The Secret of the Reef
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“I think you had better let me finish the job, sir,” he said. “You’d be more comfortable if you waited quietly on board until we brought up the case.”
“I’m going down,” Clay answered shortly. “You might not be able to get at it without my help.”
“Anyway, you can wait until we break through the deck. It will shorten the time you need stay below.”
After some demur, Clay agreed to this; but he suggested that Moran and Bethune should clear the ground instead of sending his own diver, and in a few minutes they were under water. It was some time before they came up, and when they had undressed Clay looked hard at Bethune.
“Have you cut the hole?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Bethune; “I think it’s big enough.”
“You didn’t go through?”
“No; we’d been down quite long enough.”
“Give me that brandy,” Clay said to a steward in the waiting gig, and turned to Jimmy when he had drained a small wineglass. “Now we’ll get to work as soon as we can.”
Jimmy went down the ladder and Clay followed him steadily across the sand. The tide was low, the stream slack, and the dim green water was filled with strange refractions of the growing light above. The sloop rode overhead, a patch of opaque shadow, and the wreck loomed up, black and shapeless, in front. They reached her without trouble, and Jimmy switched on his lamp and carefully cleared Clay’s air-pipe and line before he crawled into the dark gap. The man seemed to move with greater ease and confidence than he had shown on the previous day, and Jimmy felt reassured as he guided him along the side of the shaft tunnel. Glancing at the long streamers of weed that wavered mysteriously through the gloom, he remembered the sense of fear and shrinking he had had to overcome on his first few descents. It looked as if he need not be anxious about his companion.
It was more difficult to get him into the strong-room, but they entered it safely and Jimmy saw that Bethune and Moran had thrown up a bank of sand under the hole between the beams. This would make it easier to reach, but as he was arranging his air-pipe preparatory to entering Clay made an imperative sign. Jimmy felt surprised, because the man obviously meant that he was going first. Though it would not be hard to scramble up after seizing a timber, the feat would require some exertion, and Jimmy tried to make this clear, but Clay disregarded his signaled objections. It was impossible to explain himself properly in pantomime, and, as Clay seemed determined, Jimmy let him go. He might grow suspicious and perhaps combative if force were used to detain him.
Jimmy helped him up, and then felt anxious as Clay’s swollen legs and heavy boots disappeared through the hole. The space above must be low, and was probably cumbered with wreckage, but Jimmy saw that Clay’s air-pipe and signal-line ran steadily through the gap, which implied that he found no difficulty in moving about. Faint flashes of light, broken up into wavering reflections, came out of the hole and Jimmy switched off his lamp so that he could see them better. Though he meant to keep his promise to Aynsley, he admitted that the tension he felt was not solely on Clay’s account. The recovery of the case was of great importance to his party, and if they failed to secure it now a change in the weather might frustrate the next attempt or perhaps place the gold altogether out of reach.
After a while it struck Jimmy that Clay ought to come out. The man was unaccustomed to diving and was in precarious health; moreover, if he could not get at the case, Jimmy meant to try. He pulled the line, and got a signal in answer that gave him no excuse for interfering; so he waited until the pipe and line began to run backward. Then a light flashed sharply as if in warning, and as Jimmy turned on his lamp a dark object fell from the gap. It was large and square and, striking the sand with its edge, darkened the disturbed water.
Thrilled with a sense of triumph, Jimmy turned to help Clay, who was coming out of the hole; but as Clay’s legs dangled he lost his grip and fell backward. He did not come down violently, but sank until one foot touched the sand, and then made fantastic contortions. His buoyant dress supported him and he looked a grotesque figure as he lurched about. Jimmy, however, was alarmed, for it dawned on him that this was not the result of inexperienced clumsiness. Clay had lost control of his limbs: he was too weak to keep the balance between his heavy helmet and his weighted boots. Indeed, he was obviously helpless, and it would be a difficult task to get him out of the wreck; but it must be set about at once.
