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CHAPTER XXI – TELLS OF THE SEARCH FOR THE VAGABOND

“Are you sure you left her here?” asked Tom. “Don’t be a fool, Tommy, if you can help it,” answered Bob shortly. “Of course we’re sure.”

“Then – where is she?”

“Well, if we knew we wouldn’t be standing here answering your idiotic questions,” replied Nelson. After which he and Bob, each having sat on Tom, regained some of their equanimity.

“You don’t suppose anyone has swiped her, do you. Nel?” Bob asked anxiously.

“Looks like it,” was the answer. “Only – how could they get in to start the engine?”

“Are you sure you locked the door?”

“Positive. And here’s the key. And the only other one is in the cabin, unless Dan has it; he had it a couple of days ago.”

“They might have burst the locks, I suppose,” said Bob. But Nelson looked doubtful.

“They might break the padlock on the hatch, but the door lock is a pretty stiff one to get at. I suppose they might have picked it, though.”

“Maybe they didn’t start the engine,” said Tom. “Maybe they just towed her away as she was.”

“That’s right, Tommy!” exclaimed Bob. “That’s just about it. If she’s been stolen that’s the way they’ve done it. Besides, even if anyone could get the door open Barry wouldn’t let them stay in the engine room long enough to turn the wheel over. He’d scare ’em out in no time. He wouldn’t let anyone but you or Tommy or me go down those stairs.”

“Or Dan,” suggested Tom thoughtfully.

“Dan, of course,” answered Bob.

“And Dan had the other key, maybe,” continued Tom.

“Yes, I think so,” said Nelson. “By Jove, Tommy, you’re right! Perhaps Dan has gone off with her!”

“Nonsense!” said Bob. “He wouldn’t know how to start her, to say nothing of running her after she was started!”

“I’m not so sure,” answered Nelson. “He’s watched things pretty carefully lots of times, come to think of it. Besides, it wouldn’t make much difference to him whether he knew how or not. If he wanted to do it he would, and he’s a lucky beggar.”

“But could he have got back as early as this?” asked Bob.

“Let’s go over to the station and find out,” suggested Tom.

“You and Bob go,” Nelson said, “and I’ll see if I can find anyone around here who saw the Vagabond go out.” At the station Bob consulted the ticket agent.

“First train leaves New York at 4.54,” said the agent, “and arrives here at 9.45.”

“He wouldn’t take that,” said Bob to Tom. “He’d have to get up at four o’clock. Besides, we were at the wharf at a quarter to ten. What’s the next one?”

“Eight o’clock from New York, arriving here 10.45,” answered the agent. “Another at 10.00, arriving 12.45, another at 10.02, arriving – ”

“Thanks,” interrupted Bob. “Those would be too late. There’s no train, then, except the 4.54 which gets here before 9.45?”

Their informant shook his head impatiently and they moved aside.

“That disposes of Dan,” said Bob. “It isn’t the least bit likely that he’d get up at four o’clock to take a slow train when he could wait until eight and get one reaching here only an hour later. And if he has taken the eight o’clock he won’t be here for nearly three quarters of an hour. So it looks as though some one had deliberately run off with the boat.”

“Gee!” said Tom. “Won’t we be in a fix? Do you suppose we’ll ever find it and get it back?”

“I don’t know,” replied Bob. “I should think, though, that a thirty-six-foot launch would be a pretty hard thing to hide.”

“But the fellow who took it could paint out the name and fix her up a little differently and no one could tell she was stolen.”

“Yes, if we gave him time. But what we’ve got to do now is to get busy. There’s Nel over there.”

Nelson’s report was not comforting. No one had seen the launch that morning, and one old fellow who had rowed across the river at seven o’clock and whose skiff was now tied at the end of the wharf declared that the launch had not been there when he arrived.

“That means,” said Nelson, “that she’s been stolen some time in the night. The man over at the ferry slip says I ought to tell the police and the harbor master at once and telephone up to Norwich and to New Haven and Stonington. So I guess we’d better get busy. Of course they could tow the launch over to some place on Long Island just as easily as they could take her to New Haven, and we can’t very well telephone there, I suppose.”

