The G-man's son at Porpoise Island

DAGO picked himself up, trembling a little, and the boys sensed a tautness in the relations of Mr. Nevens and the man, which was relieved as the old man turned to the boys, winking. He gave a sly indication of finger to forehead and his face grew sadly serious. But if Dago was to be supposed mentally unbalanced according to his employer, he was certainly sane enough to keep his peace and Mr. Nevens excused himself while he stepped to the side of the big man and gave him an order in a low voice.

“Yes, Mr.—Nevens,” the man responded with surly, glinting eyes and he moved off towards the house, to go indoors quickly.

“Dago is more to be pitied than scolded, boys,” said the charming Mr. Nevens, smiling, “but I keep him round here on odd jobs for he’s been with me many years. And now, I want you to be my guests for an hour or so. Will you come with me? I’ll show you interesting things.”

They nodded after a careful exchange of looks and followed their host down the slight grade to his cottage. The boys observed that, as they went down the path, the hills on the back of the spot rose well above them so that no hint of that habitation was given passing steamers outside in the bay or the ocean. It certainly was an excellent place for anyone, recluse or criminal. What an ideal spot for loafing and camping—a private cove, with a practically hidden channel, high surrounding hills, on an island known to be kept for private use!

“You own this island, Mr. Nevens?” asked Stan, as the man took them along a pretty flagstone path up to the front door of the rustic cabin.

“Yes, I do own it, boys. How do you like my little realm—what you have seen of it?”

“Swell, Mr. Nevens. But you must be lonely here, cut off from the rest of the world!”

The man continued to smile as he replied, “Not so very lonely, nor so very cut off from the world! I have my few close friends, my hobbies, and money enough to satisfy my modest whims.”

Was the wreck one of his “whims”? Stan wondered, and would have asked a tactful question about the nocturnal activities of the cove, but thought it better to hold his peace. If Mr. Nevens wished to talk about it some hint would be dropped, no doubt. In the meantime, if nothing was said by the wealthy host, the boys would wait patiently. If he were a criminal and the salvage, if such it be, criminal, time would prove it.

As the trio came up the path and approached the door Mr. Nevens’ spirits seemed to rise even higher than usual as do those of some one about to show you exciting things. The door opened at a slight touch of the fingers, a fact which startled both the lads. There was no knob or visible lock! If it had swung open without that deft touch it could have surprised them no more!

“Just an invention of mine,” Mr. Nevens said, noting the look of wonder upon their faces as they went into the cabin. “Touched in the right spot, this door opens without effort on the part of the person. It requires no lock of the usual kind, however, for I can, by throwing a switch seal it so that nothing except an explosive can budge it. I may some day give that secret door system to the world. By then, boys, I may, in fact, have perfected an ‘electric eye’ type of a practical kind which will open as you walk up to it.”

They found themselves in a large, open sort of room, luxuriously fitted with everything conducive to manly comfort. Lounges and big roomy armchairs were scattered about tastefully. There were ash trays in handy spots, a beautiful radio of the latest design, stacks of richly bound volumes—the whole giving one a startling realization of what money, in the hands of an eccentric or comfort-loving man, can do.

“My living room, boys,” said Mr. Nevens, obviously proud of the spot. “Now, here is the dining room—the kitchenette and Wan Ho Din, my cook!”

He had touched another door as he stepped forward and, as he spoke, they were led into a cozy room where a long table and many chairs told of company at the dinner table, and then into the white kitchenette with its refrigerator, special cooking range, and—Wan Ho Din, the cook! Wan Ho Din was yellow, slant-eyed, as was to be expected, and gave one an impression of bland, innocent kindliness. But a keen observer, as was Stan when suspicious, would have noted the same peculiar hint of watchful questioning and evil about the eyes. Wan Ho Din would bear watching, Stan decided.

“Boys like cookies?” asked Wan, offering them a dish of the tasty morsels. “Help self. Takum hand full!”

Stan took some and took a bite, then held the remainder in his hands to be eaten later. John, however, ate his at once, as was to be expected. Stan smiled to himself in amusement.

“And now to my laboratories and hobby rooms, boys,” said Mr. Nevens. “What are your hobbies, by the way?”

“We’re both keen on archery, Mr. Nevens,” Stan informed him. “We think sailing and camping is swell, and detective work is fun too. But we’ve had enough detectin’ for a while! This cruise we are on is one strictly of pleasure, if we can keep it so!”

Mr. Nevens’ eyes seemed to harden a bit, then they warmed again profusely. And all the while he maintained that contented, friendly smile which Stan so distrusted.

