"What can make them so desperate against Mr. Seaton?" queried Joe.

"We can't even guess, for we don't yet know the story that's behind all this mystery and the list of desperate deeds."

"I wonder if Mr. Seaton will ever tell us?" pondered Joe.

"Not unless he thinks we really need to know."

"But he has already hinted that it's all in a big fight for a fortune," urged Hank.

"Yes, and we can guess that the fight centers in South America, since that is where Clodis was bound for when this business started," replied Skipper Tom.

"I wonder if there's any chance that our cruise will reach to South America?" broke in Hank Butts, eagerly.

"Hardly likely," replied Tom, with a shake of the head. "If there had been even a chance of that, Mr. Seaton would have arranged for an option extending beyond the end of this month."

"Just my luck," grumbled Hank, seating himself on the edge of the deck-house. "Nothing big ever happens to me."

"Say, you're hard to please," laughed Joe, turning and going down into the motor room.

They were not long in making Lonely Island, where the "Restless" was tied up and the hatchways locked securely. The boys were not required to remain at the boat, one of the guards being stationed, night or day, at the wharf.

Powell Seaton was much interested in the account Tom gave him of the red message, though he did not say much.

There was no change or improvement in the condition of Mr. Clodis, who still lay in a darkened room, like one dead.

That afternoon Joe, with some help from his comrades, repaired the bungalow's wireless plant and got in touch with the shore once more.

Through the night four men were kept on guard, one on the porch, another at the wharf, and two others patrolling the island. No attempt of any sort on the part of Dalton or the latter's confederates was discovered.

The next morning brought still no change in the condition of Clodis. He was alive, breathing feebly, and Dr. Cosgrove was attempting to ward off an attack of brain fever.

Through the forenoon Joe was kept rather busy sending messages ashore to the authorities, for Powell Seaton, though not leaving the island, was waging a determined campaign to get hold of Dalton.

"I don't need Dalton, particularly," confessed Mr. Seaton, as he sat with the three motor boat boys at the noon meal. "But it would be worth a very great deal of money to get back the papers that Dalton must have stolen after assaulting my sick friend, yonder, on board the 'Constant.'"

"Do you—do you know—what was in the stolen papers?" asked Captain Tom Halstead, hesitatingly.

"Very well, indeed," rejoined their employer, with emphasis. "But the real trouble is that I don't want to have that knowledge pass to the gang that are behind Anson Dalton."

"Yet Dalton must have had time to join his principals, or confederates, by this time, and turn the papers over to them," hazarded Halstead.

"That's hardly likely," murmured Powell Seaton, "since the gang of rascals behind Anson Dalton must be, at this moment, somewhere in the interior of Brazil."

"Oh!" said Tom, reflectively.

"You're curious, I see, to know what all this great mystery means," smiled Mr. Seaton.

"I—I don't want to let myself be curious about what is none of my business," declared Tom Halstead, bluntly.

"I'm going to tell you the story now, just the same," replied Powell Seaton, in a still lower voice.



CHAPTER IX

MR. SEATON UNBURDENS HIMSELF

"Really, I see no reason why I shouldn't tell you," went on the charter-man of the "Restless." "When I first engaged you youngsters and your boat for this month I had little more in mind than using your boat for pleasure cruising about here. Yet the fact that you had a wireless equipment aboard the 'Restless' did influence me not a little, for I had at least a suspicion that big affairs might come to pass, and that telegraphing from ship to ship might be wonderfully convenient.

"At the same time, I was careful to look up the references that you gave me, Captain Halstead. Those references were so wholly satisfactory that I know I can trust you to serve me as bravely and loyally as you have, in the past, been called upon to serve others. And now, just for the reason that you may be called upon to take some big fighting chances for me, I'm going to tell you what lies back of the curtain of mystery that you've been staring at."

As his voice died out Powell Seaton arose, locked the door and glanced out through the windows. Then he returned to the table, motioning to the boys to incline their heads close to his.

"Probably," began their host, "you've regarded me as a wealthy man, and, until the last two or three days, as one of leisure. I am reasonably well-to-do in this world's goods, but most of my life, since I was twenty, has been passed in storm and stress.

"It is not necessary to tell you all about the life that I have led. It will be enough to tell you that, three years ago, not satisfied that my fortune was large enough, I went to Brazil in order to learn what chance there might be of picking up money fast in that country.

"In Brazil there are many ways of making a fortune, though perhaps not as many as right here at home. However, there are fewer fortune-seekers there. In coffee, rubber and in many other staples fortunes may be made in Brazil, but the biggest, wildest, most desperate and scrambling gamble of all is found in the diamond-digging fields.

"Most of the diamond fields have, perhaps, been discovered, and their working has become systematized to a regular, dividend-paying basis. There are still, however, some fields not yet located. It was a small field, but one which I believe may be worth millions, that I located somewhat more than a year ago. See here!"

From an inner pocket Powell Seaton drew forth an ordinary wallet. Opening it, he dropped out on the table six diamonds. Though none was of great size, all of the stones were of such purity and such flashing brilliancy that the motor boat boys gazed at them in fascination.

"They must be worth a fortune," declared Hank Butts, in an awed, subdued tone.

"Not exactly," smiled Mr. Seaton. "These stones have been appraised, I believe, at about twelve thousand dollars."

After passing the gems from hand to hand, the owner of the bungalow replaced them in the wallet, returning the latter to the same pocket before he resumed:

"This new diamond field, a patent to which has not yet been filed with the Brazilian Government, is in the state of Vahia. There is no harm in telling anyone that, as Vahia is a state of great area. It is in a section little likely to be suspected as a diamond field, and the chance that someone else will accidentally discover and locate it is not large."

"Yet you know the exact location—can go right to it?" breathed Tom Halstead, his eyes turned squarely on Mr. Seaton's.

"Yes, but I don't dare go to it," came the smiling answer.

"Oh! May I ask why not, sir?"

"The Government of Brazil is, in the main, an honest one," replied Powell Seaton. "The President of that country is an exactly just and honorable man. Yet not quite as much can be said for the governments of some of the states of that country. The governor of Vahia, Terrero, by name, is probably one of the worst little despots in South America.

"Now, as it happened, before I came to know anything about this new diamond field I had the bad fortune to make an enemy of Governor Terrero. Some American friends were being shamefully treated by this rascally governor, and I felt called upon to become mixed up in the affair. I even went so far that I incurred the deadly hatred of Terrero. It was right after this that I came upon my diamond field. But Terrero's enmity was pressing upon me, and I had to flee from Brazil."

"Why?" asked Tom, wonderingly.

"Do you know how things are done in South America?" demanded Powell Seaton, impressively. "If a man like Terrero hates you, he has only to inspire someone to prefer a serious charge against you. The charge may be wholly false, of course, but officers and soldiers are sent, in the dead of the night, to arrest you. These wretches, when they serve wicked enough officials, shoot you down in cold blood. Then they lay beside your body a revolver in which are two or three discharged cartridges. They report, officially, that you resisted arrest and did your best to kill the members of the arresting party. This infamous lie all becomes a matter of official record. Then what can the United States Government do about it? And the governor, or other rascally official, has triumphed over you, and the matter is closed. Though an honest man, Halstead, you are officially a desperate character who had to be killed by the law's servants. It was such a fate that Terrero was preparing for me, but I escaped his wicked designs."

"That must be a nice country!" murmured Hank Butts.

"Yet you say the President of Brazil is an honorable man?" asked Halstead. "Can't he remove such a governor?"

"The President would, in a moment, if he could be supplied with proofs," rejoined Powell Seaton, with emphasis. "Governor Terrero is a wily, smooth scoundrel who is well served by men of his own choice stamp. Terrero is wealthy, and backed by many other wealthy men who have been growing rich in the diamond fields. In fact, though they are wonderfully smooth about it, the Terrero gang are terrors to all honest diamond men in that one part of Brazil."

"So, then," hinted Captain Tom, "you know where to find one of the rich diamond mines of the world, but you don't dare go to it?"

"I'd dare," retorted Mr. Seaton, his eyes flashing. "But what would be the use of daring? I am almost certain to be killed if I ever show my face in Vahia while Terrero is alive. So, then, this is what I have done: Since my return to this country I have been arranging, ever so quietly, with moneyed men who have faith in me and in my honesty. After much dickering we have arranged a syndicate that is backed by millions of dollars, if need be. And we may need to spend a good deal of money before we get through. We may even have to try to turn Terrero's most trusted lieutenants against him. We won't, if we can help it, but we may have to. The stake is a big one!

"Through turning this business over to the syndicate I am bound to lose the greater portion of the fortune that might have been mine from this great enterprise. Yet, even as it is, I stand to reap rich returns if ever the syndicate can locate and secure the patent to the diamond fields that I discovered.

"At this moment three members of our syndicate are in Rio Janeiro. They are big, solid American men of moneyed affairs. As far as they permit to be known, they are in Brazil only as a matter of vacation and pleasure. In truth, they are awaiting the arrival of Albert Clodis on the 'Constant.' When he had arrived, with the papers from me showing where and how to locate the diamond field, they were to have moved quickly, spending plenty of money, and filing a patent to the fields. Under the law the Brazilian Government would be entitled to a large share of the find in precious stones, but even at that our share would have been enormous. Once the patent to the diamond field was filed, the President and the whole National Government of that country could be depended upon to protect the owner's rights, even against the greed and treachery of Terrero. So all that appeared to be left to do was to get to my friends of the syndicate the two sets of papers that would enable them to locate the unknown diamond field. Neither set of papers is worth anything by itself, but with the two sets the field can be promptly located.

"My first thought was to send the two sets of papers by two different men. Yet, strange as it may appear to you boys, I could not decide upon two men whom I felt I could fully trust under all circumstances. You have no idea how I have been watched, the last year, by agents of Terrero. Dalton, though an American, is one of the worst of these secret agents of the governor of Vahia. I knew how thoroughly I was being watched, and I, in turn, have had others watching Anson Dalton as effectively as it could be done in a free country like the United States.

