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“Oh, pshaw!” snapped the nervous one. “There’s no use in talking to you, or trying to make you understand. You’ve no imagination.”
“For which I’m very thankful,” responded the owner, blowing out a cloud of smoke.
The fog was lifting more and more, the sun’s rays trying to pierce what was left of the haze.
“You may as well come in, lookouts,” hailed Captain Tom.
“Jed, if you’re through with deck duty,” called Mr. Delavan, “suppose you begin to think of getting lunch.”
“All right, sir,” Prentiss answered, and disappeared.
“Oh, Delavan, man,” groaned Mr. Moddridge, “how on earth can you talk about eating when everything lies at stake as it does?”
“Why, after I get the word,” rejoined the owner, “I shall be hungry enough to eat – anything.”
“But what if the news be of the worst kind?”
“Let us hope it won’t be, Moddridge.”
“Yet, if it is? You don’t mean to say, Delavan, that you could think of eating then?”
“Confound you, man,” drawled Mr. Delavan. “What do you think my stomach knows about news?”
The sounding of the fog-horn had died out some minutes ago, as the vanishing fog rolled further and further away. And now, Tom, gazing keenly ahead, saw a big black hull rapidly emerge out of a bank of fog more than a mile away. He looked sharply for a few seconds. Then —
“Gentlemen,” announced the young skipper, pointing, “that craft over to the eastward is, I think, the ‘Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse.’”
CHAPTER II
A WHIFF OF FORTUNE
MR. DELAVAN immediately raised a pair of marine glasses to his eyes, taking a long, careful look at the great hull.
“Yes; that’s the ‘Kaiser,’” he agreed.
“There’s a smaller craft, astern, that may interest you also, sir,” reported Jed, from the after deck.
Mr. Delavan turned quickly, though not with such a start as did his friend, Moddridge.
Astern, or, rather, over the port quarter, appeared a long, narrow racing hull. It was evidently the same motor craft that had so nearly rammed them in the deep fog.
“Confound that hoodoo boat,” muttered Mr. Delavan, in a low tone, to his companion. “I’d give quite a bit to know who are aboard that craft.”
“S-s-so would I,” stammered Moddridge. “It looks queer. Whoever they are, they’re dogging us, of course.”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” returned Delavan, musingly.
“Shall I keep to the same course, sir?” asked Captain Tom, as soon as his employer looked around.
“Why, now, I’ll tell you what I want you to do, captain,” answered the owner. “Run out towards the ‘Kaiser,’ though you needn’t be at pains to make it too plain that you’re seeking the big ship. After you get the ‘Rocket’ somewhat near, take a wide, sweeping turn to landward of the big craft. Run fairly near, keeping your port hull about parallel with the ‘Kaiser’s’ starboard. Run alongside for a little distance, until your orders are changed. Moddridge and I are going down into the cabin, to take our stations at port-holes. Prentiss will stand by the cabin doorway to pass up, in a low voice, any orders that I may give him for you. Is that all clear, captain?”
“Quite clear, sir.”
“Then come below, Moddridge,” continued the owner, turning to his friend. “And for goodness’ sake, man, if you can, behave differently. Don’t let your legs shake so under you.”
“I c-c-can’t help it,” stammered the smaller man, nervously.
“You’re not going to the hangman, man!” laughed Mr. Delavan, jovially, as he led the way below.
“I reckon I’d better drop down into the engine room for signals, hadn’t I?” proposed Dawson. Tom nodded, and his chum vanished, though his head soon reappeared, framed in the engine room hatchway. The beauty of a gasoline motor engine is that when all is running smoothly and no signals from the bridge are to be expected, the engineer may spend much of his time up on deck. On the bridge deck, near the wheel, are “controls” by means of which the helmsman can change the speeds, stop or reverse at will.
As Captain Tom headed in the direction ordered he heard Jed reporting to the owner that the long racing boat astern did not appear to be making any efforts to overtake the “Rocket” or to reach the “Kaiser Wilhelm.” Instead, the racing boat seemed to be playing wholly a waiting game. This racing craft was about thirty-two to thirty-five feet long. She was not fitted for cruising, but only for fast spurts. She had, instead of a cabin, a deck-over hood forward that protected her engine and galley from the spray.
The “Kaiser Wilhelm” being one of the swiftest of the ocean grayhounds, and the “Rocket” now making at least sixteen miles an hour, it was not long before young Halstead was ready to carry out the second part of his sailing orders.
He steered the “Rocket” so that she made a wide sweep around, then came up parallel with the big ocean steamship. There was about four hundred feet of water between the big hull and the little one as the two craft ran along parallel.
