Did you recognize any of the men, Mr. Sinclair?”
“No.”
“What did they look like?”
“It was dark. I didn’t see their faces.”
“How were they dressed?”
“Didn’t notice that either,” Mr. Sinclair said. “I was too busy tryin’ to fight ’em off. They trussed me up and then cut the barge loose.”
For a man who’d been in a fight with three supposedly stronger opponents, he had emerged from the battle remarkably unscathed.
“Well, what will we do?” I could scarcely contain my growing irritation. Mr. Sinclair seemed entirely unprepared to think of anything but his own grievances. “It’s still foggy on the river. I’ve put up signal lights, but an approaching freighter might not see them in time to change her course.”
“There’s nothing more to be done,” Clarence Sinclair responded with a shrug. “The Coast Guard boat will come along after a while. I’m not going to worry about it—it’s not my responsibility anymore. I quit!”
“You can quit when this barge is safely under control again,” I told Mr. Sinclair, but my bossiness didn’t seem to faze him.
“Nope! I’m done with this rotten, stinking job, and you can tell your father so.”
“My father can bear the shock, I think.”
I abandoned all hope of help from Mr. Sinclair, so I ran out on the deck and signaled to Flo who was anxiously awaiting my return.
“Oh, there you are,” Flo called up to me. “I thought you never were coming back.”
I told Florence how I’d discovered Clarence Sinclair lying bound and gagged inside the deckhouse. I would have told her about the old watchman’s indifferent attitude, but he came up behind me, so I saved that for later.
“I wondered how you got out to this barge,” Sinclair said, gazing down at the dinghy. “You can take me to shore with you.”
“Isn’t it your duty to remain here until relieved?” I said, making one last appeal to his sense of duty.
“I resigned, takin’ effect last night at midnight,” Sinclair grinned. Clearly, the man had no sense of duty to appeal to. “I’ve had enough of Greenville. I’m getting out of this town.”
“My father obtained this job for you, Mr. Sinclair.” I tried to keep my voice even, but I was so angry I had to clench my hands together to stop them from shaking. “You’ll show very little gratitude if you run off just because you’re in trouble again.”
“A man’s got a right to do as he pleases.”
“Not always,” I insisted. “It’s your duty to tell police what you know.”
“I didn’t see the men, I tell you. They came at me from behind.”
“Even so, you may be able to contribute information to the police. In any case, you’ll have to stay here until relieved—”
“Jane!” interrupted Florence from below. “There’s a boat coming.”
As I went quiet, I heard the steady chug of a motor, but for the moment mist hid the approach of the vessel. Finally, a pleasure yacht, with pennants flying, came into view.
“It’s the Eloise III,” I called down to Flo. “It belongs to Commodore Phillips. You remember, you met him at Greenville Marine Club benefit.”
Flo and I waved our arms and shouted while Clarence Sinclair stood morosely by, making no effort whatsoever to summon help.
To my relief, the yacht veered slightly from her course, and the engines slackened speed.
“Yacht ahoy!” I called out, cupping my hands around my mouth to make the sound carry.
“Ahoy!” came the answering shout from Commodore Phillips. “What’s wrong there? Barge adrift?”
I confirmed his observation and requested to be taken aboard. Although I was not certain of it, I believed that the Eloise III was equipped with a radiotelephone which could be used to notify the Coast Guards of the free-floating barge.
I slid back down the rope to join Flo in the dinghy. Clarence Sinclair declined to follow and stayed behind on the deck of the barge. I rowed us to the yacht, and we climbed aboard. Commodore Phillips immediately confirmed that his vessel did have radiotelephone apparatus.
“Come with me,” he said and led us to the radio room.
The Commodore sat down beside the transmitting apparatus, quickly adjusting a pair of earphones. Snapping on the power switch, he tuned to the wavelength of the Coast Guard station. While Flo and I hovered at his elbow, he talked into the radio telephone, informing the Coast Guard of the floating barge and its position.
A Coast Guard cutter was on its way, and I felt relieved of further responsibility. As Commodore Phillips said that he would stand by with his yacht until the cutter reached the scene, Flo and I decided to return to shore. Once well away from the yacht we raised sail and tacked toward Dad’s dock.