Jimmy dragged him through the opening into the hold and felt keen relief when he saw that both pipes ran clear; then he guided him to the tunnel and, letting him lean on it, pushed him along. Clay was a big, heavy man, but his weight was counteracted by the air in his dress, and he could be moved with a push almost like a floating object. Sometimes he moved too far and fell away from the tunnel. Jimmy long afterward remembered with a shudder the time they spent in reaching the outlet. He could not use his lamp, because he needed both hands; and he was horribly afraid that the pipes and lines might get foul. He believed that he threw Clay down and dragged him out into the open water by his helmet, but he had only a hazy recollection of the matter.
When they reached the level sand, Jimmy signaled urgently with his line, and got a reply. Then the rope he looped round Clay’s shoulders tightened and he guided and steadied him as they were drawn toward the ladder. A few moments later Clay was lifted on to the Cetacea’s deck, and Jimmy sat down on the cabin top, feeling very limp.
When somebody took off his helmet he saw Clay lying on the deck, with Aynsley bending over him holding a spoon to his mouth. Jimmy thought he could not get him to take the restorative, but he was too dazed and exhausted to notice clearly, and shortly afterward Clay was lifted into the gig. It headed for the yacht, the crew pulling hard, and Jimmy turned to Bethune.
“I was afraid I couldn’t get him up,” he said weakly. “He seems pretty bad.”
“I think he is; but you don’t look fit yourself.”
“The dizziness is the worst,” murmured Jimmy. “I’ll go below and lie down. But I’m forgetting; we found the case.”
Bethune helped him into the cabin, and made him comfortable on a locker. He had a bad headache and a curious sense of heaviness which grew worse when the pain lessened. In a short time, however, he had fallen into a deep sleep.
And while he slept, Moran went below and brought up the case.
CHAPTER XXX – THE LAST OF THE WRECK
Thick fog lay upon the water when Jimmy wakened. He slipped off the locker and, standing with his bent head among the deckbeams, looked at Bethune with heavy eyes.
“Is it dark?” he asked. “How long have I slept?”
“It is not dark yet. How do you feel?”
“I think I’m all right. Did you get the case?”
“Sure!” smiled Bethune. “It’s safe under the floorings and heavy enough to make the salvage worth having. But I came down to bring you this note from Aynsley. One of his men brought it and his gig’s waiting alongside.”
Jimmy opened the note and read it aloud in the dim light of the cabin.
“I shall consider it a favor if you will come across at once. My father seems very ill and he insists on seeing you.”
“I’d better go,” Jimmy said. “After all, we couldn’t have got the case without his help, and, in a way, I’m sorry for him. He must have known he was running a big risk, but he was very plucky.”
“It can’t do much harm,” Bethune agreed. “Somehow I feel that we have nothing more to fear from him. For all that, I wish I could go with you.”
“I suppose that wouldn’t do,” said Jimmy thoughtfully.
“No; you can’t take your lawyer along when you visit a sick man. Still, if he’s not quite as bad as Aynsley thinks, you may as well be on your guard.”
Jimmy got into the waiting boat and the men plied the oars rhythmically. A bank of clammy fog rested on the slate-green heave that moved in from seaward in slow undulations. The damp condensed on the boat’s thwarts and her knees were beaded with moisture. The air felt strangely raw, and the measured beat of the surf rose drearily from the hidden beach. At intervals the tolling of a bell sounded through the noises of the sea; and when the yacht appeared, looming up gray and ghostly, her rigging dripped, her deck was sloppy, and the seamen at the gangway had a limp, bedraggled look. Everything seemed cheerless and depressing; and Aynsley’s face was anxious as he hurried toward Jimmy.
“It was good of you to come,” he said. “I hope you’re none the worse.”
“Not much. I’m sorry your father has suffered from the trip, but I really did my best.”
“I’m sure of that,” Aynsley responded. “But he’s waiting to see you.”
He led Jimmy into a handsome teak deckhouse between the masts, and opened a door into the owner’s cabin, which occupied the full width of the house. Two electric lamps were burning, rich curtains were drawn across the windows to shut out the foggy light, and a fire burned cheerfully in an open-fronted stove, encased in decorated tiles. Its pipe was of polished brass; the walls and the ceiling were enameled a spotless white, with the moldings of the beams picked out in harmonious color; two good marine pictures hung on the cross bulkhead. The place struck Jimmy as being strangely luxurious after the cramped, damp cabin of the sloop; but he soon forgot his surroundings when his eyes rested on the figure lying in the corner-berth.