"Well, to make this long story short, when I had all else in readiness I decided upon Bert Clodis as the one man I could fully trust to deliver the two sets of papers to the members of the syndicate at Rio Janeiro. I believed, too, at the time, though I could not be sure, that my relations with Bert Clodis were unknown to Anson Dalton.

"Yet, not for a moment did I trust too thoroughly to that belief. I had Dalton watched. If he engaged passage aboard the 'Constant,' my suspicions would be at once aroused. We now know that he secured passage, by mail, under the name of Arthur Hilton. Beyond the slightest doubt Dalton, that infernal spy, had succeeded in discovering that I was sending Clodis with the papers. Yet Dalton, or Hilton, as he chose to call himself, did not go aboard the 'Constant' openly at New York. I can only guess that he boarded from the tug that took off the pilot when the liner had reached open sea.

"I had impressed upon Bert Clodis the importance of keeping the two sets of papers apart, and had advised him that it might not be safe to deposit either in the purser's safe, from which they might be taken through the means of a deep-sea burglary.

"So the probability is that Bert Clodis had one set of papers concealed on his person. The other set of papers—the one I now have safe—he seems to have put away in his trunk, believing that no one seeking to rob him would think him simple enough to leave valuable papers in a trunk that could be rather easily entered in the hold of a liner.

"As I have already told you, I had the ship watched at New York, and received a message, after her sailing, which told me that no one answering Dalton's description had boarded the 'Constant' at her pier.

"As the liner entered this latitude Bert Clodis was to send off a wireless message which, though apparently rather blind, would be enough to advise me that no one answering to Dalton's description had appeared among the passengers or crew of the 'Constant.' This news I awaited at the wireless station at Beaufort, and you can imagine my anxiety."

"That was why, then," broke in Joe, suddenly, "when I received that message about the injury to Mr. Clodis, you were able to break in so quickly?"

"Yes," nodded Mr. Seaton. "I was waiting, and was on tenterhooks. I would have joined you, and would have gone out in haste to receive Bert Clodis myself, but I realized that, if I delayed you, the big liner would get past us, and Bert Clodis must most likely die on the way to Brazil."

"Why weren't you out here, sir, at this bungalow, where you could have received the message as well, and then have gone out with us on the 'Restless'?" inquired Tom Halstead, with deepest interest in this strange narration.

"I was at Beaufort," responded Mr. Seaton, "because I felt it very necessary to be where I could use a private wire to New York that I had reserved. I was, at that time, waiting for word from New York of any possible discovery that could be made concerning the movements of the infamous Dalton, whom I did not then know, or believe, to be on board the 'Constant.'"

There was silence for a few moments, but Powell Seaton at last went on, thoughtfully:

"We now know that Bert Clodis did not deposit any papers with the purser of the ship. One set of the papers, therefore, must have been tucked away in his clothing. Dalton, after assaulting Bert Clodis, or having it done, must have rifled his pockets and found one set. He even had time to look through them and discover that that set was incomplete. Then, on seeing Clodis's trunk go aboard the 'Restless' with the injured man, Dalton guessed that the remaining papers might be in the trunk. That was why Dalton decided to leave the 'Constant.' But your flat refusal to let him go down into the cabin, where the baggage had been taken, foiled the fellow at that point. Then, fearing that he would run into me, and that I might even resort to violence, Dalton hailed that schooner, the 'Black Betty,' and made his momentary escape."

"No doubt," interposed Halstead, "Dalton has had plenty of chance to put his set of the stolen papers in safe hiding. But isn't it barely likely that he had already engaged Captain Dave Lemly to be hanging about in these waters with that little black schooner?"

"Wholly likely," nodded Mr. Seaton, thoughtfully. "However, boys, I have trusted you with as much as my very life is worth in telling you all this. I would rather lose my life than see my friends, as well as myself, beaten in this great diamond game. As the matter now stands, Dalton has won the first step, but he hasn't enough knowledge to enable his employer, Terrero, to locate my precious find. I can duplicate the missing papers, and the other set, which I have here secure, I must also send to Rio Janeiro by some other most trusted messenger, should Clodis, poor fellow, die, or prove unfit to make another attempt."

"And do you think, sir, that there's only one honest man on earth?" asked Tom Halstead, in considerable surprise.

"There are several men that I believe to be honest," returned the owner of the bungalow, "yet only one that I know to be honest, and who possesses at the same time the judgment to undertake a mission like the one I have been telling you about."

"Then it won't really do Dalton any good to start for Brazil unless he can get hold of the contents of the other set of papers?" Halstead asked, after a pause of a few moments.

"Not until the fellow can get his clutches on the papers that I have secretly locked in that closet over there," confirmed Mr. Seaton. "And I have told none but you trustworthy youngsters that the other set is hidden in such an easy place to get at."

Then, as though struck by a thought, Powell Seaton crossed the room, drawing his key-ring from a pocket. He fitted the right key to the door, and swung the latter open. An instant more, and there came from Mr. Seaton's lips a cry much like the frightened howl of a wild beast.

"The second set of papers is gone—stolen from here!"

There was an almost simultaneous gasp of consternation from the three Motor Boat Club boys as they rushed forward. But they had no need to search. Seaton had done that thoroughly, and now he turned to eye them. As he stared—or glared—a new thought came into Seaton's mind, reflecting itself in his eyes. The boys could see him fighting against his own new suspicion.

"Halstead," cried Powell Seaton, clutching at the side of the doorway, "I told you all about this hiding place. I trusted you!"

It was Tom Halstead's turn to go deathly white and stagger.

"Do you mean, sir, that YOU SUSPECT ME?" demanded the young skipper, in a voice choked with horror.



CHAPTER X

THE TRAITOR AT THE AERIALS

"Wait! Don't take anything too seriously. I've—got to—think!"

Powell Seaton had stood, for two or three moments, staring from Halstead to the other motor boat boys.

"Humph! Well, this is good, but I don't like it," grimaced Hank Butts, taking two steps backward.

Powell Seaton began to pace the room, his hands at his head. He looked like one who suddenly found it impossible to think.

Hank opened his mouth to say something angry, but Captain Tom checked him with a look and a gesture.

"May we search in that closet for you, sir?" called Halstead, when a thud told that the owner of the bungalow had dropped heavily back into his chair.

"You may look there, if you want to. Anyone may look there—now!" uttered the amazed one.

Without saying more Tom, in deep agitation, began the task he had invited upon himself. Joe Dawson came and stood looking quietly over his chum's shoulder, ready to help if necessary. As for Hank, he stood, a picture of injured pride, staring at the distracted man.

"No; there's nothing here," admitted Halstead, at last. "At least, the only thing we're interested in isn't here."

"Of course it isn't," moaned Seaton. "Yet you boys were the only ones I told. And, the only time I left the house, it was safe upon my return. I also told you boys that."

"If he keeps on talking in that strain," muttered Hank, half-aloud, "I'll make his head ache!"

"No, you won't," uttered Captain Tom, gripping his comrade's arm almost fiercely. "There's trouble enough on the premises as it is. Hold your tongue, Hank, until we're all in a good mood to say pleasant things."

Thereupon, with a snort, Hank dragged a chair into a far corner, and seated himself in it.

Halstead walked slowly to the table, on which Mr. Seaton was resting his elbows, his face buried in his hands.

"There must be some explanation for this, Mr. Seaton," began the young motor boat skipper, more calmly. "I don't mind your first suspicion of me, because——"

"Not you, more than the others," broke in the bungalow's owner, excitedly. "All of you young men knew about the hiding-place. You were the only ones besides myself who did know."

Again Hank gripped his fists tightly, but a stern look from Joe Dawson prevented Butts from giving any further expression of his feelings.

"Don't sit there like that, Mr. Seaton," broke in Tom Halstead, once more. "Whatever has happened, something must be done—and it must be the right thing, and at once."

"You can search us, if you want——" began Hank's growling voice, but Joe Dawson stood before him, towering in grim purpose.

"Don't you open your mouth again, Hank, until you've collected some sense," warned Joe. "Let Tom do the talking. He's the captain, anyway."

"You're right," responded Powell Seaton, looking up in a good deal of a daze. "I must do something—quickly—yet what?"

"If anyone has stolen the final set of papers," advanced the young skipper, "it must have been either Dalton or someone working for him. In either case, Dalton must now have the papers, or he soon will have."

"But what does this lead to?" inquired Mr. Seaton, regarding his young captain dubiously.

"Why, sir, it must be plain that the best course is to drop all other steps and concentrate every bit of your energy and ingenuity on getting hold of Anson Dalton."

"Yet what can I do to him, if I do?"

"In the first place, you might charge him with being the man who struck Albert Clodis over the head. That would be enough to have your man arrested on, even if you couldn't prove the charge. A charge that you can fight on is that of having helped to steal the 'Restless' the other night. If you can only get the fellow locked up, then you'll have more time to find out whether there's any way of getting the missing papers away from him, or from any hiding place in which he has put them."

"Lock the fellow up?" jeered Powell Seaton. "Bah, boy, you don't seem to realize the money that's behind him. Ten thousand dollars, or a hundred thousand, it would all be the same, and Dalton, out on bail, could flee in whatever direction he wanted to."

"Then what are you going to do?" demanded Captain Tom, incisively.

In this instant of utter uncertainty a tinkling of a bell broke in upon them. It was the call bell that Dawson had attached to the wireless apparatus.

"Remember, you keep quiet," almost whispered Joe to Hank, then quitted the room hastily. Butts suddenly began to grin sheepishly. Rising, he sauntered over to a window.