“I hope the Coast Guard gives Clarence Sinclair a good lecture,” I said. “Why, he wasn’t one bit concerned what might happen to other vessels.”
“I never did like him. He complains too much. Was it his fault that the barge was cut adrift?”
“Not according to his story. Three men attacked him while he was in the deck house. Of course, he couldn’t have been too alert.”
“Clarence Sinclair wouldn’t have been,” Flo said. “I think he drinks.”
“Very likely,” I agreed, except I had no evidence for making such a claim. I’d smelled no liquor on his breath, or any other evidence that he had been hitting the bottle.
“There was one rather peculiar thing,” I told Flo. “It’s been bothering me ever since I discovered it.”
“What’s that?”
“Mr. Sinclair’s bonds were very loose. If he had tried, I believe he could have freed himself.”
“That does seem strange. You don’t think he allowed those saboteurs to board the barge?”
I brought the dinghy around, steering to avoid a floating log.
“I wouldn’t know, but I’m glad we forced Mr. Sinclair to wait for the Coast Guard. I hope they question him until they get to the bottom of this affair.”
Chapter Seventeen
The mists were lifting as we sailed slowly past the Halvorson Dock toward our own snug berth. Anne was trying to start a stubborn outboard motor.
“What’s that barge doing out on the river?” Anne called out to us, “It looks to me as if it’s adrift, but I can’t see well enough to tell.”
I brought the dinghy to a mooring at the floating platform and told how I had boarded the barge, released Clarence Sinclair, and then notified the Coast Guard.
“Clarence Sinclair is one of the most shiftless men I ever knew. He doesn’t deserve to hold a job,” Anne said.
“Does he drink?” I asked.
“Not as far as I know. No, he comes by his laziness naturally.”
I glanced about the dock, searching for Fred Halvorson.
“Your husband isn’t here?”
“No, he isn’t.” Anne was suddenly defensive. “If you think he had anything to do with that barge—”
“Why, it never entered my mind,” I said.
“I’m sorry.” Anne looked immediately chastened. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know why I’m so jumpy lately.”
“You have a great deal to worry you,” said Florence. “And you’re working too hard.”
“I’ll be all right as soon as Fred’s trial is over. He’s not here this morni
ng—” Anne’s voice broke. “In fact, I don’t know where he is. Fred was out all last night. He’s been trying to gain evidence which will prove his innocence.”
“You mean your husband went away yesterday and failed to return?” I asked.
Anne nodded. “He’s on the trail of the real saboteurs, and it’s dangerous business. That’s why I’m so worried. I’m afraid he’s in trouble.”
“Have you talked to the police?” Flo inquired.
“Indeed, I have not. The police are not to be trusted.”
“Didn’t your husband tell you where he was going when he left home?”
“No, he didn’t. He keeps things from me because he says I worry too much.”
“I suppose he never explained what happened at the Green Parrot?”
“He said he couldn’t remember, and I want to believe him. Oh, everything’s so mixed up. I try not to think about it, because when I do my head simply buzzes.”
Once more Anne tried to start the balky engine, and this time her efforts brought success.
“Thank goodness for small favors,” she shouted over the sputtering of the engine. “Now I’ve got to go out on the river and look for our stolen boat. Hope no one runs off with this place while I’m gone.”
“You’ve not had another boat stolen?” Florence asked.
“I figure that’s what happened to it. Late yesterday afternoon a man came here and rented our fastest motorboat. That’s the last I’ve seen of him or it.”
“Didn’t you report your loss to the Coast Guards?” I asked Anne.
Anne answered with a trace of impatience. “Of course I did. They searched the river last night. No accident reported, and no trace of the boat.”
“The man might have drowned,” Florence said.
“Possibly, but that’s not very likely. If he had gone overboard, the empty boat would have been found by this time. No, it’s been pulled up somewhere in the bushes and hidden. Last year one of our canoes was taken. Fred found it a month later, painted a different color.”
“Didn’t you know the man who rented the boat?” questioned Jane.
“Never saw him before. He was tall and muscular and dark-haired. In his middle fifties. Wore a felt hat and a gray overcoat. I noticed his hands. They were soft and well-manicured. I said to myself, ‘This fellow doesn’t know a thing about boats,’ but I was wrong. He handled that motor like a veteran.”
The Jane Carter Historical Cozies Box Set 2 Page 40