Clay had thrown off the coverings and was propped up on two large pillows. His silk pajamas showed the massiveness of his short neck and his powerful chest and arms; but his face was pinched and gray except where it was streaked with a faint purple tinge. Jimmy could see that the man was very ill.
“I hear you got the case,” Clay began in a strained voice, motioning Jimmy to a seat.
“Yes. The others brought it up; I haven’t examined it yet.”
“You’ll find it all right.” Clay smiled weakly. “I suppose you know there’s another case and a couple of small packages still in the strong-room?”
“We understood so.”
“Get them up; they’re in the sand. You can have my diver, and it shouldn’t take you long. You’re welcome to the salvage; it isn’t worth fighting you about. After that, there will be nothing left in her. I give you my word for it, and you can clear out when you like.”
“None of us wants to stay; we have had enough. I suppose you have no idea of going down again?”
“No,” Clay answered rather grimly; “it doesn’t seem probable. I haven’t thanked you yet for bringing me up.” He turned to Aynsley. “Mr. Farquhar stuck to me when I was half conscious and helpless. I’d like you to remember that. Now I want a quiet talk with him.”
Aynsley left them, and Clay was silent for a moment or two. He lay back on the pillows with his eyes closed, and when he spoke it seemed to be with an effort.
“About the bogus case? What are you going to do with it?”
“We have been too busy to think of that. You spoke of an exchange, but of course we haven’t the thing here – ”
“No,” said Clay. “Your partner’s pretty smart and I guess you have got it safely locked up in one of the Island ports. The chances are that you won’t be able to give it to me.”
Jimmy understood him. Clay seemed to know that he was very ill. He lay quiet again, as if it tired him to talk.
“It has been a straight fight on your side,” he resumed after his short rest. “I guess you might give that box to Osborne. You’re white men, and, though you might perhaps make trouble about it, the thing’s no use to you. You know Osborne?”
“Yes,” Jimmy answered rather awkwardly, because he saw what the question implied. Clay had judged him correctly; for Jimmy had no wish to extort a price for keeping a dark secret. He thought he could answer for his comrades, though he would not make a binding promise without their consent.
“I believe you know Ruth Osborne,” Clay went on with a searching glance at him.
Jimmy was taken off his guard, and Clay noticed his slight start and change of expression.
“I met Miss Osborne on board the Empress,” he replied cautiously.
Clay smiled.
“Well,” he said, “she’s a girl who makes an impression, and my notion is that her character matches her looks.” He paused and went on with a thoughtful air: “Anyhow, she wouldn’t have Aynsley.”
Jimmy colored. Clay’s manner was significant, but not hostile. Ill as the man was, Jimmy imagined that he was cleverly playing a game, and, with some object, was trying to turn his recent opponent into an ally. For all that, Jimmy thought his motive was good.
“I mustn’t keep you talking too long,” Jimmy said. He did not wish to discuss Miss Osborne.
“I soon get tired; but there’s something I must mention. You’ll clean the wreck out in a few hours, and then you may as well blow her up. My diver will help you, and we have some high-grade powder and a firing outfit.”
“It might be wise. If she washed up nearer the bight she would be dangerous. The island’s charted, and I dare say vessels now and then run in.”
Clay looked at him with a faint twinkle.
“Yes; I think we can take it that she’s a danger. I’ll tell my man to give you the truck you want and you had better get finished while the weather’s fine.”
Moving feebly, he held out his hand in sign of dismissal, and Jimmy took it. He had no repugnance to doing so, but he felt that he was making his helpless enemy a promise.
Aynsley was waiting on deck and insisted on Jimmy’s staying to dinner. Although well served, it was a melancholy meal, and Jimmy had a sense of loneliness as he sat at the long table. Aynsley was attentive to his comfort and tried to make conversation, but he was obviously depressed.
“What are your plans?” he asked.
“We start to get out the last of the gold at daybreak,” Jimmy answered. “If we’re fortunate, it should take only three or four hours.”
“And then?”