Joe had hurried to the wireless room on the mere chance that it might be a message for Lonely Island. It was much more likely to be the regular business of ships passing on the sea. But as he entered the room Dawson heard the clicking call from a receiving instrument:

"CBA! CBA!" That was Lonely Island's call surely enough.

Breaking in at the key, Joe sent the sparks chasing each other up the aerials. Having answered, he slipped on the head-band, fitting the watch-case receivers over his ears. Picking up a pencil, he wrote.

It was a rush telegram from Mr. Seaton's lawyer, up at Beaufort, and it read:

Man much resembles description of Dalton has just been reported embarking on seventy-foot cruising motor boat ten miles above this city. Man in command of boat positively said to be Captain Dave Lemly.

"Remain at wire for further talk," Joe's trembling fingers signaled back. Then, leaping up, he bounded into the next room.

"Read it to me," Powell Seaton begged.

Tom Halstead took the sheet, reading rapidly yet clearly. The young skipper was excited, though he forced himself to remain cool.

"There's your call to action, Mr. Seaton," he wound up with.

"Yes, but what action?" demanded the owner of the bungalow. Ever since the discovery of the loss of the papers this man had seemed all but unable to speak.

"We've got to overhaul that other motor boat, though her length will have to be description enough if we can't get a better one," declared the young skipper. "Hank, go down and open up the motor room. Start the motors going, though be gentle. Don't break anything, or put the motors out of business. Joe, go back to the wireless, and see whether you can get a more exact description of that boat—especially the course she is believed to have sailed on. Hustle! Mr. Seaton, hadn't you better inform Dr. Cosgrove that you'll be absent for a while?"

The owner of the bungalow moved as though glad of directions that saved him the trouble of thinking.

Joe promptly sent a wireless back to Beaufort asking for a better description of the seventy-footer and the last course upon which she had been seen.

The only further word the lawyer's informant could furnish, as Joe ascertained ten minutes later, was that the boat was painted a drab tint and had a "smoke-stack" ventilator. When last seen the boat was heading out nearly due east from her starting-point.

"Going out to meet a liner, for some port," clicked Tom, as he heard the news. "Well, it's our business to find that drab motor boat."

As Joe caught up his cap, Mr. Seaton looked rather uncertainly from one boy to the other.

"You say we're to go out on this jaunt over the water," remarked the owner of the bungalow. "But I don't know. Perhaps you want me to go too badly. There may be something behind——"

"Stop right where you are, if you please, sir," broke in Tom Halstead, a decided trace of bitterness in his tone. "You're still more than half-inclined to suspect us boys of causing the loss of the papers you had hidden in the closet. I am not blaming you altogether, Mr. Seaton, though you are doing us a great injustice. But you must believe in us just at the present time, for going with us offers you your only chance of catching up with Dalton and saving your own friends of the syndicate. Come along, sir! Try to trust us, whether it seems wise or not, since it's your only chance."

The young skipper seized his charter-man by one arm, almost dragging him along. Yet Powell Seaton, who was in a state of horrible uncertainty, permitted this forcing.

Outside, on the porch, Captain Tom hesitated for a moment, then, after glancing at the guards, went on briskly:

"Mr. Seaton, I know you don't want to carry an armed force for purposes of attack on anyone, and you wouldn't have a right to do it, anyway. But, as we may be attacked, if we run afoul of Dalton and his friends, won't it be much better if you take at least a couple of your armed guards from this place?"

Nodding curtly, Mr. Seaton called to Hepton and Jasper, two of the guards, explaining that they were needed for a cruise on the "Restless." The pair followed along after the others.

"You can keep your rifles, just as well, in the motor room," suggested Captain Tom, and the fire-arms were placed below.

Hank had everything in readiness for casting off. Within forty-five seconds after boarding, the "Restless" was under way, poking her nose in a north-easterly direction.

"We'd better loaf later on, rather than now, Joe," proposed the young skipper. "See how much speed you can crowd out of the motors."

Powell Seaton chose to go aft, all alone, dropping into one of the deck arm-chairs. For a long time he remained there, moody and silent.

"What liner do you figure on Dalton trying to overtake and board?" queried Joe, coming up at last out of the motor room.

"Why, I don't just know," confessed Tom, pondering. "But I'll tell you what you can do, Joe. Leave Hank to watch the motors. You go to the wireless apparatus and send out the longest spark you can get. Direct your call to any vessel bound for Rio Janerio, or Brazil in general. If you get an answer from such a craft, ask her latitude and longitude, course and speed, so we can make for her directly."

As Joe nodded, then dropped down into the motor room, intending to go by the passageway under the bridge deck, Tom noted a lurking figure a few feet behind him.

"Hullo! What are you doing there, Jasper?" queried the young captain.

"Jest mindin' my own business," replied the man, with a half-surly grin.

"I'm minding mine, in asking you," retorted Halstead, quietly. "I don't like passengers so close to me when I'm handling the boat."

"I s'pose mebbe you don't," rejoined Jasper, yet making no move.

"Won't you take a hint?" asked Tom, rather bluntly.

"Where d'ye want me to stand?" asked the fellow, sulkily.

"You could go further aft, for instance," replied Tom. One hand on the wheel, he stood half-turned, eying this stubborn guard.

"Oh, all right," came gruffly from Jasper, as he started slowly aft.

"Maybe I'm wrong for thinking much about it," muttered Tom, under his breath, "yet it was this same man who was so close to us the other night when Mr. Seaton and I were talking about the papers hidden in the closet at the bungalow."

Two or three minutes later a slight sound caused the young skipper to turn with a start. He saw Jasper in the very act of fitting a wire-nipper to one of the parallel wires of the aerial of the wireless.

In an instant Captain Tom Halstead jammed his wheel and locked it. Then he dashed at the fellow.



CHAPTER XI

THE DRAB BOAT SHOWS HER NOSE

"You keep off!" snarled Jasper, drawing back on the defensive, holding the wire-nippers so as to use them in defending himself.

But, if the young captain of the "Restless" knew any fear, at such moments, he didn't permit others to see it. He neither stopped nor swerved. Ducking in under Jasper's extended right arm, Tom closed with the fellow, grappling.

"Confound ye! I'll have to throw ye over into the water!" growled Jasper, fighting for a hold around the boy's waist and behind his back. But Halstead fought to break the grip, at the same time yelling:

"Hank! Here, mighty quick!"

Jasper fought, trying to force the young commander to the rail. He had half succeeded when Hank Butts raced on deck. Hepton, the other guard, who had been lounging in the engine room, was right behind Butts. Both of them raced to reach the struggling pair. Hank caught Jasper at the waist-line, while Hepton took a hold at Jasper's neck, forcing the fellow back.

Then Tom sailed into the melee with renewed energy. Jasper was a powerfully-built fellow, but the three were too many for him. They tripped Jasper, throwing him to the deck, and Hepton sat upon his comrade's chest.

"Halstead! You others! What does this violence mean?"

Powell Seaton shouted the question sternly. He had been disturbed by the racket and now stood amidships.

"Get him over, face down," panted Tom. "We'll make sure of the fellow before we begin to explain. Hank, run for a pair of handcuffs!"

Butts was up and off like a shot, wholly liking the nature of his errand.

"Halstead!" raged Mr. Seaton. "I insist upon an answer."

"It's a case of sea-bullying—that's what it is," growled Jasper. "It's an outrage."

"Hepton," warned the charter-man, "get up off of Jasper's chest. Let him go."

"Don't you do it," countermanded Tom Halstead. "It won't be safe. This fellow is a snake in the grass. I caught him at his tricks."

Hepton had acted undecidedly for a moment. Now, he concluded to stand by the young captain.

In a trice Hank was back. Now the three assailed Jasper, rolling him over on his face. Tom Halstead, himself, fitted the handcuffs.

"Take the wheel, Hank, until I'm through with this," panted Tom, leaping up from the treacherous guard. The locked wheel was now steering the "Restless" over an erratic course, but Hank swiftly had the boat on her true course once more.

"I insist on knowing what this shameful business means," cried Mr. Seaton, glaring at his young skipper.



"I should think you might. It's an outrage!" shouted Jasper.

"This fellow," charged young Captain Halstead, "was in the very act of cutting the aerial wires with a wire-nipper when I caught him. Why, I can show you the nippers he had."

Tom wheeled, to make a quick search along the deck. Jasper grinned covertly for he had thrown the nippers overboard in the struggle.

"You see!" flared the prisoner. "He talks about nippers—but where are they?"

"Halstead," demanded Mr. Seaton, "do you intend to obey me by setting this man free until I've had an opportunity to investigate all sides of this remarkable charge?"

"No, sir, I do not," rejoined Halstead, quietly though firmly.

"Do you forget that I command here?" raged the charter-man.

"Pardon me, but you don't command," retorted Skipper Tom, respectfully. "It is true that you have this boat under charter, but I am the captain and one of the owners, and I must handle trouble aboard in the manner that seems best. I caught this man in a treacherous attempt to make our errand this afternoon quite useless. Jasper stays in irons until we reach port. I'm sorry to be so stubborn with you, Mr. Seaton, but, just now, you've a queer idea that I'm working against you. I must save you, sir, even from your own blindness. Hepton, will you help me take this fellow aft?"

"Surely," nodded the guard, who, while he had not seen the start of the trouble, much preferred believing Halstead to Jasper.

Seeing that resistance might bring him nothing but a beating, Jasper sulkily allowed himself to be led along the deck. Down into the cabin he was taken, there to be thrust into the starboard stateroom. Joe, from his wireless table at the forward end of the cabin, looked up with much curiosity.

"He was trying to snip the wires in your aerial," Halstead explained, after turning the key in the stateroom door.

"Glad you got him, then," nodded Dawson.

Mr. Seaton had followed as far as the doorway. There he halted, well convinced that he could not, at present, persuade the young skipper to change his mind.

"Now, if you'll be good enough to come up to the bridge deck, Mr. Seaton, I want to explain matters to you, sir," proposed the captain of the "Restless."