If Mr. Nevens’ cabin with its spacious living quarters and well-stocked larder was interesting, the laboratories were more so. To reach them the boys were taken down into the ground through a cement-lined walkway, brightly painted and lighted by indirect lighting, electrically. They were told that the electricity was from a dynamo, gasoline motor driven, that, from top to bottom, the place was electrically fitted with every comfort and convenience. The entrance into the laboratories was through a heavy, fire-proof, explosive-proof, water-tight door.

“Dynamite would not distort or open this door, nor could water get in, even under pressure, nor fire at 1,000 degrees burn through in less than twenty-four hours,” Mr. Nevens explained. “I have taken these precautions because I am working on many important discoveries and cannot afford to lose the result of years of work. See, here is a television set upon which I am working, built on a principle entirely new in the field. With it I hope to be able to show people in three dimensions upon a special ‘view-disk,’ or panel, instead of the two-dimensional scene of conventional models. My subjects would be rounded and natural instead of flat. And here is a device which, when perfected, will throw a stream of bullets in a carefully controlled sweep at previously unknown speeds and with terrible effectiveness. You see, I am interested in armaments——”

The look upon Stan’s face must have spoken volumes for the eccentric inventor hurried to say, “—Purely from a desire to invent so terrible a weapon eventually that warfare would be impossible without race suicide, boys. Unlike most Pacifists, I believe in fostering the arming of nations so that they will be armed to the teeth, all of them, and therefore afraid to start a war for fear of its consequences to all!”

They were then shown a number of other things in process of development, and still others were left unexplained, after which the party moved on to the exit and passage, up to the surface of the ground. What intrigued Stan was the number of passages honeycombing this underground retreat. No explanation for their presence was forthcoming and he made a mental note to investigate should need arise.

The exit on the surface came up in a glass-domed summerhouse in which were platforms of fine flowers, and a large and well-stocked aquarium. Mr. Nevens knew all of his plants and fishes well and they found him an interesting talker. From all indications he was well-traveled and well-informed. And on every side were indications of plenty of wealth.

After visiting the summerhouse, Stanley and John were escorted into the surrounding hills from whose summits they could see clearly in all directions along the back of the “porpoise” out to sea, and across the bay towards the distant spires and factory stacks and the Watch Tower Hill of Centerport. Paths in a veritable labyrinth of foot-ways radiated in and about the hills, but Mr. Nevens’ easy-going guidance gave hints that he was avoiding several by-ways purposely. What might some of these paths lead to? Stan meant to find out later!

The Water Witch was almost hidden on the far side of the cove against the background of trees and it certainly looked good. The entrance channel to the cove was seen as a narrow slit, cutting at an angle through the hills to the sea, and Stan made mental notes of its position. While they stood on a rock atop the highest hump of land, Mr. Nevens’ eyes rested rather long upon the moving form of a yacht which was coming in from the sea. White and shiny with brass work, the pleasure craft moved in the general direction of the island, though still some miles away.

“You will come back to see me again, boys, won’t you?” asked Mr. Nevens as they went down the hill. “I’ll show you my landing-stage and boat-house so that you’ll know where to tie up next time. You must come and spend a few days with me soon.”

This tactful remark could mean only one thing, since Mr. Nevens knew that the boys had intended staying in the cove longer than that one day. There was no alternative but to say what Stan now said.

“Certainly, Mr. Nevens. We’re pushing off now for a cruise further along but we’ll stop back next week if we get a chance!” Was the coming yacht bringing special visitors for the queer Mr. Nevens, and on criminal errands, since he wished the boys to move on now?

They were now shown the boat-house, a carefully laid out spot with a wide, high entrance into which a boat could come to land passengers and a mooring-stage beyond for bigger craft. The sudden disappearance of the speedboat of the previous night was now explained and Stan and John looked at each other with knowing grins.

At the mooring-stage was a fast-appearing speedboat of gray color and fast design, low in the water, with no visible exhaust, and fitted for luxurious water travel at high speed. The long, hooded middle section betrayed the huge, powerful engine hidden there. And in the “driver’s” seat sat a clean-shaven, uniformed attendant at ease, smoking a pipe quietly. Stan got an impression that the man was there in case of urgent need. Perhaps such a man was kept handy day and night!

Bidding their host at last good-day, the boys now went past the cabin, and up into the path round the cove. They wound along through the bushes a few minutes later, quietly, some sixth sense warning them not to comment on what they had seen and this caution was rewarded for, silently as they went in their bare feet, they came face to face with Dago! Startled, for he had apparently heard nothing of their approach, the swarthy fellow purpled and went pop-eyed. There was no doubt in the mind of the G-man’s son that Dago, insane or not, had a healthy fear of him and his friend and desired no part of their company.

