It was Saturday forenoon when the officers and men of the "Alert" were taken from the wreck. By Sunday morning the sea was running smoothly after the short gale. On this latter morning the steamer from San Diego to San Francisco was sighted and hailed, and Captain Jordrey and his men were transferred to her.
At this time the "Panther" was cruising leisurely, first north, then south, out of sight of land, and at a mean distance of some two hundred miles from the Golden Gate.
On this Sunday morning young Gaston Giddings appeared on deck. He appeared to have entirely recovered from his late debauch, though his eyes lacked their natural luster. He was tastefully attired in a new suit and topcoat taken from his wardrobe on board. He and Joseph Baldwin walked much together, talking, and once in a while Mr. Ross joined them.
"Captain," called the owner, as young Halstead stepped on deck.
"Yes, sir," responded Tom, approaching.
"Mr. Giddings understands the part you played Friday night," went on Mr. Baldwin, in a low voice.
"And I wish to thank you, of course," put in Giddings, holding out his hand, though it seemed to the young skipper that his own pressure was not very cordially returned.
"You're welcome, of course, Mr. Giddings," smiled Halstead, "though I hope I shall never have a chance to render the same service again."
"I hope not," sighed the young man. Though Tom did not stare impertinently, he looked into the young man's face long enough to note the lifelessness depicted there, and the weakness of the mouth.
"It seems queer to think of such a young fellow, and such a pulseless piece of putty, being president of a great bank," thought Tom to himself. "However, of course, if he inherited the controlling stock, he could see to it that he was elected to the post."
Dr. Gray, though he did not often speak to Giddings, hovered on deck, keeping a rather watchful look over the young man.
During the afternoon Tom had occasion to go to the main cabin briefly. Mr. Baldwin looked around from the table at which he sat with his guests. He nodded to the young captain, then turned back to the pile of papers that he had evidently been discussing with his guests.
"You needn't go, Captain," called the owner over his shoulder. "We are talking business, but we know you have no ears, away from your duties. Now, Giddings, as I've been explaining to you, we need ten million dollars in cash to put this matter in motion. Your bank, the Sheepmen's, then, will advance five millions on the collateral we have been discussing, and the syndicate of banks that I have named will put up the other five millions. That will start the matter in motion. Then, when we come to the second step in the game, we shall have to be ready with fifteen millions, and of this money the Sheepmen's——"
Tom Halstead heard, yet didn't hear. It was all a matter of listless indifference to him what these men of the money world were planning in the way of new and big enterprises. The young captain would have been much more interested in reading the "Panther's" patent log.
"Are you certain, Giddings, that you have facilities for turning over the five millions to us at once?" asked Mr. Ross.
"Why, we've been calling in cash for some days," replied Gaston Giddings. "We've been preparing for this demand of yours for money. Then, you know, we secured the whole of the Treasury Department's last apportionment of thousand-dollar Treasury notes. We have three million dollars' worth of these notes locked in our vaults at this moment. That's good enough money for you, isn't it?" demanded the young bank president, boastfully.
"Yes," muttered Ross, "if it's all there when we get back."
"What do you mean?" demanded Giddings, flushing.
"I guess you know how highly I esteem your cashier, Rollings?"
"He's all right," declared Giddings, hotly.
"As long as I don't own any stock in your bank I'm not worrying," replied Ross, rather shortly. "It's none of my business, young man; yet, as one of your father's friends, I can't help being uneasy over the thought that Rollings has the combination of your main vault."
"If he didn't have, I could hardly take these jaunts out to sea," retorted the young man.
"Yes, you could; Hawkins, your vice-president and your father's before you, is a man to be trusted with anything. Hawkins could go to the main vault whenever necessary. For Rollings to have that combination——"
"I don't want to hear any more of this!" cried Giddings, hotly, rising from the table.
"You don't need to, then," rejoined Mr. Ross, coolly. "You know what I think."
"Don't get in a huff, Gaston," put in Joseph Baldwin, briskly. "Ross has told you, plainly, in so many words, just what other friends of yours think of Rollings. He's an able banking man, but none of us think too highly of his honesty. You'll find that two of your own directors, Mr. Pendleton and Mr. Howe, who are here, agree with Mr. Ross and myself."
Mr. Howe remained silent, tapping the table with a pencil, but Mr. Pendleton said, slowly:
"Oh, I guess Frank Rollings is all right. Still, I wish, with the others, that he didn't have such easy access to three millions of dollars in bills of such large denomination that the whole sum could be carried off in a satchel."
"Gentlemen," announced Giddings, rather stiffly, "when we reach San Francisco to-morrow morning, and find that the money is all safe, I shall consider that I have the apology of each one of you for the doubts thrown at my friend, Frank Rollings, behind his back."
That was the last that Tom Halstead heard, for he left the cabin. At eight o'clock that evening, however, the young skipper received his orders from Mr. Baldwin to make San Francisco at ten the following forenoon. Almost to the minute the yacht's bow anchors were let go at her usual moorings in San Francisco Bay. The power tender was lowered over the side, to take Mr. Baldwin and his guests ashore, Quartermaster Bickson going along to handle the boat.
"Come along with us, if you like, Captain," invited Mr. Baldwin. "After we get through our business at the bank our party will lunch at one of the clubs. It ought to be pleasant for you."
Tom gratefully accepted, making a swift change from his uniform to ordinary street dress.
Gaston Giddings held his head a good deal higher than usual when he led the party from carriages into the sombre, solid old building in which the Sheepmen's Bank was housed. The young president conducted his party through the long counting room and into the president's office at the rear.
Here Giddings took command, as by right. Showing his guests to seats, he stepped over to a massive roll-top desk, unlocking it and throwing the roll up. Then he pressed a button on his desk. One of the bank's messengers entered.