Rather stiffly the charter-man followed. Hepton, as though to show further good faith, took pains to remain aft.

"Do you remember the other night, when we were coming back with the guard for Lonely Island," began Tom, in a low voice, "that we found one of the new guards leaning well over the deck-house behind our backs?"

"I do," nodded Powell Seaton, coldly.

"That man, sir, was Jasper. To-day, when we are out trying to trace Anson Dalton over the open sea, I find that same fellow, Jasper, trying to cut the parallel wires of the aerial. Why should he do that unless he means to try to prevent our catching up with Dalton? Now, sir, putting two and two together, doesn't it seem mighty reasonable to suspect that Jasper overheard what we were saying the other night, and then watched his chance to steal the papers that you and I thought were so safely hidden in the cupboard at the bungalow? I know, Mr. Seaton, you feel that you have some reason for suspecting us boys. In view of what happened the other night, and again this afternoon, isn't it a whole lot more sensible to trace your misfortunes to Jasper?"

Powell Seaton, whose daze had continued ever since starting on this cruise, now pondered deeply, with knitted brows. At last, however, he looked up quickly, holding out his right hand, as he exclaimed:

"Halstead, I begin to believe that I have been too hasty and suspicious. I have hated myself for distrusting any of you boys, and yet——"

"And yet," smiled Tom, "you are beginning to feel that there is not as much reason for suspecting us as there is for believing that the guilt of a mean theft lies at someone else's door."

"I beg you to forgive me, Halstead, you and your mates. But I hardly know what I am thinking or saying. My mind is in too deep a turmoil."

"We'll forget it, Mr. Seaton," continued Halstead, as he pressed the other's hand. "I can, easily, and I hope you'll do your best to believe that you can trust us as fully as others have done."

"You may just as well come forward, Hepton," hailed Captain Tom, a few moments later. "And I want to thank you for the way you stood by me when I needed help so badly."

"Ever since we've been at the island I've felt that I didn't believe any too much in that man Jasper," muttered Hepton. "He has been acting queer some of the time."

"How?" asked Mr. Seaton.

"Well, for one thing, he always wanted the night guard duty. And he growled at taking the porch or the dock. What he wanted to do was to roam off about the island by himself. Whenever he came back he wanted to sit in your sitting-room, at the bungalow, and the fellow scowled if some of the rest of us showed any liking for staying in that sitting-room."

"What do you make of that, sir?" asked Captain Halstead, looking significantly at Powell Seaton.

"It sets me to thinking hard," replied that gentleman, gravely.

Hepton glanced with natural curiosity from one to the other. Then, finding that he was not to be enlightened as to what had happened ashore, he soon stepped aft again.

"Here's what you want to know, I reckon," announced Joe, in a low voice, as his head bobbed up out of the motor room. In one hand he held a slip of paper on which he had just taken down a message. "Twenty miles north of us is the Langley Line freighter, 'Fulton.' She's headed this way, and coming at fourteen knots."

Skipper Tom received the paper, studying the position and course as Joe had jotted them down.

"The Langley boats run to Rio Janeiro, don't they?" asked Halstead.

"Yes, and every boat of that line carries a wireless installation now, too," Joe continued. "She's the only boat that answered my hail."

"Take the new course, Hank," called the young skipper to the boy at the wheel, and rattled it off. The "Restless" swung around to a nearly northerly course.

"At her speed, and ours, it needn't be many minutes before we sight the 'Fulton,'" judged Halstead. "Hank, you keep the wheel. I want a chance to handle my glasses."

With the marine binoculars in his hand Skipper Tom soon began to sweep the horizon.

"There's what the wireless did for us," he chuckled to Mr. Seaton. "Without our electrical wave we wouldn't have known, for sure, that there was a Rio boat in these waters this afternoon. And, but for getting the 'Fulton's' position and course by wireless, we'd have swept by to the eastward, away out of sight of the freighter."

Within a few minutes more the young skipper, by the aid of his glasses, got a glimpse of a steamship's masts. A few minutes later the upper works of her high hull were visible.

"That's the 'Fulton.' I know the Langley type of freighter build," Halstead explained, eagerly. "We'll soon be close enough to see her name-plate through the glass. And—oh!—by Jove!"

Tom waved the glasses with a flourish, pointing, then handed them to Powell Seaton.

"Look right over there to the north-westward, sir, and you'll make out that drab-hulled seventy-footer. She's just coming into sight."

"I see her," nodded Mr. Seaton.

Captain Halstead took the glasses again, studying both the seventy-footer and the freighter intently, judging their relative speeds and positions.

"Dalton, or his friend, Lemly, has nicely calculated the drab boat's run," declared the young skipper of the "Restless," "Dalton's craft is in fine position to stop the freighter. But we'll reach the 'Fulton' first, and by some minutes, too, sir. The drab boat looks like a good one, but I believe we're a shade faster in the stretch."

"What are we going to do when we overhaul both craft?" wondered Powell Seaton, aloud.

"Why, sir, it will be easy enough to make the 'Fulton's' captain refuse to take any such passenger as Dalton."

"How?" demanded Mr. Seaton.

"Just inform the 'Fulton's' captain that Anson Dalton is a fugitive from justice. If you do that, the freighter's captain isn't going to take any chances on getting into subsequent trouble with Uncle Sam. The captain will simply decline to receive him as a passenger on the high seas."

Powell Seaton looked very cheerful for a moment. Then a look of dark doubt crossed his face.

"That will be all right, Halstead, unless it happens that the captain of the 'Fulton' is a man on the inside of some official affairs down in Brazil. If that be so, then your freighter's captain may recognize Dalton as a man of consequence—one to be served at all hazards. For, if a steamship captain of the Langley line must be careful to stand well with the United States authorities, he must also be no less careful to keep in the good graces of some of the cliques of Brazilian officers. So what if Dalton goes aboard the freighter, and her captain sends us a derisive toot of his whistle?"

Tom Halstead's face showed his instant uneasiness.

"If that turns out to be the case, sir," he whispered, "you've lost your last chance to stop Anson Dalton. He goes to Brazil with all the papers for locating the diamond mine, and you and your syndicate friends lose the whole big game!"



CHAPTER XII

THE SEARCHLIGHT FINDS A "DOUBLE"

Yet, though his confidence in success had received a severe jolt, Captain Tom reached out for the megaphone.

"Run in straight and close, Hank," he ordered. "I want every possible second of conversation before that drab boat gets within talking distance of the 'Fulton.'"

The "Restless" and the freighter were now within a mile of each other, and almost head-on. The drab boat, about two miles away, had altered its course so as to pick up the freighter at a more southerly point.

"Run to your table, Joe," commanded the young skipper, "and notify the 'Fulton' that we are going to hail her for a brief pow-wow."

The speed with which young Dawson worked was shown by the fact that, when still half a mile away, the big freighter, hailed by wireless, began to slow down speed. It was plain that she was going to lie to in order to hear the whole of the hail from the "Restless."

"Great Scott, though! Look at that!" suddenly ejaculated Tom Halstead.

The drab seventy-footer had suddenly gone about, making fast westerly time for the shore.

"Go about after the seventy-footer, Hank," almost exploded Halstead, in the intensity of his excitement over this new move. "Dalton doesn't seem to want to try the freighter now. Follow Dalton back to shore."

"But the 'Fulton's' slowing down. You're going to show him the politeness of telling the freighter's captain what it was all about, ain't you?"

"Let Joe do it," replied Tom, tersely. "What's the wireless for?"

Just at this moment Joe Dawson appeared from below.

"Our apologies to the freighter, Joe," called Skipper Tom. "Tell him we're after the drab boat. Tell him that our game is to stop a fugitive from getting out of the United States."

Joe again appeared just as the freighter began to make full headway once more.

"Captain Carson sends you his compliments from the 'Fulton,' Tom, for chasing the fugitive off."

"And now, we're going to chase that fugitive in," uttered Halstead, grimly. "By George! Look at the way that drab boat is beginning to travel. Joe, we can't let her lose us in this fashion."

As the "Fulton" passed out hull down, and then finally vanished on the southern horizon, the chase after the drab seventy-footer became lively and exciting.

"Can you make out Dalton aboard of her?" asked Powell Seaton, as Tom stood forward, leaning against the edge of the forward deck-house, the marine glass as fast to his eyes as though glued there.

"No, sir. If Dalton is aboard, he's keeping out of sight in the cabin."

"Did you see, when the drab boat was more head-on, whether Lemly was at the wheel?"

"The man at the wheel wasn't Lemly, sir, though I believe that fellow is on board as the actual captain," Halstead answered.

"Humph! Is the Drab going to get away from us?" questioned Hank, wonderingly. "My, look at her bow cut water!"

"She's a faster boat than I thought," Tom responded. "But we don't mean to let her get away. Joe, how are we going on speed?"

"I couldn't get another revolution out of the twin shafts without overheating everything," Dawson replied, seriously. "Honestly, Tom, if this speed doesn't suit, I'm afraid we'll have to make the best of it."

"Then don't lose a single inch by bad steering, Hank," Halstead directed, looking around at his helmsman. "Whenever you want relief, let me know."

For five miles the drab seventy-footer kept her lead, though she did not seem able to increase it. That craft was still heading shoreward, and now the low, long, hazy line of the coast was in sight, becoming every minute more plain.

"They're going to head straight for the shore, unless they've some slicker trick hidden up their sleeves," declared Tom Halstead.

"I wonder that they're running so hard from us," mused Powell Seaton.

"Most likely, sir," responded the young skipper, "because Dalton and Lemly believe we have officers aboard. Of course they know—or suspect—that warrants are out charging them with stealing the 'Restless' the other night."

"Suppose Dalton and Lemly are not aboard that boat?" challenged Mr. Seaton, suddenly.

