"It does fit, doesn't it," Tommy cried. "And, Jack, the poetry Sylvia breathed at you—wasn't it about the same thing our little Spanish girl sang?"

"It had the same general idea," I admitted.

"There you are, sir," Gates announced, with a satisfied air. "So there isn't a thing unusual about your dream, arfter all. It's as reasonable as the general run."

Monsieur did not relish having his big occult smoke blown away in this fashion; he looked at us with rather a sickish expression, as a boy might have if someone stuck a pin in his toy balloon. But it was such a relief to get back to practicalities that we let him sulk.

"Jack," Tommy asked, "do you think her real name is Sylvia?"

"Yes; I'm sure of that, anyhow!"

"How're you sure of it?"

"It fits her so absolutely," I answered with decision.

"But Revenge would fit her, too, wouldn't it? That's sweet," he grinned.

"Or Constancy," the professor smiled, for once becoming inspired as he threw off his grouch.

"Try Ignorance!" This again from Tommy, who made an attempt to look blissful and only succeeded in making himself ridiculous, I thought.

Old Gates now stretched, cocked an eye up at the weather and, in a drawl, asked:

"Would it be supposing a great deal, sir, to suggest that the lady might be named Much-Learning?"

Whereupon we laughed uproariously, and Tommy slapped him on the knee, exclaiming:

"Papa Gates, you've hit it! Truly, she hath made us mad!"

"All the same," I cried, arising and laughing down at them, "there's one thing you can't explain away! The big adventure's come at last!—the wildest chase——"

"Love chase," Tommy interposed.

"Chase," I repeated, "that man ever started! Are you fellows game enough to see it through—to the very end?"

"Are we?" Tommy yelled, springing to his feet. "To the very end! What say, Gates?—Professor?"

"To the very end, sir," the old skipper's face beamed happily.

"Why, yes, my boys," Monsieur declared. "To the very end,—certainement!"

And Gates must have confided this to the crew, for later, as I passed the mate, that worthy gave his forelock a pull and whispered:

"To the very end, sir!"

It pleased me immensely.



CHAPTER VI

A VOICE FROM THE WATER

A perfect tropical night crept down on us, with the sky a deep and velvety blue, and the stars low enough to touch. Brilliant phosphorescence dashed from our bow and a silvery streak trailed in our wake emphasizing the enchantment as the Whim rose, leaned, and dipped over the bosom of the breathing Gulf. So, also, were my hopes; now up, now down, on the breast of another fickle monster. Love and the sea! Have they not always been counterparts? Do they not span the known and unknown in each man's world, carrying some in safety—others destroying?

It must have been nine o'clock when the forward watch called and, springing to the rail, peering through the darkness, we saw down upon the horizon the fixed white eye and three red sectors of the Key West light.

"A good run, Gates."

"Nothing of our size can beat it, sir."

"You think the Orchid will be in harbor?"

"I carn't say, sir. She had six hours' start of us, and could have left."

"How long do we lay off this burg?" Tommy asked, sauntering up.

"That depends. If the mysterious yacht's here we'll stay till something happens."

"And if she isn't," he nudged the professor, "we'll comb out the universe. You get that, don't you? A nice fat job, I'll say it is! How'll we know which way to start? Gates, couldn't you get a peep at her papers in the port?" But the skipper solemnly shook his head, saying:

"It carn't be done, sir."

"Well, Jack, when customs are finished we'll take the launch and comb out the harbor, anyhow! She'll be anchored nearby, like as not."

Not caring to tie up at the dock we chose a berth far enough out to escape the electric glare ashore, and had hardly swung-to when Gates was off in his gig to clear our papers. The port officials were astir and accommodatingly looked us over without loss of time, for the skipper had mentioned our wish to leave whenever the spirit moved us. Those, indeed, had been his identical words, and I wondered if they were prophetic—whenever the spirit moved us!

They were a nice pair of fellows, those American officers, and before going into business—a mere formality in our case—we gathered in the cockpit for a long straw and a bowl of ice. The occasion was more agreeable for possessing that sense of aloofness one feels at being on the edge, yet safely beyond the reach, of a little city's night diversions and excitements.

"I suppose you've nothing dutiable," one said, knowing we had left Havana unexpectedly soon.

"Nothing," Tommy volunteered.

"But, yes," Monsieur exclaimed. "I shall declare!"

"About the only thing he brought away was a wad of money from a roulette game," I laughed.

"Ah, I surprise you," he cried, in high good humor, ducking below; and was soon heard struggling up the stairs, crying: "Give me help!"

Into our hands then he began thrusting packages of cigars; packages containing a dozen boxes each, until the cockpit looked like moving day in a tobacco shop. Behind the last of these, he came.

"Oh, la la," Tommy's jaw dropped. "Where did you tie up with this stuff? We've been together all the time!"

"Not all the time," the professor chuckled. "Before you were awake this morning I was in town for camera supplies, and brought back, also, much of that most genial and ameliorating of influences exerted upon us in life—cigars! How much do I pay?"

"How many have you?"

"Ten thousand."

"Ten thousand cigars!" We stared at him.

"That's a lot of ameliorating influence," one of the officers laughed. "But, in spite of it, I'll have to charge you on nine thousand, nine hundred—unless a hundred belong to each of your friends. Everyone's entitled to bring in a hundred free."

"A hundred are mine," Tommy spoke up at once. "I haven't won cigars so fast, ever! Jack, you for a hundred. Gates, you, too. Colonel," he turned to the officer—out of the Army he scattered the titles of Colonel, Judge, Governor and Parson with a free hand—"suppose you all take a hundred each. It'll be a whole lot cheaper for Sir Walter, here!"

The professor was giggling.

"They have cost me nothing," he cried, "for last night I have won almost a thousand dollars at that wretched place—see, here is plenty with which to pay!"

And a fortunate thing it was that he had, being called on for something in the neighborhood of three hundred dollars.

The officer—Hardwick, by name—and his associate were good fellows, as I have said. They had greeted us as congenial spirits and, probably on this account, I noticed some embarrassment on his part when he leaned into the light and slowly looked over the money Monsieur had given him. The rest of us were conversing in a more or less distrait fashion till this unpleasant duty should be finished, when he took an electric torch from his pocket and flashed it on one of the bills; then on another, and so through the lot. Hesitatingly he touched Monsieur's arm, asking:

"Is this the money you won last night?"

"That? It is just as they paid me."

A moment of silence, then:

"I'm sorry to tell you, but these two fifty-dollar bills are counterfeits."

There ensued an absolute hush, and before my eyes arose the vision of Sylvia's father paying his supper check with a crisp fifty.

"Counterfeit," the professor mused, putting out a hand for them and moving nearer the light. "Strange! Just today I was speaking of a counterfeiter!" And Tommy, in an awed voice, asked:

"You don't think it's more dreams?"

The officials, I rather suspected, were beginning to look at us askance. Our various attitudes at this discovery were scarcely in accordance with the usually accepted actions of innocent people; on the contrary, with but a grain of imagination, we might be branded as a trio of rascals trying to stall out of a tight place. My apprehension was more confirmed when Hardwick, a shade less cordial, said:

"As a United States official, I should like to hear your views about these."

Now Tommy looked across at me and I saw that he was awake. Monsieur, on the other hand, remained blissfully indifferent that anything might be out of the ordinary—except, of course, being loaded with a hundred dollars of bad money, which does not happen every day.

"My counterfeiter?" he smiled innocently. "Yes, he could have done these. His plates are all but perfect. And these bills—you will admit they almost fooled you!" Whereupon he laughed.

Tommy fidgeted, saying:

"Have a care, gezabo, or you'll be sending us to the rock pile!"

"My friend is cut-upping," Monsieur beamed on the official, but met with no more hearty response than the dry acquiescence:

"I've no doubt of it. But suppose you tell me more of your other friend—the counterfeiter!"

"Friend? My friend?" Monsieur's face now became the picture of horror. "I was telling these boys of one who disappeared years ago, and afterwards the police showed me some plates found in his rooms! My friend!"

Hardwick began to laugh.

"Please accept my apologies, but, really, for the moment——"

"Don't mention it," Tommy interrupted him, handing across a newly opened box of cigars. "I understand you—the professor couldn't!"

Returning to the important subject, Hardwick said:

"Whoever put these out is probably in Cuba. You got them at the cafe——?"

"Quite so," Monsieur exclaimed, warming up with the notion of doing detective work. "I was playing roulette—but, pardon me, you have heard."

"Do you remember any one around the table who showed new-looking bills?"

"No. We were the only ones playing, and but a few were looking on."

"The restaurant was crowded," Tommy said, "and connects with the gambling rooms. Mightn't they send money back and forth if needed?"

"Quite probable."