“Of course you can,” said Bob. “They’ll give you connection at New York. But I think you might as well save your money. If she’s been stolen there’s just one place the thief will take her to, and that’s New York or somewhere around there.”

“Maybe,” replied Nelson dolefully. “Thunder! If we don’t find her I’ll hate to go back home and face the pater!”

“We’ll find her,” said Bob earnestly. “Do you know where the police hang out?”

“Yes, the man told me where to go,” answered Nelson as they left the wharf.

“If she was towed away,” said Tom, “they must have used a launch, I suppose.”

“Probably,” Bob agreed. “They wouldn’t be likely to use a rowboat and a sailboat wouldn’t be much better. If the wind died out they’d be caught.”

“Unless they started early last night and got over to Long Island or down the shore somewhere while it was dark,” said Nelson. “They might put in at some little out-of-the-way place and no one would think of looking for them.”

“Well, if it was a launch,” said Tom, “wouldn’t it be a good plan for the police to find out whether any launch is missing?”

“I should think it would,” said Bob, and Nelson agreed. “We’ll suggest it to them. Have you any more of those clever ideas, Tommy?”

“Well; I think we ought to hire a boat of some sort, a launch if we can find one, and hunt around ourselves. It wouldn’t be much of a trick to run up to Norwich, and it wouldn’t take long to search the shore around here.”

“That’s a scheme!” cried Nelson. “Tommy, you’re a brick! It will keep us busy, besides, and I’d go crazy if I had to sit around the hotel here and wait for the police to do things!”

“How about money?” asked Bob.

“Thunder! That’s so! They’ve got our money, too! How much have you got, Bob?”

“Two or three dollars.”

“And I’ve got four-seventy-five,” said Tom.

“That’s about seven,” said Nelson, “and I’ve got about a dollar in change. Eight dollars won’t go very far, though, when it comes to telephoning all around the country and renting a launch!”

“You forget Dan,” said Bob. “He’s sure to have a lot of tin on him.”

“That’s right. And look here!” Nelson stopped and looked back toward the railroad station. “What time is it, Bob?”

“Almost half-past ten.”

“Then one of us ought to go back to the station and meet Dan. If he goes down there and finds the launch gone there’s no knowing where he will wander to. Will you go down and wait for him, Tommy? Tell him what’s up and hold him at the station until we get back.”

“All right,” answered Tom. “And we might be making inquiries about a launch, eh?”

“Yes, but be back on the platform by eleven.”

Tom retraced his steps to the station, leaving the others to go on in search of the police officials. He passed a fruit and candy store on the way and was sorely tempted to buy some of the latter, but he told himself resolutely that what money he had ought to be expended toward recovering the Vagabond and so fought off the temptation. The Mayflower Limited rolled in on time to the minute and Tom watched the steps of the long line of parlor cars in expectation of seeing Dan descend. But no Dan appeared. After making certain of this fact Tom went into the station and studied the time-table.

“Now he can’t get here until a quarter to one,” he said disgustedly. “And we need his money like anything! I dare say he didn’t want to pay the extra fare on the Limited, the stingy beggar!”

He went down to the wharf to make sure that Dan had not somehow managed to get off of the train on the other side and gone to look for the Vagabond. But the wharf was empty, and so Tom set out on the search for a launch to rent.

Twenty minutes later the three met again on the station platform, all more cheerful for having accomplished something. Bob reported smilingly that the wheels of justice were in motion and that already the local sleuths were on the trail. Nelson had sent telephone messages up and down the Sound and over to Long Island. Tom had found the very thing they wanted in the way of a launch.

“She’s a little bit of a thing, only eighteen feet long,” he explained, “but she can go like anything. And we can hire her for six dollars a day. I tried to make him take five, but he wouldn’t. She’s right up here at a wharf. Come on and look at her.”