Tom Halstead's lower jaw sagged for just an instant.

"Of course, there's that chance. We may have been fooled, and we may be chasing a straw man in a paper boat right at this minute, sir. Yet, if Dalton were out on the water, with his stolen papers, he'd want to get nowhere else but to Brazil. If he isn't on the water, then he's not trying this route to your Brazilian enemies, and we might as well be out here as on Lonely Island."

As the boat in the lead neared the coast Halstead again kept the marine glass to his eyes.

"There's a little river over yonder," he observed.

"Yes; I know the stream. Hardly more than a creek," replied Mr. Seaton.

"Any deep water there, sir?"

"For only a very little way in. Then the stream moves over a pebbly bottom like a running brook."

"Then it looks, sir, as though Lemly—if he's aboard—plans to run in there and hustle ashore."

"Or else stay and fight," hinted Powell Seaton. "The place is lonely enough for a fight, if the rascals dare try it."

"Hepton!" summoned Halstead, a few moments later. "Don't you think you'd better get up your rifle? You don't need to show it, but someone may send us a shot or two from the drab boat."

Hepton sprang below, bringing up both rifles. Crouching behind the forward deck-house, he examined the magazines of both weapons.

"We're carrying load enough for a squad o' infantry," laughed Hepton, showing his strong, white teeth. "Let those fellers on the Drab try it, if they want to see what we've got."

The seventy-footer was shutting off speed now, going slowly into the mouth of the little river. Almost immediately afterwards her reverse was applied, after which she swung at anchor.

Tom, too, without a word to Hank, who stood by the wheel, reached over, slowing the "Restless" down to a gait of something like eight miles an hour.

"What's the order, sir?" he asked, turning to Mr. Seaton. "Are we to go in and anchor alongside?"

"I—I don't want to run you young men into any too dangerous places," began Powell Seaton, hesitatingly. "I—I——"

"Danger's one of the things we're paid for," clicked Tom Halstead, softly. "It'll all in the charter. Do you want to go in alongside?"

"I—I——"

Bang!

The shot came so unexpectedly that the motor boat boys jumped despite themselves. Hepton cocked one of the rifles, and was about to rise with it, when the young skipper of the "Restless" prodded the man gently with one foot.

"Don't show your guns, Hepton," murmured Tom. "Wait until we find out what that shot was meant for."

No one now appeared on board the drab seventy-footer. There had been no smoke, no whistle of a bullet by the heads of those on the bridge deck of the "Restless."

"That was intended only to make us nervous," grinned Captain Tom.

"Or else to show us that they have fire-arms," suggested Seaton.

"Well, sir, I'm headed to go in alongside, unless you give me other orders," hinted the young skipper.

"Cover about half the rest of the distance, then reverse and lie to," decided Powell Seaton. He now had the extra pair of marine glasses, and was attentively studying both the boat and the shore nearby.

Tom took the wheel himself, stopping where he had been directed. So neatly was headway corrected that the "Restless" barely drifted on the smooth water inshore.

There was now remaining less than an hour of daylight.

"I think I understand their plan, if Dalton is on board," whispered Mr. Seaton to his young captain. "Dalton is waiting until it is dark enough to slip ashore."

"Hm! There's one way you could stop that, if you want to take all the risk," ventured Halstead, grinning thoughtfully.

"How?"

"Well, if it's the plan of anyone aboard the drab boat to slip on shore under cover of darkness, then I could put our tender overboard and row Hepton to one bank of the river with his rifle. Returning, I could row you to the other shore, you to carry the other rifle."

"That would be a bold and open move," agreed Mr. Seaton, gasping at first, then looking thoughtful. "But look at that shore, Halstead. See the thick trees on either bank of the river. Hepton and I couldn't watch a lot of stretch on both banks."

"With our help from the boat you could, sir."

"Again, how?"

"Why, it's shallow enough to drop anchor right here, Mr. Seaton. Then, as soon as it grows the least bit dark, we boys could keep our searchlight turned on the drab boat so that you and Hepton could see every movement on her decks. From a quarter of a mile off you could see anyone swimming ashore and run to stop him. There's no difficulty about it, sir, except the risk."

"Hepton, I must talk that over with you," cried Powell Seaton. "I don't feel that I have any right to run you into too certain danger."

But Hepton smiled again in a way to show his white teeth.

"Don't worry 'bout me, Mr. Seaton. I feel big 'nough to take care of myself, and I enlisted for the whole game, anyway."

"You could keep watch right from this deck," Halstead added. "But then, if anyone slipped ashore from the Drab, you couldn't get on shore fast enough to follow through the woods. You'd lose the trail right after the start."

"Even if I were on shore, and Dalton walked right by me, what could I do?" pondered Powell Seaton. "Of course, I know the sheriff of the county would take him, for going aboard this boat and breaking it loose from the dock the other night. A United States marshal might arrest Dalton, on my request, for piracy in sailing away with the boat. But would I have a right to seize Dalton and hold him—even if able?"

"You can follow him until you do run Dalton into one of the law's officers," proposed Halstead.

"I believe I'm going ashore, anyway, to see what happens," announced Mr. Seaton, after giving the matter a little more thought.

"But let me go ashore, first, on the other bank," begged Hepton. "Then you can take second chance, sir."

"Very good, then," agreed the charter-man.

With the aid of his mates, Captain Tom had the anchor overboard, and the small tender alongside in a jiffy. Hepton stepped down into the smaller craft, carrying his rifle so that it could be seen. Tom himself took the oars to row.

"I'd better put you in on the bank to the left," whispered Halstead, and Hepton nodded.

They passed within forty yards of the stern of the drab boat, yet not a single human being appeared on that mysterious craft.

Having put Hepton on shore, Halstead rowed back for Mr. Seaton. Embarking this second passenger, Tom, this time, rowed a little closer to the seventy-footer lying at anchor in the river's mouth. Now, the head of a man unknown to either of them showed aft.

"Where you-all goin' with so many guns?" this man asked, in a half-jeering tone.

"Night hunting," retorted Tom, dryly, not feeling guilty of a lie since he was certain the other would not believe him.

Landing Mr. Seaton on the other river bank, the young captain of the "Restless" returned to his craft.

By now it was nearly dark.

"We may as well see how the searchlight is working," Joe Dawson suggested.

"Turn it on them, and sweep it around," responded Halstead.

The strong glare of light was found to be working satisfactorily. Dark came on quickly, still without any more signs of life aboard the Drab than had already been observed.

"Supper time, surely," announced Hank, in a glum voice.

"Don't bother about that to-night," objected the young skipper. "Slip down into the galley and make sandwiches enough for all hands. We can eat and watch—must, in fact, if we eat at all."

After the sandwiches had been made and disposed of the Motor Boat Club boys began to find the swinging of the light on the drab boat, on the water and on either river bank, to be growing rather monotonous.

"I wish something would happen," grumbled Hank.

"Now, don't start a fuss about that," yawned Joe. "Something is likely enough to start up at any second."

"It has started," whispered Tom Halstead, swinging the searchlight, just then, across the Drab's hull. "Look there!"

Two much-muffled figures, looking nearly identical, and each of the pair carrying a bag, appeared on deck amidships, one standing on each side of the deck-house. Then, as quickly, by their sides stood two other men who sprang to lower the two small boats that hung at davits. One muffled man and one helper embarked in each boat, the helper in each case rowing swiftly to either bank of the river.

"That's a queer game, but a clever one," muttered Captain Tom, swinging the glaring searchlight and watching.

"It'll mix up Mr. Seaton and Hepton all right," grimaced Joe Dawson. "Each will wonder whether he has Dalton on his side of the river, to follow."

Now, as quickly, the two boat-tenders rowed back to the Drab, and the boats were triced up in a twinkling.

"Say, they've got their anchor up!" cried Hank Butts, in a breathless undertone. "They're going to scoot out on us."

"Then I'm ready to bet," muttered Tom Halstead, "that neither of the muffled men that went ashore was Anson Dalton. They must be trying to throw our crowd off the trail, and now that seventy-footer is trying to get off with Dalton still aboard!"

Whatever the plan was, the Drab was now backing out of the river mouth and swinging around. So far none of her sailing lights were in evidence. She looked more like a pirate craft slinking out into the night on an errand of dire mischief.

Once out of the mouth of the river, the Drab swung around, then began to move ahead. By this time her prow was head-on for the "Restless," as though aimed to strike the latter craft amidships.

Then, as the Drab's speed increased, Tom Halstead vented excitedly:

"Jupiter! They're out to cut us in two while we ride here at anchor!"



CHAPTER XIII

TOM HALSTEAD—READY!

There was no time to raise the anchor. Even had this been possible, it would have been out of the question to get the motors started and running in time to get out of the Drab's way.

Captain Tom Halstead was taken wholly by surprise, yet he was not caught with his wits asleep.

"Make a dive for those sticks, fellows!" he shouted, bounding for the motor room hatchway. "If we get a chance we'll give 'em at least a pat for a blow!"

The sticks of firewood that they had used on the night of their long swim were in the motor room. Tom caught up his, wheeling to bound outside again. Joe Dawson was barely a step behind him.

But Hank—he went as though by instinct for the hitching weight that had already made him famous in the annals of the Motor Boat Club.

Swift as they were, the trio were back on deck just in time to witness the final manoeuvre of the seventy-footer. That craft, not moving very fast, suddenly veered in its course.

Instead of cutting through the "Restless," the larger motor boat swung suddenly so as to come up alongside, rail to rail. And now the whole intention was manifest at a glance, for the figures of six men, with their caps pulled well down over their eyes, appeared at the Drab's rail.

"All hands to repel boarders!" sang out Captain Tom Halstead, his voice ringing defiantly. "Show 'em the best you can!"

Joe swung, with a single-stick trick he had learned and practiced. It was a feint, aimed at the first of the Drab's crew to try to leap aboard. The intended victim threw up his hands to ward off the blow from the top of his head, but he received, instead, a stinging, crushing slap across the face.

