Chapter 11

RECORDS A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE

An hour later the Vagabond was swinging quietly from her anchor cable in the harbor of Provincetown. About her in the darkness the lights of other craft twinkled and the curving waterfront of the old town was dimly illumined. On the Vagabond’s deserted deck only the riding light gleamed, but in the cabin all lamps were doing their best, there was a fine odor of steaming coffee and things fried and the crew and their guest were sitting around the table in the stateroom doing full justice to a dinner all the more enjoyable since so long delayed. Good humor had returned and everybody was in the best of spirits; unless, possibly, we except Spencer Floyd. It was difficult at all times to tell whether he was happy or unhappy. He seldom spoke unless spoken to, and his habitual expression was one of intense gravity. But he certainly had not lost his appetite; once Dan forgot his own hunger for nearly half a minute in marveling at Spencer’s capacity. Of course they talked and, equally of course, the subject of discourse was the day’s happenings.

“I think we got out of the mess mighty luckily,” said Nelson. And the sentiment was indorsed by the others. It had taken fully ten minutes, Bob, Dan and Tom all talking together and at top speed, to acquaint Nelson with what had happened on deck, very little of which he had been able to glimpse from the engine room. “Only,” continued Nelson affectionately, “I think you were a great big galoot, Dan, to stand up there and bluff Captain Chowder with an empty revolver.”

“The bluff worked, though,” laughed Dan. “I couldn’t find Bob’s box of cartridges anywhere, you see, and there wasn’t any time to lose. Maybe if the captain had looked a bit closer he would have seen that the cylinder was empty, but I had to chance that.”

“Huh!” said Tom. “Bet you if I was in the captain’s place I wouldn’t waste any time examining the cylinder!”

“That was a great tackle you made, Tom,” said Dan with a grin. “I hit the deck like a load of bricks. Gosh! I didn’t know what had struck me! Only you forgot, Tommy, that the new rules forbid tackling below the knees.”

“I didn’t tackle you below the knees,” answered Tom promptly.

“Felt like it!”

“I don’t see but what Tommy’s the hero of the day, after all,” observed Bob. “I’m plumb sure I wasn’t! The way I got into the engine room when that old pirate came on deck with his gun must have been one of the sights of the trip!”

“I guess the real hero,” said Dan, “was Nelson. Anyhow, he did the most practical thing and worked hardest.”

“Hero be hanged!” replied Nelson, spreading his fifth slice of bread. “But you can bet I worked hard, all right! I thought I’d never get that old vaporizer together again. One of the parts got away and I couldn’t find it for weeks! And I didn’t know whether the thing would work any better after I got through with it. The first thing we do to-morrow is to empty that tank and fill up with some decent gasoline.”

“I suppose we need it,” said Bob, “but how about staying around here that long? Don’t you think Captain Chowder will telegraph here and get the local Scotland Yard after us?”

“I rather think,” answered Nelson, “that he’s decided by this time to let the thing drop. But, of course, there’s no telling for sure. There’s one thing, though; he doesn’t know for certain where we are. We started out toward Provincetown, but maybe he’ll argue that we were only trying to throw him off the track and that after a bit we turned and headed across to Plymouth or somewhere on the south shore.”

“That’s so,” Bob agreed after a moment’s consideration.

“Even if he did telegraph,” said Dan, “what could the police here do? If we told our story they wouldn’t dare to arrest us.”

“Well, they might take Spencer and hold him until the thing was cleared up,” said Nelson. “And it might end with Spencer going back with the captain. And I’ll be blowed if I’m going to have that!”

“Nor I,” said Bob.

“Same here,” agreed Dan.

Tom had his month too full for utterance, but he shook his head violently and scowled disapprovingly.

“Then what’s to be did?” asked Nelson.

There was a moment’s silence, during which everyone ate busily, broken at last by Spencer.

“Seems to me I’ve been trouble enough to you,” he said diffidently. “If you’ll put me ashore I guess I can make out all right now. And I’m much obliged for what you’ve done for me. And——”

“Pshaw!” interrupted Dan. “You’d be caught and lugged back to that old schooner the very first thing. No, sir, the best place for you is right here aboard the Vagabond. And if Provincetown isn’t a safe place to stay, I vote we move on.”

“To-night?” asked Bob.

“I don’t care. In the morning, if you fellows think it’ll be safe to stay until then. Only we want to get out before Captain Chowder begins to use the wires.”

“I tell you!” exclaimed Nelson. “Just as soon as it’s light we’ll run outside a ways and put Spencer in the tender. Then he can row around and keep out of the way until we get our tank filled again. And then we can pick him up.”

