CHAPTER XXIV

THE SINKING YACHT

Lying there motionless, yet wide awake, his senses alert, every slightest sound and movement made clearer the situation. He could feel the laboured efforts of the vessel, the slap of waves against the side, the rush of water astern. Occasionally the echo of a voice reached him from the deck above, and once footsteps were audible almost over his head. The engine strokes were regular, but slow, the vibrations shaking the boat in its sturdy battling against the forces of the sea. The Seminole rolled heavily, yet there was nothing at all alarming in her actions, and West felt no premonition of illness, or fear as to the sea-worthiness of the little craft. Whoever was handling her was evidently a seaman, quite capable of conquering a storm of this magnitude. No noise came to him from the cabin, yet he had no thought it could be deserted. Hogan would certainly retain a guard there, and probably others—with no duties of seamanship weighing on them—would seek refuge there from the wind-swept deck above. No doubt the fellows had a skipper, as neither Hogan, nor the man Mark, bore any resemblance to a lake sailor. Quite possibly the entire crew were innocent of what was actually transpiring aboard, and equally indifferent, so long as their wages were satisfactory. Yet it was even more probable that they had been selected for this special service because of lack of ordinary scruples; men who would never question so long as the pay was adequate for the danger involved. It seemed to West the wind and sea were slowly decreasing in violence; there was less noise and turmoil. The movement of the vessel began to lull him into forgetfulness, his vigilance relapsed, his mind drifting in thought. He endeavoured to arouse himself, to keep awake, but finally fatigue conquered, and he sank into a deep sleep. He had no knowledge of how long this slumber lasted, or what suddenly awakened him, so startled at the moment that he sat up in the berth, staring into the blackness. Was it a dream, or a reality? Had some one spoken? He could neither see nor hear anything; the boat seemed to be motionless, not even throbbing now to the beat of the engine—the silence was uncanny. It seemed to him his own heart had stopped, so still it was, and he felt a cold perspiration break out on his flesh. Something was wrong, must be wrong. Where were they—at anchor in some harbour? or helplessly adrift on the lake? The sea must have gone down; waves no longer dashed against the side, and there was no shriek of wind overhead; the yacht rocked gently, as though the swell of the sea no longer buffeted her; there was no sound of action on the deck above. Then he heard a voice again, outside, reaching him this time plainly through the open port.

"All set, Mapes," it said sharply. "Come on down. You finished the job?"

"Ay, ay, sir," the answer gruff, but with a tinge of excitement in the tone. "She's fixed all right. Hold hard, now, mate."

West, thoroughly aroused, realizing instantly the importance of this new move, and as quickly suspecting its purpose, leaped to the port-hole, and, endeavoured to gain a glimpse without. The night was still intensely black, the sky overcast and starless, the only glimmer of light the reflecting of foam tipped surges. If land was near it remained invisible, nor could he even be sure of the close proximity of a boat. There seemed to be a smudge there at the left, a black, lumping shadow, shapeless against the background of sea; yet he could not be sure. Even as he gazed at it doubtfully, the dim object disappeared, fading away like a mirage. No sound reached him to cause the vision to seem real—no voice, no creak of oars, no flap of a sail; yet something told him that mysterious shadow was a boat, a boat filled with men, creeping away silently into the night, fleeing from the yacht, and vanishing into the darkness.

My God, what could such action mean? Why were these fellows deserting the Seminole, leaving him helpless aboard, locked into that stateroom? Was the yacht disabled? sinking? and had they merely forgotten him in their own eagerness to escape? Were they in mid-lake? or close to some point of land? Had every one gone, leaving the vessel totally abandoned, a wreck buffeted by the surges, doomed to go down, unseen, its final fate unknown? Unknown! The word rising to his brain was the answer. There was the crest of the plot. What could be easier, or safer, than this ending? Who would ever know the truth? Who could ever prove anything, even if they suspected? And who was there to suspect?

No one had reason to believe he was aboard the Seminole; not even McAdams. If it was to their interest to get him permanently out of the way—if Hobart had so decided—what simpler method could be found than the sinking of the yacht? The very crew might be innocent of the purpose, dupes of the conspiracy; they might even be unaware of his presence aboard, and deceived by Hogan into the belief that the vessel had opened a seam, and must sink shortly, would take to the boat without suspecting any one was left behind. They could so testify in all honesty if any question ever arose. The very simplicity of the scheme meant safety; yet the possibility of such cold blooded murder had never before occurred to him. Unknown! without a trace left; only a boat crew landing somewhere on the coast at dawn, and scattering to the four winds. It was a plot infernal.

West stopped, his hands clinched, his heart seeming to stop its pulsing. But if Natalie Coolidge was also prisoner on board, what of her? Wasn't that the very thing most probable? Of course it was; how foolish he had been. These men, recklessly criminal, as they were, would never sacrifice the yacht, and risk their own lives, merely to put him out of the way. He was not important enough for that; he was but an incident. It was an accident which had made him a prisoner. While this was—must be—a carefully arranged plan. The girl then must be the real victim; his own plight arose merely because he chanced to be there, and the villains dare not leave him alive to tell the story.

The certainty of this acted like an electric shock. He had not felt seriously alarmed before as to his own fate. He had only been conscious of a deep anger, a mad determination to make Hogan pay. If the Seminole was sinking, and beyond doubt this was the intention of those deserters, it was going down slowly, so slowly there would be ample time for escape. He was not asleep, but wide awake, and far from paralyzed by the danger. He was not the sort to give up while there was any hope left. Surely the guard in the cabin would have departed with the others, leaving him free to act. He could smash his way out through that door, and find something on deck to construct a raft from. This was Lake Michigan, not the ocean, and not many hours would pass before he was picked up. Vessels were constantly passing, and daylight would bring rescue.

But now the task became difficult. He must find the girl, and serve her. To his surprise, his heart beat rapidly in contemplation of the task. Surely she must welcome his coming to her assistance now. She would be alone, free to reveal the truth of all this strange mix-up of affairs; perhaps the old trust, the old confidence between them would be renewed. At least in the midst of such peril, alone on the sinking yacht, facing possible death together, he would again discover the real Natalie Coolidge. The hope instantly inspired action. Every minute might mean life or death; the work must be accomplished now, if ever. The Seminole was evidently deserted, the boat containing the fleeing crew already far enough away to be beyond sound of any noise he might make. He already felt the wallowing of the deck beneath his feet, a dead, dull feeling, evidence enough that the deserted vessel was slowly, but surely going down. The condition could not last long; faster and faster the water would seep into her hold, until suddenly, without warning, perhaps, she must go down like a stone.

All these thoughts flashed across his mind almost in an instant; there was no hesitancy, no waste of time. His eager eyes searched the narrow confines of the stateroom for some possible weapon with which to assail the door. The stout stool alone seemed available. Swinging this over his shoulder, hampered by the narrowness of space, he struck again and again, with all his strength, the upper panel splintering beneath the third crashing blow. He could see nothing, but felt with his fingers along the jagged ends of the shattered wood, and redoubled his efforts, striking wildly, but with effect, until suddenly the lock gave, and the door burst open. He was in the main cabin, which was unlit and deserted. Standing there confused in the grim silence, unable for the instant to determine how to advance in the dark, he could hear the rapid beating of his own heart, and the continuous lap of waves outside. God! how sodden the deck felt under foot; what a sickening swell hurled the craft, and such stillness! If the girl was aboard why did she not cry out? Surely she must have heard that noise, the rain of blows, the crunch of wood.

He stood, crouched, listening intently for something to guide him in the right direction. And yet, even if Natalie had heard, what reason would the girl have to suspect the truth? Likely enough she was sound asleep, completely worn out, and with no knowledge of what had occurred on board. It was only the sound of that voice speaking loudly in the boat alongside which had aroused him. She had no reason to suspect desertion, no occasion to believe any other prisoner than herself was aboard. The noise of crashing wood, even if it awoke her, would have no special meaning to her mind, only perhaps to add to her terror. He must act alone; there was no other way. If he could only have a light of some kind, and not be compelled to grope blindly about in that intense darkness.

He stepped cautiously forward, with hands outstretched, swaying to the sudden roll of the sinking hulk underneath his feet. He struck a piece of furniture, a bench bolted to the deck, and then his groping fingers came in sudden contact with the cabin wall, which he followed, circling to the left. In this manner he succeeded in finally locating the door opening out on to the deck, and had grasped the knob, when a deep moan from the black void behind caused him to become suddenly erect, his heart beating like a trip-hammer. No other sound followed, no repetition, and yet there could be no mistaking what he had heard. It was a groan, a human groan, emanating from a spot but a few feet away. He took a single step in that direction; then hesitated, fearful of some trap; in the silence as he stood there poised, he could faintly distinguish the sound of some one breathing unnaturally.

"Who is there? Who moaned just now?" he asked, struggling to control his voice.

"I did," the answer was a mere husky whisper out of the darkness. "Masters, the watchman; but who are you? I don't know your voice."

"It makes no difference; are you hurt? Where are you? How can I get a light?"

"Yes, sir; I'm about done for I guess; you're over by the door, ain't you? There's a hangin' lantern just up above, if you've got a match with you. Say, that looks good; I didn't hardly know but I was dead, it was so black. But I never saw you before; how did you get aboard here?"

The flame of the match caught the wick, and flared up, throwing a dim illumination over the cabin interior. West drew down the glass, before he ventured to glance in the direction of the voice. A man lay facing him, curled up on the deck, his hair, matted with blood, hanging over eyes that were burning with fever. He made no attempt to rise, apparently was unable to move, and a dark, bloody stain covered the deck. West sprang forward, and lifted the head on his arm.

"You are hurt—badly?" he exclaimed. "What can I do for you?"

"Nuthin', I reckon," still in that same strained whisper. "I'm done for; no doubt of it. That guy got me. You ain't one o' that murderin' gang, are you?"

"No; I was a prisoner on board; I came here to help a girl."

"A girl! Miss Coolidge you mean, sir?"