Tom thrust one end of his stick for the face of another of the boarding strangers. The fellow strove to protect his face, and would have guarded easily enough, but, instead, the other end of Tom's bludgeon struck him in the pit of his stomach, depriving him of all his wind.

"Woof!" grunted Hank, at the first sign of onslaught.

In both hands he clutched that business-like, though not formidable looking, hitching weight. One man set his foot on deck. Hank, almost with deliberation, dropped the weight on the toes of that foot.

There was a yell of pain. Snatching up the weight instantly, Hank let it fly forward and fall across the toes of another of the boarders.

Two of the strangers were limping now. Another was nursing an injured face, from Joe's heavy blow. Captain Tom's victim had fallen back aboard his home craft, gasping for breath.

The other two of the invaders got aboard the "Restless"—then wished they hadn't, for Hank pursued one of them with his terrifying hitching weight, while Tom and Joe divided the sole remaining enemy between them.

Hardly had the affair begun when it ended; it was all over in an instant. The two who had escaped injury leaped back aboard the Drab. Those who needed assistance were helped back. The Drab drifted away, her vagrant course unheeded at first, for it looked as though all aboard had taken part in that disastrous boarding enterprise.

Tom and Hank sprang for their own anchor, while Joe, as soon as he saw the big motor boats drift apart, dropped into the small boat of the "Restless" and rowed swiftly for shore. Hardly had he touched the beach when Powell Seaton, rifle in hand, bounded forth from cover.

"Put across, and see if we can get Hepton, too," directed the charter-man, in a low voice. "I stepped right up out of the bushes, almost into the face of the fellow who landed on my side of the river. It was neither Dalton nor Lemly. As soon as the fellow saw me he laughed, put a chew of tobacco in his mouth, and went on."

Hardly had Seaton finished speaking when Joe Dawson shot the bow of the little boat against the further bank. During this time Mr. Seaton had kept his eyes on the drab boat, holding his rifle in readiness in case another effort should be made to ram or board the "Restless."

"Oh, you-u-u-u!" called Joe, hailing. There was a sound in the woods, and then Hepton came into sight.

"Did you see the man who landed on your side?" whispered Powell Seaton, as Hepton reached the beach.

"Yes; he was just an ordinary roustabout chap," grunted Hepton, disgustedly. "I had no orders to follow him, so I didn't take the trouble."

"That's right. Jump in and we'll get aboard the 'Restless.'"

Hank had the motors working long before Joe returned with his two passengers, and was standing by. Captain Tom was at the wheel, but keeping the searchlight inquisitively on the Drab.

Now, the seventy-footer began to move off slowly down the coast, going at a speed of perhaps six miles an hour. Halstead, without waiting for orders, went in chase, keeping his place two hundred yards behind the other craft. All the while he kept the searchlight swinging over the Drab, from her port to starboard sides.

"That must annoy those fellows," observed Powell Seaton, with a chuckle, as he stood by the young skipper.

"I reckon it does," returned Tom, dryly. "But it also prevents their letting anyone off the boat without our seeing it. You see, sir, they're only about a quarter of a mile off the coast here. Their small boat could make a quick dash for the shore. Even a good swimmer could go overboard. I don't intend to let anyone get off that seventy-footer without our knowing all about it."

Halstead had not been silent long when he saw a bright flash from the Drab, aft. It was followed, almost immediately, by the sound of a gun. Then a bullet went by about two feet over their heads.

"That was meant for our searchlight," laughed Tom Halstead, coolly. "Those fellows want to put it out of business."

With an ugly cry Hepton leaned over the edge of the forward deck-house, sighting.

"Don't do that," called Captain Tom, sharply. Then he added: "I beg your pardon, Mr. Seaton, but I don't believe you want any shooting to come from us unless it's necessary."

"No, I don't," replied the charter-man, thoughtfully. "Dalton and Lemly seem willing to take desperate chances, acting like pirates, in fact. But we don't want to kill anyone, and, above all, we want to be very sure we have the law on our side."

"They fired our way," urged Hepton, rather stubbornly. "We have a right to defend ourselves."

"But they sent only one shot," replied Seaton. "They might afterwards claim that it was an accidental discharge. Unless they make it very plain that they're playing the part of pirates, we'd better take the best of care not to put ourselves wrong before the law."

"That's all right, sir," admitted Hepton. "But, while I'm willing to take any chances that go with my job, it doesn't seem just fair to ask me to be exposed to bullets from that other boat without the right to answer their fire."

"You can get down before the forward deck-house, Hepton," nodded Halstead, pleasantly. "You can't be hit through the deck-house."

"But you can be hit, fine," objected Hepton.

"Like Mr. Seaton," answered the young skipper, "I'd rather take the chance than do anything to put us in the wrong."

Grumbling a bit, though under his breath, Hepton seated himself where the forward deck-house would protect him. Joe remained leaning nonchalantly over the edge of the house.

"I wonder if they will dare to keep up a fusillade?" he presently said, watching the deck of the drab boat in the glare of light that Halstead now held steadily on it.

"If they fire another shot at us," replied Powell Seaton, "then Hepton and I will crouch over the forward deck-house, rifles ready, and fire at the flash of the third shot. We'll keep within the law, but we won't stand for any determined piracy that we have the power to resist."

"Take the wheel, Hank," called Tom, presently. Then the young skipper signed to his employer that he wanted to speak with him aft.

"Mr. Seaton," began Tom, "I want to ask you a few questions, with a view to making a suggestion that may be worth while."

"Go ahead, Halstead."

"You trust me now, fully? Have you gotten wholly over your suspicions of early this afternoon?"

"Halstead," replied the charter-man, in a tone uneasy with emotion, "I'm wholly ashamed of anything that I may have said or thought. You've shown me, since, how perfectly brave you are. I don't believe a young man with your cool, resolute grit, and your clear head, could be anything but absolutely honest."

"Thank you," acknowledged the young motor boat captain. "Now, Mr. Seaton, though the two sets of papers describing and locating your diamond field are out of your hands, don't you remember the contents of the papers well enough to sit down at a desk and duplicate them?"

"Yes; surely," nodded Mr. Seaton, slowly.

"You feel certain that you can seat yourself and write out a set of papers that would tell a man down in Brazil just how to locate the diamond field?"

"I can, Halstead. It would be a matter of some hours of writing, that's all. But why are you asking this? What plan have you in your mind?"

"Well, I've got a hunch, sir," replied Tom Halstead, quietly, "that you're never going to see the lost papers again. If Anson Dalton found you getting close to him, and knew you could seize the papers, he'd destroy them. It seems to me that our sole game must be to prevent his ever getting those papers to Brazil ahead of a second set that you can just as well write to-night."

"If we trail him all the time," replied Powell Seaton, thoughtfully, "we can know whether the fellow succeeds in getting away on a ship to Brazil. He can't go on that drab boat ahead, can he?"

"The seventy-footer would be quite good enough a boat to make the voyage to Brazil," Halstead answered. "So would the 'Restless,' for that matter. The only trouble would be that neither boat could carry anywhere near enough gasoline for such a voyage."

"Then Anson Dalton, if he gets away to Brazil, will have to board some regular liner or freighter? Well, as long as we keep him in sight, we'll know whether he's doing that."

"But Dalton will get desperate," Tom warned his employer. "While holding onto the papers he has succeeded in obtaining, he can make a copy, and he may very likely determine to send the copies to your old enemy, Terrero, by mail. Now, Mr. Seaton, it seems to me that your best hope is to duplicate the missing papers at once, and, if you can't find in haste a messenger you'll trust, then you had better send the papers by registered mail to your friends in Rio Janeiro."

Powell Seaton stared at the young skipper, going deathly pale.

"Captain Halstead, don't you understand that the possession of such a set of papers, at Rio Janeiro, would mean that the possessor could locate and file a patent to the diamond field, of which no one, save myself, at present knows the exact location? Why, even if the postal authorities do their very best to put the papers in the proper hands, anyone like a dishonest clerk might get the papers in his hands. The temptation would be powerful for anyone who had the papers to locate the mine at once for himself."

"I understand, fully," agreed Captain Tom. "But the whole thing has become a desperate case, now, and some desperate chances must be taken if you're to have a good chance to win out against Terrero and his crooked friends."

"Then you—you—honestly believe I'd better make out another set of papers and mail them to my friends of the syndicate, at Rio Janeiro?" faltered Mr. Seaton.

"Yes; unless you prefer to be almost certain of losing your fight for the great fortune. For Dalton, of course, knows that you can send a set of the papers by mail. He'll feel like taking the same desperate chance in order to have a better chance of getting in ahead of you."

"By mail—even registered mail?" groaned Mr. Seaton. "It seems an awful—desperate chance to take. Yet——"

"Prepare a duplicate set of the papers," proposed Tom Halstead, "and, if you'll trust me, I'll board the first Rio-bound steamer that we meet, and go through for you. I'll give you every guarantee that's possible to find your people in Rio and turn the papers over to them."

"Will you?" demanded Seaton, peering eagerly into his young skipper's eyes.

"Then you'll trust me to go as your messenger to Rio?"

"Yes, in a minute, Halstead! Yet I'm thinking of the great danger you'd be running. At this moment Terrero's spies must be plentiful in Rio Janeiro. Why, even every steamer that leaves New York for Brazil may carry his men aboard, alert, watchful and deadly. You don't know what a man like Terrero is like. The constant danger to you——"

"Constant danger," laughed Tom Halstead, softly, "is something that most men learn readily to face. Otherwise, wars would be impossible."

"But that is very different," retorted Powell Seaton, quickly. "In war men have the constant elbow-touch, the presence and support of comrades. But you would be alone—one against hundreds, perhaps, at the very instant when you set foot ashore in Brazil."

