The G-man's son at Porpoise Island

IT WAS a tired and hungry duet of detectives who walked down the rickety old wharf about midnight and climbed aboard the good sloop Water Witch now masquerading as a Marconi sloop called Staghound! Not too tired, however, for John to go right to the stove and light the burners. He had hot coffee ready while he discussed the evening’s events with Stan.

“Stuffed alligator skins,” said John. “Gagnon was one scared man.”

“Tried to yell for help when Dago and Dad came down to the cove, though,” said Stan. “Figured he might be better off with his old pals!”

“Where will they take him now, Stan, I wonder?”

“For one thing, the newspapers won’t hear about the capture of Gagnon, I bet. Dad and the F. B. I. had a tough time keeping it secret that my father was a G-man in the Hogan case. If they hadn’t succeeded, everyone would know that Dad was a Special Agent and it would have spoiled his future work. The day gangland gets his photo to compare with the G-man who broke the Hogan case they’ll get Dad on a spot, I’m afraid.”

“Guess you’re right. I remember, speaking of Gagnon again, that they spirited Racira away in the Hogan affair, and I guess the mobsters will be astonished when he appears in court as a witness against them!”

“No more surprised than Nevada will be when the F. B. I. gets Gagnon into the courtroom. While Nevada will have an idea Gagnon is definitely in Federal hands, he won’t expect his former friend to testify against him.”

“What makes you think Gagnon will?”

“Simple. Gagnon’s lost his nerve. Gone yellow. And there isn’t anything easier to get information from than a gangster who turns yellow. Dad says the mobsters have a saying that ‘A canary sure can sing!’ That simply means a scared prisoner will tell all if he once gets started.”

“About our plans, Stan, what’ll we do now?”

“Guess we’ll follow John’s advice, and stay away from Porpoise Island till Monday. The big blow-off is to be Thursday at midnight. That would give us from Monday till Thursday to complete our work.”

John Tallman bit into a big slice of bread and poured the coffee.

“Think Zenith Point Village would be safe for us? I guess our disguise of the boat is all right, don’t you think?”

“Sure and besides, I figure, we ought to buy a very small rowboat, round-bottomed, to carry on the Staghound—I’m tired of mooring to piers and rocks!”

“Swell. Oh, a home on the ocean blue—say, bread tastes good, doesn’t it, when you’re hungry?”

“It sure does!” admitted Stan, helping himself to another piece. “Now, after we’ve been at Zenith, a day or so taking us to Monday, we’ll get back to Porpoise under cover of darkness and hide ashore till daybreak. Then we’ll go after the fingerprints and photos Dad suggested we get! Maybe we can get a chance to talk to him, too!”

They were glad enough to get to sleep till early morning. Before daybreak, however, they were up and under way for Zenith Village. They kept rather clear of Porpoise Island en route, for the fog had lifted way past there and Zenith Light was visible down the coast. They did not want to run into any cruising gray speedboats just yet!

Daybreak had come and the sun was rising higher and warmer when they laid the final tack for Zenith Point Light. They rounded the light and went on to the Village pier at once.

At the village they located just the type of tender they desired in a local boat yard, bought it for a price, and towed her out to the anchorage. That morning, at their anchorage, they caught up on much needed sleep and were not up and about again till late afternoon.

There were several yachts in the harbor as usual but none that they recognized. It proved difficult to kill time during the next couple of days but they had to do so if they were to follow their plans. Between reading below decks or lolling in the sunshine, well down in the cockpit, and burning the night oil over charts and plans, they managed to watch the hours pass by. Once or twice John hinted at fishing but they dared not risk it on the chance that one of Nevada’s boats might come up to inspect them. Ashore or in the sloop they could duck from sight in such an event, but the little rowboat would hardly serve as a hiding place!

Monday morning was to be the beginning of big things again and it started with a bang!

“Whoops!” cried John as he emerged from the cabin into a cool morning. “Look who’s here—our old playmate!”

The Sea Hawk had come in during the night and was anchored across the harbor. And Stan blinked his eyes—for the familiar outlines of the yacht enclosed a black hull this time!

“Somebody else playing at disguise, John!”