"Ask Mr. Rollings to come in," desired Giddings.
The messenger soon returned, to report:
"Mr. Rollings is out at this moment. Mr. Conroy, the first assistant cashier, is at his desk."
"Mr. Conroy will do, then."
The first assistant cashier was soon in the president's office. To him Giddings explained about the loan that had been decided upon.
"I will prepare a list, Mr. Conroy, of stable securities on which I wish you to raise two million dollars in cash at once. But, first of all, get Mr. Hawkins to go to the main vault with you. Tell Mr. Hawkins that I wish the three millions in thousand-dollar notes brought here. You come back here with Mr. Hawkins."
"Can it be delayed for just a little while, sir?" inquired Conroy. "Two of the United States bank examiners are here, prepared to go over our assets."
"Bring that three million here at once," rapped out Gaston Giddings, rather sharply. "The bank examiners may come in here and help in counting it here in my office. Now, go; carry out my orders, precisely."
Mr. Conroy departed in haste. While he was gone the two bank examiners entered the president's room. Giddings greeted them, asking them to take seats. Cigars were passed about by a messenger. The air was rather thick with smoke when Conroy returned, accompanied by the aged vice-president, Mr. Hawkins. The latter carried a satchel, which he took to the large centre table.
"The money there?" inquired Giddings.
"Yes, sir," responded Mr. Hawkins. "I understood that you wished to look it over here."
As Giddings laid down his cigar, moving over to the table, the two bank examiners joined the bank's officers.
Not a very imposing-looking pile was revealed when Mr. Hawkins opened the satchel, drawing forth the contents—three not very large packages covered with numerous heavy seals.
"As I'll probably never see three million dollars again in my life, I'll try to get a good look now," thought Tom Halstead, keenly alive with interest. He sat at some distance from the table, but had a good view.
Gaston Giddings himself opened one of the packages. He broke the seals deliberately, then unfolded many wrappings. Suddenly the contents of the package fell to the polished mahogany surface of the table, followed by the frenzied gaze of the young president.
"Nothing but blank brown paper!" he screamed, hoarsely. He collapsed, falling with his arms across the table, his eyes bulging as though an epileptic seizure threatened him.
With a fearful gasp Henry Hawkins snatched up another package, tearing it nervously apart. Conroy did the same with the third package. In each case the result was the same.
"Three million dollars worth of brown paper!" clicked one of the bank examiners.
Gaston Giddings, moaning piteously, turned, tottering back to his desk, where he fell heavily into his chair, next letting his head fall forward on his arms. Messrs. Hawkins and Conroy recovered much more quickly. They darted out into the counting room, but presently came back to report.
Frank Rollings had been gone more than an hour. When he left, he had carried a satchel. Some fifteen minutes before leaving the bank he had been in the main vault, the huge steel door of which he had afterwards closed. Conroy was now in that vault, with several subordinates, engaged in making a rapid survey of the other contents.
In the president's room Henry Hawkins, who no longer waited to consult the almost paralyzed young president, went swiftly to the telephone. The Bankers' Protective Association, advised by telephone, swiftly had half a dozen detectives scurrying to the bayside, to take up the trail at the ferry that furnishes the sole avenue to the east. Others of these detectives covered the docks of vessels due to sail that day from the port of San Francisco.
Nor did the bank examiners present fail to do their duty promptly. Within a few minutes a United States assistant district attorney and two deputy marshals arrived at the bank.
From the first moment none who had knowledge of the affair believed Frank Rollings, the absent cashier, to be innocent. The assistant district attorney swiftly drew up an information, which Giddings and Hawkins signed under oath. The law's officer rushed off to get from a United States judge a brief warrant authorizing the arrest of the cashier, for the Sheepmen's was a national bank, and the robbery came under the jurisdiction of the United States courts.
Then came a telephone message from the Banker's Association:
"One of our detectives has learned that Rollings sailed, an hour ago, on the steam yacht, 'Victor.' An observer at the Cliff House reports that he has made out the 'Victor,' some miles from the coast, hull-down to the southwest!"
That news electrified those in the bank president's office. They sprang into action. Automobiles were summoned to the door of the bank. Joseph Baldwin's same party sped back to the water front. Another 'phone message summoned the assistant district attorney and his marshals to meet them at the landing stage.
It was all carried through with a rush. Hardly had the last member of the party stepped over the side of the "Panther" before Tom Halstead had the anchors up and stowed. The young skipper himself, from the bridge, rang the engine room bell for half speed ahead, quickly changing this to full speed.
"Are you in the engine room, Joe Dawson?" called Skipper Tom, through the speaking tube.
"Right on hand!" came the answer.
"Then whoop up the speed for all you're worth. Let's have it all—every bit. We're on the chase of our lives!"
Captain Tom Halstead was still on the bridge when the Golden Gate was left behind. He was still there, more than two hours later, when the upper spars of a vessel believed to be the "Victor" were made out on the far southwestern horizon.
"Have any of you gentlemen ever had a good, long look at the 'Victor'?" shouted Captain Tom, leaning down over the starboard bridge rail.
"I have," admitted Mr. Baldwin.
"Then I think you'd better come up here, sir, and take one of the glasses."
"Think you've sighted her?" demanded Baldwin, eagerly, as he raced up the steps.
"We've sighted some yacht. We've got to cut down a few miles of the distance between us before we can be sure about the stranger."
Then, while Baldwin held the glasses to his eyes, Dick Davis showing him where to look, Halstead snatched up the engine room speaking tube.
"Joe, give us more of that hot-foot, if it's in the old motors. We think we're in chase—but, oh, man, man! How we need speed now!"
"I can't be sure of anything yet," complained Mr. Baldwin, in a depressed tone. "We've got to be nearer, and see the hull of the craft yonder, before I can feel sure about her."