"I'll take the chance, if you let me," declared Captain Tom. "But, now, sir, you're losing time. Why don't you go below, get writing materials, and start in earnest to get out the duplicate papers?"

"I will," nodded the charter-man. "Should I change my mind, it will be easy enough to burn the sheets after I have written them."

As Powell Seaton turned to go down into the cabin Joe Dawson called sharply:

"Tom, something's up ahead! Come here, quickly!"



CHAPTER XIV

GRIT GOES UP THE SIGNAL MAST

Even before Captain Tom turned he heard the sudden throb of the twin screws of the propellers, and felt the speed being reversed. That told him, instantly, that Joe had found some reason for stopping the "Restless" in a hurry.

As the young commander bounded forward the steady ray of his own searchlight showed him that the seventy-footer had also stopped her headway.

Hank was still at the wheel, but young Dawson was beside him on the bridge deck.

"There they go—dropping their anchor overboard," cried Joe, pointing. "The water's shallow along this coast, of course."

"We'll move right in, between that boat and the shore, and drop anchor, too," decided Captain Halstead, taking the wheel and reaching for the engine control. He sent the "Restless" slowly forward into place, then shut off headway, ordering:

"Joe, you and Hank get our anchor over. Dalton can't get anything or anybody ashore, now, without our knowing it."

"But what can his plan be, anchoring on an open coast?" demanded young Dawson, as he came back from heaving the anchor.

"Our job is just to wait and see," laughed Captain Halstead.

Mr. Seaton came on deck again, to learn what this sudden stopping of the boat meant.

"It's some trick, and all we can do is to watch it, sir," reported the young skipper of the "Restless," pointing to the anchored Drab. "Yet I think the whole situation, sir, points to the necessity for your taking my recent advice and acting on it without the loss of an hour."

"Either the registered mail, or yourself as a special messenger," whispered Seaton, hoarsely, in the boy's ear. "Yes, yes! I'll fly at the work."

"Don't hurry back below, though," advised Halstead. "Stroll along, as though you were going below for a nap. A night glass on the seventy-footer is undoubtedly watching all our movements."

As the two boats swung idly at anchor, on that smooth sea, their bows lay some three hundred yards apart. The night air was so still, and voices carried so far, that those on the deck of the "Restless" were obliged to speak very quietly.

Over on the seventy-footer but one human being showed himself to the watchers on the smaller boat. This solitary individual paced the drab boat's bridge deck, puffing at a short-stemmed pipe.

"I'd give a lot to be smart enough to guess what their game is," whispered Joe, curiously.

"It's a puzzle," sighed Captain Tom Halstead. "It looks, now, as though Dalton and Lemly are trying to hold us here while someone else does something on shore."

"Then you think the two who landed on either bank of the river——"

"We know that neither of them was Dalton or Lemly, but I'm beginning to suspect that one, or both, of those fellows carried messages, somewhere and of some nature. In that case, we're letting our curiosity hold us up here while the enemy are accomplishing something at some other point."

"Confound 'em!" growled Joe, prodding the bulwarks with his toe. "They're clever rascals!"

"Meanwhile," whispered Tom, "I've just been thinking of something else that we ought to be doing."

"What?"

"There may be another steamship for Rio Janeiro passing somewhere in these waters at any time. We ought to send out a call on the wireless at least once an hour. There's something else in the wind, old fellow, and we do want to know when the first steam vessel for Rio passes through these waters."

"Then I'll go below and get at work at the sending key," proposed Dawson. "Send out the wireless call once an hour, you say?"

"Yes; yet we don't want to forget that we're being watched all the time from that old drab pirate yonder. Don't let the enemy see you going to the cabin."

"I'll drop down into the motor room and use the passageway through."

Dawson was gone ten minutes. When he returned he shook his head, then stood looking out over the sea. Excepting the "Restless" and the drab seventy-footer there was no craft in sight. Not so much as a lighthouse shed its beams over the ocean at this point of the coast.

"Say, it's weird, isn't it?" muttered Joe Dawson. "We can't see a thing but ourselves, yet down in the cabin I've just been chatting with the Savannah boat, the New Orleans boat, two Boston fruit steamers, the southbound Havana liner and a British warship. Look out there. Where are they? Yet all are within reach of my electric wave!"

"There are no longer any pathless roads of the sea—not since the wireless came in," declared Tom Halstead. "If there were enough vessels to relay us we could talk direct with London now. The next thing will be a telephone in every stateroom, with a wireless central on the saloon deck or the spar deck. But gracious! We've been forgetting all about our poor prisoner in the starboard stateroom. He must have a royal case of hunger by now. Tell Hank to take him in some food and to feed the poor fellow, since he can't use his own hands."

Later time began to drag by. There were few signs of life aboard the seventy-footer. Sending Joe and Hepton down to the motor room berths as watch below, Tom kept Hank on deck with him. Bye-and-bye Joe and Hepton took their trick on deck, while Halstead and Hank Butts went below for some sleep. Through most of the night Powell Seaton remained hard at work over his writing, often pausing to read and make some corrections.

Morning found the two boats still at anchor. With sunrise came a stiffer wind that rocked the "Restless" a good deal.

"Now, look out for one of the sudden September gales," warned Captain Tom Halstead, as, after the second short sleep of the night, he came up on deck, yawning and stretching. He stepped over to read the barometer, then turned quickly to Joe.

"Looks like something's going to happen, doesn't it?" queried Dawson.

"Yes; there's a disturbance heading this way," admitted Tom, looking around at the sky. "Yet it may be hours, or a day, off yet. If we were going under canvas, though, I'd shorten it."

"The captain of the Drab evidently believes in being prepared," hinted Joe, nodding in the direction of the other craft. Two men were now visible on the deck of the seventy-footer. They were taking up anchor, though not doing it with either speed or stealth.

"I reckon we have to take our sailing orders from them," nodded the young skipper. "You'd better get the motors on the mote, Joe. I'll have Hank and Hepton help me up with our anchor."

Soon afterwards the Drab was heading north at a ten-mile gait; half a minute later the "Restless" started in leisurely pursuit.

After half an hour or so the Drab headed into another open roadstead, anchoring a quarter of a mile from shore. Tom dropped anchor some three hundred yards to the southward.

"Keep your eye seaward, Hank," directed the young skipper. "Joe, if you'll see whether Mr. Seaton wants anything, Hepton and I will keep a keen eye on the shore."

"Mr. Seaton is asleep in the port stateroom," Dawson reported back a moment later. "I've made eight calls through the night, but I'll get at the sending key again, and see whether there's anything in our line within hail."

Hardly had Joe Dawson vanished below when Skipper Tom uttered a sudden exclamation. A sharp, bright glint of light from under the trees on shore caught his watchful eye.

"Look there!" the young captain called, pointing to the flash.

"There's another," muttered Hank Butts, pointing further up the coast.

"By Jimminy, there's a third," cried Hepton, pointing.

"Signals for the Dalton-Lemly crew," uttered Tom, disgustedly. "They are getting news, now, and of a kind we can't read. Hank! Call Mr. Seaton. He ought to be on deck, watching this."

The charter-man was speedily up into the open.

In the meantime Joe, at the powerful sending apparatus below, sent the spark leaping across the spark-gap, and, dashing up the aerials, there shot into space the electric waves intended to be gathered in by any other wireless operator within fifty or sixty miles.

Crash-sh! Ass-ss-ssh! hissed the spark, bounding, leaping to its work like a thing of almost animal life.

Bang! This last note that came on the air was sharp, clear, though not loud. Whew-ew! A bullet uttered a swift sigh as it sped past the signaling mast twenty feet over the heads of the watchers of the "Restless."

"Confound it! Rascals on shore are shooting at us," exclaimed Powell Seaton, turning swiftly to peer at the forest-clad shore line.

"No; they're shooting at our aerials!" retorted Captain Tom Halstead.

Bang! Whe-ew-ew! Clash! Then there was a metallic clash, for the second rifle shot from the land had scored a fair bull's-eye among the clustered aerial wires. There was a rattle, and some of the severed wire ends hung down.

With an ugly grunt, Hepton bounded down into the motor room, passing up the two rifles.

"We must be careful, though," warned Mr. Seaton. "This time they're not shooting at us."

"Load and be ready, though!" uttered Captain Tom, dryly. "They soon will be shooting at us."

Several more shots clattered out, and two more of the bullets did further damage among the aerial wires. Then Joe came dancing up on deck, his eyes full of ire.

"The infernal scoundrels have put our spark out of business," he cried, disgustedly. "We haven't wire enough left to send five miles. Where do the shots come from?"

"From the shore," Halstead replied, "but see for yourself if you can locate the marksmen. We can't. They're using smokeless powder, and are hidden so far in under the trees that we can't even make out the flashes."

"It's out of my line to locate them," announced Joe Dawson, with vigor. "It's mine to see that the aerials are put on a working basis again."

He vanished, briefly, into the motor room, soon reappearing with a coil of wire and miscellaneous tools.

"Good!" commended Halstead, joyously. "Mr. Seaton, we have wire enough to repair a dozen smashes, if need be. On up with you, Joe. I'm at your heels."

Joe started to climb the mast, using the slightly projecting footholds placed there for that purpose. Tom let him get a clear lead, then started up after his chum.

From the shore broke out a rapid, intermittent volley. Steel-clad bullets sang a song full of menace about that signal mast.

"Come down, boys! You'll be killed!" roared Mr. Seaton, looking up apprehensively.

While Joe kept on climbing, in silence, Skipper Tom looked down with a cool grin.

"Killed?" he repeated. "Well, if we're not, we'll fix the aerials. We can't allow strangers to put us out of business!"

Joe found his place to go to work. Tom halted, with his head on a level with his chum's knees. From the shore there came another burst of rifle-fire, and the air about them was sternly melodious with the pest-laden hum of bullets. Two of the missiles glancingly struck wires just above Dawson's head.

