CHAPTER XI.
CHANNING LOCKYER FILES A MESSAGE.
In the meantime, the other fellow had been looking over the side while Ned tied his hands fast.
“What kind of a launch is that, anyhow?” he asked in wondering tones.
“It’s a kind of a special duty launch,” parried Ned, not wishing to reveal the true nature of their craft.
“Say, she’s a wonder. Up to weather one minute, and the next sneaking up to leeward of a fellow. What chance had we, anyhow. But say, if I’d ever fired at you fellows, there’d have been one less of you.”
“I don’t doubt it,” answered Ned; “but, you see, things came out otherwise.”
In the meantime, Midshipman Stark had found that there was a hasp and padlock on the outside of the cabin companionway. He had quickly snapped the padlock into its fastenings, securing the men who had retreated below. Naturally, a perfect chorus of execrations greeted him as he did this. But equally naturally, they had no effect whatever on the captors of the schooner, who were now more than ever convinced that the men on board her had been up to some nefarious doings.
“Now then, boys,” said the naval officer, when all was secured, and the two tied captives lay in the scuppers, “just lower those sails and heave to a minute, and we’ll see what sort of a craft this is.”
His orders were quickly carried out, and with more alacrity, as everyone was anxious to find out the reason for the strange behavior of the crew of the sailing vessel. If they were honest men their conduct had been unaccountable.
Amidships of the schooner, what was evidently her hatch, was covered with a tarpaulin instead of the customary wooden battens.
“Let’s have that off, boys, and see what’s under there,” ordered the officer. From his station in the conning-tower, Mr. Lockyer was peering over the schooner’s bulwarks eagerly. He echoed the cry of surprise given by the others as the cover was ripped off with no gentle hands, but very expeditiously.
“Well, what on earth do you make of that?” gasped the lieutenant, as the contents of the hold lay revealed.
It was furniture. And so far as they could see, costly furniture, too. On the top of the pile of elaborately carved tables and chairs lay a big marble statue, its arms pathetically extended skyward. Poking about in the mass they soon unearthed a piano.
“See here, my men,” demanded the lieutenant sharply, turning to one of the bound captives, who had looked on in sullen silence, “what is your explanation of all this?”
“Guess the laugh is on you fellows,” was the rejoinder; “we were moving house for a fellow who lived at Setauket, but who wanted to shift his belongings to the mainland.”
“And so you sailed at night without lights, and armed, to repel anyone who asked you questions?” was the sharp rejoinder. “Oh no, my man, that won’t do at all.”
“Send Sim on board to hold the wheel a minute, will you?” asked Mr. Lockyer suddenly, from the submarine, which was still slowly forging ahead alongside, the tide holding her and the schooner together. “I’ve got an idea about that furniture,” he went on.
“You have?” asked the young officer; “well, come aboard then at once, and bring your solution with you, for I confess it beats me.”
Sim dropped over the side and relieved Mr. Lockyer at the wheel, while the inventor clambered on board the schooner. He bent over the pile of furniture projecting from the hold for a few minutes, then stood erect with a triumphant cry.
“I thought so,” he exclaimed. “This furniture, every stick of it, so far as I can make out, has been looted from Mr. Pangloss’s home. These fellows are the Sound Pirates who robbed him.”
“You are sure of this, Lockyer?” asked the officer; “if it is so we’ve done a good night’s work.”
“I am certain of it. I have often visited Mr. Pangloss’s home, and I recognize some of this stuff. If further proof were lacking what do you think of this?”
He held up a bust, that even in the starlight, could be seen to be intended for a counterfeit presentment of the “Apostle of Peace,” whiskers and all.
“Ho, ho, ho!” exclaimed the officer, bursting into a laugh, in which Mr. Lockyer and the rest presently joined; “yes, that is Mr. Pangloss, beyond a doubt. Now, my men,” he said, with a change of manner, switching round on the two bound men, “what have you got to say now?”
“Ain’t got nuffin ter say,” growled the gray-bearded man sullenly.
“Then I have. Listen. This property is stolen, beyond a doubt. In fact, in my own mind, I have little doubt that you are the notorious band of Sound Pirates, known as the ‘Fly By Nights.’ I’m going to head for the nearest town on the mainland and give you over to the police.”
“Say, who in blazes are you, anyhow?” asked the gray-bearded man without a quiver in his voice, but with much frank curiosity. “I’d like to know.”
“Then, if it will make you tell the truth, I will tell you. We are preservers of law and order wherever infractions of the same occur—and I guess that describes the United States Navy pretty accurately,” he whispered, turning to Mr. Lockyer, who nodded.
“Kind of police, eh?”
“Yes. I guess you might call us that,” answered Mr. Parry.
“Wall,” grunted the gray-bearded man, with great deliberation, “you ain’t goin’ ter get nawthin’ out o’ me.”
After a brief consultation it was decided to make for Bridgeport and give the fellows from the schooner into custody there. With Mr. Lockyer at the wheel, and the others remaining on board the schooner as a sort of prize crew, the run into the Connecticut city was made in little more than an hour and a half. As Lieutenant Parry had surmised, the piratical ship’s company were proved to be the notorious “Fly By Nights,” and when the furniture was examined with care, it was found to be indisputably loot from Mr. Pangloss’s home.
When this had been ascertained, and the schooner’s crew safely locked up, Mr. Lockyer hastened to a telegraph office, where he sent the following message:
“Mr. Peregrine Pangloss,
No. 14 West Seventy-second Street,
New York.
“Have recovered all your stolen furniture with the aid of the Lockyer. Does this go some way toward proving her usefulness?
“Channing Lockyer.”
“But the mystery of those weapons has not yet been explained,” remarked Lieutenant Parry, as they sat in the cabin on their homeward voyage, discussing the exciting incident of the evening.
To his surprise, Midshipman Stark broke into a laugh, and the buoyant Tom Marlin could not keep from smiling. Ned fumbled in his pocket for a minute, and then produced a brass tap of the ordinary faucet type.
“Here’s one of them, sir,” he explained, “and the rest were like them.”
“That’s right, Mr. Parry,” chuckled the midshipman; “and it was all Strong’s idea. When we became separated from you, we recollected we had no weapons. Strong here had gone below on a search for some. He didn’t find any, but in the engine room his eye lit on one of those taps. It struck him at once that, held in the hand, they would resemble a pistol, if one didn’t look too close. Out of the storeroom he got enough to arm us all, and that they were very effective, you must admit.”
When the laughter over this explanation of the “armed-to-the-teeth” appearance of the boarding party had subsided, Mr. Lockyer spoke.
“I’ve heard it said,” he remarked, “that a leading American characteristic is Bluff. Maybe that’s partly right, but Bluff, mixed with Brains, is sometimes a pretty strong combination.”
“It proved so to-night,” laughed Mr. Stark.
“Why not call it American strategy?” asked Lieutenant Parry.
They had all joined in a hearty agreement of this characterization when, from Sim, who was at the wheel, there came a sudden hail.
“Below there! Light dead ahead, sir!”