In the silence that followed I started twice to tell him that Sylvia's father had used a new bill of that denomination, yet the words would not come. It seemed a sneaky thing to do, after she had turned to me for help. Yet, if she were in danger, what quicker way to safety than arrest the old vulture who had her in his power? So I said:

"Mr. Hardwick, last night in that restaurant I saw a man——" but this time something stopped my words. It was a voice, a girl's voice, beautiful with an impassioned ring of protest, that cried from some place near us on the water:

"It isn't fair!"

It isn't fair! Oh, the just and pleading accusation of that cry! I sprang up, loudly calling her name:

"Sylvia!"

There was not a breath of sound. Those with whom I had been conversing were as mute as graven images, but in the black pall just beyond our taffrail drifted the magnetic presence toward which every nerve and fiber of my body pointed;—pointed, aye, tugged and wrestled with my poor flesh to be free! Yet, silence; all silence. No sound, no vision, no anything to guide me, other than my flashing brain and thumping heart which spoke of her.

I saw one of our sailors staring at the water with strange owlish eyes, and yelled at him:

"Into the gig, man!"

But this was frustrated before he moved, for some black shadow, showing vaguely, glided out from beneath our rail and disappeared. I could not be sure that I saw it, but the sailor did because he crossed himself.

"It ain't no use—now, sir," he managed to say.

My own eyes were trying to follow the eerie, silent thing which had passed so spookily into the night, leaving the merest suggestion of phosphorescence after it. Then an arm slipped affectionately about my shoulders, and I felt that Tommy was also standing by, looking along the trail of deadened sound. His face showed excitement, but he whispered steadily enough:

"Come and sit down."

Indeed, now that the thing had disappeared, I felt like an ass; and, resuming my seat, attempted to make the best of it.

"Really," I laughed, "you fellows mustn't judge a man too critically. There was something in the voice of that young lady which took me off my guard, and recalled—well, it recalled what you've all probably had recalled by one means or another, at some time or other, during your—er—lives." And I gave a weakish smile, waving my hand toward any old thing in sight by way of saying: "You know, old chaps, how just that one girl plays the devil with a fellow, sometimes!"

But the government officials received this in a different spirit than that which I had hoped to arouse. They looked at me with a gravity most disquieting, and Hardwick, suspicion written in every line of his face, asked:

"Is the young lady a member of your party?"

"Heavens, no," I answered quickly. "Oh, no," I vigorously repeated. "We don't know her, at all—none of us!"

An ominous silence followed this emphatic denial, and I could actually feel him making up his mind about us. It was an awful moment. At last Tommy flecked the ash from his cigar and, with great deliberation, asked:

"Colonel, do you believe in ghosts?"

"If you're serious," Hardwick snapped, "I certainly do not!"

"I'm serious, all right," Tommy purred, and I knew, from the unusually soft quality of his voice, that, indeed, he was—"for, if you don't believe in ghosts, you believe we're a bunch of damn crooks—oh, yes you do!—and I may say that if you don't, you're a damn fool. Now you see how serious I am, and how serious this affair is! This man was telling the exact truth when he said that none of us have ever heard that voice. If we actually did hear it just now, the coincidence that brought a small boat past us at this time of night, and prompted some woman in it to speak when and what she did, is more inexplicable to me than you think it is to you—because you've made up your mind to understand it. I can, however, understand how any sweet voice on a night like this might make my friend skid off his usually sane and normal track, because——" he hesitated, adding slowly: "Hardwick, I can't go into my friend's private affairs, but I wish to tell you that he's had a hell of a jolt, and on account of a memory—a memory, Hardwick—we're at Key West tonight. I trust, sir, that you won't misjudge, but rather fit these fragments and supply the needed others; for I know that your appreciation of—er—things is too delicate to allow me to proceed."

Be it noted that Tommy did tell but the simple truth; and, what is more, he told it with such sincerity that, in a large measure, our embarrassment became shifted over to our guests. Personally, I felt like a howling ass to be staked out and exhibited as somebody's jilted Romeo, but this was a welcome compromise; thrice welcome, since Hardwick's next words showed that he had forgotten, or dismissed, the prelude to my burst of confidence about "a man in the restaurant," for arising he said:

"Well, we've kept you longer than we should. If this gentleman will give my government good money for its revenue we'll bid you bon voyage. I suppose there's no objection to my keeping those?" He pointed to the spurious bills.

"I have paid dearly for them," the professor remonstrated.

"I'm sorry, but you won't lose any more than you've already lost—nor gain more, as you won't think of using them!"

"Why should I not use them? I will use them—certainement!"

"Be explicit, or forever hold your peace," Tommy laughed. "Can't you see the man reaching for his handcuffs?"

But Monsieur, thoroughly aroused, waved the crisp bills with a great show of indignation, crying:

"If there is a way to run this cheat to earth I, alone, will know it! Then you will want me to be telling you! For my own pleasure I have made a study of counterfeiters and their methods. Perhaps it may surprise you to learn that the police of Europe come to Bucharest and consult with me, eh? Thus, if I may also help you, I must retain my bills!"

We laughed, although I felt tremendously proud of the professor, having had no idea he was such a wonder; and Hardwick said, bowing:

"Then help yourself so I, also, may be helped. But let me take one for my government and, when you finish with the other, mail it to me with your report. I shall appreciate your assistance, really."

Monsieur was delighted.

They left us then, and again we settled about the cockpit; each waiting for one of the others to begin. My own thoughts were like a whirlwind, and my ears strained with listening toward the black Gulf—listening for a voice, or the unnamable noise of the gods knew what, that might float to me across the water. I think Tommy half expected me to suggest that we take one of the small boats, and went to his room to put on darker clothes. In a few minutes Monsieur yawned and followed him—though I rather suspected that his yawn was caused more by nervousness than the want of sleep. A moment later Gates, standing near the wheel, softly called my name, so I arose and went to him.

It must be remembered that Gates was absolutely dependable. There were no frills about the old skipper, he shared not one superstitious sentiment in common with Tommy, and it is extremely doubtful if he knew the sensation of fear; therefore, when I saw his face, I was astonished, and in alarm asked:

"Are you ill?"

"No, sir, but I'm sore upset. Please come a bit more aft, sir."

Taking a few steps till we were abaft the traveler, he turned and whispered:

"Mr. Jack, someone's been trying to blow us up!"



CHAPTER VII

A BOMB AND A DISCOVERY

It seemed that either Gates or I must be out of our senses.

"Blow us up!" I gasped, staring at him.

"As sure as you're born, sir! 'Twas about the time you called over the rail. A little before that, as you gentlemen were talking, I heard a small boat. She came near, and she came up sneaking. First I thought it might be a sponge fisher with more curiosity than manners, but as she didn't start on again I begun to cock my ear. Then something gave a rub against our rudder post. I didn't like it. I was sitting back there, anyhow, so just got to my hands and knees, and peeped over."

"Why didn't you challenge?"

"Because there's been strange doings these twenty-four hours parst, and I knew your affairs might be taking a serious turn. I thought you'd be wanting to know their play, 'stead of scaring 'em off. So I peeped and listened. With my eyes getting fair used to the dark I made out a dinghy with four men, and think they'd bent a line about our rudder post, for the for'ard man seemed to be working at us silent and farst. The middle one had the oars, ready to pull away. In the stern sheets sat the one I guessed was boss and, kind of squatting down in front of him, was a lad. To tell the truth, sir, I felt squirmy, for those night-hawks were up to something mysterious."

"Wait a minute, Gates—did you recognize them?"

"Not me, sir. As I was saying, the fellow aft now parssed up a bundle to the for'ard chap, who took it gingerly and began farstening it on to us somewhere—I couldn't see. The young lad leaned over and looked at it, then he up and sings out: 'It ain't fair!'"

"Yes, yes," I caught him by the shoulders. "Go on, Gates!"

"Mind out this thing under my coat," he warned. "Well, sir, the one that was boss made a grab for him—Lor', how he did jerk him!—and the others froze like stone. They stayed that way while you were calling, then the dinghy glided off—the one aft still holding his hand over the lad's mouth and kind of choking him with the other."

My blood was fairly steaming, and I cried out what was uppermost in my mind:

"That wasn't a lad, Gates! It was a girl!"

His jaw dropped and he stared at me, but slowly shook his head.

"No, sir, it warn't a girl, or the fellow wouldn't have handled her so rough. Besides, sir, he wore—the lad, I mean—a jacket and cap like you or me."

"That doesn't mean anything. I tell you it was a girl—I'm sure of it!"

"Well, sir, you're wrong; for when they got out five fathom or so they stopped—to listen, maybe. You were back in the cockpit by then, and I guess the fellow must have let up on the young-un; for, all at once, he—the lad, I mean—raked a match along the gunnel, for to take a smoke, d'you see! My word, but the way he was grabbed this time would have shocked you. I couldn't see it, but you could hear the youngster gurgling. That shows it warn't a girl, sir!"

"What shows it? Because you think she wanted to smoke? Girls do, Gates!"