In the lull that followed Joe's voice was heard:

"Hold the wire, Tom. Pass me the pliers."



CHAPTER XV

PLAYING SALT WATER BLIND MAN'S BUFF

"I've got to do something!" growled Hepton, his teeth tightly shut.

Raising his rifle to his shoulder, making his guess by sound, the man let two shots drive at the shore, not far back from the beach's edge. Then, after a pause and a long look, he let three more shots drive, slightly changing his sighting each time.

"Come on, Mr. Seaton," he urged. "They're firing on your skipper and engineer this time. It's up to us to answer 'em—clear case of self-preservation. The first law that was ever invented!"

Bang! bang! rang Seaton's rifle, twice. He, too, fired for the forest, near the beach. It was like the man to hope he had hit no one, but he was determined to stop if possible this direct attack on Tom Halstead and Joe Dawson.

Evidently the first sign of resistance was not to stop the bothering tactics of those on shore, for one wire that Joe was handling was zipped out of his hands.

"They mean business, the enemy," called down Skipper Tom, softly, to the tune of a low laugh. "But we'll get rigged, in spite of them. All we ask for is that they let us get the wire fixed often enough for a few minutes of sending and receiving once an hour."

Hepton and his employer continued to fire, using a good deal of ammunition. The guard was much more vengeful in his firing and in his attempts to locate the hidden marksmen than was Seaton.

"That's what those two men went ashore for last night," called down Halstead, quietly. "First of all, to fool us and get us guessing, and, next, to hunt up some of their own rascals for this work. The seventy-footer led us into this trap on purpose. Finely done, wasn't it?"

"It shows," retorted Mr. Seaton, wrathily, "that along this sparsely settled shore there is a numerous gang organized for some law-breaking purpose."

"Smuggling, most likely," guessed Tom. "And it must pay unusually well, too, for them to have such a big and so well-armed a crew."

Three more shots sounded from the shore. All of the trio of bullets went uncomfortably close to the young skipper and engineer, though doing no actual damage. Hepton, with his ear trained to catch the direction of the discharge sounds, changed his guess, firing in a new direction.

"There, it's done, until it's put out of business again," muttered Joe, finally. "Slide, Tom."

Almost immediately after Dawson disappeared the crash of the spark across the spark-gap and up the wires was heard. The young wireless operator of the "Restless" was making the most of any time that might be left to him.

"How about that storm that threatened last night, captain?" inquired Mr. Seaton. "Has it come any nearer?"



"No, sir," replied the motor boat captain, shaking his head. "It acted the way many September storms do on this coast. It passed by us, out to sea, and ought to be down by Havana by now. The barometer has been rising, and is at nearly the usual pressure. But I don't like the looks of the sky over there"—pointing.

"Why not?" queried the charter-man, following the gesture with his eyes.

"We'll be playing in great luck, sir," answered the young captain, "if a fog doesn't roll in where the storm threatened to come."

"Fog?" Mr. Seaton's tone had an aghast ring to it.

"Yes, sir."

"Are you sure, Captain?"

"No, sir. It's only a possibility, but a good one."

Hepton was making his rifle bark again, deep, snappy and angry in its throat, in answer to a challenge from shore, but Powell Seaton stood surveying the weather with a look of deepest concern.

Then he turned to regard the drab seventy-footer at anchor near by.

"It would be the enemy's real chance, wouldn't it?" he inquired.

"Just what I dread, sir," Captain Tom admitted. "Let us be wrapped in a thick bank of fog, and the Drab would be out of our vision and hearing in a very short time."

"Shades of hard luck!" groaned the charter-man, growing pallid.

Off on the seaward horizon an indefinite haze was soon observable. To the untrained eye it didn't look like much. Though Mr. Seaton spoke of it, he didn't appear much concerned.

"It'll be a pity to bother him until the time comes when he throbs with worry," thought Captain Tom Halstead, sympathetically. "But if that low-hanging haze doesn't spell t-r-o-u-b-l-e, then I've been raised among a different breed of sea fogs!"

The crashing of sparks over the spark-gap had ceased for the present, and Joe, reporting that there was no wireless craft within reach of his limited aerials, was on deck once more, waiting until the time should come around for another trial.

Hank had gone below to start the motors, connecting them with the dynamo, to renew the supply of electrical "juice" in the storage batteries, which was running low, as proved by the last message sent.

The chug-chug of the twin motors was heard over on the seventy-footer, and soon an unknown man, his cap pulled well down over his eyes, appeared at the stern of the Drab. He took a long, keen look at the "Restless."

"He's wondering if we're going to hoist the mud-hook," smiled Tom.

"And hoping that we are," grinned Joe. "Oh, but we must be an eyesore to those wistful scoundrels!"

Powell Seaton now spent most of his time gazing at the line of haze, which, by degrees, was growing bigger and coming nearer.

"Captain Halstead," he faltered, "I'm beginning to feel certain that you're a prophet."

"Or a Jonah?" laughed Tom, though it was not a very cheerful sort of laugh.

"No, no, no!" cried the charter-man, earnestly. "Never that! The little luck that I've had in these trying days has all come through you youngsters. Without you I'd have been flat on my back in the fearful game that I'm playing with such desperate hopefulness against hope. But I see our fog is coming in as a sure thing. If it envelops us, what can you do with regard to that drab-tinted sea-monster over yonder?"

"It depends upon the depth and duration of the fog, sir," Halstead answered. "We have our motors going. At the first strong sign of our getting hemmed in by it we'll lift our mud-hook [the anchor] and move in closer. If the fog isn't too thick we may be able to take up a position where we can at least observe her dimly. If she starts to pull out into a fog-bank, we'll follow at her heels, keeping as close as necessary to keep the Drab's stern flag-pole in sight. We won't lose her if there's any way of stopping it."

The advance guard of the fog was in upon them by the time that Joe went once more to his sending table in the forward end of the cabin. The light mist extended to the shore, though it did not altogether screen it. But the lookout on the Drab's deck appeared wholly watchful at the weather side of the craft.

"Not in touch with any other wireless boat yet," reported Dawson, coming on deck, presently.

"Look at that heavier white curtain rolling in," uttered Powell Seaton, in a tone near to anguish.

Whoever was in the drab boat's pilot house took occasion to toot derisively twice on the auto whistle.

"That's as much as warning us that their turn is coming," declared Mr. Seaton, wrathfully.

Their faces were wet, now, with the fog as it rolled in. Slowly the nearby shore faded, wrapped in the mist.

"We'd better get up anchor," decided Skipper Tom. "Come along, Hank, and you, Hepton."

As the anchor came up and was stowed, Captain Halstead moved the deck speed control ever so little. The "Restless" began to barely move through the water. They overhauled the seventy-footer, passing within a hundred feet of her starboard rail. Yet only the same deck watch appeared in sight. He favored those on the bridge deck of the "Restless" with a tantalizing grin.

Halstead slowly circled the drab seventy-footer, Mr. Seaton keeping ever a watchful eye on the stranger.

"There! They're hoisting anchor!" muttered the charter-man, at last.

"I saw 'em start," nodded the young skipper. "And the fog is growing thicker every minute."

"How are you going to beat them, if they try hard to get away?"

"I don't know," confessed Halstead, honestly. "We may keep 'em in trail, but the chances are all in favor of the drab boat."

Presently the seventy-footer slipped slowly away from her anchorage. Halstead promptly closed in, keeping not more than a hundred feet behind her drab stern. If the fog grew no heavier, and the enemy's speed no greater, he could maintain his position.

But the sea-born fog continued to come, looking as though it arrived in ever-increasing billows.

Once the seventy-footer's stern vanished for a moment or two. Tom, cautiously increasing the speed, soon came in sight of that drab stern once more.

"I don't want to croak, sir," warned the young motor boat skipper, "but, luck aside, it looks as though we're about done for in this salt water blindman's buff."

"I realize it," nodded Powell Seaton.

Just then the seventy-footer crawled ahead again into the fog, and was lost to the pursuer. Throwing the wheel somewhat to port, Captain Halstead tried to come up on the Drab's quarter. A full minute's anxious suspense followed, but the enemy's stern did not show through the white shroud of the atmosphere.

Then Halstead threw off the power without applying the reverse. The "Restless" drifted under what was left of her headway.

"They've done it," uttered Tom Halstead, grimly. "They've given us the slip—gotten away in this white mass of mystery!"

Shaking, Powell Seaton leaned against the deck-house, his face pallid with sheer misery.



CHAPTER XVI

A GLEAM OF HOPE THROUGH THE SHROUD OF FOG

Resting one hand lightly on the top spokes of the wheel, young Halstead turned to his employer with a look of keenest sympathy.

"Is there any order you wish to give now, Mr. Seaton?"

"What order can I give," demanded the charter-man, with a piteous smile, "unless it be to say, 'find the drab boat'?"

Tom made a grimace.

"Of course I know how senseless that order would be," pursued Seaton, with a nervous twitching of his lips. In fact, at this moment it filled one with pity, just to witness the too-plain signs of his inward torment and misery.

There was a pause, broken, after a few moments, by the charter-man saying, as he made a palpable effort to pull himself together:

"Halstead, you've shown so much sense all along that I leave it to you to do whatever you deem best."

Skipper Tom's brow cleared at once. A look of purpose flashed into his eyes.

"Then we'll keep eastward out to sea, sir, or a little bit to the northeast, until we get out in the usual path of the southbound steamers."

"And after that?" demanded Powell Seaton, eagerly.

"All we can do, sir, then, will be to wait until we get a wireless communication with other vessels."

"Go ahead, lad."

Tom moved the speed control slowly, until the "Restless" went loafing along at a speed of six miles an hour. Heading weatherward, he gave more heed to the wheel, for there were signs that the water was going to roughen somewhat.