Chapter 12

The Vagabond rolled and dipped while the boys silently struggled with the problem confronting them.

Where was Spencer Floyd?

There was the boat, there were the oars, there were the fish which he had promised, and, entangled with one of the oars, was the line he had used. But—where was he? Also, why was the tender full of water?

“It’s the funniest thing I ever ran up against!” breathed Dan, finally breaking the silence. After that questions came fast and furious and no one tried to supply the answers until Tom cried:

“I know! Su-su-su-su-somebody ru-ru-ran him du-du-du——!”

“Pshaw!” said Nelson. “Collisions don’t happen in broad daylight in a place like this where there’s water enough to float a fleet of warships!”

“Bu-bu-bu-but look at the tu-tu-tender!”

“I know,” Nelson muttered, “but I don’t believe——”

“If it was an accident Spencer’s a goner,” said Dan.

“Not necessarily,” said Bob. “If he was run down by a steamer or a schooner they might have stopped and picked him up.”

“If they had wouldn’t they have landed him when the harbor was just around the corner?”

“They might not have,” Bob answered. “They might have been in a hurry and just taken him along.”

“That doesn’t seem likely,” objected Dan.

“No,” added Nelson. “The least they could have done would have been to land him.”

“Then he’s a gu-gu-gu-gu-goner!” said Tom sadly.

“I don’t believe he was run into,” protested Nelson.

“I know you don’t; you said so before,” Dan replied. “But if it wasn’t that, what was it? Where’s he got to and why is the boat full of water?”

“I don’t know, but there are lots of things that might have happened.”

“Such as what, Mr. Solomon?”

“Well, he might have gone ashore for more bait and left the tender on the beach. Then the tide floated it out while he was gone. When he came back and saw that he couldn’t get it he decided to walk to town in hopes of finding us before we left.”

“Well, that might be it,” acknowledged Bob after a moment’s consideration of the theory, “but somehow I can’t make myself think so. If you’re right then he’s waiting for us in the village.”

“And maybe the officer fellow has him,” added Dan.

“Hold on!” protested Tom. “That’s all ru-ru-right, but how did the boat get full of water?”

Nelson looked nonplused.

“It might have gone floating around and hit against something,” he finally ventured, “maybe a rock or a submerged log.”

“Submerged poppycock!” said Dan. “I’ll tell you what really happened.”

“Of course you will,” said Tom. “You know all about it, du-du-du-don’t you?”

“A boat of some kind came along and Spencer saw a chance of getting away in it, maybe to New York. Probably he offered to work his passage and they took him aboard. And somehow the tender got a hole stove in her.”

“How?” demanded Tom.

“Oh, I don’t know; there’s plenty of ways. Maybe Spencer thought if he sank the boat and disappeared altogether Captain Chowder would stop hunting him.”

“The first part of your yarn is all right, Dan,” said Bob, “but the last part is mighty weak. But whatever happened there’s no use in our spending the day out here. The question now is: What’s to be done next? If Spencer’s drowned we can’t do any good here. If he’s run away on another boat, why, we might as well attend to our own affairs. What about it?”

“Best thing to do,” said Nelson, “is to tow the tender back to the wharf and get the water out of it. Then we can see what’s happened to it. Anyhow, it will probably have to be repaired and that means staying here until to-morrow. Pull her in, Dan, and I’ll get hold of the painter.”

“All right,” answered Dan, who was holding the tender with the boat hook. “But won’t she go under completely and sink if we try to tow her?”

“I don’t think so. How about it, Bob?”

“Not in this sea, if we go slow,” answered Bob.

“Anyhow, it isn’t likely that we’d ever get the water out of her here. There’s a little beach at the end of that slip by the wharf where we were, and we can beach her there.”