"I'm pretty near sure, now, that it's the 'Victor,'" muttered Halstead, after he had picked up his own marine glass and used it for a few seconds.
"Why do you say that?" demanded the owner.
"Our masts must be visible to the commander of the other craft. As if he suspected pursuit, he's crowding on steam. See that big cloud of black smoke coming up between the other craft's masts?"
"Yes! You're right."
"Now, unless a captain who is already moving under good speed is trying to escape something, he doesn't suddenly throw on his furnace drafts in that fashion," went on Tom, hurriedly. "So, Mr. Baldwin, I think you may feel sure that you're speeding along in the wake of the 'Victor.'"
"I'll have to call Jephson up here and show him this," cried the owner, moving to the bridge rail.
"All right, sir. But don't ask any others up. We've got a hard chase in hand, and don't want enough folks up here to interfere with the handling of the 'Panther.'"
Jephson started quickly forward at the call.
"Have you sighted the runaway craft?" called Mr. Ross, also starting forward.
"We think so," Mr. Baldwin answered. "But don't come up here. Captain Halstead doesn't want a crowd on the bridge. All the space up here is needed for handling the yacht."
Mr. Jephson saw what there was to see. He added his belief that they were in the wake of the "Victor."
"Are you going to be able to overtake her, Captain?" he demanded, eagerly.
"We're going to try," Tom responded, anxiously. "We've only four hours of daylight, or so, left to us. If we can get close enough, however, we ought to hold the 'Victor' after dark with our searchlight."
"You'll overtake her, of course!" declared Joseph Baldwin, abruptly.
"Yet the 'Victor' is said to be a very fast boat, sir."
"So is the 'Panther,'" retorted the owner. "Besides, Captain Halstead, we've got to overtake her!"
Tom Halstead took up the mouth-piece of the engine room speaking tube.
"That you, chief?" he asked. "I think you'd better come to the bridge, watch the chase, and see what you have to beat."
Joe Dawson came immediately to the bridge. Presently he used the tube, calling down very definite instructions to Jed Prentiss, whose trick it was at the motors.
"Keep a close eye on your helmsman's work, Mr. Davis," the young captain directed. "See to it that he doesn't waver a hair's breadth in bearing down on the stranger. Any speed lost in steering would be a useless waste."
While Joe remained on the bridge, Halstead soon went to the deck below. Mr. Baldwin followed him.
"If you can make the 'Panther' show all I think there is in her, Captain," commented the owner, "then we should overtake that other craft and have this chase ended in a few hours."
"The 'Panther' is doing, now, sir, all that she is capable of doing under her motors alone. The result of this race depends mainly on how well the steam yacht is handled, for she seems very nearly, if not quite, as speedy as your yacht."
"Is the 'Panther' going at absolutely her last quarter of a mile?"
"Chief Engineer Dawson informs me that he might get a little more speed out of the motors, but that he feels it wouldn't be altogether safe to try."
"Wouldn't a hoist of sail help us?"
"Not with the wind from the present quarter," Tom replied, thoughtfully. "I have already been considering that."
"It seems hard to be beaten," sighed Joseph Baldwin. "It is hard, even, not to find ourselves racing right up on the 'Victor.'"
"We haven't been beaten yet, sir," smiled Halstead. "Nor are we beaten as long as we have the other boat in sight."
As Baldwin turned and stepped over to the rail, he saw Skipper Tom moving away.
"Where are you going, Captain?"
"To my cabin, sir, to take a nap."
"Nap?" echoed the owner, in great amazement.
"Yes, sir; I am afraid I shall be up about all night. Just now there's a chance for me to store up some sleep."
"But the chase?"
"Mr. Davis will have his orders to call me if we appear to be losing ground at all."
Mr. Baldwin looked his astonishment. He did not yet know the Motor Boat Club boys as well as he might have done. Dick Davis was up on the bridge, keen-eyed and alert. Dick knew well enough what to do, and he could call the young captain at need. Besides, Joe Dawson was up there with the second officer, watching the relative speeds of the two boats.
When Tom Halstead turned out again he had put two hours of sleep into his supply of reserve force.
"How do we stand, now, Mr. Davis?" asked the young skipper, reaching for the speaking tube.
"We've been gaining, sir. We can make out the upper hull, now. Mr. Baldwin is here on the bridge, and declares the stranger is the 'Victor.' One of the deputy marshals, who knows the boat well, is also certain."
"Is the 'Victor' burning coal as hard as ever?"
"Just as hard, sir."
"And we're gaining? That shows we can overhaul the other craft in time. How's the weather?"
"Slight haze, Captain, but fine weather," reported Dick Davis.
So Captain Tom Halstead felt that he could still safely take his time, for he expected to be all night on duty. He indulged in the luxury of a bath, dressed comfortably, drew on his reefer, then leisurely left his cabin, ascending the stairs to the bridge.
"I've hardly been away from here," announced Mr. Baldwin.
"I doubt if I shall be, to-night, sir," Tom answered.
"You speak of to-night as though you thought the chase would last through the hours of darkness."
"And doesn't it seem likely to you that it will, Mr. Baldwin, unless something happens to the 'Victor'?"
"I fear I was never built for slow, patient work like this," sighed the financier. "Gaining one second in every hour would wear me out in time."
Before dark Captain Halstead had the hull clearly in sight. The "Victor," however, was still some five miles in the lead, nor did the "Panther" appear to be gaining, much more than half a mile an hour.
It was Third Officer Costigan's watch on the bridge, by this time. Dick Davis, however, did not feel like turning in, and spent much of his time pacing the deck forward, keeping a sharp lookout.
Just before dark the motor yacht's searchlight was turned on. A few minutes later its thin, bright ribbon of light was kept almost constantly turned on the craft ahead.