Tom yanked the bell-pull for more speed. This Joe provided, looking up once in a while to make sure that he was keeping up with the swift “Kaiser Wilhelm.”
“Ask Mr. Delavan if we’re running all right, Jed,” requested the young captain.
“Yes,” nodded Jed, after repeating the message without moving.
The big steamship’s deck was covered with passengers, most of them crowding fairly close to the starboard rail. It was plain that the voyagers felt some curiosity regarding this dapper, trim little cruising craft that kept so handily along with the racing grayhound.
There was a great fluttering of handkerchiefs, which Tom acknowledged by several short blasts on the auto whistle. The “Kaiser’s” heavy whistle responded.
“That’s all. Mr. Delavan says to head about for East Hampton,” Jed reported.
With a parting toot from the whistle, Halstead altered the course.
“Make your best speed, captain,” was the next order young Prentiss transmitted.
So it was not long before the “Kaiser” and the “Rocket” were some miles apart. Mr. Delavan came on deck, smiling. Tom tried not to wonder, though he could not help guessing what the Wall Street magnate could have accomplished by means of this brief, eventless cruise alongside the larger vessel.
But Mr. Moddridge! His face was positively wreathed in smiles. All his fears seemed to have vanished. The smaller man was still nervous, but it was the agitation of intense joy.
“It’s all right, Halstead,” beamed Mr. Delavan.
“I suppose it must be, sir,” smiled the youthful skipper.
“You’re puzzled, aren’t you, lad?”
“Why, I’m trying not to be, as, of course, it’s none of my business.”
“Of course it isn’t,” laughed Mr. Moddridge, uneasily. “But what wouldn’t he give to know, Delavan?”
“Why, I can give you a hint or two,” smiled the big, good-natured man.
“Don’t you say anything,” protested Moddridge, paling.
“Nonsense,” laughed Mr. Delavan. “Halstead, did you notice one man who stood at the rail of the big craft? A man tall and very broad-shouldered, a man of seventy, with considerable of a stoop, but with the nose and eyes that make one think of an eagle? His clothes fitted him loosely. He isn’t what you’d call a man of fashion, but a man whom, once you saw him, you’d never forget.”
“And at his right hand stood a man who looked like a clergyman?” inquired Halstead.
“I see you marked the man. Do you know who he is?”
“No, sir, though I’m sure I’ve seen his portrait in the newspapers.”
“H’m! I guess you have,” chuckled Mr. Delavan. “Well, that’s Gordon, the great man in the steel world, the colossal banker, the man who lends nations money.”
“You didn’t make this trip just to make sure that he was aboard?” Tom hazarded.
“Of course not, captain. I had that information days ago, by cable. But Gordon has been doing big things abroad, things that will rouse the world’s market and shake fortunes up or down. By to-morrow morning Wall Street will be seething, just on guesses as to what Gordon has done in Paris and what speculations he’ll make, now that he has returned.”
“Delavan!” cried Moddridge, sharply. “I protest. Not another word.”
“Nonsense!” retorted the big man, cheerily. “Halstead, whoever makes the right guess as to what big money deals Gordon has arranged abroad can make barrels of money in Wall Street during the next two or three days. Those who guess wrong will lose their money. Money will be made, and money will be lost in Wall Street, during the next few days – all on guessing which way Gordon’s cat jumped in Paris.”
“And all the while no one will know, except Mr. Gordon himself?” smiled Tom Halstead.
“That’s the point,” chuckled Francis Delavan, contentedly.
“S-s-stop!” cried Moddridge, warningly. But his large friend, disregarding him utterly, continued:
“On that same ship a man came over whom Moddridge and I trust. Our man has a great knack for drawing people out. It was his task to talk with Gordon at every good opportunity, and to get from the great man some indication as to the real news. Our man was paid by us, and paid well, but he also gets a substantial share of the profits we hope to make. He has made every effort to get a tip from Gordon, and it was that information that our man, by two or three simple movements, signaled to us.”
“And now I suppose you’re going to unbosom yourself, and tell this young boat-handler just what our information is?” groaned Eben Moddridge.
“No, I am not,” grinned Mr. Delavan. “I don’t believe Halstead even cares a straw about knowing. If he had our information he isn’t the sort of lad who’d venture his little savings in the vortex of Wall Street speculation.”
“Thank you. You’ve gauged me rightly, sir,” laughed Halstead.