The Sylph proved to be a very smart-looking little craft, built of white cedar and mahogany. Her engine took up a good deal of space, but there remained room for four passengers. The owner had built her himself and was very proud of her, so proud that when Bob and Nelson became enthusiastic over her lines and finish, and when he had learned why they wanted her, he voluntarily knocked off a dollar of the renting price.

“Call it five dollars for to-day and the same for to-morrow if you need her again,” he said. “I guess you can run the engine all right, but I’ll show you one or two things about it that you probably aren’t used to.”

The one or two things proved to be small improvements of his own devising and it took some time for Nelson to understand them. But at a quarter to twelve they had paid their five dollars and were in possession of the Sylph. They ran her down to the wharf where they had left the Vagabond and found that she went finely.

“Shall we wait for the 12.45 train and get Dan?” asked Nelson. “Or shall we leave word for him somewhere and start out now?”

“Let’s get at it as soon as we can,” answered Bob. “Dan can look out for himself.”

So Nelson was left in charge of the launch while Bob went to the station to telephone a message to the hotel in case Dan turned up there looking for them, and Tom hurried to the nearest store after crackers and cheese and cookies. For with only sixty cents left between them there was no use thinking about an elaborate luncheon. When they returned in the evening they would go to the hotel and live on credit until Nelson’s father sent them some money. Bob and Tom were soon back and the Sylph headed up the river.

Bob had been in favor of searching downstream and along the shore east and west of the river mouth first, but Nelson said he had a feeling that the Vagabond had been taken toward Norwich, and Tom threw his vote with Nelson’s. It wasn’t likely that the thief would leave the launch anywhere around the town, but they searched the waterfront thoroughly to be on the safe side and then ran across the river to the Groton shore. After a search there the Sylph was again headed upstream. Twice in the ensuing half hour they approached the east shore to examine boats which, seen from the middle of the river, seemed to bear some resemblance to the Vagabond. But in each case they were doomed to disappointment, the craft proving on closer acquaintance to be very little like their missing launch. They went slowly in order that they might search each bank of the stream carefully and at half-past one they had only reached the second bend in the river. For some time past they had seen no launches either in the stream or moored along the banks and Bob suggested that Nelson send the Sylph at a faster pace so that they would have more time to look around and make inquiries at Norwich before it was necessary to turn homeward.

“All right,” Nelson answered. “I guess she isn’t hidden around here anywhere.”

It didn’t seem likely, for the banks were devoid of coves, and field and forest came straight down to the water’s edge. Nelson was just reaching forward to advance the spark, and the Sylph was just swinging around the turn in the river, when Tom began to sputter.

“Lu-lu-lu-lu-look!” he cried.

“Where?” asked Nelson and Bob with one voice, turning their heads excitedly from side to side. Tom pointed across the stream toward the west bank.

“Th-th-there! Su-su-su-see that bu-bu-bu-boat under the tu-tu-tu-trees?”

“Jove!” exclaimed Bob.

“The Vagabond!” cried Nelson, turning the wheel over fast.

“Looks like it,” said Bob excitedly, “but what’s she doing there? I don’t believe it is her after all, Nel.”

“I know it is,” was the reply as the Sylph, headed obliquely across the river, chugged her fastest. “I’d know her anywhere!”

“Wu-wu-wu-well,” stuttered Tom, “I du-du-du-don’t pr-pretend to knu-knu-know the bu-bu-boat, bu-bu-but I knu-knu-know the du-du-du-du-dog!”

“He’s right,” exclaimed Bob. “That’s Barry on the cabin roof!”

“Then they did get into the engine room,” said Nelson, his eyes fixed intently on the distant craft, “and they didn’t tow her. I wish,” he added, “that we had that revolver of yours, Bob.”

“So do I,” answered Bob gravely.

The little Sylph, as though comprehending the impatience of those she carried, dashed across the river.