So, running very slowly, the Vagabond returned to town, the submerged tender rolling and splashing along behind at the end of a short painter and threatening to disappear completely every minute. But she didn’t carry out her threat, and when the launch was once more tied up at the float the tender was pulled along to the end of the slip until she grounded. There they left her until the tide, which was still running out, should leave her high and dry. Bob and Dan went in search of a carpenter to patch her up, following the explicit directions of the gasoline man, who was very much interested in the sudden and unexplained appearance on the scene of the tender. Nelson and Tom made discreet inquiries for Spencer, describing his personal appearance without mentioning his name. But neither the man at the wharf nor the loungers at the street end of it had seen anyone answering to their description. Bob and Dan returned presently with the information that the carpenter was busy but would be on hand in about half an hour. So they went back to the launch, made themselves comfortable in the cockpit and speculated anew on the disappearance of Spencer. Many new and ingenious theories were aired, but in the end it was all nicely summed up in Tom’s verdict:

“It’s a regular jim-dandy mystery,” declared Tom. “That’s what it is!”

At twelve the carpenter had not arrived.

“He won’t come now until after his dinner hour,” said the gasoline man when asked for his opinion.

“Then I vote that we find a hotel or restaurant,” said Dan, “and have a thundering good dinner. If the old duffer comes while we’re gone he can wait till we get back.”

The vote was carried, the cabin was locked again and the quartet set off in search of dinner. It wasn’t hard to find, and at a quarter before one they were back at the wharf. The carpenter, garrulous and apologetic, arrived a few minutes later and the entire party went back up the pier, climbed down a slippery ladder and reached the little beach where lay the tender looking like a novel bathtub. The beach was composed largely of black muck and the resulting operations were disastrous to four pairs of white canvas shoes.

“Catch ahold here,” said the carpenter, “and turn her over.”

Out splashed the water and the dead fish and over went the tender until she lay bottom up. It wasn’t necessary to hunt long for the leaks. Half a dozen small splintered holes on each side of the keel confronted them. The carpenter examined them attentively.

“How’d you do it?” he asked finally.

“We don’t know,” answered Nelson lamely. “We think, though, that she struck a rock or something.”

“Rock, eh?” said the other with a sniff. “Must have been inside the boat then, unless you had her turned inside out. See them splinters? Point outward, don’t they? Whatever made them holes was inside the boat, gentlemen.”

“That’s so,” Nelson acknowledged. “I wonder what did it.”

“If you’re asking me, ’twas a boat hook as did it. And it wa’n’t no accident, neither. Boat hooks don’t up of themselves and go to punchin’ holes in the bottom of a boat like that.” He looked expectantly around as though explanations were in order. But Nelson and the others only looked grave and unenlightened.

“Humph!” said the carpenter, returning to his examination of the injuries. But that “Humph!” said a whole lot.

“Can it be mended?” asked Nelson.

“Course it can be mended,” was the reply, “but I can’t do it here. I’ll have to put in two new planks. I’ll get my dory and tow her around to the shop.”

“How long will it take?” asked Bob.

“Oh, I cal’ate you can have her to-morrow some time.”

“That won’t do. We’ve got to start away first thing in the morning. Can’t you work on it this afternoon?”

The carpenter pushed back his old felt hat and rubbed his bald head reflectively.

“Well, I’m pretty busy right now, but I’ll do my best. Got any oakum, cap’n?”

The gasoline man went in search of some and when he returned the holes were temporarily stopped up and the carpenter ambled off for his dory. The others carried the tender down to the water and towed her around to the end of the float. Presently the carpenter returned in a disreputable tub of a dory and the tender was towed away. The gasoline man, who had given them the pleasure of his company continuously since the tender was examined, finally took himself off to carry gasoline to a small launch which had puffed up to the float, and the Four seated themselves in the cockpit and looked inquiringly from one to another.

“It’s mighty funny,” said Dan.

“The mystery deepens,” said Tom excitedly.

“It certainly does,” agreed Bob, “eh, Nel?”

“I think the mystery is explained,” Nelson replied quietly.

“The dickens you do!” exclaimed Dan. “What’s the explanation?”

“The boat hook.”

“Boat hook? What boat hook?” asked Bob impatiently.

“The one that made those holes.”

“Well, but——!”

“It’s as clear as daylight now,” said Nelson. “There’s only one person we know of who would deliberately stave holes in that boat.”

“Who’s that?” asked the others in chorus.

“Captain Sauder!”