Tom Halstead and Joe spent a comfortable amount of time over their dinner at table in the captain's cabin.
"I guess Mr. Baldwin wonders that we can take any comfort at this sort of thing," laughed Joe. "I'll wager he doesn't give much time to his supper to-night."
"Perhaps we wouldn't, either, if we owned considerable stock in the Sheepmen's Bank, as Mr. Baldwin does," murmured Halstead. "For him, and for some of the others aboard, this race is for tremendously heavy stakes. I wish, though, that Mr. Baldwin could realize that, even if we do eat, and even nap, we are straining every nerve to catch up with the other boat."
Just then the buzzer for the bridge speaking tube sounded. Tom was able to reach the mouthpiece without leaving the table.
"Captain," reported Mr. Costigan, "the craft ahead seems to be making somewhat less speed."
"Does it look like a break-down?" asked the young skipper.
"Can't say, sir. But the 'Victor' must be going two miles an hour slower than she was ten minutes ago."
"That's the best news I've heard, Mr. Costigan. Watch your helmsman's work. Let me know if anything more happens. Anyway, I'll be on the bridge as soon as I've finished dinner."
Joe, who had jumped up while he heard his chum speaking, now looked astonished.
"Going to finish your dinner, Tom, after hearing such news as that?"
"Yes. Why not? Oh, I'm enthusiastic enough, but it takes gasoline, not enthusiasm, to keep motors going. You might call the news down to Jeff Randolph, though, and see whether he thinks he can put on any more spurt without danger."
Jeff Randolph reported that the motors were going at top speed.
Chief Steward Parkinson came in to remove the dishes for that course. His face was glowing.
"Mr. Baldwin's up on the bridge, Captain," reported the steward.
"I thought he would be," nodded the young skipper, coolly.
Twenty minutes later, when Captain Tom Halstead had finished the last of the meal, he rose, donning his cap, then pulling on his deck ulster.
"Now," he remarked, quietly, "I think I'll go above and have a look."
Joe Dawson followed at his heels. The long beam of the searchlight trailed out over the water, its further end resting across the stern of the "Victor." Mr. Costigan had ordered a sailor to the bridge, whose sole duty was to keep the searchlight trained.
"This race can't last much longer," cried Mr. Baldwin, gleefully.
"The present indications, sir," Tom replied, "are that it will last more than long enough for you to go below and have your dinner, Mr. Baldwin, if you want it."
"I think I will go," laughed the owner. "Standing up here, watching, watching all the time, my nerves are getting thready. You'll call me, of course, if——"
"When we get near enough to hail the other boat, sir," Tom Halstead replied, gravely.
Dinner was not quite over in the main cabin when Skipper Tom uttered a sudden exclamation that made Costigan wheel about.
The "Victor" was palpably slowing down.
"What can that mean?" demanded Halstead.
"A crank-pin loose, or some other trouble with the machinery, sir?" suggested the third officer.
Tom Halstead quickly summoned the sailor who was with the quartermaster in the pilot house.
"Go to the main cabin, with my compliments, and tell Mr. Baldwin that the other craft is slowing down," ordered Tom.
There was a rush from below. The assistant from the United States district attorney's office took but a brief look, then dived below to find his two deputy marshals. These two officers followed their superior to the deck, stationing themselves in the bow.
"Captain," shouted Mr. Jephson, "will you go up close enough so that I can hail them?"
"When we overtake the steam yacht," Captain Halstead shouted back, "I shall run up to starboard of her, and as close as I can without danger of collision."
"That will do excellently, Captain," assented the district attorney's assistant.
The "Panther" was now rapidly closing in on the distance that separated the two craft. As yet, however, the motor yacht remained almost fairly astern.
Suddenly, from one of the stern port-holes of the steam yacht there came two red flashes. A bullet crashed through the glass in the front window of the "Panther's" pilot house. Captain Tom was standing with his head some two feet from the searchlight. The second bullet whizzed between his head and the light.
Almost instantly two more flashes showed ahead.
THE second pair of bullets passed overhead, though close enough for their whistling song to be heard.
In a jiffy there was a mad scramble to get away from the bridge. Captain Tom Halstead and Third Officer Costigan had that place to themselves.
"Throw the wheel over three points to the starboard! Hold to a course three points off the present one," called Halstead, sharply.
"You men answer with your revolvers," was Mr. Jephson's order.
"Our revolvers wouldn't carry that far, sir," objected one of the deputy marshals.
"I know it, but let those scoundrels discover that we have firearms too," retorted the district attorney's assistant.
So the futile revolver shots flashed out. In answer a rifle bullet carried away the hat of one of the deputies.
"That's confounded close shooting," coolly uttered the unhatted one, running down the deck after his head gear.
Another shot flew by close to the searchlight.
"That's the mark the scoundrels are aiming at," muttered the young skipper, angrily. "Turn off the current, Mr. Costigan, and I'll unship the light."
This done, the big reflector and the bulb behind it were taken down to the pilot house by one of the sailors.
"You confounded pirates!" roared the district attorney, shaking his fist in the direction of the "Victor."
"That was actual piracy, wasn't it?" questioned Mr. Baldwin.
"Nothing else!" retorted the assistant, angrily, as he came down aft to place the wheel house between himself and that other craft. "If we ever get that captain and crew on shore we'll make 'em smart in a trial for piracy!"
Having veered off the course of direct pursuit, Captain Halstead was now steering ahead, meaning to run parallel with the "Victor." He kept half a mile away, but, even had the other craft lowered its running lights, the starlight was bright enough to enable the bridge officer to keep the "Victor" in sight.
"Try to keep just this distance, Mr. Costigan," directed Tom Halstead.
"Aye, aye, sir."
Tom then descended to the deck, where he sauntered up to the excited group.