"Yes, Natalie Coolidge; do you know anything about her? Where she is?"

"Sure, I know; the damn whelps left her here; that was their dirty game, sir. 'Twas because I tried to unlock her door that Hogan slugged me. The boat's goin' down, ain't it? I know'd it was; I heard the skunks talk about what they was goin' to do, an' then I tried to get her out, sir."

"You were the watchman?"

"Yes, sir; down in the lagoon at Jackson Park. These fellows come off to the yacht about midnight, an' they had Miss Coolidge with 'em. That's what fooled me, sir, an' I let 'em get aboard, thinkin' it must be all right. After that I couldn't do nuthin'—there was six to one, an' that 'Red' Hogan had a gun in his mitt. They hustled me down into the cabin. I didn't even know she was a prisoner until they locked her into a stateroom; then I got wise, but it was too late."

"And she is there yet, Masters? What room is it?"

"The last one to the right, sir. Don't you mind about me; I'm done for, but maybe there's a chance for you two."



CHAPTER XXV

FREE OF THE YACHT

The man was evidently dying. West, from his experience on European battle-fields, felt assured the end was indeed close at hand. His face under the flitting rays of the swinging light was ghastly and drawn, his words were barely audible, and painfully uttered, while, as the arm supporting his head was withdrawn, he sank back heavily into his former position, and his eyes instantly closed. Only as West bent lower could he determine the surety of his breathing still.

There was nothing to be done for Masters; no occasion for lingering there helplessly. The yacht was sinking under their feet, going down slowly, but surely, and the end could not be far off. The very movement of the vessel sickened him, brought to him a sensation of fear. Moreover he knew the truth now, and saw clearly his duty. The watchman had not told much, but it was sufficient to verify all his former suspicions. These fellows he fought were desperate criminals, playing for high stakes, conspiring to even commit murder to achieve their object—which could be nothing less than gaining possession of the Coolidge fortune. To that end they had coolly planned the sinking of the Seminole in mid-lake, with the helpless girl locked securely in her cabin. It was a cowardly, diabolical crime, and yet, no doubt, they had figured it as the safest method of completely disposing of her. And, but for the accident of his presence on board, and his having been awakened by that incautious voice, the foul plot would probably have proven successful. They had already got safely away, leaving her behind a prisoner, her only possible rescuer this watchman wounded unto death. The yacht was sinking in the dark, going steadily down in those night shrouded waters. Who would ever know? The main body of the crew, perhaps, never even dreamed of her presence aboard. There was no evidence, nothing to convict the men really guilty. Here was the scheme of a master-mind in crime. West weaved his way across the rolling deck of the cabin to the stateroom door Masters had pointed out as the one sheltering the girl. There was no sound from within, nor would the knob yield to his grasp. It was locked, the key gone. There was no time to wait and hunt for that missing piece of metal doubtless safely hidden in Hogan's pocket, or else thrown overboard; he must break a way in; but first he must explain to her, so as to spare her the sudden fright of such an assault. He rapped sharply on the panel, pausing an instant for a response. None came, and he knocked again more roughly.

"Miss Coolidge: you are there, are you not?"

"Yes; who is that?" almost a cry of delight in the voice. "You—you have a voice I know."

"I am Matthew West; but do not ask questions now. The yacht is going down, and I must break this door in to release you. Stand back while I smash the boards. You hear and understand?"

"Yes—yes: I am safely away; have no fear."

The light revealed the weapon he required just beyond where Masters lay—a heavy hatchet, still stained with blood, probably the very instrument with which the watchman had been brutally struck down. That made no difference now, and West snatched it up, and began to splinter the wood with well directed blows. He worked madly, feverishly, unable to judge there in the cabin whether he had a minute, or an hour, in which to effect their rescue. All he knew was that every second was worth saving, and with this impulse driving him, swung the sharp blade with all his strength and skill, gouging out great splinters of wood, and finally forcing the lock to yield. He sprang eagerly through the opening, the hatchet still in his grasp, and faced her.

She stood there looking straight at him, seemingly unable even yet to wholly realize the marvellous truth of his presence. The light from the swinging lamp in the big cabin beyond, streamed in through the shattered doorway, and revealed her face, pale, but unafraid, the eyes wide-open, the lips parted. An instant both paused, and then she cried out in sudden relief.

"Oh, it is really you, Captain West. I know now. What has happened? How did you come to be here?"

"Not now," he insisted. "Don't ask me now. Just come as quick as you can. Do you not realize the boat is sinking, going down under our very feet? For all I know it may take the plunge before we can reach the deck. There is no time for anything but action. Quick; let me take your hand."

She obeyed without a word, and he pressed her before him out through the door into the more brightly lighted cabin. Her eyes opened in horror at the sight of Masters, and she drew back trembling against West's arm.

"Who—who is that? A dead man?"

"I fear so; wait just a second until I learn; if he still lives we cannot leave him here."

West bent over the motionless figure; the flesh was no longer warm; and he could detect no breath. Satisfied, he regained his feet.

"It is all over with," he said gravely. "He is beyond human aid."

"But—but, please, who is he?" she insisted, clinging to his arm. "Surely I have seen the man before; what has happened?"

"He was the watchman on the yacht—Masters he said his name was," West explained impatiently. "He was still alive when I first came, and told me where you were confined. He tried to serve you when the others left, and was struck down by Hogan."

"The others left! Is the boat deserted? Are we here all alone?"

"Yes; the villains left us both locked into state-rooms to die. They deserted the yacht, expecting it to sink, and take us both down with it. The craft is near foundering now, and our only hope is to obtain the open deck at once. Do not question any more, but do just as I say. You trust me, do you not?"

"Trust you! of course I do."

"Then let's talk afterwards. All I can think about now is how best to save your life."

She permitted him to draw her through the door on to the black, deserted deck. For the first moment, as they hesitated there, little could be perceived other than vague shadows. The sky was overcast, but the wind light, yet with sufficient swell to the water to cause the yacht to wallow uncomfortably. West, bracing himself to the sudden plunging, managed to reach the rail. He drew back, sick at heart at the sight of the waves lapping the side almost on a level with the sloping deck on which he stood. The sight brought home to him as never before the drear deadly peril in which they were. It was already a matter of minutes; any second indeed that labouring hulk might take the fatal plunge. The knowledge brought back all his soldier instincts of command, his rough insistence. He would find some means of rescue; he must! He was back instantly, grasping her arm.

"Quick," he cried. "You knew this yacht; what small boats did she carry?"

"Only the one; the other was so warped it had been taken ashore."

"Only one! Those fellows put off in that. There was nothing else to save life aboard?"

"There are life-belts here; see, hung to the front of the cabin. Was that what you meant?"

"Yes, and no." He snatched one from the hook, and hastily strapped it about her. "These may help, but we shall need more. Was there no life-raft? My God! there must surely be something of that kind."

"Yes, there is; I remember now. It is forward there, near the engine-room hatch. Percival Coolidge explained to me how it worked once. But—but I don't believe just the two of us could ever launch it over the rail."

"We will, because we must—it is our only hope. I'll take the other belt; now come. We haven't an instant to waste—the water is even now almost level with the deck; any second we may be awash, and go down like a stone. Hold on tight to me."

The deck was already sloping to port in a dangerous degree, and West was compelled to cling to the rail, as they slowly made passage forward through the darkness. Their eyes had by then adapted themselves to the night, so as to distinguish larger objects, and, as there was no litter to encounter, as in the case of a ship wrecked by storm, the two progressed safely as far as the engine-hatch. Neither spoke, but West still clasped the hatchet, peering anxiously about for some signs of the life-raft. He located it at last, securely fastened to the side of the deck house, and, leaving the girl to hold herself upright as best she could, began to hack it loose. It was quite an affair, cork-lined, and evidently capable of sustaining considerable weight when once launched in the water, but cumbersome and hard to handle on deck, more particularly because of its awkward form.

Fortunately it hung to the port side with a rather steep slant to the rail, which was not high. The waters of the lake, threatening to engulf them with every sodden roll of the vessel, were almost within reach of an outstretched hand, while occasionally a wave danced along the bulwark, and scattered its spray over the deck. West, working with feverish impatience, realized suddenly that his companion had deserted the place where he had left her and was also tugging and slashing at the lashings of the raft. These finally yielded to their blind attack. Without the exchange of a word the two grasped the sides and shoved the thing hard down against the port rail.

"Wait now," he cried exultantly. "Stay behind, and brace yourself against the hatch-cover. I'll get underneath and lift. Once on the rail the two of us must shove it free overboard. Here, keep a grip on this line, so the raft can't float away."

She understood instantly, and, with a single swift glance at her dimly revealed figure, West straightened up, bearing the full weight on his shoulders, every muscle strained to the utmost, as he thus pressed it over inch by inch across the wooden barrier. Twice he stopped, breathless, trembling in every limb, seemingly unable to exert another pound of strength. Perspiration dripped from his face, his teeth clinched in desperate determination. At the second pause, she was beside him, pressing her way in also beneath the sagging burden. He felt the pressure of her body.

"No, no; I can make it alone," he panted indignantly.

"Not so well as we both can, working together. I am strong, Captain West. Try it again now, and see."

Suddenly the great unwieldy mass moved, slid forward, poised itself an instant on the rounded rail. The yacht rolled sharply to port, flinging both on to the deck together, but sending the raft crunching overboard, clear of the side. West grasped her, and dragged her to her feet. His one thought was that they were actually going down, but, even as he held her in his arms, ready to leap out into the black water, the shuddering vessel, with a last despairing effort, partially righted herself, and staggered on.

"The rope," he questioned. "Did you lose grip on the rope?"

"No, it is here. I can feel the jerk of the raft."

"Thank God for that; let's pull it closer to the side. We can't wait to take anything with us; even if I knew where provision and blankets were, I could never find them in this darkness. I would not dare leave you to search; another dip like that must be the very last. Here, let me hold you up; can you see the raft?"

"Yes; I'm sure it is just below; why I could almost touch it."