"They do that, sir, and I'm not gainsaying it; but they do it sociable, arfter dinner, setting 'round the cockpit, as you might say. It's seldom any of 'em has such a mortal craving for tobacco as to have to take a suck at a little cigarette every time a man chokes her by the throat. My word, no! It's the male sex that wants the weed under those conditions—not a girl, sir!"

But I was seeing an entirely different version of the affair, so far as the smoking went; and Gates would have seen it, too, if he hadn't been so excited. She had not wanted to smoke, at all, but to signal us! I knew it! I was never more sure of anything in all creation!

"And besides, sir," Gates now added, "no one would push his fingers into a girl's throat like——"

"Stop," I cried, for I could not listen to more of this. If ever I wanted to kill it was then. I wanted to get my own fingers on that scoundrel's throat as he had dared touch hers; and in my heart I swore by all the gods, by all the stars and moons and other things in the heavens and under the sea, that I would strangle out his miserable life by inches, or leave my bones to bleach on the shore of her unknown island. Wherever it was, I would find it; wherever she was, I would find her!—and God help him when he came my way! It was a classy oath, and I felt a lot better for it.

"Now, sir," Gates's voice began to tremble with passion as he held up a black thing that had been tucked under his coat, "this invention I took off our rudder post when I rowed 'round to see what they'd been up to. It's a dirty bomb, fixed to start us off for Davy Jones's Locker sometime tonight, sir!"

"You're sure it can't start us off now?" I asked, taking it from his hands.

"Not lest you get too familiar, sir. I've disconnected the clock part of it."

"Have you any idea what those men looked like?"

He solemnly shook his head.

"You can't guess who they were, or why they wanted to blow us up?" I persisted. "Shall we notify the port, or what?"

He stood a while silent before answering.

"Mr. Jack, God knows who they are. It was too dark for me to get any satisfying squint at 'em; but I never saw 'em before—that I know. Three things are sure: they're either lunatics, or they've taken us for some mortal enemy, or——"

"Well?"

"Or I'm wrong in those two guesses, sir."

"But you think they're from the Orchid, don't you?"

"On another guess, I'd swear it, sir."

"And you're positive you never saw the yacht till yesterday—in any port?"

"Never, sir. I even made inquiry about her in Havana before we cleared to-day—that is, without exciting comment. A one-eyed stevedore said she drops in there maybe once or twice a year, but he didn't know from where. I've never seen her, and I've sailed close to thirty year most everywhere in these waters during winter seasons!"

"Well, I'm stumped," I admitted. "Let's take this to the professor and see what he makes of it." So we went down together.

Monsieur, in his stateroom, sat bent over his counterfeit bill when I quietly shoved the bomb in front of him. He sprang up with a broadside of expletives that in the sunlight would have cast a wondrous rainbow. It was a way with the little professor, and we had learned to keep respectfully distant during such periods of effervescing energy.

"Tied to our rudder post," I told him.

He seemed to grasp the entire situation at once. I have never known such a genius for corraling facts! In an instant his mind apparently galloped completely around the boundary of our discovery, and then circled in.

"You have made it harmless," was his first oral observation.

"Gates did, yes; he disconnected the clock-work."

"It is quickly made, and crude," he mused, turning it over in his hands, "but the work of one who is not a novice. Give me the other part!—um! Very pretty, very pretty, indeed!" Then he looked up, calling: "My boy Tommy, come! We are to see what we shall see!"

"See what?" Tommy sauntered in; but as we explained the situation he looked positively hopeful. For the chief quality in Tommy that made him so likable was his abiding love of danger. He would rather flirt with death than a ravishing coquette—though I will not deny his preference to play the pair.

"Oh, boy!" he now chuckled, giving my arm a squeeze.

As we gathered about the table, Monsieur took a knife and began to press its blade into the covering of the bomb, saying:

"I have known the builder of one of these to leave his tracks inside, trusting the explosion to obliterate them. But sometimes the machine does not go off."

"Let's hope this'll be one of those times," Tommy murmured, "or we'll pretty well leave our tracks all over the Gulf. Don't use any bad judgment, Professor. Centuries are looking down at you!"

"I shall try not," he smiled, pushing the blade deeper and giving a gentle twist.

"I should say he ought to be doing that ashore, sir," Gates whispered. "Lor' knows this is no place——"

But Monsieur was speaking again.

"The gentleman who left it with us may have used bad judgment by not exploding it himself. So much the worse for him. Steady!" he grunted, peeling off another slice of the wrapper. "Yet, if criminals did not sometimes use bad judgment, a sorry plight would be ours, eh? Moreover, it is natural that they use bad judgment, for, being criminals, their judgment is bad—primarily bad, or they would not be criminals."

"Please work without your tongue or talk without your hands," I said, with a touch of irritation. "That thing's nervous for undivided attention!"

The professor may not have heard, and in a monotone continued:

"The man who made it knew his business; therefore he is a student of this type of explosives; therefore a police agent, a—what you call—crank like myself, or a destroying criminal—that is, an anarchist. Therefore he is the last named, since neither of the others would want to blow up a gentleman's yacht. It seems clear to you?" he asked, without raising his eyes; but none of us cared to divert his attention by answering.

By now Monsieur had peeled off several pieces of the wrapper, and was sprawled over the table with a powerful magnifying lens. For some time he minutely studied them, finally squinting closely at a particular one and beginning to show increased excitement. Arising and pushing by us, he went to his many boxes and returned with a small glass-stoppered bottle. It must have contained an acid; at any rate, he touched a drop of it to a piece of the inner wrapping, then bent over to watch results. Finally, with very bright eyes, he looked up announcing in a voice of triumph:

"This paper is the kind they use for printing money on!"

We stared at him, but he volunteered nothing further, having again bent over his search. For several minutes we watched in silence. Then he sat up with a snap, as a steel spring might be released.

"The man who made this bomb made my counterfeit bank note," he cried.

Tommy and I jumped.

"Just so," he continued eagerly. "The bomb is a hurried affair, impromptu, constructed of materials happening to be at hand when needed. That necessity, we assume, arose within the last few hours, since we have been in these waters but shortly. Here is a piece of the wrapper. You make nothing of it, yet to my experienced knowledge I see the identical paper on which my money is printed. The counterfeiter, possessing a good resisting paper and suddenly desiring to make a bomb, employs it. So much for so much! Now we have him a bomb-maker and a counterfeiter;—then we shall eliminate the anarchist!"

"Why?" I asked.

"Because a counterfeiter of such skill—and this engraving is the work of a master—implies long and intense application; therefore a secluded life rather than one of following the red flag. Moreover, an anarchist would be tempted into this risk, such as tried upon us, only to destroy someone of great importance—which I may conclude no one of us is. And irrespective of these reasons counterfeiters do not sympathize with anarchy. The psychology of each must be diametric, for if there is no government to make money there is no money to counterfeit. So the anarchist in our case lacks motive, but the other finds it if he suspects us of knowing his secret. So much for so much. Do we know any counterfeiter's secret? No. Then a final theory: the placer of this bomb has mistaken us for an enemy—he thinks we are whom we are not!"

"That's what I said," Gates interposed.

"But he does suspect us of knowing it," Tommy exclaimed, "or why did he tell the waiter Jack was a detective?"

The professor, obviously disappointed, turned again to the bomb that was fast reaching a state of deshabille—if bombs can be said to reach that state.

"You assume this to be the work of people on that yacht," he said, with a touch of annoyance. "Can you sustain that theory?"

"Why, of course, sir," Gates declared.

"A mere presumption, mon Capitaine!"

"But the voice," I challenged. "Don't you suppose I recognized it?"

"Tut-tut, my boy Jack! You have never actually heard the lady's voice!" And as this was true I had nothing further to offer; but he brightened up, adding: "We shall now go to the stomach of the bomb, if only to enjoy ourselves."

"You've a curious idea of fun," I grunted.

"Just go easy," Tommy said. "She may be ticklish."

"Why not sink the wicked thing at once, sir," Gates urged. "We've seen enough now to keep us awake nights, and I haven't any craving to look at its stomach, Lor' knows I haven't!"

But the professor would not listen. Already he had recommenced the exploration, gingerly removing some wires wrapped about the explosive center, while we almost held our breaths lest he touch the wrong thing. Once he smiled, and murmured: "Le capitaine is right—it was made on the Orchid!" Yet he did not stop work for this, and soon brought to view two half sticks of dynamite, one of them ingeniously capped. Leaning above this now, with his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, he sank into a profound study, then startled us by giving a snort and springing up, jostling the table so violently that the dynamite slid gracefully toward the edge. Most happily Tommy grabbed it in time.

"Lor', sir, 'twas a close shave," Gates whispered, wiping his forehead.

But Monsieur remained blissfully unconscious of the mess so narrowly averted. He was staring, breathing heavily, blinking and thinking. As though walking in his sleep he again went to his mysterious bags, took out something and began to study it through the lens. Then with a yell he rushed at me, hugged me, kissed me on the cheek, held me off, and hugged me again, crying over and over:

"I am right—I am right—I am right!"