"What's your guess, Halstead, as to the meaning of those shots?" questioned Mr. Baldwin.
"Well, of course," replied Tom, slowly, "the master of that other yacht would be glad to see our searchlight smashed. That was one reason for the firing."
"And another?"
"Why, I imagine, sir, those people want us to know that they carry rifles. They want to show us the folly of thinking we can pursue and board them."
"This pursuit should really have been undertaken by a naval vessel or revenue cutter," said Mr. Jephson, rather disgustedly. "One shot from the bowgun of an armed vessel would bring that yacht lying to in a jiffy."
"Humph!" grunted the practical Mr. Baldwin. "There isn't a cutter or gunboat in San Francisco waters fast enough to overtake either of these boats."
"I don't understand, sir," put in Halstead, quietly, "why you haven't had a wireless telegraph apparatus installed aboard this yacht. Why, even the little fifty-five foot boat that Dawson and I own has a wireless installation."
"What would you do with one, if you had it on board now?" asked Mr. Baldwin.
"Do?" repeated Halstead. "Why, we could signal in all directions. There may be some fast cruiser or torpedo boat destroyer, out of our sight, yet within reach by wireless. If we could pick up one such vessel now, we could soon end this chase, and without bloodshed. Even any foreign war vessel would answer, for all war vessels have the right to overhaul and capture pirates. Any warship of any nation in the world would act, now, on a request from Mr. Jephson, who represents the United States. And such help may be not twenty miles off, but we have no wireless with which to find out."
"As we haven't a wireless installation," pursued Mr. Baldwin, "what are we going to do now, Mr. Jephson?"
"I trust you'll continue to keep that other yacht in sight," replied the assistant district attorney. "We may yet meet a warship or a revenue cutter."
"Any kind of a vessel we meet may have a few rifles on board that we could borrow or buy," suggested Captain Tom.
"Anyway," decided Mr. Baldwin, "we'll keep that pirate craft right in sight if we can, and as long as we can. We'll trust for something to turn up that will throw luck in our way."
The "Victor" which was of some ten feet greater length than the "Panther," looked like a boat which, despite her speed, was built to carry a good deal of coal.
Yet, through the next few hours that followed, no attempt was made by those handling the steam craft to get her best speed out of her. It looked as though her sailing master and engineer meant to save some coal, now that the "Panther" had caught up and could keep up. Both vessels continued at a speed of some sixteen miles per hour.
Mr. Baldwin and his guests remained on deck. So did young Halstead, who had decided that he must now do with but little sleep while the chase continued in its present phase.
"Any sharp little sea-trick might enable the other fellows to slip away from us," he declared to the owner. "Every man on board ought to help in the good work on hand."
At about eleven o'clock the young skipper left Mr. Costigan on the bridge, and went below, though he did not turn in.
Nor had any of the passengers sought their berths. All of Mr. Baldwin's friends were on deck. Young Gaston Giddings, however, paced nervously, apart from the rest.
"He's fretting over his folly in keeping Rollings in such an important post, and giving the rascal the chance to run away with all that money, I suppose," thought the young skipper.
Somehow, Tom could not help watching Giddings a good deal. It was the nervous hitch in the young man's gait that first caught Halstead's eye. Presently the young captain of the "Panther" strolled slowly by Gaston Giddings.
"Confound it, what a queer, restless look there is in the fellow's eyes," thought Tom, uneasy, though he could hardly have explained why.
After that Halstead watched the young bank president even more closely, though he took pains to hide the scrutiny.
A request from Mr. Jephson called the cabin party over to the port rail to watch the "Victor." The instant the last of his companions had gone forward, and had passed around the pilot house, Giddings, after a swift look about him, stole into the dining saloon.
Tom Halstead, ostensibly lounging behind one of the life-boats, saw this move.
"Now, what's he up to?" muttered Tom. "Mischief, judging by his queer antics. We've mischief enough to deal with, without having it take place right on board our own boat!"
Halstead stole forward in time to see Giddings darting down the staircase into the main cabin.
"I'll just get down where I can watch this," muttered Tom. Concealed near the foot of the staircase, he saw Giddings, with some sort of a small tool, prying the lock of Dr. Gray's medicine case open.
"Oho!" muttered Halstead, as he saw young Mr. Giddings abstract a small, screw-capped vial. "There's morphine in that doctor's outfit, and Giddings has guessed it!"
Tossing the medicine case back into the doctor's stateroom, Gaston Giddings stole up the after-companionway to the deck aft.
"With all our other troubles aboard, I don't believe we want any morphine maniacs here!" muttered Tom Halstead, excitedly.
Giddings, quivering with eagerness, trembling with aggravated nervousness, leaned against the stern rail, glancing out over the water as he drew the screw-capped vial from his pocket.
Just as he started to remove the cap from the bottle, a hand shot around him from the rear.
The young skipper of the "Panther" snatched the vial, remarking coolly:
"Mr. Giddings, you don't need that stuff, and no one on board wants you to have it."
With a swift movement, Halstead dropped the vial into one of his pockets.
"You confounded thief!" hissed Gaston Giddings.
Swift as a flash, in his rage, the young man sprang at the youthful skipper of the yacht.
"You'll give that back to me, or go overboard!" snarled the victim of the drug habit.
"If you get it, it'll be after I'm overboard," snapped back Tom.
In another instant Giddings's fingers were wrapped in a tight hold about Tom's throat. The drug maniac seemed possessed, for the instant, of the strength of half a dozen men.
The young skipper himself was no weakling, but now he had his hands full.
Even had he been so minded, he could not have called for help. Backward and forward the pair struggled for a few seconds. Then the young skipper found himself growing weaker for lack of air.