"Can you jump to it from the rail? It is either that, or the water. Are you afraid to try?"

"Afraid—no. Hold me; yes; that way, but—but what are you going to do?"

"Follow, of course; but I shall take to the water. There are no oars here. Nothing to use as a substitute for them. I'll have to swim, and push that old ark as far away as possible. When the yacht goes down, the suction is liable to swamp us, if we are close in."

"But I can swim, Captain West."

"I am glad to know that; but now you do just as I say. There is no necessity for both of us getting wet through. Are you ready?"

She poised herself, held steady by the grip of his hands, her eyes on the dark outline of the floating raft. There was no hesitancy, no questioning.

"Say when," he said sharply.

"Now."

She sprang outward, and came down, sinking to her knees, and clinging fast, as the raft bobbed up and down under her sudden weight, dipping until the water rolled completely over it.



CHAPTER XXVI

THE COMING OF DAWN

West leaned far out, and stared off at the faint blotch made by the raft against the water surface. He could perceive little except a bare, shapeless outline.

"Did you make it? Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm safe enough; but wet just the same; the thing bobbed under."

"It will hold us up though, don't you think?"

"Why, of course, it will float; it is supposed to support four people. It rides dry enough now. But—but, Captain West, I want you to come."

"I'm coming; I'll throw my shoes and coat over there to you first. To be rid of them will make swimming easier. Watch out now—good! Now draw in the line; we may need it. Got it all right? Very well; here goes."

He made the plunge, coming up to the surface close beside the raft, the edge of which he quickly grasped with his hands. The girl remained motionless, barely perceptible through the gloom, but with anxious eyes marking his every movement. The frail support beneath her rose and fell on the swell of the waters, occasionally dipping beneath the surface. Beyond, a grim, black, threatening shadow, wallowed the wreck. West swam steadily, urging the unwieldy raft away from the menacing side of the vessel, driven by the necessity of escaping the inevitable suction when she went down. It was a hard, slow push, the square sides of the raft offering every obstacle to progress. Yet the waves and wind helped somewhat, the raft being lighter than the water-sogged Seminole, so that gradually the distance widened, until there extended a considerable waste of water between the two. Exhausted by his exertion, and breathing hard, West glanced back over his shoulder at the dimmer shadow of the yacht, now barely revealed against the clouded sky. The bulk of it seemed scarcely visible in any defined form above the level of the sea—the end must be almost at hand.

Satisfied that they were far enough away for safety, he clambered cautiously upon the platform, the girl as carefully making room for him on the few dry planks. The raft tossed dizzily under the strain, but he made it at last, the water draining from his soaked clothing, his flesh shivering at the touch of the cool night air. He sat up, his limbs braced to hold him erect, glancing aside at her, wondering at her continued silence. Even in the darkness she must have known his eyes were searching her face.

"You are cold," she said, doubtfully. "Here is your coat, and I have kept it dry—no, really, I do not need it; I am quite warmly dressed."

He threw the garment over his wet shoulders, gratefully, and the two sat there very close together, staring back at the labouring Seminole. There was nothing to say, nothing to do; for the moment at least they were safe, and perhaps morning would bring rescue. Suddenly West straightened up, aroused by a new interest—surely that last wave went entirely over the yacht's rail; he could see the white gleam of spray as it broke; and, yes, there was another! Unconsciously his hand reached out and clasped that of his companion. She made no effort to draw away, and they sat there in awed silence, watching this weird tragedy of the sea, with bodies braced to meet the bobbing of the unwieldy support beneath them.

At first the labouring vessel seemed to hold its own, fighting desperately to remain afloat, a mere shadow above the surface. Then, almost without warning, the end came. She went down bow first, the stern lifting until West could discern the dark outlines of the screw, and then dropped like a stone, vanishing almost instantly. One moment she was there; the next had disappeared, the black waters closing over. There was but little evidence of what occurred; only a deeper swell, tossing the raft giddily about for a moment, and causing West to tighten his grip on the girl's hand. She gave utterance to a half-smothered cry, and her body dropped forward as though she would hide the scene from her eyes.

"That is the last of the Seminole" West said, feeling the necessity of strengthening her. "But it is nothing to frighten you. We are safe enough here."

"Oh, it is not that," she explained hastily, lifting her head, and facing him. "I—I do not think I am frightened. I have not broken down before, but—but I thought then of that dead man lying there all alone in the dark cabin. It seemed so terrible when the yacht sank. Please do not find fault with me."

"That was not why I spoke. But you must keep your nerve; we may be afloat for hours yet before we are picked up."

"You are sure we will be?"

"The probability is altogether in our favour," he insisted, as much to encourage himself as her. "This is Lake Michigan in summer time, and boats are plying everywhere. We shall surely be sighted by something when daylight returns. There is no sign of a storm brewing, and all we need do now is hold on."

She was silent a moment, with head again bent forward.

"What do you suppose became of the men who deserted the yacht?" she asked, her voice natural and quiet.

"Ashore, perhaps, by this time."

"Then we cannot be far away from land?"

"I have no means of knowing. Probably not, if they relied upon oars."

"Why should they? There was a mast and sails stowed in the boat; they were always kept there for an emergency." She lifted her eyes, and stared about into the gloom. "Do you suppose, Captain West, they could have remained nearby to make sure the yacht sank?"

"No, I do not," he said firmly. "I thought of that once myself; but it is not at all probable. They were too certain they had done a good job, and too eager to get away safely. Hogan never deemed it possible for us to get away alive. As it was, the escape was almost a miracle."

"A miracle!" softly. "Perhaps so, yet I know who accomplished it. I owe my life to you, Captain West," she paused doubtfully, and then went on impulsively. "Won't you explain to me now what it all means? How you came to be here? and—and why those men sought in this way to kill me?"

"You do not know?"

"Only in the vaguest way; is it my fortune? I have been held prisoner; lied to, and yet nothing has been made clear. This man who went down in the cabin—you said he died trying to save me?"

"Yes; he endeavoured to release you from the stateroom, and was caught by Hogan. In the struggle he received a death wound."

"I heard them fight. This Hogan then was the leader?"

"Of those on board—yes. But he is only the tool of others. This devilish conspiracy has been plotted for a long while. There must be a dozen involved in it, one way or another, but, as near as I can learn, the chief devil, the brains of the gang, is the fellow named Hobart. Have you known him—long?"

She hesitated, and West glanced aside wonderingly. Would she venture to deny her knowledge of the man?

"No," she said at last doubtfully, "not unless his other name was Jim. There was a fellow they called Jim. He was my jailer after that woman locked me into a room."

"A woman? The same one who was with you on the yacht?"

"Yes."

"Where was this?"

"Why surely you must know. In that cottage where we stopped with Percival Coolidge."

He drew a deep breath, more thoroughly puzzled than ever. What could be her purpose to make so bold an effort to deceive? Did she imagine for a moment that he could be made to believe she had been continuously held prisoner since that Sunday morning? It was preposterous. Why, he had seen her again and again with his own eyes; had talked with her, and so had Sexton. His heart sank, but he determined to go on, and learn how far she would carry this strange tale. Perhaps out of the welter he could discern some truth.

"The fellow's name is Jim, all right, Jim Hobart. I've looked him up in the police records. He is a confidence man, with one charge of assault with attempt to kill against him. Nothing lately, however; it seems he disappeared about ten years ago, and has just drifted back. The woman passes as his wife. You knew nothing of all this?"

"No; I only saw the man twice; he was very rough then, and swore when I questioned him."

"And the woman?"

"She would not talk either; only once she told me that Percival Coolidge had committed suicide. That made me wonder, for I believed he had something to do with my being held there. What did he say when he returned to the auto without me? What explanation did he make for my absence?"

"Explanation! He needed none; you came out of the cottage with him."

"I? What do you mean?"

"But I saw you with my own eyes, talked with you, and all three of us drove back to 'Fairlawn' together. My God, Miss Natalie, have you lost your mind? Do you even deny dismissing me from your service?"

She gazed at him through the gloom, utterly unable to comprehend.

"I must have, if what you say is true," she admitted, "For I certainly have no such recollection."

"You remember nothing of going back with us to 'Fairlawn'?"

"Absolutely nothing."

"Or of a conversation had with me later in the library?"

"No, Captain West."

He stared off into the black night, his lips pressed closely together. Could this be false? Could she sit there calmly, in the midst of such peril as surrounded them, and still deliberately endeavour to deceive?

"And you knew nothing of the death of Percival Coolidge, except what was told you by that woman?"

"She brought me a newspaper which I read; that was all I knew."

"And in that house on Wray Street where I met you again last night. I suppose you were not there either?"

"Wray Street? I do not know; I was at some place with a saloon on the ground floor. I could not tell you where it was."

"That is where it was—Wray Street, on the northwest side, a thieves' rendezvous. And you talked with me there; tried to get me to quit following you. You surely haven't forgotten that already?"

She dropped her face wearily into her hands, and her voice sounded listless.

"I—I almost believe you are the crazy one, Captain West. I swear I have never knowingly met, or spoken to you since we drove to that cottage on Sunday. I cannot believe what you say."

"Yet it is true, every word true"; he asserted stoutly. "Why else should I be here? You returned with us to 'Fairlawn,' and we chatted together pleasantly all the way. Later you seemed to change, and discharged me rather rudely. Then Percival Coolidge was killed—shot down by an assassin, not a suicide. I know because I found the body. You were at the inquest, and testified. I saw you with my own eyes. The next day you discharged Sexton, and later he learned, and reported to me, that some one called you on the phone from Wray Street, and wanted you to come over there at once."

"Was that why you went there?"

"Yes; I felt something was wrong; the killing of Percival Coolidge had aroused my suspicions; and I sought to learn who those people were you had visited in the cottage. They were gone, and only for this telephone call, I should have lost the trail entirely. I found you there, and this fellow Hobart with you."

"But, Captain West, I never saw you; I never left the room in the third story where I was locked in, except when they took me away in a machine to the yacht."

"You dropped a note in the alley, enclosed in a silver knife?"