He now caromed from me and in the same manner embraced Tommy, and after this he tackled Gates. But Gates did not understand the continental fashion of masculine salutations, and sternly disengaged himself, saying:

"You carn't be right, sir! I don't know what's the matter, but it's easy to see you carn't just be right!"

"Sacre bleu!" Monsieur stepped back, actually weeping with happiness. "What stupid idiots we are! Can't you see?"

"I can see one," Tommy grinned at him sweetly.

"Ah, but look!" He thrust before us the thing he had taken from the bag. It was that precious kodak film of Sylvia. "Look!" he cried. "You say she is near to twenty—he, to seventy-five! But, more than all, I see with my lens that here is the breathing likeness of the mother! Where are your eyes, my boys? Ciel, must I tell you? She is the kidnaped princess of Azuria!"

You who read may have surmised this; so might we, had we been reading instead of making history. The human mind that leans above a printed page possesses a more concentrated grasp of facts than the human atoms who run over the earth collecting them. So I caught my breath and simply stared, too dazed to speak. It seemed as though something had given me a surprising whack that sent a thousand sparks before my eyes. But then slowly the whole structure began to unfold. Each step of evidence we had picked up since the memorable night but twenty-four hours ago, now took its place as the panorama—not flawless, but with inviting possibilities,—and passed across my brain.

It was very late when we pushed back from the table. In its center were the counterfeit bill, the magnifying glass, parts of the thoroughly dissected bomb, several pages of writing pad with the professor's deductions; and by these were some of Gates' charts, the paper I had procured from the waiter, and another page containing those mystic sentences Sylvia had spoken for finding her island—because I thought it fair to her that this should be laid before my friends, especially as she had only said them in a dream.

Strangely enough the professor was willing to admit them to his scheme of carrying on our pursuit—a chase which he now seemed determined to direct—when even Tommy, the superstitious Tommy, declared they would throw us off the track a thousand miles. I could think of no plan, for altogether it did seem like combing out the universe for two human atoms.

"We have one sure way, of course," the professor leaned wearily back. "Keep the Orchid in sight. If we do this till she reaches her lair, all is well."

"I wouldn't doubt she sailed, sir, right arfter placing the bomb," Gates ventured.

"Then we can't keep her in sight," said Tommy dolefully.

"Do not thwart me," the little fellow cried, with a sudden flare of anger that made us smile in spite of the serious work at hand.

"We'd better go ashore first," I suggested, "and get authority to capture her. The government can deputize us by sending along an officer."

"Authority!" Monsieur puffed out his cheeks and snapped his finger. "That for your government's authority! I have the authority with me!"

"You!" I exclaimed.

"Certainement! I was one of those true friends who left the palace years ago, with the old King's authority in my pocket! It is in that bag now! It is absolute—absolute!—protecting me against anything I may do in effecting her rescue and return. It is by far more powerful than anything your government could give us! A King's order makes the police of the world my underlings! Besides that, she is my special charge, and no power this side of Azuria can abrogate my authority over her!"

A cold hand wrapped its fingers about my heart. The hopelessness of our search would have been depressing enough had it not contained the spice of chase, but to feel that it might be fruitful only to have her snatched off into a world as unknown, as impossible to me as this far off kingdom, was crazing. To me it would be like seeing her transported from one star to another, while I remained on earth to gaze my eyes out and eat my heart out with endless longing.

"Her mother is regent, you say?" Tommy asked, intuitively sympathizing with my state of mind.

"Yes. In Roumania a woman may not ascend the throne alone, but in Azuria, where the Ruman blood has never mixed, she may act as regent if her heir is a girl too young to marry. But now," he clapped his hands joyfully, "we can complete the alliance with a neighboring prince—and, ah, what joy there will be!"

"You've got to catch her first," Tommy said, not without a trace of spite. "Even if we get near enough to see him, at all, he can see us, too; then lead us off the track till night and make a run for base."

"So he will, my boy Tommy. And if his lair is to the west, he will doubtless lead us to the east. But we must sail at dawn—then we shall see what we shall see!"

"Good night," I said, abruptly kicking back my chair.

Thus our meeting broke up; Gates going first to sink the dynamite and then leave orders for all canvas to be stretched at peep o' day. Tommy came on deck with me, and we stood a while looking into the black water. Off in the town, in a side street near the wharf where sailors' amusement halls are clustered, some tipsy fellow was bawling a love song at the top of his voice. He seemed to be the only thing awake in Key West at this hour. When the song, or his voice, gave out the silence settled heavier than before. A ship's bell, far over the water, began to strike, and we counted five mellow strokes: one-one, one-one, one!

"Half-past two," Tommy whispered, "I wonder what Nell's doing!"

"Dreaming of you, no doubt," I tried to laugh. "Maybe you and she are wrecked on a desert island at this blissful moment."

"I wish we were," he murmured, without looking around. "And you and Sylvia, too!"

"Cut it," I growled. "She's a princess, Tommy, and that puts the kibosh on my dreams."

"Nell's a princess, too," he said gently, "and I still hang on. Tilt up your chin, Jack, and things'll squeeze through for us! We'll ship the old counterfeiter to prison, or kill him, and then——"

"And then," I said bitterly, turning to go below, "Princess Sylvia goes to the arms of some popinjay prince!"

But I had taken only a step when his hand fell on my shoulder like a piece of steel and whirled me around. There was nothing gentle in his voice this time as he sharply commanded:

"Look at me, you damn slacker, and let's see if I'm talking to the man I fought the Boche with!"

I must have appeared rather well indignant with him, for he gave a low, reassured laugh, adding:

"That's better. Now I want to say, once and for all—and I swear it on each of these stars, both for myself and Nell—that if we catch up with Princess Sylvia, and you let her be taken away, I'll punch your face into a jolly good pulp, so help me old Kentucky! Good night!"

"If you're man enough to do it," I yelled after him.

Fine old Tommy! I believe I loved him then better than ever before.



CHAPTER VIII

THE CHASE BEGINS

I slept like a log and was awake, anxious to turn out, at the peep of dawn. But Gates was ahead of me when I reached the deck. Our anchor had just been hoisted, and every sail was set, though nearly limp with a negligible breeze.

"What news?" I asked.

"Nothing, sir; leastwise nothing of the Orchid. She's gone."

"We expected that. Any idea which way?"

"I talked to a sponge fisher who came by a while back, sir, and he said a schooner yacht sailed about midnight, or maybe later; north, he said. But she carn't have got far, as there hasn't been hardly any air stirring all night till this little one now. If it wasn't so heavy off there we might see her, I farncy. The mate's aloft, sir."

I looked up and saw him steadily sweeping the distance with his binoculars; but, as Gates had said, the horizon in all directions was heavy, and in such weather our search, indeed, seemed next to useless. With the world a playground, how could we find this vagrant yacht.

Then I let my eyes rest on the tinted east, marvelling at what a curiously beautiful, dangerously sweet old world this is. The sky and water were beginning to be touched by the first faint tones of rose, the dawn was bringing its enchantment to this marriage-time of the black and white. Over in the Key West barracks a bugler would soon be blowing reveille; down in the sleeping town stumpy little street cars would squeak from their sheds and clang their discordant gongs through the narrow thoroughfares. But farther yet to the northeast, in the Florida I best knew and loved, a whooping crane would startle the solitude with its uncanny cry, the alligators would croak their guttural grunts at waking time, while, here and there in the shadowy forest, the whine of a skulking panther would strike terror to the hearts of gentler things. Ah, the trackless wilderness of dreamy Florida, where nature moves on padded foot and silent wing!

Gates had hoisted even the topmast- and maintopmast-staysails, but these did not help much; and when Tommy and Monsieur appeared half an hour later they were in wretched humors at the way matters stood. The only slight hope we nursed had been one cry of "Sail-ho!" from the mate, but he could not tell what kind of a craft had rested on his lens, because she was almost at once swallowed by the distant bank of mist. At last, with a squint into the southwest, Gates prophesied that something worth while would be coming before long, and with this crumb of comfort, seasoned by his promise to call if anything appeared, we half-heartedly went down to breakfast.

Healthy man is ever cheered by breakfast, especially if Pete has prepared it, and gradually our departed spirits came lumbering back. I remembered Tommy's promise of the night before to mutilate my countenance on certain conditions, and began to laugh. Then he laughed, doubtless because I had, and pretty soon Monsieur showed signs of warming up.

"This is what my boy Tommy would call hot-stuffie, eh?" he cried. "To be chasing a scoundrel who has kidnaped a Princess is fun, you think so?"

"And such a princess," Tommy rapturously exclaimed. "Eyes more deep than the mysteries of twilight shadows in a woodland pool!—oval cheeks more damask than the rose which steals its fragrance from her hair!—lips whose Cupid's bow——"

"Here," I good-naturedly protested. "Don't make her so wonderful! You won't have an adjective left for the beautiful Bluegrass flower!"

"But isn't she wonderful?—I challenge you, isn't she perfect?"