“Yeh, the copy-cats! As if you wouldn’t know that craft anywhere by the shape of her hull and upper structure!”

“But you can’t see black as far at night as you can white,” Stan pointed out.

John gave an exclamation of surprise.

“That’s right—Thursday—at midnight!”

“You’d think, Stan, that if any law officer wanted to nip Hegarty, say on his yacht, it would be easy. All they’d have to do would be look up the registry of the boat and see for themselves the owner’s name!”

“Chances are ten to one, Hegarty’s name on the register is spelled quite different——”

“Ears of bantam corn—look!”

Another craft, newly painted in shiny black, had just rounded the point and was moving over towards the Sea Hawk! Low, fast-appearing, the strange yacht was of cabin type, like many other craft of her kind, but to the boys, her appearance at that spot and at that time, spelled more trouble! They could not be far wrong for, before she had come completely at rest with her anchor down, a boat was seen to row off from her to the bigger craft.

“Me for my binoculars!” cried Stan, and pounced below.

Afterwards, from low in the cockpit, he reported that he could see activity on the deck of the Sea Hawk—men moving about and all seeming to talk with their hands! An argument seemed in progress but it apparently ended amicably, for everyone shook hands and the rowboat went back to the newer boat.

“What’s the name of that boat, Stan?” John asked.

The G-man’s son hesitated a moment then said, “Looks like—‘Malcon’ to me, John.”

They made notes of these things with the time and place, and Stan expressed a desire to get photos of both boats. They took along their camera, climbed into the tender and pushed off as if for a row about the harbor. They took several pictures of yachts as if on a picture-taking trip and then drew into position for photos of the Sea Hawk. Casually and without hurry, Stan stood up and took two excellent photos.

“Two shots left, John,” he said, jubilantly, “Now for the Malcon!”

Both boys were so eager to get the pictures that they did not observe the fact that a tender pushed off from the Sea Hawk and rowed over towards them. In fact, they were startled to look up and see the boat so close. Two seamen were in it.

“Hello, boys,” said one, a stocky, yellow-haired fellow with a grinning ape face.

“Hello!”

“Taking pictures, eh?”

“Sure, we want them for a collection of swell yachts in our albums,” Stan explained, and he contrived to maneuver the camera to the floor between his feet. He was bent over now.

“What kind of camera you got?” queried the sailor. “I’m sorta nuts on cameras.”

“He sure is,” agreed the second sailor, a thin, emaciated type. “Nuts is right.”

They both laughed as if at a secret joke then.

“Regular folding type,” Stan said. “Rectilinear lens, speeds up to one-hundredth of a second. Like to see it?”

That seemed to startle them and they nodded. Stan handed the big fellow the camera as the two boats closed together. As he did so the camera slipped from his hands and went overboard! Naturally Stan and the sailor reached for it too late.

“Too bad!” said the seaman.

“Ya gotta get it, thick-head!” yelled the thin one.

“How kin I, I asks ya?” demanded the yellow-haired fellow, exasperated. “Be careful!”

John was, naturally, down in the mouth, and Stan appeared also to be downcast.

“Too bad, kid!” said the big chap, and the boat drew off for the Sea Hawk.

Stan and John began to row to their own craft as rapidly as possible without appearing in too great a hurry.

“Did you really drop it, Stan?” demanded John.

Stan grinned as if well pleased with himself.

“I’ll tell you later!”

“Once upon a time there was a very dumb, dumb boy,” began John, as they climbed aboard their boat and went to the cabin. “So dumb that cameras meant nothing in his young life! Phff—what was an expensive camera to him?”

“Listen and listen hard, John,” Stan said; “we’re playing a dangerous game for big stakes! A fifteen dollar camera is not to be considered as valuable compared to the films I have!”

“Films? Why they went to the bottom of the deep blue sea——”

“Not a bit of it! Here is the film!”

He showed the roll to his wondering chum and explained that when the men rowed over he had an idea that Hegarty suspected him and John and had sent for the film. Probably the men had been instructed to get the film. By being willing to let them take the camera for inspection Stan had thrown off suspicion. He was able to remove the film before giving the camera to the sailor, and knew that the empty camera would be prima facie evidence of guilt, so made sure the instrument went overboard!