CHAPTER XXII – WHEREIN THE VAGABOND IS RECOVERED AND THE THIEF IS CAPTURED

The Vagabond lay anchored close to shore, her nose pointing upstream and shaded by the drooping branch of a willow tree. Beside her, tugging gently at the painter, was the tender. On the cabin roof, stretched out at full length in a patch of hot sunshine, lay Barry. No other life was visible, and had it not been that the tender was tied to an awning stanchion and that the cabin door and hatch were wide open those on the Sylph would have concluded that the person who had run away with the Vagabond had rifled her of money and other valuables and abandoned her here. But at least a dozen yards separated her from the land and it was not likely that the thief would have swam ashore while there was a tender handy. “No, it was evident to the party on the Sylph that whoever had taken the Vagabond from the wharf at New London was still on board, and when they had approached to within a hundred yards Nelson slowed down the engine, resolved to get as near as possible to the Vagabond without detection. Bob and Tom silently peeled off their coats, and Nelson followed suit, cinching in his leather belt in a businesslike way.

“It’s funny about Barry,” said Nelson softly. “You’d think they’d have got rid of him.”

“Oh, he probably made friends,” answered Bob. “I’m glad he did. They might have thrown him overboard.”

“How many do you suppose there are?” asked Nelson as he opened the switch, shut off the gasoline and allowed the Sylph to glide silently toward the enemy. Bob shook his head. Tom wanted to talk but realized that in his present excited state it would be idle to make the attempt. “I don’t believe there are more than two,” continued Nelson. “If there were, one of them would be sure to be up on deck.”

“Suppose they’ll show fight?” asked Bob.

“I hope they do,” answered Nelson earnestly, “I just hope they do!”

“Well, but I don’t want any pistols flashed on me,” muttered Bob. “Get ready, Tommy. I’ll go forward and make fast. If we can sneak on board quietly and shut the doors and lock them maybe we can make terms.”

“Good scheme,” whispered Nelson. “You and Tom keep her from bumping and I’ll make a stab at it.”

The Sylph was scarcely more than moving now and for a moment or two it looked as though she would not reach the other boat without having her engine started again. All three kept very still, their eyes fixed intently on the nine oval port lights. They were all open and every moment Tom expected to see a revolver spring into glittering view through one of them. But they all remained empty and the two boats were less than three yards apart when their plan to maintain silence was frustrated by Barry.

Once as they approached he had raised his head lazily and viewed them with calm indifference, promptly returning to his slumber or day-dreaming. But now he suddenly sprang to his feet and gave the alarm in the form of a challenging bark that was half a growl. Bob raised a warning hand.

“Barry!” he whispered hoarsely. “Shut up, sir!”

The terrier recognized them then, but he didn’t shut up. Instead he went quite crazy with delight and ran barking joyously along the edge of the cabin roof, Nelson, Bob, and Tom entreating and threatening him with bated breath. Then Bob and Tom brought the two boats softly together and Nelson made a flying jump on to the Vagabond and scrambled noiselessly down to the cockpit, Barry leaping ecstatically at him.

It was the work of an instant to close the doors, and then, in the act of drawing the hatch shut, Nelson peered quickly into the engine room. It was empty and the door into the stateroom beyond was closed. Nelson hesitated a moment. There was a bolt on each side of this door and if he could reach the door without alarming the occupants of the stateroom and slip the bolt on his side he would not only make them prisoners but be able to run the engine and so get back quickly to New London. Opening the doors again, he stepped softly down into the engine room and across the floor. There was no sound from beyond the door. Noiselessly he slipped the bolt into place and hurried back to the deck.

Bob and Tom had pulled the Sylph toward the stern of the larger boat out of range of the port lights and were making her fast. Nelson explained what he had done.

“That’s good,” said Bob. “Although, of course, we could have towed her back with the Sylph.”

“And been plugged full of holes, maybe, from one of the forward ports,” added Nelson. “No, thank you! I don’t see, though, why they haven’t heard us if there’s really anyone down there!”

“Let’s find out if there is anyone on board,” said Bob. “I’ll creep up and look.”

So very softly he made his way along the side until he reached the first port in the stateroom. Then he stooped and peered down into the dim cabin. The opposite bunks were both empty. It was impossible to see the ones below him from where he was, so he silently crept back and around to the corresponding port on the other side of the boat, Nelson and Tom watching anxiously from the stern.