"That is a perilous assertion," Monsieur chuckled, "since there is a Persian proverb that 'to be perfect is to be damned.'"

"Well, she'd rather be damned than ugly, if I know anything about girls—and I do!" Tommy declared. "Isn't that right, gezabo?"

"Isn't what right? That you know so much about girls? Bah! It is a young rooster's foolish talk! Woman, my boy, is as the law of gravity—difficult to understand, and I may add difficult to disobey. But to comprehend her she must first be stripped——"

"Why, you wicked old thing," Tommy, in mock astonishment, gasped at him.

"You do not let me finish," he blushingly protested. "What I mean is stripped of her inexplicable——"

"Oh, come off," his tormentor burst out laughing. "That's as transparent as a girl buying cigarettes for her brother! I didn't know you were so curious."

"Please—you shame me! I am curious of nothing, and you will someday learn that curiosity is the root of tragedy."

"There's an epigram worthy of you: 'Curiosity is the root of tragedy'—and the blossom of delight!"

"I said nothing of delight," the professor blushed. "I said tragedy! And—ah, I see! You are cut-upping! I will not talk. Your conscience should hurt you!"

"Not conscience, old fellow! The wages of conscience is ennui, and the gods know how I hate that. Give me your epigrams on delight and love, and the Princess of Azuria!"

"Love! Bah!" Monsieur now stormed in disgust. "A mythical invention of diseased minds to explain away our follies!"

"Wait till she hears that," Tommy warned, "and your head's as good as in the sawdust. I hope to heaven she makes me her lord high executioner, and darned if I don't lop it off with a single whack!"

"And I hope you have a chance to tell her, so smart!"

"I'll have a chance, all right, never you fear. I'm the only one who will, for after you're disposed of, and Jack has gone moony, this expedition will need a clear thinker. There's where your uncle Tom comes in."

"He understands himself so well," the professor indulgently smiled.

"It requires no concentration, really," I murmured.

"Ah, Mr. Brutus," Tommy grinned at me over a fork-load of buckwheat cakes, "can it be your cooling blade I feel?"

"It is; and you'll get it in the neck, good and properly, if you don't leave me out of your silly nonsense," I warned.

"Here's a touchy one for you, gezabo! Yachting with royalty the other night made him too good for us."

"You close up," I growled.

After a few minutes devoted to breakfast, he asked:

"Are princesses like other people, I wonder? Jack ought to be put wise, so he'll know how to behave when we get her aboard."

"Why, yes, my boy Tommy," Monsieur answered, taking him seriously, of course. "They are the same as other young ladies, except more highly cultured, more of education, more of that—what you call—indefinable chasteness."

"Indefinable chasteness," he puckered his lips and repeated the phrase in a ruminating way. "D'you know, a philosopher once told me that if ever I heard an old lady call a girl anything like that, to put the young one down for a kissable, artful little flirt; for in this present day of ours, he said, woman understands everything on God's green earth—except the mind of her succeeding generation."

"But I am no old lady," the professor bristled.

"Sail-ho!" came the far off voice of the mate from his perch aloft.

We held our breaths, intently listening.

"Where away?" Gates called, and I could picture him: legs apart, head thrown back, hands cupped around his lips.

"Dead ahead, sir," came the answer: "I got a better look at her this time, and she's a schooner yacht like us!"

We bounded from the table and dashed up the companionway stairs out into the cockpit. The old skipper was laughing gleefully, and our spirits were as high as the masthead.

"We're on the right track, Mr. Jack," he cried. "Just wait till arfter a breeze springs up—she won't stay so far ahead!"

But the breeze did not pick up and we continued to poke along at about six knots, hardly consoled by the knowledge that she was doing no better. Time seemed to be creeping on its hands and knees. The Orchid, if such were the yacht ahead of us, continued beyond the fringe of mist, now mixed with a fine drizzle, showing herself at rare intervals which served to keep us from going astray.

The slickers of the crew were dripping and shiny, and we, too, soon looked like a flock of wet, disgruntled hens. To add to my discomfiture the professor brought up a newspaper and began consulting the shipping news, blandly telling us that if we captured the princess within forty-eight hours he could have her in Azuria in twenty days. I was glad when the paper got so wet that he had to throw it overboard.

At luncheon we could not help being downcast, largely owing to the drizzle which, aboard a yacht, is indeed a spirit breaker. The few sporadic attempts we made at cheer did not get very far. But after a little, happening to glance at Tommy, I saw a look in his face that put me on my guard for something. There was no hoax about this, no "cut-upping."

"Our conversation was interrupted this morning," he said, in answer to my unspoken question. "There were things I wanted to talk about—for instance, what'll we do when we catch up?"

I had thought of this a hundred times without finding a very definite solution, as my fancies refused to reach beyond the moment I should stand face to face with Sylvia. But, after a fashion, I made answer:

"We'll hand the scoundrel over to the law, I suppose, and take the Princess——"

"That's just it," he interrupted me. "Take her where? That's the point I want to make." His voice was almost purring now—a sign with him of deadly earnestness. He was continuing: "Suppose she has a perfectly good home where she is! Suppose she doesn't see the virtues in our interference that we see! How do we know the man's a scoundrel, anyway?"

"Bah!" Monsieur cried. "She wrote a message of danger! The man tried to blow us up! He made bad money that I have here!"—whereupon he thumped his breastpocket half a dozen times. "How do we know? Pardieu, I tell you!"

"She wrote the message," Tommy admitted, "but everything else you say is guess. Even suppose you're right about it, where are our warrants? Where are the sworn officers to serve them?"

"I have told you that I have the authority, the absolute authority!"

"Oh, that doesn't amount to a damn," Tommy replied with supreme indifference, and for a moment I feared Monsieur was going to have a stroke of apoplexy. "Don't you see that we must possess proofs? And then we've got to board his yacht, don't we? Is he going to take a siesta while we stroll over the old tub? Your authority, gezabo, is a scrap of paper unless, first, he's the man who kidnapped your princess, and second, we can lay our hands on him. Now try to think!"

"Think! There is nothing to think—only to do! You speak as a child! We must take that girl to her throne, to her rightful heritage! By every law of conscience, justice and humanity, there is nothing left for us to do! Absolutely we must obey!"

A silence fell upon Tommy and me. I saw him moisten his lips and dart the professor a quick glance. I knew how inherently strong that little fellow was in his loyalty, but had not been prepared for such an appeal as this. Conscience, humanity, justice! He was calling on my manhood to send her back to Azuria, out of my arms, out of my life. And she would go; I felt it, I knew it. I realized now that Tommy, in preambling up to this point, intended to settle it once and for all. And I realized how much farther his clear vision had penetrated the situation than my own poor addled mind.

Leaning forward, he said in the same soft voice—though Monsieur did not recognize the deadly purpose behind it:

"Professor, if you seriously want to see Azuria again I think we'd better arrange this thing, somehow. You came here to look for a princess; Jack came—pardon me, Jack, but it's unavoidable—for a sweetheart. Every man to his trade, you know!"

"Yes, and if I find Her Serene Highness I shall most certainly restore her to——"

"You'll most certainly do nothing of the kind," Tommy interrupted him. "You see, old fellow, we couldn't trust her to you—it wouldn't be fair. The fact is, you've been acting mighty queerly of late, saying all kinds of strange things!"

A puzzled look came into the professor's eyes as he glanced at me and then back at Tommy, who now leaned confidentially nearer.

"Do you realize," he soothingly continued, "that you thought someone was trying to blow up our yacht?"

"Trying to blow it up? Did I not have the bomb in my hands?"

"He still believes it, Jack," Tommy sighed. "There's nothing to be done, I reckon, but take him back to Key West. They've a pretty fair hospital there."

Monsieur's face turned so livid and looked so weird in its frame of straw-colored hair that I began to think all the hospitals on earth could not save him. Sputtering, he appealed to me:

"The truth, my boy Jack—he is cut-upping?"

But Tommy was saying:

"We're awfully sorry, you dear old manatou; we'll miss you, take my word for it."

"You boys dare do this," he sprang to his feet, too angry for further protest.

"Sit down, sir," Tommy spoke now in a different tone. "Of course, I don't believe it, nor does Jack; but others will if we take you to the Key West hospital tied up in ropes and say you've got that blowing-up bug in your bonnet. Get the point?"

"I get no points," he furiously pounded the table.

"Well, here it is, and its name is Compromise! Either compromise, or the wow-wow house. We won't force the issue; you must decide nicely, without being pressed one way or the other. But these are the facts: you're sailing on an American yacht; Jack's the owner, Gates is captain, I'm the boss. We're hoping to overhaul the Orchid, board her, capture the princess, and all that. Then for one entire week Jack's to have an uninterrupted tete-a-tete while you make yourself invisible. Come along if you want to and turn the old rascal over to your consul when we get home, plead with the princess after Jack's week is up, recover a hundred good bucks for your bad ones—but he has to have his chance first, and we sign articles of agreement right now!"