“I agreed with your father that we had better blow up the wreck.”
“You should get that done before dark to-morrow.”
“I think so, if the water keeps smooth. In fact, I dare say we’ll have finished in the afternoon.”
“That’s a relief,” declared Aynsley. “Perhaps I’m not tactful in reminding you that I don’t know – and don’t want to know – what your business with my father is, but he’s seriously ill, and we ought to get away at once in order to put him in a good doctor’s hands as soon as possible. The trouble is that he won’t hear of our leaving until you have completed the job.”
“We’ll lose no time,” Jimmy assured him. “The glass is dropping, but I don’t expect much wind just yet.”
“Thanks!” Aynsley responded with deep feeling. “There’s another thing – if the wind’s light or unfavorable, we’ll start under steam and could tow you south as long as it keeps fine. It may save you a few days. And you could stay with us if your friends can spare you. To tell the truth, it would be a kindness to me. I’m worried, and want somebody to talk to.”
Jimmy agreed, and was shortly afterward rowed back to the sloop.
By noon the next day they had brought up the last of the gold. After a hasty luncheon, they went down again, but their next task took some time, because the diver insisted on clamping the charges of dynamite firmly to the principal timbers and boring holes in some. Then a series of wires had to be taken below and coupled, and it was nearly supper time when Jimmy came up from his last descent.
A faint breeze flecked the leaden water with ripples too languid to break on the sloop’s bows; the island was wrapped in fog, and the swell was gentle. Only a dull murmur rose from the hidden beach. To seaward it was clearer and the yacht rode, a long white shape, lifting her bows with a slow and rhythmic swing, while a gray cloud that spread in a hazy smear rose nearly straight up from her funnel. The sloop’s cable was hove short and everything was ready for departure. Her crew sat in the cockpit watching the diver fit the wires to the contact-plug of the firing battery.
The men on the sloop were filled with keen impatience. They had borne many hardships and perils in those lonely waters, and, now that their work was finished, they wanted to get away. There was a mystery connected with the wreck, but they thought they would never unravel it, and, on the whole, they had no wish to try. They were anxious to see the end of her and to leave the fog-wrapped island.
“I guess we’re all ready,” the diver said at last. “See that you have left nothing loose to fall overboard: she’ll shift some water.”
He inserted the firing-plug; and a moment afterward the sea opened some distance ahead and rolled back from a gap in the bottom of which shattered timber churned about. Then a foaming wave rose suddenly from the chasm, tossing up black masses of planking and ponderous beams. A few, rearing on end, shot out of the water and fell with a heavy splash among fountains of spray, while a white ridge swept furiously toward the sloop. It broke before it reached her, but she flung her bows high as she plunged over the troubled swell, and the yacht rolled heavily with a yeasty wash along her side.
Jimmy ran forward with a sense of keen satisfaction to break out the anchor. The powerful charge had done its work; the wreck had gone.
While the Cetacea drifted slowly with the stream the yacht’s windlass began to clank, and a few minutes later she steamed toward the smaller craft. Her gig brought off a hawser, and a message inviting Jimmy to come on board. As soon as he reached her deck the gig was run up to the davits and the throb of engines quickened. The sloop, swinging into line astern, followed along the screw-cut wake, and in half an hour the fog-bank about the island faded out of sight.
Jimmy felt more cheerful when he dined with Aynsley in the saloon. The depression that had rested on them all seemed to have been lifted with the disappearance of the wreck. Even Clay appeared to be brighter. He sent a request for Jimmy to come to him as soon as he finished dinner.
When Jimmy entered the cabin, Clay lay in his berth, comfortably raised on pillows. He gave Jimmy a friendly nod.
“She’s gone? You made a good job?”
“Yes,” Jimmy answered cheerfully. “We didn’t spare the dynamite.”
Clay beckoned him forward, and, reaching out awkwardly to a small table by his berth, took up a glass of champagne. Another stood near it, ready filled.
“I make a bad host and soon get tired, but Aynsley will do his best for you,” he said cordially. He smiled and raised his glass. “Good luck to you; you’re a white man!”