With a triumphant snarl Gaston Giddings forced his antagonist to the stern rail. Still Tom Halstead fought furiously, silently, with that tight grip at his throat making his brain reel. He realized that Gaston Giddings was winning the victory!
In that last desperate moment Tom Halstead employed the trick he had hesitated to use.
He raised one of his feet, kicking smartly at the left knee-cap of his assailant.
With a groan, Giddings weakened his hold, for the pain following the kick was intense.
Throwing both his arms tightly around the young man, Halstead held on, drawing himself back to the deck as Giddings fell back.
"You're not going to fool me that way!" snarled the young drug maniac. He made another spring, trying to forget the pain in his knee.
But Halstead had regained his footing fully. Now, he dodged, then closed in, tripping Giddings and throwing him heavily to the deck.
"What's this? What's this going on?" demanded Joseph Baldwin, running back along the port side, followed by Mr. Ross and Dr. Gray.
Halstead was now on top of his assailant, and, though Giddings still tried to fight with fury, his strength was deserting him.
"One of you hold him," urged Captain Tom, "and I'll get up and explain."
"Did he attack you?" insisted Mr. Baldwin.
"Well, rather," grunted Halstead.
"Let him up. He won't dare attack you again, with so many about."
"No; but he may try to jump overboard," retorted Halstead. "Mr. Giddings has another drug streak on him. He's not responsible for what he does."
"I guess that's right," nodded Dr. Gray. "Baldwin, you and Mr. Ross hold him, while the captain gets up and tells us what has happened."
The young skipper quickly explained, producing the vial he had snatched from the young bank president.
"That's all the morphine I have with me," remarked Dr. Gray. "I'll make sure of keeping that, hereafter, where no one but myself can find it. Mr. Baldwin, you'd better get the young man below. Use force, if you find it necessary."
They accomplished this without having attracted the attention of any of the sailors or stewards. Mr. Giddings was then unceremoniously thrust into his stateroom, and the door locked, though this was not until the physician had searched the young man, removing his pocket knife and also the tool that the drug victim had used in forcing the lock of the medicine case.
"I did what I thought was right," Halstead explained.
"And I'm mighty glad you saw him, and acted so promptly," replied the physician.
Through the rest of the night the physician had a battle with his patient, working hard to keep a more pronounced streak of mania from coming on. It is to such fearful torments that "hop-fiends" and morphine users are always exposed in the end.
At midnight Dick Davis again went on the bridge, beginning his eight hours' watch. Though Halstead had the utmost faith in the skill and judgment of his friend, he, also, remained up until nearly four o'clock in the morning. Then he turned to leave the bridge.
"I'm going to my cabin now, Mr. Davis, to turn in on my sofa for a while. If I am needed for anything at all, don't hesitate to call me instantly."
"Aye, aye, Captain," Dick replied.
Barely two hours had the young skipper slept when the sharp, jarring tones of the vibrating electric bell from the bridge rang over his head. Tom was up in an instant, pulling on his shoes. As he reached for his deck ulster and cap there came from overhead a note that told him at once why he was wanted.
Too-whoo-oo-oo!
"Fog!" gasped the young yacht captain. "Of all the confounded luck!"
With his ulster over his arm he threw open the door of his cabin, making for the bridge steps.
The mist was yet light and curling as Captain Halstead reached the open. Second Officer Dick Davis met him at the head of the steps.
"How long has this been coming on?" demanded Halstead.
"The first little puffs rolled in half an hour ago," replied Dick. "You see, I've put in closer to the enemy. We're still well in sight, or I'd have called you earlier."
The motor yacht was now running along abreast of the "Victor," and less than three hundred yards distant. The steam yacht's lights were in plain sight, save when occasional puffs of fog obscured them briefly.
Tom groaned with excitement.
"This is going to get heavier," he muttered.
"Yes, sir," nodded Davis. "Still, I didn't believe it necessary to call you until I had to use the whistle."
Too-whoo-oo-oo! sounded the auto fog-horn, controlled by the sailor on watch in the pilot-house with the quartermaster.
"You did right, Mr. Davis," the young skipper nodded. "But we're going to be up against it in half an hour. Where's your extra man of the watch?"
Davis blew a thrilling blast on his mate's whistle. In answer the third sailor of the watch came running to the bridge steps.
"My man," called down Halstead, "go at once to Mr. Baldwin's stateroom door, and tell him, with my compliments, that I believe he'd better come to the bridge at once."
Even with so imperative a summons as this, five or six minutes passed before the owner appeared on the scene.
"Good heavens, Captain!" gasped Joseph Baldwin. "And this white curtain is thickening all the time, isn't it?"
"The fog is beginning to roll in fast, now, sir. Mr. Davis, alter the course so as to bring us a hundred yards closer to the 'Victor.' We've got to keep her in sight to the last moment."
"We've got to keep that other boat in sight all the time," retorted Mr. Baldwin.
"As close as we can go without running her down," Halstead answered. "We've the rules of the sea to obey, sir, at any cost."
"Go and call Mr. Jephson here," shouted down Mr. Baldwin, to the sailor, who was still standing by at the port rail.
In another five minutes the representative of the United States district attorney at San Francisco was beside them on the bridge.
Dick Davis had now manœuvred the "Panther" in within one hundred and fifty yards of the "Victor." Closer than that Tom Halstead did not dare to go. Even this he considered almost too little sea-way.
"May the furies consume the luck!" growled the man of the law. "Yet, of course, we might have looked for this! It's bound to happen on this coast. A genuine, four-ply, real old 'Frisco fog reaching out to encompass us and let those blackguards yonder get away!"
Aboard the other yacht few signs of human life showed. One figure, wrapped in a great coat and topped by a sou'wester, huddled in the bow. That was the bow watch of the "Victor." As the light of coming morning began to filter through the increasing fog, it was possible, now and then, to make out a figure in the steam yacht's wheel house. A watch officer tramped the bridge. No other figures appeared. Once the steam yacht's watch officer looked directly over at his foes, and a cunning grin illumined his face.