"Children," he cried, with a great show of disgust. "Should you return to Key West, how would you ever find the Orchid again! Ah-ha, you have tripped yourselves!"

"Not on your life, we haven't. We'll keep on now and locate her hiding place, then deliver you to a guardian, and come back."

The professor thought a moment, breathing fast and blinking.

"What are those bucks you spoke about?" he asked.

"Bucks? Hell, man, they're beans, bones—the things you won at roulette!"

"I won no such things at roulette," he gravely shook his head, adding slowly: "So I must agree, eh? Tres-bien! Yet I warn you that she will go back with me in spite of all my boy Jack can say in a week, or a year. It is inevitable—she can not possibly disobey! Come! You win for the moment, so we will drink, standing together for Azuria!"

"Standing for your grandmother," Tommy laughed. "No, you jolly old filbert, we stand for Jack and Sylvia, and don't you forget it! We'll use your vaunted authority, too, when the time comes to make that scoundrel surrender. Now let's get our arsenal in shape!"

Monsieur approved of this, entering into it with a boyish spirit, and for a long time we went over rifles and automatics, showing him their virtues, explaining the accuracy of their range, occasionally throwing one up to the shoulder and taking a quick aim over the sights, as fellows will who find them good companions.

"I'll lay you odds, Professor, that the barrels of some of this hardware get hot before night," Tommy said.

"Ah, I will not bet on such bloody business. You think we fight today?"

"Two to one on it," he answered; then giving my shoulder a slap that felt like the kick of a mule, he cried:

"So romance and adventure died with the war, did they? Oh, baby, what a shame!"



CHAPTER IX

A SHOT FROM THE DARK

During the first few hours of the afternoon we had looked on deck several times, but felt better satisfied to remain below, out of the drizzle. Now the captain's big voice rumbled some kind of good news, and each of us made a dash for the stairs.

Even as we piled out into the cockpit the mate gave a yell and sailors sprang to haul down the topmast-and main-topmast-staysails. Off in the southwest, which had been leaden from horizon to meridian showing no distinction of water and sky, appeared a spot of light, a glow, growing rapidly brighter. Before it the misty rain was being wiped as if by magic from the air.

Looking toward the northward I beheld the other yacht standing out in bold relief upon a blacker, more dismal background. She was beautiful at that moment—her sides and sails unnaturally whitened against the gloom, suggesting a cameo set on a piece of slate. Our blocks began to creak, sails bulged into huge scoops, masts tilted majestically, and the Whim, freed from her enforced idleness, bounded in response.

"Wind!" Tommy shouted, his arms held skyward. "Aphrodite, sweet and mighty, send a gale before the nighty!"

"But," Monsieur looked at him reprovingly, "Aphrodite is not goddess of the wind!"

"Who said she was?" he innocently asked.

"You conjure her for the gale—bah!"

"That's because she rhymes with nighty, gezabo! When my Muse sings, to hell with mythology! Come join the clouds—you're sordid!"

"These have been sordid clouds," the little fellow laughed. "I would rather join you in other, but a more genial, wet."

"Gates, how long before we catch her?" I called.

"I carn't measure her speed yet, sir, but should say we won't be far behind in an hour and a harf."

"Then," Tommy announced, "we'll go below and drink to the safety of our sweet Princess—for, unless I'm greatly mistaken, this day will see the finish of one good yacht! Give over the wheel and join us, Captain!"

It was a hilarious four that touched glasses in the cabin, and after Gates went above we set to work in good earnest on our arms and cartridge belts. Having seen that each piece worked perfectly we followed him up, and the sight which greeted our eyes made us laugh for joy.

How we accomplished it only Gates could have told, but now in the late afternoon light the Orchid seemed to be less than half her former distance. Looking over the rail at the flying water I felt a great pride in my father's craft, for she fairly skimmed along. Monsieur began at once to hug the captain, and this time the old skipper did not mind—at least, he permitted it.

There was, of course, some concern along with our happiness; first of importance being the declining day that held scarcely more than an hour of light. Had it been otherwise, had the blessing of good sailing weather come to us earlier, we might have held an immediate council of war; but this for the present could be left. It was a profound disappointment, though, and showed in our strained silence. Gates stood at my elbow.

"How'll we find her in the morning—if we don't catch up pretty soon?" I asked.

"I was thinking of that, sir. Now, as she sees we can sail circles around her with a good breeze, she won't hold the same course, and can give us a mighty slip during the night. We're almost in——" he hesitated, and again ventured: "We're almost in close enough to send a shot across her bows, sir, if you wish to bring her about!"

Tommy, overhearing, let out a yell of joy. The old skipper's suggestion electrified us all, particularly myself, for it promised that he would see this affair through at any and all costs—and I had been apprehensive regarding the attitude of Gates, lest his love for me, or for the Whim, cause him to balk short of the danger line. So, hastily imploring Monsieur to hug him again, I dashed below for one of the rifles. This arm was a neat high-power sporting model, but I thought it might persuade our kidnaper to look around.

Coming up, however, I found that another plan had been adopted. Gates and Tommy were busily unlacing the canvas cover from our brass cannon. While it was only used for signaling, it could make a stunning racket. Bilkins was holding a box of blank shells, each containing somewhere near twenty drams of black powder. As I approached, Tommy was excitedly arguing with Gates who, this time, seemed to demur.

"It's not of the Orchid I'm thinking, sir," he turned appealingly to me, "but ourselves! Miss Nancy—as Mr. Thomas calls this young howitzer, here,—won't stand much fooling. She warn't built for it, and if we go pressing her too hard she'll bust a stay—which is the same, sir, as sending harf of us to the sick-bay!"

"What I want to do," Tommy explained, "is load her up with sinkers and truck like that, and touch her off right! Just a blank won't tell those devils anything, but if we pepper 'em with a hat full of old junk they'll haul-to in a jiffy!"

"Surest thing in the world," I cried. "Suppose she does bust a stay, Gates! We can huddle in the cockpit and fire her with a long lanyard—then let her bust!"

"That's easy, sir," he still remonstrated, "but suppose Miss Sylvia's looking out a porthole and stops one of the sinkers!"

The thought of it made me shiver. Tommy, however, his enthusiasm undampened, acquiesced at once, saying:

"Righto, Gates! Blank it is! Cartridge, Bilkins! I'm ready—say when!"

"Wait! Let's get a bit closer, sir," Gates urged.

Several minutes passed. We were only four hundred yards from the Orchid now and cutting down the space. She stood off our starboard quarter and, although a great deal more obscure in the gathering dusk, her cabin lights came on changing the portholes to a line of golden disks. Then another solitary light appeared, being carried aft by a sailor who fastened it to the taffrail. It was the stern lantern being swung out for the night, and I could not help smiling at this delightful display of audacity, deliberately to put up that tell-tale beacon, right in our faces, as it were.

"It's a good bluff," Gates chuckled, "but they don't intend leaving it there for long, sir. I'd say we'd better fire now, Mr. Thomas, and when they stop we'll have a little chat with 'em."

Tommy sprang up and pulled the string, and our eyes were dazzled, our ears jarred, with a perfectly glorious explosion that lighted up the sea for a hundred yards.

"Whiz-bang!" Tommy yelled. "I wish I had this thing in Kentucky! It'd work wonders for the Democrats!"

Nothing happened aboard the Orchid. She did not vary her course an inch. The sailor at the helm had given a frantic jump when Miss Nancy went off, but resumed his place evidently aware that no missiles had been fired.

"Load her up again," I urged. "Let's keep on till they get mad!"

Bilkins passed out the shells and the piece was loaded and fired, loaded and fired, till we seemed surely to have waked old Nep himself. I do not know how many rounds we shot but it must have continued for some time, thoroughly engrossing us. Now suddenly the stern light went out, and immediately afterwards the portholes, losing their glow, became as nothing. The tropical night, always swift in coming, had fallen more stealthily than we realized, and the yacht melted into darkness.

"Sacre bleu!" Monsieur raged—for the night was overcast and as black as sin.

But Gates was already stripping the searchlight of its cover. When he had swung open the big lens Tommy struck a match, which blew out. His second was blown out by a hiss of air that preceded the flow of gas, and the professor jumbled matters by trying his hand. But these efforts scarcely took more time than the telling, and when the powerful streak of light finally pierced the darkness the very first thing it showed us was a white sail.

"I shouldn't have worried about night catching us, sir, if I'd thought of this before," Gates laughed. "And there's plenty of extra acetylene tanks, too, so she carn't get away now!"

"You'll have to haul down some sail, though," I replied, seeing that the Orchid lay nearly abeam of us.

"No quicker said than done, sir."

He went to direct this, while we held our light squarely on the fleeing outlaw. Nobody was astir about her deck; indeed, so undisturbed did she appear that the sailor standing statue-like at her wheel might have been the only living thing aboard.