"Yes, I did. I dared not hope it would be found, but I took the chance. Did you find it?"

"Sexton did, and that was what brought me here."

"But it is all so strange," she exclaimed despairingly. "How could I have done all these things, been in all these places, and yet know nothing about it? Could I have been drugged? or influenced in some way by those people? I have read there is such a power—where one person can make another obey absolutely, with no knowledge of what he is doing; what do they call that?"

"Hypnotism. I have seen it cut some odd capers; but I do not believe you were either hypnotized or drugged. Good God; why did I not think of this solution before? I must have been blind; that was not you; I can recall a hundred little things now to convince me."

"What is it you mean?"

"Another woman played your part; a woman most wonderfully like you, even to the voice. There is no other solution of the problem. And that reveals the plan of robbery—to get you out of the way, and then have her take the fortune. Who would ever suspect such a fraud?"

She sat silent, motionless, apparently unable at once to grasp all the meaning in his words. It seemed unbelievable, and her gaze was straight out across the black waters, one hand clinging firmly to offset the rocking of the frail raft. Then she pointed away into the distance.

"See, there is light over there," she exclaimed eagerly. "That must be the east, and it is morning."



CHAPTER XXVII

LOVE BREAKS SILENCE

West was so immersed in his own thoughts, awakened by these new developments, he apparently did not hear what the girl said. She reached out and pressed his arm.

"Do you not see, Captain West? Daylight is coming; it is much lighter over there."

He lifted his head, and looked where she pointed. A dull, grey light topped the waters, and the sky above held a faint tinge of crimson. The wan glow accented the loneliness, and for the moment left him depressed. Was there ever a more sombre scene than was presented by that waste of tumbling waves, stretching to the horizon, arched over by a clouded sky? It grew clearer, more distinct, yet remained the same dead expanse of restless water, on which they tossed helplessly and alone. Nothing broke the grimness of it, not even a bird in the air, or a leaping fish; complete desolation met the eye in every direction, a threatening, menacing dreariness amid which each approaching swell seemed about to sweep them to destruction. The wind increased slightly with the dawn, buffeting the frail raft to which they clung desperately, and showering them with spray, while, as the light became stronger, they searched vainly for any sign of ship, or shadow of land. Nothing appeared within range of vision to break the drear monotony of grey sea and sky. Neither felt any desire to speak; they could only stare out silently across the desolation of waters, feeling their helplessness and peril. This then was the morning they had struggled forward to—this green, grey monster, whose dripping jaws showered wet foam over them; this terrible nothingness which promised death.

Her head sank forward into her hands, as though she would thus shut out the whole weird picture, and West, aroused by the slight movement, glanced quickly aside. The sight of her distress gave him instant mastery over his own depression. His hand sought her own, where it gripped for support, and closed over it warmly.

"It cannot be as bad as it seems," he insisted, trying to say the words cheerfully. "I know these waters, and they are never long deserted. Luck will change surely; perhaps within the hour we shall be picked up, and can laugh at all this experience."

She lifted her head, and their eyes met frankly.

"I am not afraid," she protested. "Not physically, at least. Truly I have not felt fear since you joined me, Captain West. Before that I was alone, and was frightened because I could not in the least understand why I was being held a prisoner, or what my fate was to be. Now all I must meet is the danger of the sea, with you to share the peril with me."

"But you are very tired?"

"Perhaps so, yet I have not thought about that. There are other things; you do not believe in me."

"Why say that?" he asked, in astonishment. "There is no question of the kind between us now."

"Truly, is there not? There has been, however; I know from the way you spoke. What was it you believed of me—that—that I was part of this conspiracy?"

"I do not know what I believed, if I actually believed anything, Miss Natalie," he explained rather lamely. "I cannot make the situation altogether clear even to myself. You see I kept meeting and talking with you—or I thought I did—and yet never found you to be the same. I was all at sea, unable to get anything straight. One moment I was convinced of your innocence; the next something occurred to make you appear guilty, a co-conspirator with Jim Hobart. Under the circumstances, you cannot condemn me justly."

"Condemn! I do not. How could I? You must have kept faith in me nevertheless, or you would never be here now. That is what seems marvellous to me—that you actually cared enough to believe."

"I realize now that I have," he said gravely. "Through it all I have kept a very large measure of faith in you."

"Why should that faith have survived?" she questioned persistently, as though doubt would not wholly leave her mind, "we had no time to really know each other; only a few hours at the most, and even then you must have deemed me a strange girl to ask of you what I did. Surely there was never a madder story told than the one I told you, and I couldn't have proven an item of it."

"Yet it has shown itself true," he interrupted.

"You actually believe then that there is another woman—a counterfeit of myself?"

"It is the only theory feasible; you have convinced me of that."

"Yet this does not answer my question altogether. You are convinced now, perhaps, because you accept my word, but how have you kept faith in me when you believed just as strongly that it was actually I who met and talked with you? I who was playing in the game with the man Hobart?"

"Will you believe what I say?"

"Implicitly."

"Perhaps it sounds like a fairy tale," he spoke frankly, his eyes seeking her own, all their surroundings forgotten in the eagerness of the moment, "but I will tell you the exact truth. Before this misunderstanding occurred you had confided in me, trusted me, although I was a stranger and I believed absolutely in your story. I had that basis to rest on. In addition to this, those few hours I passed at 'Fairlawn' served to confirm my faith. I got hold of various odds and ends of evidence which convinced me that something was wrong—that you were actually being conspired against. I even gained a suspicion that Percival Coolidge was the actual leader of the conspiracy."

"Percival Coolidge! but why? What could he gain by such a crime?"

"I have not found the answer yet, but my conviction remains strong—stronger, indeed, than ever since our talk last night. You could never have been made prisoner in that cottage without his connivance; he must have lured you there for that particular purpose, so that this other girl could take your place without danger of discovery. It was a neat trick, so well done as to even deceive me. The reason for Percival's participation is only a guess, but my theory is the fellow had so juggled your fortune, and the time for final accounting was so near, he had to take a desperate chance in order to save himself."

"You mean the opportunity came, and he could not resist?"

"Perhaps so, and perhaps it was his own deliberate plan. That remains to be discovered. My own theory is that when Hobart learned what Percival Coolidge proposed doing, his own criminal tendencies told him that here was some easy money. The girl was undoubtedly wholly under his control; some denizen of the underworld probably. She had already played her part sufficiently well to convince Hobart of success. Why then, shouldn't he have this money instead of Percival? There was no reason except that Percival was in the way. That was why he was killed."

"By Hobart?"

"He may not have fired the shot, but I have no doubt he inspired it; and the job was so expertly done the coroner called it suicide. The way was open; you were a prisoner, and the false Natalie Coolidge safely installed as mistress of 'Fairlawn.' No one apparently suspected anything wrong."

"And," she questioned breathlessly, "the man meant to murder me also?"

"Not at that time in my judgment," West answered thoughtfully. "Such an additional crime was not a part of the original plan. There was no apparent necessity. Your estate was about to be settled finally, and given over to your control in accordance with the terms of your father's will. Hobart must have known all this from Percival Coolidge, and exactly what steps must be taken to secure it. Once the money, and other property, were delivered to the fake Natalie, the cashing in and get away would be easy; even the identity of the thieves would be concealed. Killing you was not at all necessary to the success of their scheme."

"But they did try to kill me."

"Yes, later, by the sinking of the yacht. Probably I am largely responsible for that."

"You?"

"Yes; the persistency with which I stuck to the trail. They became frightened. My appearance in Wray Street must have been quite a shock, and when I succeeded in escaping from their trap there, Hobart very evidently lost his head completely. He did not dare risk my ever finding you. The knowledge that I was free, perhaps in communication with the police, led to your night trip to the Seminole, and the secret sinking of the yacht. He had gone too far by then to hesitate at another murder."

She waited breathlessly for him to go on, her eyes on the tumbling waste of water. He remained quiet, motionless, and she turned toward him expectantly.

"I—I think I understand now," she admitted, "how all this occurred; but why—why were you so persistent? There—there must have been a reason more impelling than a vague suspicion?"

"There was—the most compelling impulse in the world."

"You mean faith in me?"

"Even more than that; love for you. Natalie, listen; what I have to say may sound strange, cruel even under such conditions as now surround us, but you force me to say them. I love you, have loved you all the time, without fully realizing exactly what it meant. There have been times when I have doubted you, when I could not wholly escape the evidence that you were also concerned personally in this fraud. I have endeavoured to withdraw from the case, to forget, and blot everything from memory. But something stronger than will prevented; I could not desert you; could not believe you were wilfully wrong. You understand what I mean."

"Yes," the words barely reaching him. "It was the other girl; she undermined your faith."

"That is the truth; yet how could it be, do you suppose? My very love should have enabled me to detect the difference. I can see now, thinking back, where the fraud was even apparent—in mood, temper, action—and yet at the time these made no such impression. Even Sexton never questioned her identity; in face, figure, dress the resemblance was absolutely perfect. Good heavens, but she is an actress!"

She touched his arm with her hand, and under the slight pressure he looked aside at her.

"You know now," she said softly, "and I know. All this is passed and gone between us. We are here alone, the sport of the waves, and I have no reason to be other than frank. I believe in you, Matthew West; in your honesty and manhood. You say you love me?"

"With all my heart and soul; it seems to me now I have always loved you—you came to me, the lady of my dreams."

Her eyes were wet with unshed tears, yet she smiled back into his face, her voice trembling as she answered.

"And I," she said slowly, "have had no thought but of you since our morning in the garden together. How far away that seems."

"You mean you love me?"

"Yes; I love you; there is no word stronger, but I would speak it—is that not enough?"

He held her in his arms, in spite of the trembling raft, tossed by the swell of the sea, and crushed her against him in the ardent strain of passion. An instant she held her head back, her eyes gazing straight into his; then, with sigh of content, yielded, and their lips met, and clung.