Back on the Sea Hawk the two seamen stood “on the carpet” in fact and in figure. Hegarty was in a nasty mood.

“You going to stand there and tell me that kid handed you the camera and you dropped it?”

“Well it was this way, Boss——”

Hegarty fixed them with a stare.

“The chances are that those kids are all right. Just the same, we’re playing for big stakes. Nevada’s got a fortune on that island and a racket system that’s worth billions! We can’t take chances and we can’t afford to arouse suspicion. It’s a toss up whether them kids was——”

“You’re nervous, boss,” said the yellow-haired man eagerly. “Just jumpy. I wouldn’t worry about it, if I was you!”

“Oh, yeh? You’re right—you wouldn’t worry! That takes brains! Get out, both of you, scram!”

He reached for the drawer in his cabin desk and both men tried to get out the small door abreast. The result was ludicrous in the extreme and Hegarty relieved himself by a thoroughly good laugh!

Convinced because he had no real grounds for suspicion of the two boys in the trim white yacht, he forgot about the incident and did not refer to it again though he was to regret that result some time later!

“Is there any sight of the Canton yet?” he asked the man on lookout in the bridge enclosure of the big craft as he went out of his cabin and up the steps.

The man shook his head negatively.

“Well, keep your eyes peeled. He’s due any hour now.”

“You bet. Say, we’ll have some navy here fer the big raid, won’t we?”

“We’ll need it! Nevada will be expecting us and we gotta be prepared!”

The boys kept down in the cabin the rest of the day until evening when still another yacht came in, this also painted the same shiny black. It anchored close to the first two, an extremely able-looking “commuter” type cabin cruiser bearing the name Canton on her name boards. The sun was setting by the time supper was over and the boys watched an outboard-motored tender going to the town dock, roaring along.

“Town is the place for us, to-night, John!” Stan said.

“You’re not going to Porpoise Island to-night?”

“No-sirree! Hegarty is likely going ashore with his lieutenants and we’ve got work to do. Get your portable fingerprint outfit and lens ready, and let’s go!”

“Bows and arrows, Skipper?”

“Not this time. We want to appear innocent and we don’t want bows between our legs if we have to skip up an alley or two. How’s for some soda, John?”

John grinned knowingly and they were shortly headed for shore. Quietly, they pulled in, keeping in the darkness, away from the side of the wharf at which they could see the dim, shiny outlines of the tender from the Sea Hawk. They pulled the skiff ashore at the land end of the pier and strolled up to the dock.

A peek round the edge of the piling on the wharf on the other side showed a man sitting in the tender there, waiting.

“No chance to get aboard her yet, John,” Stan said, “so let’s head for the restaurant.”

They entered the restaurant by a side door, unobserved, and were able to slip into their seats quietly. Hegarty had his back to them and none of the men really were faced their way, so the boys hoped to escape suspicion. It was a ticklish moment! They ordered coffee and rolls with bacon, in spite of Stan’s reference to soda.

Hegarty and his men seemed nervous but carefree. They kept hard eyes on the door to the street but cracked jokes with apparent ease and talked in low tones between times while they sipped beer.

“Oh, you’re the boys as bought the beer bottle, aren’t you?” queried the proprietor as he came with the order.

Gulping hard in spite of himself, Stan “shushed” him away as soon as possible. None of the men at the other table appeared to have heard the remark for they were all engrossed in examining a photograph which Hegarty was now passing around to the men.

“That the bird?” queried one.

“Yeh! Take a good look at him. I had plenty trouble digging that up. But I found a way!”

“So he’s a Fed, eh? Say, I always wanted to get a good look at one of those guys!”

“You’ll get a chance to make a sieve of him when we get to Porpoise Island, boys,” said Hegarty. “And I figures we’ll go over there Wednesday night ’stead of Thursday!”

“It’ll be a surprise, eh, Hegarty?”

“It’s gotta be or we’ll have the whole F. B. I. in on us!” said the head gangster, chuckling.

And Stanley Sandborn held his breath for he had not only heard distinctly all that was said, so acute was his hearing made by the mention of “Feds,” but he had a good look at the photograph one of the men was handing back to Hegarty! It was a good clear photograph of Gallagher!