I breathed fast with thinking that maybe Sylvia might come up, and my senses were so alert, my mind, eyes, ears so intently reaching toward her, that now I heard what was indeed a most unexpected sound: a piano. Grasping Tommy's arm I whispered this to him, and he nodded, saying in a low tone:

"Yes, I hear it plainly. Reminds me of Monsieur's master musician playing a rhapsody in the dark, d'you remember? Listen! Gods, it's 'De puis le jour,' from Louise!" Yet in the next breath he added: "Cheerful girl you have, Jack,—she's switched off from her love song to Chopin's funeral march!"

I dolefully smiled to myself, not at the funeral march but at the realization that dreams are only dreams and nothing more, that Gates's common sense had come nearer hitting the mark than all of our professor's psychology; for I had seen no piano in that cabin, and five minutes ago I would have sworn its interior was as well known to me as the Whim. But an instant later my smile had given way to a cry of rage, as a little streak of fire spat from one of the portholes and the big lens of our searchlight, with a bang, shattered into a thousand pieces.

"The nerve of it," Tommy yelled, violently shaking his hand that had been resting on the brass frame. "Damn his hide, he nearly shot off my finger!"

"Are you hit?" I asked quickly.

"Hell, no; but my hand feels like a pincushion! Say, he knows how to shoot, though! I'll give him that much!"

"Those people are prepared for all that comes, I tell you," Monsieur vigorously nodded his head. "They must even have violet spectacles for looking into search-lights, else that fellow's eyes could not have stood the glare."

Again the Orchid was invisible. For a moment I thought that out of the dark sky my gods were derisively mocking me; but it was a human sound, a long, triumphant laugh, doubtless from the coarse-throated creature who had made the lucky shot.

Gates, fearing we might answer it in kind, came forward to counsel silence, at the same time sending a sailor for the megaphone and ordering another to extinguish our own lights. With his knife he then hastily cut the megaphone in half, keeping the large end whose openings now tapered from about eight inch to eighteen inch diameters. As we stood, not understanding what he meant to do, I heard across the water a rattling of blocks and knew the Orchid, free of pursuit, was changing her course. Gates cocked his head and listened, then whispered to the mate who went back and changed the Whim's course.

"Now, Mr. Jack," he said, in a guarded tone, "we're behind her, and dark, too; so keep all hands as quiet as mice, sir! Take the wheel and steer as I signal from under my coat with this electric torch, like this: one long, means put your helm up a point, two long means two points; but a short flash means down a point, two short down two points. D'you understand, sir? We've got to keep close to her, or daylight'll find her gone! I'm going out on the bowsprit and, with this piece of megaphone to help, think I can follow by sound. They're apt to make some noise, believing themselves safe. And their blocks are bound to rattle when they change their course—which they'll be doing before long as we're both headed for the coast of Florida, twenty-five or thirty miles off. Now go back quiet, sir, and watch for my lights."

God bless old Gates, I said to myself.

Till well into the night that indefatigable sea dog sat astride the bowsprit with the crude sound magnifier over his ear, while I, alert and watchful, gripped the wheel as though I were driving a speed boat. In the beginning he had sent a few signals, and we jockied this way and that, but after perhaps an hour we settled down to another straight course—though I could not tell how near we were, or if we were sailing right, or if they suspected us.

Tommy had come aft to keep me company, and now asked in a whisper:

"What do you think about that piano?"

"I think she played like an angel."

"Son, you don't get the point. What do you think about changing suddenly from that exquisite Charpentier love song to a funeral march—just before the rifle went off?"

"You don't mean she was signaling?" I asked in surprise, for the idea knocked me a little bit silly.

"I mean just that; of course, she was signaling, and taking a big chance, too. You may put your own construction on the first piece she played, but the instant she saw what they were up to she sent us the flash. The only trouble about it was that we weren't anywhere near as quick."

"But look here," I said, alarmed by another thought, "suppose she meant it would be her funeral march if we keep up the pursuit?"

Tommy considered this.

"I reckon not," he finally replied. "They might threaten us with her death if we don't turn back, but there'd be no reason to kill her otherwise. No, she saw them preparing to shoot—which you can't deny that they did, jolly good and well."

"She's a queen," I murmured.

"Queen! That girl must be a royal straight flush in hearts, and if it weren't for Nell I'd adore her to the tips of my teeth!"

At midnight I sent the mate to relieve Gates and gave the wheel to a likely sailor, and after making sure they understood the signals we went below for a bite to eat. Although the day of suspense had been wearing, my brain was too active to permit much thought of sleep; but finally Gates nodded, awoke with a jerk, and started off to bed. He had had no easy time of it on the bowsprit, good old Gates!

Tommy and I talked in low tones while the professor sat to one side, humped over and buried in thought. He was a strange looking spectacle when buried in thought. His countenance then became all wrinkles, with a kind of turned-up nubbin in the middle that I knew to be a nose, only because I'd previously seen it—otherwise it might have been almost anything that one does not expect to find in the center of a man's face. Tommy regarded him a moment in silence.

"Monsieur," he whispered, "come join this confab. We're up against the real thing in the morning, and may as well begin to lay pipe. The old catamount who shot out our searchlight won't have any more regard for our personal lights, let's keep that in mind. What's more, he has a real excuse now, because we fired those blanks at him which he'll find it convenient to say weren't blanks. So the business is coming off to a certainty. What's your idea?"

"My idea?"

"I meant to be that flattering, yes. What do you think we'll be up against when ordering the Orchid to surrender?"

"I do not know; but something we are not expecting, you may be sure," he dolefully answered.

"That sort of gloom won't get us anywhere," Tommy retorted. "Try another thought!"

"It gets us very far! If we expect to experience what we are not expecting, then we are expecting it! How can we be surprised when we are prepared for the thing we are not prepared for? It is obvious. That is my idea."

"Then you ought to keep it in a less fragile place. Try still another, gezabo!"

But he was inclined to pout now, and would neither talk nor listen to our entreaties.

"Well," he exclaimed at last, with a superior smile as he struck the table smartly, "I will tell you this: I have nothing more to say!"

It was a lot of preparation for a mighty small result, I thought, and Tommy smiled at the childish gentleman, murmuring sweetly:

"If you really mean that, and stick to it, pray accept my congratulations upon having reached the height of conversational charm. Now, Jack, let's plan!"

But Monsieur, while unwilling to talk, was also unwilling to be ignored. I think he wanted to be coaxed. People get that way, sometimes. So he petulantly exclaimed:

"You think I am what you call an old crank!"

"No I don't, honest!" Tommy gave me a wink. "Even if I did, it's a compliment in America to be called a crank, because cranks make things move. Now help us out, like a good sport. By this time tomorrow you'll be shot to pieces, for all we know."

He said it solemnly, but his humorous mouth showed how much he wanted to laugh. I believe Tommy would have walked to the gallows joking with his executioner. That infectious smile, sometimes the flash of his teeth, but always a snap in his honest gray eyes, were invariably quickened by the imminence of danger. I knew Tommy; therefore I also knew that beneath his jocose raillery were nerves stretched to concert pitch that meant music for whoever stood in his way tomorrow.

The professor sat up straighter and blinked at him.

"Why do you say I get shot to pieces?"

"Why not? The fellow'd be a fool to sit by and let us go aboard—and we've got to go aboard!"

"It is nonsense! You want my advice? Then leave him alone!"

I think that Tommy's eyes narrowed slightly. I know that my teeth clenched at this evidence of quitting; yet what could we expect from a chap who did nothing but teach in a University?

"You won't be in any danger," I said, arising. "We'll manage all right. Come on, Tommy!"

"You will not manage—that is just it," he angrily retorted. "You two boys will strut about like roosters showing what good fighters you are, and get blown up through the insides! Have I not seen it often? Bah!" He ran his hands through his hair. "Why is it, when brains are as easily cultivated as biceps, that young bloods think only of a strong arm! You stay in the cabin and leave the man to me; then I will take him before your eyes, and nobody get hurt!"

"I don't think we quite understand!"

"Of course! But there are no ladies on the Orchid whom I desire to charm, therefore I will be rational. Your Capitaine Gates will lower a boat, we row to the scoundrel's yacht, I present my authority, he surrenders, and we bring him back. There is no bloodshed, and my two young friends who are disposed to ridicule me will not get hurt!"

Tommy flushed, and I felt uncommonly like a pup.

"But suppose he won't come?—suppose he begins to fight?"—we asked these questions simultaneously. They were quite unnecessary, for the man would not come and, moreover, he would fight; but Monsieur's earnestness and visionary assumption had completely disarmed us.

"In that case, your Gates and I will shoot him," he answered, as a matter of course. "Such grizzly alternatives must sometimes be the means of peace and harmony."

Some might at times have called him an idiot, and on occasions I have found myself wondering if he possessed a scintilla of common sense, but no one after this could call him a coward. He would have gone single-handed to the Orchid with the same beautiful faith that a wee child would crawl into the kennel of a vicious dog. It was not in Monsieur to consider that anyone would dare disobey his Azurian authority.