The very silence aroused them, startled both into a swift realization of that dreary waste in which they floated helplessly alone, a drifting chip on the face of the waters. Her eyes swept the crest of the waves, and she withdrew herself partially from his arms.

"Why, we must be crazed to dream of happiness here," she exclaimed. "Was there ever before so strange a confession of love? I am trying to be brave—but—but that is too much; that waste of green water, with the grey sky overhead. There is no ending to it—just death mocking us in every wave. Oh, Matthew, can this be all? Only this little moment, and then—the end?"

He held her hands tightly, his heart throbbing, but his courage and hope high.

"No, dear," he whispered eagerly. "Don't think that for a moment. We have passed through too much to dream of such an ending now. There will be ships—there must be. Look! what is that, yonder against the sky-line? It is, sweet-heart; it is the smoke of a steamer."



CHAPTER XXIII

AN ESCAPE FROM THE RAFT

They watched with sinking hearts, West rising to his knees, and shading his eyes with his hand, as that thin spiral of smoke crept along the horizon, and finally disappeared into the north. The raft rode so low in the water that no glimpse of the distant steamer could be perceived, and, when the last faint vestige of smoke vanished, neither said a word, but sat there silent, with clasped hands. The bitterness of disappointment wore away slowly, and as the uneventful hours left them in the same helpless condition, they fell again into fitful conversation, merely to thus bolster up courage, and lead their minds to other thoughts. It was maddening to sit there motionless and stare off across the desolate water, seeing nothing but those white-crested surges sweeping constantly toward them, and to feel the continuous leap and drop of the frail raft, which alone kept them afloat.

The hours went by monotonously, with scarcely an occurrence to break the dreariness or bring a ray of hope. The clouds obscured the sky, yet occasionally through some narrow rift, came a glimpse of the sun, as it rose to the zenith, and then began sinking into the west. The air was soft, the breeze dying down, and the height of the waves decreasing; the raft floated more easily, and it no longer became necessary for them to cling tightly to the supports to prevent being flung overboard. But there came out of the void no promise of rescue; the sea remained desolate and untraversed, and finally a mist hung over the water, narrowing the horizon. During the day they saw smoke but always far to the east, and quickly disappearing. Once West felt assured his eyes caught the glimmer of a white sail to the southward, but it was too far away for him to be sure. At best, it was but a momentary vision, fading almost instantly against the grey curtain of sky. He had scarcely attempted to point it out to Natalie when it completely vanished.

Their effort to talk to each other ceased gradually; there was so little they could say in the presence of the growing peril surrounding them. They had become the helpless sport of the waves, unable to act, think or plan, surrounded by horror, and aimlessly drifting toward the gloom of another night. Wearied beyond all power of resistance, the girl sank lower and lower until she finally lay outstretched in utter abandonment. West thrust his coat beneath her head, securely binding her to the raft by the rope's end, and sat beside her dejectedly, staring forth into the surrounding smother. She did not speak, and finally her eyes closed. Undoubtedly she slept, but he made every effort to remain awake and on watch, rubbing his heavy eyes, and struggling madly to overcome the drowsiness which assailed him. How long he won, he will never know; the sun was in the west, a red ball of fire showing dimly through the cloud, and all about the same dancing expanse of sea, drear, and dead. The raft rose and fell, rose and fell, so monotonously as to lull his consciousness imperceptibly; his head drooped forward, and with fingers still automatically gripped for support, he fell sound asleep also.

The raft drifted aimlessly on, the waves lapping its sides, and tossing it about as though in wanton play. The currents and the wind held it in their relentless grip, and bore it steadily forward, surging along the grey surface of the sea. The girl lay quiet, her face upturned, unconscious now of her dread surroundings; and the man swayed above her, his head bent upon his breast, both sleeping the sleep of sheer exhaustion. Out of the dim mist shrouding the eastern sky the vague outline of a distant steamer revealed itself for a moment, the smoke from its stacks adding to the gathering gloom. It was but a vision fading swiftly away into silence. No throb of the engines awoke the unconscious sleepers; no eye on the speeding deck saw the low-lying raft, or its occupants. The vessel vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving nothing but a trackless waste of sea. The two slept on.

It was the startled cry of Natalie that roused West, and brought his drooping head, upright. She was sitting up, still held safely by the coil of rope, and pointing excitedly behind him.

"Oh, see there! Look where I point—isn't that land?"

The raft rocked as he swung his body hastily about, and gazed intently in the direction indicated. Land! of course it was land; land already so close at hand, his eyes could trace its conformation—the narrow strip of sand beach, the sharp bluff beyond, the fringe of trees crowning the summit. He rubbed his eyes, scarcely able to credit his sight, half believing it a mirage. Yet the view remained unchanged; it was land, a bit of the west shore, a short promontory running out into the lake toward which the raft, impelled by some hidden current, was steadily drifting. His arm clapped the girl in sudden ecstasy.

"Yes, it's land, thank God!" he exclaimed thoughtfully. "We are floating ashore, Natalie—saved in spite of ourselves. Why, we could not have been so far out in the lake after all. That must be why all those vessels passed to the east of us. I ought to have thought of that before; those villains would never have deserted the yacht in mid-lake, and taken to the boat. They must have known they could make shore easily."

Her glance searched the face of the bluff, which with each moment was becoming more distinctly visible.

"You don't suppose they landed here, do you?"

"Not very likely; even if they did they are not here now. They would have made it before daylight this morning. All the time we have been drifting out there they had to get away in. There is no danger that Hogan is anywhere along this shore now."

"You think he and—and those others have all gone?"

"Yes; why should they hang around here? The last idea in their heads would be the possibility of our ever drifting in alive. Hogan has gone back to Chicago to make a report to Hobart, and the rest have scattered like a covey of partridges. Not one of them has a thought but that we went down in the Seminole. Now they'll pull off their graft, and pull it quick."

"And what will you do?"

"Get safely ashore first. It will be dark in less than an hour; but we are too far out yet to venture swimming. We shall have to hang tight to the raft a while yet, and drift; the current is carrying us all right. Do you see any sign of life over there—houses, or smoke?"

"No; I have been looking; the whole shore-line appears utterly deserted. Have you any idea where we can be?"

"Not the slightest; only this is certainly the west shore; there is no such abandoned spot anywhere between Chicago and Milwaukee, and we must be much farther north. They had plenty of time to put the yacht quite a ways up shore before they sank her."

"Hogan must have known where he was."

"Unquestionably; it was all planned out; he knew exactly where he intended to land, and how long it would take them to reach there after they left the yacht."

"Perhaps," she suggested hesitatingly, "the gang had some rendezvous up here in these north-woods, a place where they could hide."

West shook his head negatively.

"No, I don't think that; they may know the country, and how best to get away quickly. But those fellows are city thieves—Hobart and Hogan anyway—and would feel far safer back in their haunts in Chicago. There is no place like a big city to hide in, and besides, even if they have got the money already,—which I doubt—there has been no chance to divide it, and 'Red' would never let Hobart get away without paying him his share. They are not loitering around here, Natalie, waiting for ghosts to appear; they are back in town hours ago."

"But what can we do?"

"Get ashore first, of course, and discover the quickest way to return to the city. None of this shore is deserted, and we'll find houses back behind that fringe of woods. I figure we have a big advantage. We know their real game now, and they are so sure we are both dead, they'll operate in the open—walk right into a trap. By this time McAdams must have discovered some clue as to the whereabouts of Hobart. With him under arrest, and our story told, some of these fellows will confess, and it will all be over with."

"But suppose they have already succeeded in their purpose?"

"That can hardly be possible, Natalie. There hasn't been time yet. Certain legal forms must be complied with. You could only draw a limited amount."

"Until I reached a certain age; after which there was no restriction. I attained that age yesterday."

"And they are aware of it, no doubt. Yet there must be some legal authorization necessary which may cause delay. The sooner we reach Chicago, the better. It is twilight already—the sun has gone down behind the bluff, but it will require an hour yet for this raft to drift into shallow water. You swim, you told me?"

"Yes, very well indeed."

"Shall we risk it then together? It is not far to the end of the point yonder."

She looked where he pointed and smiled, glancing back into his questioning eyes.

"Why, that involves no danger at all. I will do anything to get off this raft. But if we are going to have light we must start at once."

The two slipped silently over the edge of the dipping raft, and struck out for the nearest point of land, West loitering slightly behind, afraid lest she might be hampered, and perhaps dragged down by her water-soaked clothes. A few strokes reassured him as to this, as she struck out vigorously, her every motion exhibiting trained skill. She glanced back at him, and smiled at his precaution; then faced resolutely toward the distant shore, swimming easily. He followed closely, timing his strokes to her own, confident, yet watchful still, while behind them, now but a dim speck in the grey sea, wallowed the deserted raft.

The distance was greater than it had seemed, the twilight deceiving their eyes, while their clothing had a tendency to retard progress. Weakened by lack of food, and buffetted by cross currents, both were decidedly exhausted by the time their lowering feet finally touched bottom. Natalie staggered, faint and dizzy from the exertion, but West grasped her in his arms before she could fall, and carried her across the sand beach to the foot of the cliff. She laughed as he laid her gently down in the soft sand, putting up her arms to him like a child, and drawing his face down until their lips met.

"Oh," she exclaimed breathlessly, "That was glorious, but I hardly had enough strength left to make it. It—it was an awfully long way."

"There are currents off shore," he explained. "That was what made the swimming so difficult. You are all right now."

"Yes; at least I think so," she sat up. "Why, it is almost dark already. I cannot see the old raft at all. I—I wish it would come ashore; it gave you to me, Matt."

"And you are not sorry, even now, safe here on shore?"

"Sorry! Why I am the happiest girl in all the world this minute. I can hardly think about that money at all, or those scoundrels trying to rob me. I am here with you, and you love me—what more can I ask? Is that silly, dear?"

He laughed, and kissed her, neither giving a thought to their dripping garments, or a regret for the hardships they had passed through. They were there alone, safe, together—all else for the moment mattered not.