In a moment he was crawling back, one finger up-raised.

“There’s only one there,” he said softly, “and he’s fast asleep in Dan’s berth. It’s too dark to make out anything about him, and he’s got his face toward the wall, but he looks like a pretty husky chap. Now what shall we do?”

“Get the anchor up, take the tender back of the Sylph and make her fast there and go home.”

“Can we tow the Sylph and the tender too?” questioned Bob.

“Sure. We’ll keep as quiet as we can about it, but I don’t think it matters whether the chap down there wakes up or not. He won’t be a match for the three of us, I guess. I’ll stay below and if he tries to break through the door I’ll lay him out with a wrench. You and Tom get the anchor up and the other boats fixed. Don’t give the Sylph much rope; about four feet will do; we don’t want to get it wound around the propeller. For the love of Mike, Barry, get out from under my feet! Yes, I’m awfully glad to see you, of course, but I’ll tell you about it later.” And Nelson crept back to the engine room.

Presently Bob put his head down and whispered that all was ready. Nelson, listening for sounds from beyond the door and hearing none, prepared to start the engine. Bob took the wheel and Tom was stationed at the stern to keep the Sylph from bumping as they turned. Bob waited. So did Tom. Then Nelson’s head appeared at the door.

“No wonder he stayed here,” he said angrily. “The blamed idiot went and balled the vaporizer all up! Had it screwed around so she wasn’t getting any gasoline! I’d like to break his head!”

“Can’t you fix it?” asked Bob anxiously.

“I have fixed it,” was the reply, “but I’m going to tell him what I think of him before he gets away. It’s bad enough to swipe the boat, I should think, without trying to queer the engine!” And Nelson went back still muttering vengefully. Bob and Tom exchanged grins. Then the Vagabond, which had been slipping downstream for several minutes, turned her nose toward the middle of the Thames and swung about to the tune of her chugging engine, the Sylph and the tender following behind in single file. Presently Nelson wiped his hands on a bunch of waste and seated himself on the middle step where he could at once keep his eye on the engine, watch the stateroom door, and converse with Bob and Tom.

“Don’t see why he don’t wake up now,” said Bob, when they were making for New London. “Maybe he’s dead.”

“Ku-ku-killed by ru-ru-remorse,” suggested Tom.

“Steal around and have a peep at him, Tommy,” said Nelson. Tommy looked doubtful.

“Du-du-do you think he’s got a gu-gu-gu-gun?” he asked.

“No, and, anyway, he’s asleep, isn’t he?” answered Nelson.

“That’s what I du-du-don’t know,” replied Tom.

“Well, go and see,” laughed Bob. “You don’t have to climb through the port; just take a peek.”

So Tom obeyed, not overanxiously, and displayed splendid caution in the matter of approach. For fully half a minute he leaned over the port. Then he came back, looking excited.

“He’s still asleep! And wh-wh-wh-what do you th-th-think?”

“I don’t think,” answered Bob. “Out with it, and don’t drop too many stitches or he will wake up and murder us all before you’ve unburdened yourself of your fearful secret.”

“He was all ready to su-su-skip out,” said Tom. “There’s a suit case on the floor by the du-du-door and I’ll bet it’s all packed with our things. And he’s got on a pu-pu-pu-pair of Dan’s trousers!”

“How do you know?” asked Nelson.

“Saw them; those woolly, grayish, checked ones.”

“Sorry to queer your little yarn, Tommy,” said Bob, “but you’re letting your imagination run away with you. Dan wore those trousers to New York yesterday.”

“Du-du-du-did he, Nel?” appealed Tom. Nelson nodded.

“Well, they look like those. Anyway, I’ll bet he’s got all our money and things in that su-su-su-su-su – ”

“Suit case, Tommy,” said Nelson. “You’re welcome.”

“Well, it won’t do him any good now,” said Bob. “He won’t get it off this boat except over my dead body.”