"That's a great face to show above the hangman's noose!" bellowed Mr. Jephson, angrily, through the megaphone that he snatched up.
Captain Tom suddenly darted from the bridge, running to his cabin. When he came back he carried a pair of revolvers, one of which he handed to Dick Davis.
"Mr. Jephson, the fellows on that craft may open fire on us, at any moment, hoping to make us drop back into the fog. If they do, we'd better shoot back, eh, sir?"
"If they open fire on us," replied the assistant district attorney, promptly, "I order Mr. Davis and yourself to return it."
To make matters more emphatic, Mr. Jephson passed the word to have his two deputy marshals aroused at once and ordered to the deck.
Still, though the day broadened, the fog rolled in so thick and heavy that the steam yacht, nearby though it was, became more and more obscured.
Both yachts sounded their fog-horns simultaneously just as a final big, thick, white blanket of mist rolled in and shut them out of each other's view.
"Done! Beaten out!" groaned Mr. Jephson, savagely. "It's only a question of minutes, now, when we shall have lost all trail of that craft on this hidden waste of water!"
"Only a question of minutes?" repeated Tom Halstead, grimly. "Is it?"
Out of the dense fog to port came a chorus of derisive yells, then a prolonged blast of the "Victor's" fog-horn.
"That's as much as saying it's the last time we'll hear their toot," burst, savagely, from Mr. Baldwin.
"Maybe it is the last time," admitted Tom.
Mr. Jephson and the owner began to talk excitedly.
"Sh!" warned the young skipper. "We don't want a tone aboard louder than a whisper. If we can keep this interval, or pretty near it, we can follow the steam yacht by the sound of her machinery. Mr. Davis, keep your ears strained for it, and shape our course accordingly."
In the hush that followed the keen-eared listeners could hear the now invisible "Victor" slowing down her speed. Captain Tom, the engine room speaking tube at his mouth, called down the orders softly for a similar slowing of speed. The "Panther" fell back close to the "Victor."
"Captain, they're likely to stop altogether, soon," whispered Mr. Jephson. "Then we won't hear a sound to guide us."
"We'd do the same," murmured Halstead. "Then the yachts would be likely to drift together and bump. No; I hardly believe the steam yacht's captain will try that trick. If he does, we must match it."
The two craft engaged in this marine game of blind man's buff were now going forward along their respective courses at not more than eight miles an hour. Greater speed was not advisable, for they were in the possible track of vessels plying between San Francisco and Hawaii, New Zealand or Australia.
For the next ten minutes there was no sound from the "Victor's" fog-horn. To run without this precaution was all but tantamount to piracy in itself. Skipper Tom and Second Officer Davis, however, managed to keep within sound of the steam craft's machinery. So, presently, the "Victor's" steam fog-horn again sounded on the air.
Breakfast was served late, that morning, on board the motor yacht. All hands were too much interested in the difficult chase to think of eating before Nature made her demands clamoring.
At eight o'clock, when Third Officer Costigan again came up on the bridge to take his watch trick, Dick Davis declared he had no interest in sleep.
"You'd better go below," advised Tom. "This search through the fog may be a long one. We'll want all hands to be fresh and bright. Get four or five hours' sleep, anyway. I shall be on the bridge most of the time until you're called again."
So Dick went below and turned in, though almost with a grumble.
For the next three hours Halstead was almost constantly on the bridge. The blind pursuit kept up along the same lines. The steam yacht's machinery still sent its dull clatter across the waters. The quartermaster of the "Panther," with the help of the mate's orders, still steered by that sound.
"It'd be fierce to have a big, noisy liner rumble up close to us now, making noise enough to drown out the sound of our enemy," grumbled Captain Tom to the owner.
Mr. Jephson, standing close by, heard, and his eyes snapped.
"I hadn't thought of that," he growled. "Since that would be the toughest sort of luck, that's what is almost sure to happen."
"Don't complain of your luck," advised the young skipper, gravely. "We've been able to keep right along with the steam craft for some hours now. If we can do so for a few hours more, we're highly likely to run out of this fog and be under a clear sky again. So far, Mr. Jephson, our luck has been wondrously kind to us."
Halstead remained on deck until nearly two o'clock. Then he passed word for Ab Perkins. To that young first officer, in the presence of Baldwin, Ross and Jephson, he said:
"Mr. Perkins, my eyes are getting heavy, and I expect to be on deck most of the night. I'm going to turn in, now, for an hour or two. Call me, anyway, at the changing of the watches. You know the general orders, and I look to you not to let the 'Victor' slip away from us."
"If I do let her slip," affirmed Ab, "I'll eat the starboard life-boat."
"Mr. Perkins used to be the most famous 'hoodoo' at the mouth of the Kennebec," Tom laughed, softly, as he turned to Mr. Baldwin. "His luck changed, however, the day he went into the motor boating business. He's about the luckiest young navigator afloat these days."
Nor did Ab, left in temporary full command, intend to lose his later laurels. He soon left the bridge, however, feeling that he could listen more effectively from the port rail forward. Occasionally he turned to signal, silently, to Third Officer Costigan, who still kept to the bridge.
Part of the time the "Victor" sounded its fog-horn with pauses longer than the rules of the sea permitted in so deep a fog. It looked as though those aboard the steam yacht were willing to leave it to the "Panther" to warn away other craft from them both. However, thus far in the day, no other vessel had sounded through the fog. Apparently, these two craft had all of this part of the sea to themselves.