"Gezabo," Tommy said tenderly, "I'm going to lock you up tomorrow, for if anyone so much as rumples your noble topknot I'll cut him to ribbons—so'll Jack. Now kick us, and go to bed. We've been a pair of braying asses, and you're a sure-nuff Prince!"

And, although I thought that Tommy had done most of the braying, I was willing to let it go at that. A lack of discriminating accuracy on his part might have been pardoned when we were faced by issues of so much greater portent. The dawn was but six hours off, and with it would come—what?



CHAPTER X

A SILENT ENEMY

Bilkins rushed into my room at daylight announcing perfect weather and the Orchid sailing some twelve miles astern of us. While dressing I wondered how she could have fallen so far behind, but assumed that our men on watch must finally have lost her. As this seemed to be a reasonable explanation, since the later the night the more probability of her company having settled down and become quiet, I dismissed these speculations of no consequence for a feeling of thankfulness that she had not escaped us.

Gates was on his way to call me when I came out, and one look at his broad smile required no further augury of good news.

"We're arfter her hard, sir," he said, "and have been drawing up farst this hour gone. We'll be in hailing distance in another two hours, or less."

"There's a good wind?"

"Fair, sir. The mate, who's aloft, says that for some reason she's hauled down everything but mains'l and jib, and carn't be making any speed to speak of. Still, she's going along. We've quite some canvas set. He says there was noise enough to follow till about five bells of the morning watch; then she grew so still he wondered if she'd sunk. You'd better have breakfast, sir, for we'll be on her, as I say, in two hours or less."

This was Tommy's idea when I met him with Monsieur in the cabin, but Tommy was always ready for breakfast. They had become reconciled—or, perhaps, I ought to say the professor seemed to have forgiven both of us handsomely. Gates sat down with us for there was much to talk about. In fact, the professor, in his uncontrollable and passionate appetite for grapefruit, had scarcely extruded a spray of its juice in our direction—the usual evidence with us that breakfast had seriously begun—when the question of how we should board the Orchid was raised. The old skipper listened to my plan, then to Tommy's, and after these he turned to our little scientist, who waved a hand with no small degree of impatience, saying:

"One is visionary, the other is crazy. One wants to blow her out of the water—with what? The other wants to do something no one can understand—and why? But they both agree upon killing everyone on board except a privileged lady. It is school-boy tomfoolery!"

"Tomfoolery your grandmother," Tommy flared up. "What do you suggest that's any better—the utopian scheme you sprung on us last night?"

"How do you know we have to board her?" Monsieur thrust half a biscuit in his mouth and took a long drink of coffee. "I have been thinking since; I have been on deck, and observed. There is wind, and we are catching up. Off there," he pointed toward something the cabin walls prevented us from seeing, "is land; low, gray-blue land. Now it can be done with cattle, but can it be done with yachts?"

"Can what be done?" we asked.

"We shall sail out, head her back, and drive her into the land until she sticks!"

Never having heard of such a silly idea I looked at Gates, who was chuckling.

"Oh, it might be done, sir," he laughed, "if she stood close enough to the islands. We might jockey her that way, foul her a bit, and make her go aground—or fight. But, Lor' bless you, she's sailing straight west across the Gulf, with nothing but a thousand miles of good water between her and the mouth of the Rio Grande!"

"Get in front—butt her around," Monsieur cried. "If she does not like it, then let her, as you suggest, fight!"

"Well, you've said something at last," Tommy grinned. "How about it, Gates? And, by the way, what are those islands you spoke of? We're looking for a certain

'——one of many, many islands Set like emerald jewels in an ever changing sea.'"

Though with his sincerity there was also the bantering tone of the unbeliever here.

"It's the Ponce de Leon Bay, sir, with the Ten Thousand Islands—and I'd say there're all of ten thousand, or quite harf, anyway."

With his fork he quickly drew on the tablecloth a sketch of southwestern Florida, outlining the waters northeast of Cape Sable and with little jabs indicating the island area which extends up and down the coast, as well as into Whitewater Bay. Gates was used to doing this kind of thing and he did it well, with the result that we got a very clear idea of what he meant. No one knew the exact number of islands, he said, because they had never been charted. Government surveys had been considered useless, in all probability; and, of private interests, there were none. No boat, except perhaps at rare intervals a very small craft of adventurous spirit, ever tried to enter—but, as to that, twenty small boats might spend a month's playing in that maze and never meet. The mainland, for many miles in all directions, was without habitation, and these conditions had isolated this entire section as completely as though it were in the heart of a South American jungle.

Difficult as it was to believe that on the "Playground Peninsula" of eastern United States an unsurveyed primeval wilderness of perhaps three thousand square miles had remained absolutely detached from inquisitive civilization, I was soon to learn that Gates had not in any way exaggerated. It was there; it is there today in the same unbroken solitude, for any to see who will.

"Why didn't she duck in there and hide last night?" I asked, coming out of the charmed spell his description had cast over me.

"She daren't, sir. Nothing but a dinghy, or the like of that, has ever gone in very far. Leastwise, I don't think so. The islands are just a lot of oyster-shell bars covered with sand and overgrown with red mangrove trees. I've been told the channel between 'em sometimes isn't more'n a foot deep; but in other places there may be good water. What I mean to say is that they're not charted, and I doubt if any man living could find his way through 'em the same way twice. They lay in a bunch stretching about forty miles north and south, and maybe fifteen or twenty through. Some are good sized—we'll say a mile long—but others run down to the size of the Whim. Oh, he wouldn't dare to run in there, sir! Now we might try to tease him close to 'em and crowd him some way, as the professor says—or let him do the other thing!"

"That sounds like some plan," Tommy sprang to his feet. "We'll tease him, all right, if we shoot fast enough!"

"But they must be let to begin that shooting first," Monsieur insisted.

"I'd like to know why?" Tommy turned to him.

"Why? What right have we to come and start such a business?"

"What right have we to crowd her out of the ocean?" Tommy answered with another question. "What right have they to blow us up?—or steal a girl?—or counterfeit our money?—or darn near shoot my finger off and then laugh at me? To hell with rights! We've got more than that scoundrel has, if we haven't any!"

Gates got up with an oath.

"Yes," he said, "and shoot out my searchlight! No, Professor, I'd say the shooting's already begun. But they won't stand for too much fooling, not if I know anything!"

"Oh, well," Monsieur sighed, "give me the gun."

"Give him Miss Nancy," Tommy laughed. "Now, fellows, suppose a couple of us entrench on top of the cabin, to get the advantage of altitude—the superiority of position, as it were—and command their decks!"

"You'll need a fair protection, sir, as they'll be shooting from the portholes," Gates said. "And we carn't fire back at the portholes because of the lady!"

"Righto! But the man at their wheel's our meat, and anyone else who comes to take his place. Minus a steersman they're helpless; and then, Gates, if we can run alongside and batten down (is that what you call it?) their hatches, they're ours."

"Suppose they send the Princess out, herself, to steer?" Monsieur asked.

The suggestion gave me a turn.

"Still, they may not think of that," he continued, "and our two shooters may command their decks quite easily. It is good. If a man comes out to steer you will shoot him till he runs downstairs again, then we go aboard and sail home. Yes, it is a good plan."

"Shoot him till he runs downstairs!" Tommy gasped. "What d'you think we're going to do—just spank him with lead?"

"I'll say that professor is in a clarss by himself, sir," Gates turned to me, chuckling.

The next half hour was a busy one. Our sailors, singing with happiness, brought up from the cuddy rolls of extra sails that were lowered overboard for a good wetting, then mauled into a neat rifle pit on the cabin roof—as snug as I'd want anywhere, and quite able to stop high-power bullets. Gates then showed another bit of generalship that called anew for Monsieur's nods of approval. Since our own helmsman would be as much exposed as the man on the Orchid—whom we intended to "shoot until he ran downstairs"—the mate brought up some line, bent it several times around the wheel drum, passed it through newly fastened blocks, and let it run into the cockpit. By this arrangement he could lie on the floor, as safe as you please, and steer according to orders sung up by the old skipper who, stationed below with a shaving mirror—suggesting a trench periscope—would take his bearings without showing any portion of his face. It was a nice piece of work.

"One carn't be too cautious, sir," he explained. "Harf our chance of coming out ahead is being ready beforehand, and harf our satisfaction is to keep from having any burials at sea—which are gruesome things, any way you take 'em, sir."

Bilkins had acted as armorer and laid out rifles, bandoliers bulging with filled clips, and a few automatic revolvers; then in a low tone he said to me:

"I'll never go back, sir, if anything happens to you today."

"Yes, you will," I replied, touched by his show of devotion. "You'll have to tell them why it happened. But don't be a raincrow. We'll come through."

Gates now sent the men to stations for we were within a half a mile of the Orchid. Then Tommy stepped into our rifle pit and laid down. I followed. Quietly each of us beat a crease in the soaked canvas through which we could fire without showing too much head.