"Yes, I love you, Natalie, dear," he answered. "So it is not silly at all. But we must seek shelter and food. Are you strong enough now to climb the bluff? See, there is a ravine leading up yonder, where the footing is easier."

She nodded her readiness to try, too happy for words, and hand in hand they toiled their way upward through the gloom.



CHAPTER XXIX

THE HOUSE IN THE BLUFFS

The cleft in the bluff was both narrow and steep, but it gave them passage. At the upper end Natalie's reserve strength suddenly deserted her, and she sank down on the grass, labouring for breath, feeling unable to advance a step farther. The days and nights of excitement, coupled with lack of food and sleep, had left her physically weakened; now suddenly, even her will and courage both gave away.

"No, it is nothing," she explained in a whisper. "I am just completely tired out, I guess. You go on, Matt, and find some place of shelter. Leave me to lie here; I'll not move, and you can find me easily. All I want now is to rest a few moments. Afraid! no I'll not be afraid. Why, what is there to fear? this is a civilized country, isn't it? I'll just sit where I am now until you come back—only—only don't go very far away."

She held out her hand, and endeavoured to smile.

"Desert me! Of course you are not, dear. I am bidding you go. I shall not mind being left here alone. I am so tired."

They were at the summit of the bluff, looking out over the lake, now a mere darker blot. They could hear the dash of waves below them along the edge of sand. But in the opposite direction rose a somewhat higher ridge on which trees grew, completely excluding the view beyond. Between the branches the distant sky still retained a purple tinge from the sinking sun, leaving the impression that it was much lighter up there. West felt the importance of gaining a view inland before the closing down of night obscured everything, and therefore reluctantly left her alone there while he made his way to the top of the ridge. Once there he could look across the promontory of land, down into a little cove on the opposite side. It was well sheltered, and already wrapped in gloomy shadows, yet his eyes detected the outline of a boat of some size drawn up on the sandy beach. Beyond the dim certainty of what it was he could perceive nothing with which to identify the craft, and deeming it some fishing boat, gave its presence there no further heed.

Glancing back to assure himself that Natalie was still safe where he had left her, he picked his way swiftly forward through the thick fringe of forest trees, until he came to the western edge of the wood, and could view the country beyond in the last spectral glow of the dying day. It was a wild, broken country thus revealed to his gaze, a land of ridges and ravines, rugged and picturesque, but exhibiting no evidence of roads, or inhabitants. Its very roughness of outline, and its sterile soil, explained the barrenness and desolation—a no-man's land, impossible of cultivation, it remained neglected and unused. At first he was sure of this, his heart sinking at the deserted landscape. They must plunge blindly forward in the dark over that rough, trackless country, seeking some possible shelter beyond. Weakened and exhausted as they both were the task seemed almost an impossible one. Then his eyes caught a thin spiral of smoke rising from out a narrow valley almost directly beneath where he stood, the depths of which were totally concealed from sight. As he stared at this, uncertain of its reality, a single spark of light winked out at him through the darkness. There was certainly a habitation of some kind hidden away down there—a fisherman's hut likely—but it would at least afford temporary shelter for the night; and there must be a road or path of some kind leading from it to the nearest village. If he could only leave Natalie there in safe hands, in the security of a home, however humble, food would give him strength to push on alone. The one thought in his mind now was to telegraph McAdams, so as to circumvent the plans of those rascals in Chicago. This must be done, and it must be done at the earliest moment possible. Perhaps the fisherman might possess a horse, or would carry the necessary message into town himself. West turned and hastened back through the woods, clambering down the slope of the ridge in darkness to the spot where he had left the girl. For the moment he could not distinguish her presence in the gloom, and, fearing he might have gone astray, called her name aloud.

"Yes," she answered. "I am here; to your right. I am, standing up. Have you discovered anything?"

"There is a house of some kind over yonder in a hollow just beyond the ridge—more than likely a fisherman's hut, as there is a boat of some kind beached in the cove the other side of this promontory. We will have to stumble along through the dark. Do you think you can make it?"

"Of course, I can," and she placed her hand confidingly in his. "I am all right now; really I am; I guess all I needed was to get my breath. Do we go up here—the way you came back?"

"I presume so; I know no other passage, and found no path."

"But," she urged. "If there is a boat on the beach, isn't it likely there would be a trail from there to this fisherman's hut?"

"Why, of course; it was stupid of me not to think of this before. The sooner we start, the quicker we shall arrive. I want most of all to telegraph McAdams."

"Who?"

"McAdams, the detective I told you about in Chicago, an old army buddy of mine. He'll have Hobart located by this time, no doubt, and will put the screws on him when he learns what has happened to us."

"I see," she agreed softly, "and if he does know the whole story we need not be so crazy to get back. He will attend to everything."

"Yes; we can wait up here until morning at least; you need a night's rest, and no wonder."

He grasped her arm, helping her to clamber up the steep bank, suddenly becoming aware that the sleeve felt dry.

"Why, Natalie, your clothes seem to have all dried off already; mine are soaked through," he exclaimed in surprise. "What necromancy is this?"

She laughed, a faint tinge of mockery in the sound.

"No mystery whatever; only a difference in texture, I imagine. This light stuff dries quickly, exposed to the air. Did you think you had hold of the wrong girl?"

The tone of her voice stung slightly, causing him to make a sober answer.

"That would, of course, be improbable, but I have been so completely deceived, even by daylight, that I dare not affirm that it would prove impossible. Your counterfeit is certainly a wizard."

"She must be. But as she is miles away from here, you might let the suspicion rest. Is this where we go down?"

She led the way, the action awakening no question in his mind. If he thought at all about her thus assuming the initiative, the suspicion was dismissed with the idea that probably her eyes were more keen to discover the best path. In this she was certainly successful, and he contented himself by following her closely. The night was already dark, the way irregular and confusing. She was but a dim shadow, advancing confidently, and now and then in their descent, he reached out and touched her to make sure of her presence. This action seemed to irritate for she turned once, and objected shortly.

"Oh, don't do that, please; it startles me. My nerves are all on edge."

"Of course they are, dear," he confessed apologetically. "I should have known better. It was so dark I almost thought you had slipped away. The boat I told you about must be close at hand."

"The boat; oh, yes, but it can be of no use to us now. Feel here with your feet; I am sure this must be a path that I am in, and it can lead nowhere except to that house you saw."

"Can you follow it?"

"I think so; it seems to go straight up through the ravine; see, you can trace the bluff against the sky, and there is the opening just ahead of us. You may take my arm again now," she added graciously, "and then there will be no danger of either getting lost."

He gladly did as she suggested, yet, strangely enough, continued to feel dissatisfied. Vaguely he felt that in some almost imperceptible manner she had changed her mood. He could not base his thoughts on a single word, or action, yet he felt the difference—this was not the Natalie of the raft. She was too irritable; too sharp of speech. But then, no doubt, she was tired, worn out, her nerves broken; indeed he found it hard to control himself, and he must not blame her for exhibiting weakness under the strain. So he drove the thought from him, clinging close to her arm, and vaguely wondering how she was able to trace the path so easily. They seemed to progress through an impenetrable wall of blackness, and yet the way had been cleared of obstacles, and was reasonably smooth. The slope upward was quite gradual, and the summit led directly into the mouth of a small valley. By this time even West could recognize that they were proceeding along a well used path, and he was not surprised when she announced the presence of the house before them, pointing out the dim shadow through the gloom. Otherwise his eyes might have failed to distinguish the outlines, but under her guidance he could make out enough of its general form to assure him that they were approaching no mere fisherman's shack.

"That is no hut," he exclaimed in surprise. "It looks more like a mansion."

"And why not?" pleasantly enough. "I have always heard these bluffs were filled with summer homes. Unfortunately this one appears to be deserted. But we must go on, and try to discover some inhabitant."

There was no light to guide them, yet the path was easily followed, through what apparently was an orchard, then through the gate of a rustic fence to a broad carriage drive, circling past the front door. All was silence, desolation; no window exhibited a gleam of radiance, nor did a sound greet them from any direction. They paused an instant before the front door, uncertain how to proceed.

"But there must be some one about here," West insisted. "For this was the house I saw from the ridge, and there was a light burning then in one of the windows, and there was a wisp of smoke rising from a chimney. Perhaps the shutters are all closed, or, early as it is, the people may have retired."

She stepped boldly forward, and placed her hand on the knob of the door.

"Why," she whispered, excitedly. "It is unlocked; see, I can open it. Perhaps something is wrong here. What shall we do?"

"Knock first; then if there is no response, we can feel our way about inside. My matches are all wet."

She rapped sharply on the wood; waited for some reply, and then called out. Not a sound reached them from within. The situation was strange, nerve-racking, and she shrank back as though frightened before the black silence confronting her. West, his teeth clinched, stepped in through the open door, determined to learn the secret of that mysterious interior. With hands outstretched he felt his way forward, by sense of touch alone assuring himself that he traversed a hall, carpeted, his extended arms barely reaching from wall to wall. He encountered no furniture, and must have advanced some two yards, before his groping disclosed the presence of a closed door on the left. He had located the knob, when the outer door suddenly closed, as though blown shut by a draught of wind, and, at the same instant, his eyes were blinded by a dazzling outburst of light.

This came with such startling, unexpected brilliancy that West staggered back as though struck. For the instant he was positively blind; then he dimly perceived a man standing before him—a man who, little by little, became more clearly defined, recognizable, suddenly exhibiting the features of Jim Hobart, sarcastically grinning into his face.

"You are evidently a cat of nine lives, West," he said sneeringly. "But this ought to be the last of them."