“Dandy!” cried Tom. “And if they come and search us they won’t find him! And we can tell them that he fell overboard and——”

“And was swallowed by a whale,” laughed Bob. “That’s a good scheme, though, Nel. Would you mind if we did that, Spencer?”

“No, sir. I’d be all right if you left me some oars.”

“Of course we’ll leave you oars,” said Nelson. “That’s settled then. But we want to get out pretty early and be back here before the folks along the wharves are taking notice.”

“Well,” said Dan, “we’ll get Tommy to wake us.”

“Hope you choke,” responded Tom dispassionately.

“Haven’t anything to choke on,” answered Dan. “Pass me the bread.”

“I don’t believe the telegraph office will be open until about eight o’clock,” said Bob. “And it isn’t likely that the Scout would get back to Sanstable to-night in time for the captain to telegraph. So I guess we’re safe until, say, nine to-morrow morning. That being the case, and Dan having eaten the last thing on the table, I will adjourn to the deck.”

“There’s some more coffee in the pot,” said Tom.

“Couldn’t drink another drop, Tommy. I’ve had three cups already. Come on, Barry; you and I’ll go up and look at the moon.”

“Isn’t any,” grunted Tom.

“What!” exclaimed Bob. “No moon? How careless of the weather man! Then we’ll look at the nice little lantern at the bow, Barry.”

“Oh, we’ll all go up,” said Dan. “I want a breath of air. How about the dishes, though?”

“Let ’em go,” muttered Tom lazily.

“Couldn’t I do them?” asked Spencer.

“Why—do you mind?” asked Nelson.

“I’d like to,” was the answer.

“All right, then; go ahead. I guess Tommy will let you.”

If there was any objection from Tom it was so slight that no one noticed it.

Up in the cockpit the Four made themselves comfortable in the chairs and on the seat, while Barry curled up into a perfectly round bunch in Dan’s lap. The breeze still held from the southward and the night was quite warm, and, although Bob continued to complain at intervals over the absence of moonlight, the stars glittered in an almost cloudless sky and shed a wan radiance of their own. Somewhere in the darkness along the wharves a concertina was stumbling uncertainly through the latest success in rag-time melody.

“Say, Bob,” said Dan, “you can do worse than that. Get your mandolin.”

So Bob got it and the concertina was soon drowned out. Spencer crept up and silently snuggled himself in a corner of the cockpit. The lights in the town went out one by one and four bells struck in the cabin.

“Hello!” exclaimed Nelson. “This won’t do, fellows, if we’re going to make an early rise. Come on, Dan, and help me fix up the berth for Spencer.”

So the pipe berth in the engine room was pulled out and the other beds were levied on for a pillow and blankets, and half an hour later only Tom’s snores disturbed the silence.

At half-past six the next morning the Vagabond turned her bow toward the harbor entrance, passed the light at the end of Long Point and went westward for a half-mile along the shore. Then the tender was put over and Spencer, his own attire supplemented with an extra sweater of Bob’s, jumped into it.

“If I had some line and a hook,” said Spencer gravely, “I could catch you some fish.”

“That’s so!” said Nelson. “And I think there’s fishing tackle aboard somewhere. Wait a moment and I’ll see if I can’t find it.”

“Yes,” remarked Dan casually, “and you might dig a few worms while you’re down there.”

Nelson’s enthusiasm wilted and he joined in the laugh.

“I forgot about bait,” he said. “I guess you couldn’t catch much without bait, eh, Spencer?”

“You leave me the line,” answered the boy, “and I guess I can find some bait somewheres.”

So Nelson rummaged around and found what was wanted, and when the Vagabond went chugging slowly and softly back toward the lighthouse and the harbor entrance Spencer, oars in hands, was pulling toward the outer beach. Back in the harbor Bob steered the launch up to a landing in the lee of a shed bearing the sign “GASOLINE” and made her fast. Then they set about completing their toilets, while Tom prepared breakfast. By the time that repast was ready the waterfront was wide awake and the sun was shining warmly. After breakfast the tank was emptied and refilled with what was represented to be “the best gasoline on the Cape.” As the boat’s funds were depleted to the extent of almost twenty dollars when payment had been made, there was a unanimous hope among the crew that the claim would not prove too great.

“It’s mighty expensive stuff, isn’t it?” asked Tom. “Think what we could do with twenty dollars!”

“That’s so, Tommy,” said Nelson. “Gasoline doesn’t taste as nice as caramels, but it’s a lot better for fuel.”