“But now you can guess why I’m so anxious to reach East Hampton just as early as you can possibly get us in,” continued Mr. Delavan. “I have a long distance telephone wire of the main trunk line, all the way to offices in New York, reserved for my instant use. One minute after I reach the telephone booth my orders will be known by my secret agents in New York. To-morrow morning Wall Street will seethe and boil over Gordon’s return, but my agents – our agents, for Moddridge is in it – will have their orders in time to do an hour or two of effective work before the Stock Exchange closes this afternoon. Now, you understand, captain, why I want to crowd on every fraction of speed to reach East Hampton.”
“Joe Dawson is working the motor for every bit of speed,” Captain Tom replied, quietly.
Moddridge, plucking at his friend’s sleeve, drew him aside to whisper:
“No matter how well you may like the boy, Delavan, you had no business to tell him all that you did.”
“Nonsense,” replied the owner, in a voice loud enough to reach the young skipper’s ears. “Prescott knows this young chap like a book. Prescott assured me that there isn’t a tighter-mouthed, or more loyal, dependable young fellow in the world. When a young man is sailing your boat on rush business he should have some idea of what he’s doing and why he’s doing it.”
The “Rocket” was now going at a full twenty-five miles an hour, her powerful, compact engine fairly throbbing with the work. While the boat might have been pushed two miles an hour faster, Dawson did not think it wise to attempt it except for life and death business.
The racing boat that they had noted astern was now somewhat ahead. This craft now turned, came back at rushing speed, circled about the “Rocket” in safe seaway, then started ahead again.
“Confound that boat,” grumbled Mr. Delavan, staring hard at the decked-over hood, “I’d like to know whether the people I suspect are hidden under that hood.”
“Looks as though the boat meant to follow us into East Hampton, doesn’t it, sir?” Halstead conjectured.
“I may as well tell you, Halstead – ”
“Delavan! Can’t you be silent?” groaned Moddridge.
“I may as well tell you,” resumed the easygoing owner, “that the boat ahead probably carries, concealed, two daring Wall Street operators, or their spies, who, at any cost, want the very information that Moddridge and I possess. They must have watched our approach to the ‘Kaiser’ through a glass, and now they’ve sped close to us in the effort to see whether they could guess anything from our faces. Their next moves will be to keep with us going in, and even to attempt to overhear what we may telephone to New York.”
“They’d rather steal your news than get their own honestly, would they?” muttered Halstead. “A good many people are like that about everything, I guess.”
The racing craft had gained at least a quarter of a mile in the race for East Hampton. Jed had just gone below to spread lunch for the owner and guest when the racing boat was seen to be slowing down. It was not long before she lay almost motionless on the rolling surface of the ocean.
“What’s that they’re doing?” cried Mr. Delavan, as the watchers saw a piece of bunting flutter up to the head of the single short mast of the racing craft.
“The United States flag, field down,” replied keen-eyed Halstead.
“The signal of distress?”
“Yes, sir.”
Francis Delavan’s round, good-humored face betrayed instant signs of uneasiness, mingled with disgust.
“Captain Halstead, do we have to heed that signal?” he demanded. “That is, are we obliged to pay heed?”
“The laws of the ocean compel us to go close and hail her,” replied Tom, altering the “Rocket’s” course slightly, so as to run near the motionless boat.
“It’s a trick,” grumbled Mr. Delavan. “They’ll claim that their engine has broken down. They’ll want to demand a tow.”
“Do you want us to extend any help?” Tom inquired.
“Not unless we’re obliged to. But, of course, captain, neither you nor I can flagrantly defy the laws of navigation.”
“Luncheon is ready, gentlemen,” called Jed, from the deck below.
“Oh, bother luncheon!” muttered Moddridge.
“Not so, my dear fellow,” retorted Delavan, his old, easy manner returning. “We have much work to do, my dear fellow, and we must keep our furnaces running. Luncheon is the best of ideas. Come along. Captain, I look to you to guard my interests.”
Just as the “Rocket,” her speed lessened, ran up close to the racing craft, Mr. Delavan disappeared into the cabin, almost dragging his friend and guest after him.
In the cockpit of the speed boat appeared only two men, both of a rough, seafaring type, clad in oilskins and sou’westers. There might, however, be several other men concealed around the motor under the decked-over hood.
“Boat ahoy!” hailed Captain Tom, running fairly close, then stopping speed and reversing for a moment. “What’s the cause of your signal?”
“Engine broken down,” responded one of the men aboard the other boat.
“Well, you’re in no danger,” was Captain Halstead’s smiling answer. “You’re riding on a smooth sea.”
“But we can’t stay out here on the open ocean,” came the reply across the water. “You’re the only other craft near enough to help. We ask you to tow us into port.”