CHAPTER XXX

HOBART FORGETS AND TALKS

For a moment West lost all control over himself. He was too completely dazed for either words or action; could only stare into that mocking countenance confronting him, endeavouring to sense what had really occurred. He was undoubtedly trapped again, but how had the trick been accomplished? What devilish freak of ill luck had thus thrown them once more into the merciless hands of this ruffian? How could it have happened so perfectly? The boat on the sand in the cove yonder; perhaps that was the key to the situation. Those fellows who had left the Seminole to sink behind them, knew where they were when they deserted the yacht; they landed at the nearest point along shore, where they had a rendezvous already arranged for. Then what? The helpless raft had naturally drifted in the same direction, blown by the steady east wind, until gripped by the land current, and thus finally driven into this opening on the coast. His mind had grasped this view, this explanation, before he even ventured to turn his head, and glance at the girl. She stood leaning back against the closed door as though on guard, her uncovered hair ruffled, a scornful, defiant look in her eyes, the smile on her lips revealing the gleam of white teeth. In spite of a wonderful resemblance, a mysterious counterfeit in both features and expression, West knew now this was not Natalie Coolidge. Her dress, the way in which her hair was done, the sneering curl of her red mouth, were alike instantly convincing. He had permitted himself to be tricked again by the jade; the smart of the wound angered him beyond control.

"You are not Miss Coolidge," he insisted hotly. "Then who are you?"

She laughed, evidently enjoying the scene, confident of her own cleverness.

"Oh, so even Captain West has at last penetrated the disguise. No, I am not the lady you mention, if you must know."

"Then who are you?"

She glanced toward Hobart, as though questioning, and the man answered the look gruffly.

"Tell him if you want to, Del," he said, with an oath. "It will never do the guy any good. He's played his last hand in this game; he'll never get away from me again. Spit it out."

"All right," with a mocking curtsey. "I've got an idea I'd like to tell him; it is too good a joke to keep, and this fellow has certainly been an easy mark. You never did catch on to me until I got into the wrong clothes, did you, old dear? Lord, but I could have had you making love to me, if I'd only have said the word—out there on the hills in the dark, hey! I sure wanted to laugh; but that tender tone of yours told me what you were up to; what sent you trailing us around the country—you was plumb nutty after this Natalie Coolidge. That's the straight goods, isn't it, Mister Captain West?"

"I care very much for Miss Coolidge, if that is what you mean."

"Sure you do; and you've put up a game fight for her too, my boy. I'd like it in you if I wasn't on the other side. But you see we can't be easy on you just because of that. Sentiment and romance is one thing, while business is another. You and I don't belong in the same worlds—see? You can't rightly blame me because I was born different, can you?"

"Perhaps not; what would you make me believe?"

"I thought I'd put it that way so you'd understand, that's all. There's a difference in people, ain't there. I'm just as good looking as this Natalie Coolidge, ain't I? Sure I am; you can't even tell us apart when we are dressed up alike. I could come in here, and have you make love to me inside of twenty minutes. But we ain't a bit alike for all that. She's a lady, and I'm a crook—that's the difference. She's been brought up with all the money she wants, while I've had to hustle for every penny since I was a kid. Now life don't ever look the same to any two people like that."

"No," West admitted, beginning to realize her defence. "It is hardly probable it would."

"That's why I'm in this case," she went on, apparently unheeding his interruption. "I was brought up a thief, and I don't know anything else. I never did care much, but in this Coolidge matter, I've got just as much right to all that kale as she has—so naturally I'm going after it."

"As much right, you say? Why, who are you?"

She stood up straight, and looked at him, her eyes burning.

"Me!" scornfully, "Why I am Delia Hobart—'Diamond Del,' they call me."

"Yes, but that is not what you mean; that gives you no such right as you claim. You are Hobart's daughter then?"

"I didn't say so, Mister Captain West. I told you my moniker, that's all. Jim here brought me up, but he ain't no father to me, and his wife ain't my mother. It took me a while to find that out, but I got the thing straight at last. I saw then just what those two were driving at; first I didn't take no particular interest in the scheme; then I got to thinking until finally I hated that soft, downy thing; damn her, she'd robbed me, and I had a right to my share even if I had to steal it."

"What soft, downy thing?"

"Natalie Coolidge! Bah, I went out to see her once. Jim took me and we hid in the garden; and when I came back I was raving mad. Lord, why should that little idiot have everything while half the time I was hungry?"

"You mean you envied her?"

"Envied, hell! Didn't I have a right? Wasn't she my twin sister? Didn't she have it all, and I nothing?"

He gasped for breath at this sudden revelation. Then he laughed, convinced it could not be possible.

"Who told you that?"

"Why, don't you believe it? Has she never said a word about it to you?"

"Certainly not. I am sure she possesses no knowledge of ever having had a sister. Moreover, I do not believe it is true. If you had proof of such relationship, why didn't you go to her, and openly claim your share?"

"Go to her! me? Do you hear that Jim? Isn't he the cute little fixer? Why, of course, she knew it; there was nothing doing on the divide. It's all straight enough, only we couldn't quite prove it by law; anyhow that is what they told me—so we got at it from another direction."

She seemed so convinced, so earnest in her statement that West in perplexity turned to glance at Hobart.

"Do you make this claim also?" he asked.

"What claim?"

"That this girl is a twin sister to Natalie Coolidge? Why, it is preposterous."

"Is it? Damned if I think so. Now look here, West; I don't know just what the Coolidge girl has been told; maybe she never even heard she had a twin sister. If they ever told her that she had, then they must have told her also that the sister died in infancy. Anyhow, that's how it stands on the records. There were just two people who knew different—do you get me? One of them is dead, but one of them is still alive."

"Which one is dead?"

"Percival Coolidge; he knew too much and got gay; he planned to cop the whole boodle. The fact is he started the whole scheme, soon as he learned who Del was, and planned it all out. He was up against it hard just then for money; he'd lost all his own, and couldn't get hold of Natalie's because the old family lawyer watched things so close."

"But if this girl was really entitled to a part of it, why not claim it by law?"

"We talked about that, but the chance didn't look good. Everything showed the second child died; hospital records, doctor's certificate; there wasn't a link in the chain we could break. Percival wouldn't go on the stand, and there wasn't much he could swear to if he did."

"But who was the other witness—the living one?"

"The nurse; she made the exchange of the dead baby for the living one. It was easily done as the child was really sick."

"But for what object—revenge?"

"She was poor, and yielded to temptation. Percival Coolidge paid her to make the exchange. I have never been able to learn what his original purpose was, but she thinks he believed the stolen child was a boy, and that later, through him, the Coolidge money might be controlled. However the woman lost her nerve, and disappeared with the infant. She brought it up as her own in the west, where she married again. I am her second husband, and that is how I learned the truth."

"The woman on the yacht?"

"Yes, you saw her. The child was brought up in our life; I figured on this coup for years, and finally when all was ready, we came back east again. I had a plan, but I wasn't quite sure it would work until I could see the two girls together. After that it was like taking candy from a kid. Hell, you are the only one who has even piped off the game."

West looked closely at the man, who was thus coolly boasting of his exploits, and then at the silent girl, whose eyes sullenly gave back their challenge. What did it all mean? Why were they calmly telling him these things? Was it merely the egotism of crime, pride of achievement? or did Hobart hope in some way to thus win his assistance, or at least his silence?

"Why do you tell all this to me, Hobart?" he asked shortly. "You do not expect me to play with you in the game, do you?"

"You!" the fellow laughed coarsely. "We don't care what you do, you young fool. Del started this talking, and I let her go on. Then, when she stopped, I thought you might as well learn the rest of it. The fact is, West, we're fixed now so whatever you know won't hurt us any. We have as good as got the swag; and, to make it absolutely safe, we've got both you and the girl. I'll say this for you, old man, you've sure put up a game fight. I don't know how the hell you ever got out of that yacht alive, or ever happened to drift in here. It was nothing but bull luck that gave us a glimpse of you tossing round on that raft—but after that it was dead easy. Del here is some actorine."

"Yes," she broke in, "but I came near falling down this time. I forgot they had been in the water, and my dress was dry as a bone—say, I thought he'd tripped me sure."

"You say you've got the swag?"

"All but in our hands; nobody can get it away from us. The court order was issued today; the entire estate placed, in accordance with the terms of the will, in the possession of Natalie Coolidge. Once the proper receipt is signed, all monies can be checked out by her. That about settles it, doesn't it? Tomorrow Del and I will go down to the city, and turn the trick, and after that there is nothing left but the get-away."

It was a cold blooded proposition, but neither face exhibited any regret; both were intoxicated by success; untroubled by any scruples of conscience. West felt the utter uselessness of an attempt to appeal to either.

"Where is Natalie Coolidge?" he asked, his own determination hardening. "What do you propose doing with her?"

Hobart's teeth exhibited themselves in a sardonic grin.

"That is our business, but you can bet she'll not interfere."

"And a similar answer, I presume, will apply also to my case?"

"It will. Don't make the mistake, West, of believing we are damn fools. I don't know just why I've blowed all this to you, but it ain't going to help you any, you can be sure of that. In fact your knowing how the thing was worked is liable to make things a blame sight harder in your case. We won't do no more talking; so go on in through that door."

The fellow's demeanour had entirely changed; he was no longer pretending to geniality, and his words were almost brutal. Apparently, all at once, it had dawned sharply upon him that they had made a mistake—had boasted far too freely. Any slip now, after what had been said, would wreck the ship. West faced him watchfully, fully aware of the desperate situation, instinctively feeling that this might be his last chance.

"In there, you say?" indicating the closed door.

"Yes; move!"

He did; with one swift leap forward, the whole impetus of his body behind the blow, West drove his fist straight into the face confronting him. The fellow reeled, clutched feebly at the smooth wall for support, dropped helplessly forward, and fell headlong, with face hidden in outstretched arms. The assailant sprang back, and turned, in a mad determination to crash his way out through the locked door behind, but as suddenly stopped startled by the vision of a levelled revolver pointed at his head.

"Not a move," the girl said icily. "Take one step, and I'll kill you."

Hobart lifted his head groggily, and pushed himself half-way up on his knees.

"Don't shoot unless he makes you, Del," he ordered grimly. "We don't want that kind of row here." He dragged himself painfully to the side door, and pressed it open.

"Hey you!" he cried. "Come on out here. Now then, rough-house this guy!"