“What became of that cheese and the crackers and things?” asked Tom suddenly.

“By Jove, that’s so!” exclaimed Bob. “We haven’t fed!”

“Well, we don’t need to eat crackers and cheese unless we want to,” said Nelson. “There’s real grub in the ice box. What do you say, Chef? Do we get anything cooked?”

“I don’t mind cooking if you’ll stay there and see that he doesn’t jump out and scalp me,” answered Tom.

Nelson promised faithfully and presently there was a subdued bustle in the “galley.” Beyond the bolted door all remained as silent as a tomb. The Vagabond and her tows were by this time within sight of the bridge.

“Coffee or tea?” asked Tom softly.

The verdict was coffee and Tom’s fork got busy in the bottom of a cup with half an egg.

“Don’t make such a silly lot of noise,” whispered Nelson.

“It isn’t me,” replied Tom, “it’s the egg cackling.”

“Where are we, Bob?” asked Nelson.

“Just passed the Navy Yard,” was the answer. “Hadn’t you better slow her down a bit?” Nelson followed the suggestion.

“We’ll be at the wharf before you get that luncheon ready, Tommy, if you don’t hurry,” said Nelson. Whereupon Tom flew around quite fast for him and the cheering aroma of coffee began to pervade the launch. And with it presently mingled the agreeable odor of corned-beef hash.

Suddenly from the other side of the door came the sound of a loud yawn and Tom dropped the spoon from his hand. Nelson got up from the step and stood ready. They listened intently. For a moment silence held. Then came the thud of boots on the floor and the creak of the berth as its occupant sat up. Nelson pointed over his shoulder and Tom streaked to the stairs and warned Bob, returning to take his place at Nelson’s side. Another yawn followed. Then the door was tried. There was a muttered word from beyond it and it creaked as the person in the stateroom put his shoulder against it. Nelson reached down and possessed himself of the biggest wrench in the tool kit. Then —

“That door’s bolted,” he called. “You stay where you are. If you make trouble it’ll be bad for you. We’re three to one and you’d better give up!” There was a long silence. Evidently the fellow in the stateroom was pondering the advice. At last, however —

“What yer goin’ ter do with me?” asked a deep, gruff voice in which Nelson thought he caught a tremor.

“We’re almost at New London and when we get there we’re going to give you up to the police and let you explain, if you can, why you ran off with our boat.”

“Did yer say there was three of yer?” asked the other.

“Yes.”

“I give up then. Lemme out.”

“No, you’ll stay where you are,” answered Nelson.

“I give yer my word I won’t do nothin’ if yer’ll lemme out,” pleaded the prisoner. “Hope ter die!”

“Will you hand over your revolver?”

There was just a moment of hesitation.

“Yes,” was the answer.

“Very well,” said Nelson. “Reach it through the nearest port and lay it on the deck. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“You go and fetch it, Tommy.” Nelson whispered. In a moment Tom was back with the revolver in his hand.

“It isn’t loaded,” he whispered, “and it lu-lu-lu-looks like Bob’s.”

“It is Bob’s,” said Nelson, examining it.

“Bob su-su-says to stop the engine so as he cu-cu-can leave the wheel.”

Nelson obeyed and Bob tumbled impatiently down into the engine room.

“Are you going to let him out?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Would you?”

“Yes, we can manage him. And he can’t get away unless he swims. First, though, tell him to hand out the cartridges.”

Nelson followed the suggestion and Tom brought down Bob’s box of cartridges. Bob grimly loaded the revolver. When he was through he nodded to Nelson. The latter went to the door.

“I’m going to let you out on the understanding that you give yourself up and make no attempt to escape. Understand that?”

“Yes,” growled the prisoner.

“All right,” said Nelson. “Get out of the way, Barry.” The terrier for several minutes had been sniffing at the door and wagging his stump of a tail. Nelson shot back the bolt and stepped aside.

“Come out,” he commanded sternly.

Slowly the door opened, and then three jaws dropped simultaneously and three faces were overspread with amazement.

Out walked Dan!