“Gee!” muttered Tom wistfully. “Think of twenty dollars’ worth of caramels!”

Later, when they went shopping for provisions, Tom got into a candy store and wouldn’t come out until he had bought a little of everything in sight. They returned to the wharf laden with bundles just as the clock struck ten.

“Now to pick up the tender and run around to Chatham,” said Nelson as they went down the wharf.

But when the float lay below them Bob nudged his arm. On the edge of the float, seated on an empty nail keg and talking to the gasoline man, was a tall individual in a faded blue coat on the left breast of which glittered a badge.

“Cop!” whispered Bob.

As they went down, the tall man, who looked more like a sailor than a police officer, arose and awaited them. Then,

“You gentlemen own this launch?” he asked with a slow drawl.

“Well, we’re sailing her,” answered Nelson. “She belongs to my father.”

“Pretty nice boat,” said the other, his eyes traveling swiftly from one to another of the quartet. “Which of you is Spencer Floyd, now?”

“None of us,” answered Nelson.

“Well, I got a message for him,” said the officer. “You tell him I want to see him, will you?”

“He isn’t here,” said Nelson.

“I want to know!” drawled the officer. “Ain’t drowned him, have you?”

“No, he isn’t drowned. He just isn’t here.”

“Well, well! Don’t mind my lookin’ about a little, I guess?”

“No, you’re perfectly welcome to, sir. Come aboard, please.”

The officer followed and looked admiringly over the launch while Nelson unlocked the cabin door. Then they all trooped down into the cabin and the officer satisfied himself that the runaway was indeed not there.

“Much obliged, gentlemen,” he said at last. “I see he ain’t here. I guess you don’t care to tell me where he is, do you?”

“No,” Nelson replied smilingly, “I don’t believe we do. And anyhow, we don’t know just where he is—by this time.”

Which was a good deal nearer the truth than Nelson suspected.

“Well,” said the officer, with a twinkle in his eye, “if you chance to see him again you tell him that his friend Captain Sauder, over to Sanstable, is particularly anxious to see him, will you?”

Nelson promised gravely to do so and the officer stepped ashore.

“Good mornin’,” he said. “I hope you’ll have a fair voyage.”

“Good morning,” Nelson replied. “Thank you.”

Halfway across the float the officer paused, turned and retraced his steps, and Nelson went to meet him.

“Now, I don’t know much about this,” said the officer confidentially, “but you fellers don’t look like a very desperate set to me. So you tell this feller Floyd—if you should happen to meet him, you understand—you tell him that the Cape’s a bit unhealthy just at present; kind of malarial, you know; and maybe he’d be better off across the bay. See what I mean?”

“Yes, I do,” answered Nelson. “And I’m much obliged. And if I should happen to see him I’ll tell him that.”

“You needn’t mention me, of course,” said the other. “It ain’t any of my business. So long.”

“That means,” said Bob, when Nelson had told the others, “that means that they’re on the lookout for Spencer all down the Cape. So what the dickens are we to do? We’ve got to put in somewhere; we can’t make Newport to-day.”

“That’s so,” said Nelson. “Let’s see the chart.”

After they had all studied it awhile Dan asked:

“What’s the matter with trying to make Nantucket? It isn’t likely that he’s warned them down there.”

“No, but it’s a jolly long ways,” said Bob. “Let’s see how far. Why, it’s nearly eighty miles! Could we do that before dark, Nel?”

“We could do it by seven o’clock,” was the answer. “But wouldn’t it be better to take Spencer over to Plymouth and send him home by train?”

They discussed the question at length and in the end decided that the latter plan was the more feasible. Then they cast off and ran across the harbor to the Point and so westward in search of the tender. But after they had rounded the lighthouse there was nothing in sight resembling their boat in the least.

“That’s mighty funny!” said Bob. And all the others agreed heartily. They went southward for two miles in chase of a craft that might, so Nelson thought, turn out to be the tender. But when they got within fair sight of it they found it to be a pea-green dory containing two fishermen.

“Let’s go back to where we left him,” suggested Dan. “Perhaps he went ashore and pulled the boat up on the beach.”

So they turned back and ran along the shore, but without success. Then Bob headed the launch westward. All four kept a sharp lookout, but it was Tom who asked presently:

“What’s that over there?”

All turned to look.

“Seems like a water-logged boat,” said Nelson. “Run her over there, Bob.”

Bob obeyed and two minutes later the Vagabond floated alongside the puzzling object, puzzling no longer. It was the tender, filled with water almost to the gunwales and empty of everything except the oars and a few dead fish. The four stared at each other in consternation.