CHAPTER XXXI

McADAMS BLOWS IN

It was a real fight; they all knew that when it was finished. But it was three to one, with Hobart blocking the only open door, and egging them on, and the excited girl, backed into a corner out of the way, the revolver still gripped in her hand, ready for any emergency. The narrowness of the hall alone afforded West a chance, as the walls protected him, and compelled direct attack from in front. Yet this advantage only served to delay the ending. He recognized two of the fellows—"Red" Hogan and Mark—while the third man was a wiry little bar-room scrapper, who smashed fiercely in through his guard, and finally got a grip on his throat which could not be wrenched loose. The others pounded him unmercifully, driving his head back against the wall. Hogan smashed him twice, crashing through his weak attempt at defence, and with the second vicious drive, West went down for the count, lying motionless on the floor, scarcely conscious that he was still living.

Yet in a dazed, helpless way, he was aware of what was occurring about him; he could hear voices, feel the thud of a brutal kick. Some one dragged him out from the mess, and turned his face up to the light; but he lay there barely breathing; his eyes tightly closed.

"It's a knock-out all right," Hogan declared. "That guy is good for an hour in dream-land. What's the dope?"

"We got to keep him here, that's all; and there's goin' to be no get-away this time."

"How'd he do it before, Jim? did he tell you?"

"Not a damned word; I was fool enough to do all the talking. But this fellow is too slick to take any more chances with."

"Do you want him croaked?"

"No, I don't—not now. What the hell's the use? It would only make things harder. We're ready to make our get-away, ain't we? After tomorrow all hell can't get onto our trail. This guy's life wouldn't help us none, so far as I can see."

"Getting squeamish, ain't you?"

"No, I'm not. I've got as much reason to hate the fellow as you have, 'Red.' He certainly swiped me one. Before we had the swag copped, I was willing enough to put him out of the running. That was business. You sure did a fine job then, damn you; now I don't think it is your time to howl. Listen here, will you? From all I learn, this bird amounts to something; he ain't just a dago to be bumped off, and nobody care what's become of him. This guy has got friends. It won't help us any to be hunted after for murder on top of this other job. If we cop the kale, that's all we're after. Is that right, Del?"

The girl seemed to come forward, and face them defiantly.

"Sure it's right. I never was for the strong arm stuff, Hogan. This is my graft, anyhow, and not one of you stiffs gets a penny of it unless I split with you. This fellow isn't going to be slugged—that's flat. It is only because he's fell in love with the Coolidge girl that he is here, and once we've skipped out, I don't wish the guy any bad luck."

"You ought to have caught him yourself, Del," some one said. "The bird never would have known the difference."

She laughed, quickly restored to good humour.

"You're about right there, Dave," she answered. "That was another mistake; the only chance I ever had of marrying in high social circles. But hell, I'll be a lady tomorrow, so let's let the poor devil go. Wrap him up, and lay him away out in the garage. The walls are two foot solid stone; he'll stay buried there all right."

Hogan growled in derision, yet it was evident that she and Hobart would have their way. Some one brought a rope, which was deftly wound about him, West continuing to feign unconsciousness. He secretly hoped this condition might result in some carelessness on their part, in either speech or action. Anyway it would undoubtedly save him from further brutal treatment. He had no reason to suspect that his ruse was questioned. The fellows spoke freely while making him secure, but he gained very little information from their conversation—not a hint as to where Natalie was confined, or how long it was proposed to hold them prisoners. Then "Red" and Dave lugged his limp body through several rooms, out upon a back porch, finally dragging him down the steps and along a cement drive way, letting him lie there a moment in the dark, while one of them unlocked a door. The next instant he was carelessly thrown inside, and the door forced back into place. He could hear Hogan swear outside, and then the sound of both men's feet on the drive as they departed.

With a struggle West managed to sit up, but could scarcely attempt more, as his arms were bound closely to his sides. The darkness about him was intense, and, with the disappearance of the two men up the steps, all outside sounds had ceased. He knew he had been flung into the garage and was resting there on the hard cement floor. He could neither feel nor see any machine, nor was there probably the slightest prospect of his getting out unaided. Those fellows would never have left him there without guard, had they dreamed any escape was possible. The girl had affirmed the building was constructed of stone, two feet thick. He stared around at the impenetrable black wall completely defeated. Undoubtedly they had him this time. He was weak from hunger, tired nearly to death; bruised and battered until it seemed as though every muscle in his body throbbed with pain. Yet his mind was not on these things, only incidentally; his thought, his anxiety centred altogether on Natalie Coolidge. What had become of her; where was she now? He had no reason to believe her in any great personal danger. If this gang, satisfied of success, were disposed to spare his life, it was hardly probable they would demand her's. Now both the desire for murder, and the necessity, had passed. The fellows felt supremely confident the spoils were already theirs, and that all that was needed now to assure complete success was sufficient time in which to drop safely out of sight. Murder would hinder, rather than help this escape.

But what a blind fool he had been; how strangely he had permitted this girl to lead him so easily astray. Why really, to his mind now, she possessed no real resemblance to Natalie; not enough, at least, to deceive the keen eyes of love. She had the features, the eyes, the hair, the voice, a certain trick of speech, which, no doubt, she had cultivated—but there were a thousand things in which she differed. Her laugh was not the same, nor the expression of her lips; she was like a counterfeit beside a good coin. It was easy to conceive how others might be deceived by her tricks of resemblance—servants, ordinary friends, even the old lawyer in charge of the estate—but it was inexcusable for him to have thus become a plaything. Yet he had, and now the mistake was too late to mend. He had left Natalie alone on the cliff, and then blindly permitted this chit to lead him straight into Hobart's set trap. Angered beyond control at the memory, West swore, straining fiercely in the vain endeavour to release his arms. Then, realizing his utter helplessness, he sank back on the floor, and lay still.

What was that? He listened, for an instant doubtful if he had really heard anything. Then he actually heard a sound. He doubted no longer, yet made no effort to move, even holding his breath in suspense. There was movement of some kind back there—a cautious movement; seemingly the slow advance of something across the floor, a dog perhaps. West's heart throbbed with apprehension; suppose it was a dog, he had no means of protection from the brute. Cold sweat tingled on his flesh; there was nothing he could do, no place where he could go. The thing was moving nearer; yet surely it could not be a dog; no dog would ever creep like that. He could bear the strain no longer; it was beyond endurance.

"What's moving back there?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

There was a moment of utter silence; then, a man's voice said in low, cautious tone.

"The fellow ain't dead, Mac; anyhow he seems able to talk yet."

"All right, we'll find out what he's got to say—go on along."

West sat up, his heart bounding with sudden remembrance.

"My God! McAdams is that you?"

"You have the name—who's speaking?"

"Matt West. Good God, but this is like a miracle. I'd played my last card. Come here, one of you, and cut these strings. I cannot even move, or stand up. Is it really you, Mac? Yes, yes, I am all right; they bruised me up a bit, of course, but that is nothing. Now I have a chance to pay them out. But who are with you? and how did you come to be here?"

McAdams ran his knife blade through the lashings, feeling for them in the dark. Neither could see the other, but West realized that another man had crept up on the opposite side of him, and crouched there silently in the blackness.

"Need any help, Mac?" the latter questioned in a whisper.

"No, I've got him cut loose. This is the lad I told you about, Carlyn. You go on back, and, as soon as West gets limbered up a bit, and I hear his story, we join you out there. Then we'll know how the ground lies."

The fellow crept away unseen, and McAdams gripped West's hand.

"Say, but this is mighty good luck, old boy," he blurted out. "I was afraid you'd gone down in that yacht last night."

"You were! How did you know about it?"

"Stumbled on to the story, the way most detectives solve their mysteries. That is, I stumbled on some of it, and the rest I dug out for myself. It won't take long to explain and perhaps you better understand. They told me at the office when I got back about the Seminole being tied up at the Municipal Pier, and that you had gone down there. Well, I made it as quick as I could, but the yacht was three hundred yards out in the lake by the time I arrived. There wasn't a damn thing to take after it in, and, besides, just then, I didn't really know any good police reason for chasing her. First thing I did was to try and find you, so we could get our heads together. But you wasn't there, and so I naturally jumped to the conclusion you must have got aboard someway. Say I combed that pier, believe me, West, and finally I ran across a kid who put me wise. He saw you go across the deck, and into the cabin with two other guys. They came out again, but you didn't. I pumped him until I got a pretty good description of both those fellows, and I decided one of them must be 'Red' Hogan, about the toughest gun-man in Chicago."

"It was Hogan."

"I made sure of that afterwards. Then I got busy. If you was in the hands of that guy, and his gang, the chances was dead against you. But there wasn't a darn thing I could do, except to hunt up Hobart, wire every town along the north shore to keep an eye out for the yacht, and pick up a thread or two around town. I got a bit at that to wise me up. We found Hobart hid away in a cheap hotel out on Broadway, and put a trailer on him. The girl had disappeared; she'd been to a bank, and then to the Coolidge lawyer and signed some papers; after that we lost all trace of her for awhile. Your man Sexton, out at 'Fairlawn,' reported that she hadn't returned there. Then I got desperate and decided I'd blow the whole thing to the Coolidge lawyer, and get him to take a hand. I was afraid they were already for the get-a-way—see? I couldn't round 'em up alone; besides I'm a Chicago police officer, and have to keep more or less on my own beat."

"And you told the lawyer?"

"Everything I knew, and some I guessed at. I thought the old guy would throw a fit, but he didn't. He came through game after the first shock. But say, that dame had sold him out all right. He never had an inkling anything was wrong; no more did the banks. We went over, and talked to the president of one of them—a smooth guy with white mutton chops—and the girl had signed up the preliminary papers already, and tomorrow the whole boodle was going to drop softly into her lap. Say, I felt better when I learned they hadn't copped the swag yet. But just the same I needed help."

"And you got it?"

"Sure; those two duffers coughed up money in a stream. Called in a detective agency, and gave me three operatives to work under me. Got the chief on the wire, and made him give me a free hand. Then I had a cinch."