In the silence and under the white pall even the interest of the chase could not prevent the time from passing with deadly monotony for Ab Perkins. Quite plainly it impressed also the others that way, for the cabin passengers, two or three at a time, disappeared below. Messrs. Baldwin and Ross remained on deck more than any of the cabin party, though even they went inside, restlessly, every now and then.
At last the deck was bare, save for Ab Perkins and the bow watch. In the pilot house stood the quartermaster and his seaman helper. On the bridge Mr. Costigan paced back and forth, glad that the fog was not too thick for him to make out the first officer forward.
One of Ab's reasons for being well up forward was that he might more readily hear the sound of fog-horn or of bell from any other vessel hidden away in this white gloom.
It was a long while before he heard anything, but at last it came:
"Help! Don't run me down!"
The voice came from low down upon the water, somewhat ahead and barely to port.
Quick as a flash the bow watch turned to see if the first officer and the bridge watch had heard. Both Perkins and Costigan had sprung to see what might come to them out of the fog.
"Careful!" warned Ab, in a steady voice. "Take the sound of my voice for your guide. I'm at the port rail, moving toward you."
Suddenly, out of the fog, there came into view, near at hand, a ship's yawl. It contained a single man, dark, rather tall and about thirty years of age. He was dressed carelessly, yet had much the air of a gentleman. His clothing seemed to be soaked with moisture, as though he had been long exposed to the elements. With his back to the bow of the yawl, the man turned to glance over his shoulder as he handled a pair of oars.
"Don't run me down!" shouted the stranger. "Stop and take me aboard in heaven's name."
Ab Perkins had already swiftly caught up a coil of rope, which he deftly poised for a clean throw.
"We stop for nothing—mark that!" called First Officer Perkins, firmly. "Catch this rope, or we've got to leave you behind!"
The yawl was drifting by, and barely thirty feet from the motor yacht's hull, when Ab made the throw. He was a master at such feats. The coil unspread as it went whirling through the air, and a length lay across the yawl.
"Get it! Grab it!" panted sympathetic Ab.
The stranger just managed the feat, leaping up and holding on as though for dear life, while the yawl, checked in its headway, was swung around. Desperately the stranger bent down, taking a hitch with the rope. The bow watch had sprung to help Ab make fast the inside end of the line.
"There you've got it," called Ab, cheeringly. As the "Panther" was going but eight miles an hour the stranger was able, without risk, to haul the small boat in alongside.
"Can you climb?" Ab called down, in a low voice.
"I—I think so."
"Only a few feet needed, then we can reach your arm-pits," Ab called, encouragingly.
It was not long ere young Perkins and the bow watch were able to help the stranger aboard.
The young first officer's first thought, on seeing the yawl sweep into view, was that a trick had been attempted by the enemy, for the "Victor" had recently slipped ahead. But Ab's first glimpse at the stern of the yawl showed the name, painted in goodly black letters, "S. S. Dolbear." In the bottom of the yawl lay two life preservers bearing the same name.
"How on earth do you come to be away out here at sea, in a small boat?" demanded Ab of the stranger.
"I was a freight clerk aboard the liner 'Dolbear,' bound from Auckland, New Zealand, to San Francisco," replied the rescued one.
"What happened to the 'Dolbear'?"
"Foundered, five days ago. Life boats crowded, so that the last three of us had to take to the yawl. We tried to keep up with the other boats, but fell behind the first night. Next morning we were alone on the ocean. After two days one man in our party became crazed and jumped over into the sea. Last night the other man with me did the same. Oh, it was a gruesome experience, I assure you."
"It must have been," returned Ab Perkins, sympathetically.
"Sir, that yawl is bumping alongside," broke in the bow watch.
"Cut her loose, then, and let her drift," ordered Ab. "We can't be encumbered with any useless lumber. Then return to your watch. Mr. Costigan, warn the engine room to increase our speed as much as you find necessary. We can't let the 'Victor' go on getting ahead of us. Run right up parallel again."
"Yes, sir," from the third officer.
"You're hungry, I suppose," suggested Ab, looking at the stranger. "I'll pass word for our second stew——"
"I guess I shall be hungry when I get it fully through my head that I'm safe," laughed the rescued one. "Just at present I'd rather go below and warm myself."
Ab blew his mate's whistle for the third seaman of the watch.
"My man," he directed, "take this man down to the motor room. Tell Mr. Randolph it will be all right for Mr.——"
"Cragthorpe is my name," supplied the stranger.
"Tell Mr. Randolph it will be all right for Mr. Cragthorpe to dry himself off in the engine room," continued First Officer Perkins. "When you get hungry, come up on deck. Mr. Costigan will see that you're fed if I'm not here."
The rescued one, after offering profuse thanks, was led below by the seaman guide.
"Mr. Costigan, what do you know about the 'Dolbear'?" called up Ab, softly.
"She belongs to the New Zealand line, and is due in 'Frisco about this present time," replied the third officer from the bridge.
"Then it's all right, as far as Cragthorpe goes?"
"I think so, sir."
"All I wanted," Ab finished, "was to be easy in my mind that the stranger didn't come from the 'Victor.' Don't let us get at all astern again, Mr. Costigan."
"I won't, sir."
In the meantime Jeff Randolph, sitting out through a long and lonely watch in the engine room, was not sorry to see company coming his way.
For some time they chatted together. Cragthorpe seemed greatly interested in finding such young officers aboard the motor yacht. He asked many questions about the Motor Boat Club.
At last Jeff Randolph rose, excusing himself and stepping just outside the engine room door, though lingering near enough to hear a signal from the bridge, if one came. The young assistant engineer wanted to stretch his legs after sitting a long time by the motors. No sooner was the motor boat boy out of sight than the stranger rose swiftly. Snatching up a wrench, he prowled about the motors as though looking for something.
At last he evidently discovered what he wanted. Instantly he laid the wrench on a bolt-head.