“Hello, Mr. Dago,” John greeted him. “Nice here on the island, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s-a fine! I think I get along. Don’t see too much!”

And he was gone!

“‘Don’t see too much,’” echoed John.

“Evidently Dago speaks his thoughts out loud at times! John, he’s scared of us, for certain! I wonder if he really is insane?”

“Plump, juicy pineapples, and packages of bird seed, how do I know, Skipper?” John rejoined. “All I’m sure of is—I don’t trust him!”

“Quiet, John,” Stan cautioned, hoping their conversation had not been heard.

They returned by the path to the spot opposite the sloop, pushed down through the bushes to the water, plunged in and swam to the craft, hauling themselves aboard.

“Boy, what a relief to be back on the old Water Witch! Sides of bacon and rally round the gang-plank with a heigh-nonny nonny and a heave-ho-ho!” cried John. “Me for the pantry! Those cookies only made me more hungry.”

Stan went below behind John and both boys gave cries of astonished anger! The cabin had been ransacked! Everything was upside down! The G-man camera had been smashed! The fingerprint powders were scattered about. Papers, notes, books, and letters were spread about on the bunks and floor!

“Dago!” cried John at once. “I’ll tie that chap with telephone wire and douse him in a cup of vinegar, so help me! Bring on the boiling oil! Where is my wandering——”

The tall lad began at once to pick things up, but Stan stopped him.

“Remember what Dad always said, John—study the situation, look for clues before disturbing things too much, in a case like this!”

This they now did, making notes of how things were, accurate sketches showing the positions of each object; and then they looked for fingerprints. They were rewarded only by the discovery of a pair of rubber gloves at the foot of the steps. Large sized gloves, they had been tossed aside by the intruder as he left, in a hurry. Stan recovered enough of the fingerprint powders to bring out smudges on various objects but could find no prints. The man who had been aboard the yacht had been lucky, if not careful.

The things were then picked up and set to rights, and Stan was the first to voice an opinion of what had been the purpose of the search.

“From what I see, John,” he said, “Dago may have been sent aboard here to go through our letters and personal things and to destroy the camera. There might be something among the things to show that we were purposely looking up Mr. Nevens, you see. If Dago found nothing, our claim of being merely pleasure-bound would appear more reasonable. The breaking of the camera was probably Dago’s idea!”

“But if Dago came aboard, how did he get here?” John wanted to know. “By the shores of the Red Sea—he didn’t swim it, for his clothes were dry when we passed him.”

“Probably made it in a boat, of course.”

“Where’s the boat, then? And why would he be on the path instead of back at the boat-house, then?”

For answer, Stan dug out a pair of binoculars from a closet and went up on deck. Keeping the cabin between him and the direction of the boat-house, he studied the shore line close by as if looking for something. It took several minutes, but at last he sucked in his breath hard and handed the glasses to John.

“See that spot over there, John?”

“Oh, yes, I see—there’s a punt hidden under the overhanging branches of a tree! And that is how Dago came aboard!”

Stan smiled. “You didn’t figure that out all alone, did you, Sherlock Holmes?”

“All kidding aside, Stan, why would he hide the punt instead of going back and forth from the float-stage and boat-house?”

“Naturally, so that he would not be noticed. He probably followed the shore of the cove from the stage to our boat, under the branches out of sight, and then returned part way, to hide his punt.”

“Stan, by all the constellations in the deep blue sky—I’ve an idea we’re on the trail of something big, so big it frightens me stiff!”

“Me too, John, but we believe in law and order and the power of the right, and we’ll see it through somehow! Mr. Nevens may be merely an eccentric millionaire with a flair for hobbies and an inventive trend, but I’ve a hunch he’s a poseur up to something immense in crime! Look—there comes that yacht we saw from the hilltop!”

The nose of the shiny white yacht had poked into the cove and the whole boat now slid into view, riding easily towards the float-stage. Through the glasses the boys saw men about her decks in uniform, probably sailors of the ordinary sort. And the men on her glass-enclosed bridge were ordinary-appearing men of wealth. “Sea Hawk!” said Stan, reading her name plate. “So what, Skipper?” John queried.

“Used to be a notorious rum-runner, John, if I remember the newspapers and magazines rightly! John, let’s get out of this cove and stay out—while we’re alive and breathing. I’ve an idea trouble is brewing for us, and we’d better be hitting the high spots of speed right off!”