Jimmy drained his glass, and took Clay’s from his shaking hand. When the elder man thanked him with a gesture, Jimmy saw that he was too ill to talk, and he went out quietly and joined Aynsley on deck.
He spent three days on board the yacht, which steamed steadily south, but late on the fourth night a steward awakened him.
“It’s blowing fresh, sir,” he said. “The captain thought you’d like to know your boat’s towing very wild and he can’t hold on to her long.”
Jimmy had been prepared for such an emergency, and he was on deck in five minutes, fully dressed with his sea-boots and slickers on; and Aynsley joined him in the lee of the deckhouse with a pilot coat over his pajamas. The engines were turning slowly, and the rolling of the yacht and the showers of spray showed that the sea was getting up.
“They’re launching the gig,” Aynsley said. “I wish we could keep you, but I suppose your friends need you?”
“Thanks! They couldn’t navigate her home.”
Jimmy ran toward the bulwarks and shouted to a group of seamen:
“Don’t bother with that ladder, boys!”
Somebody lighted a blue flare on the deckhouse top, and the strong light showed the gig lurching on the broken heave on the yacht’s lee side. Near by, theCetacea lay plunging with her staysail up, while a dark figure on her deck flashed a lantern. Jimmy shook hands with Aynsley and sprang up on the rail; then, leaning out, seized a davit-fall and slid swiftly down. A man released the tackle-hook and pushed off the gig; the oars splashed and a sea swept her away from the yacht. In a few minutes Jimmy jumped on board the sloop and helped Moran to cast off the hawser while the gig struggled back. Another flare was burning, and he saw the boat hoisted in. Then the blaze sank down and, with a farewell blast of her whistle, the steamer vanished into the dark.
Spray leaped about the rolling sloop, her low deck was swept by the hurling sea, and a tangle of hard, wet ropes swung about the mast.
“We’ve double-reefed the mainsail and bent on the storm-jib,” Moran said, above the noise of the sea. “She’ll carry that lot with the wind on her quarter.”
“She ought to,” replied Jimmy. “Up with the throat!”
Fumbling in the dark, they hoisted the thrashing sail, and when the Cetacea listed down until her rail was in the foam Jimmy went aft to relieve Bethune at the helm.
“She’ll make a short passage if this breeze holds,” he said cheerfully. “As I’ve had three nights’ good sleep, I’ll take the first watch.”
While the sloop was driving wildly south before the following seas, or beating slowly in long tacks when the breeze fell light and drew ahead, the yacht skimmed over the water at her best speed; and one gray morning she steamed up Puget Sound, and a low blast of her whistle rang dolefully as she passed Osborne’s house. Clay had made his last voyage; she brought his lifeless body home.
CHAPTER XXXI – A GIFT FROM THE DEAD
Jimmy and his companions sat on the balcony formed by the flat roof of the veranda in front of Jaques’ store. It was a fine evening and a light breeze stirred the dust in the streets of the wooden town. Beyond the ugly, square-fronted buildings that straggled down to the wharf, the water lay shining in the evening light, and through a gap the sloop showed up distinctly, riding in the harbor mouth. On the other hand, a blaze of crimson burned above the crest of a hill and the ragged pines stood out harshly sharp against the glow. Work was over for the day, and groups of men lounged in chairs on the sidewalks outside the hotels, while here and there a citizen and his family occupied the stoop of his dwelling.
Jimmy had briefly related their adventures in the North, though nothing had yet been said about the party’s future plans. Now, however, Jaques and his wife were waiting to discuss them.
“Clay must have died soon after you left the yacht,” the storekeeper said. “As you believe his son is friendly, we have no opposition to fear; and we may as well settle what is to be done.”
“Bethune is our business manager,” Jimmy said. “Perhaps he will give us his opinion.”
Bethune leaned forward with a thoughtful air.
“In the first place, the matter is not so simple as it looks. We don’t know the whole story of the wreck, and I’m inclined to think we’ll never learn it. On the other hand, there’s much to be guessed, and one could form a theory which would be rather hard to contradict. In fact, except for certain prejudices, I believe we could make some money out of it.”
“You can call them prejudices, if you like,” Mrs. Jaques broke in. “For all that, it would be wiser to act up to them.”
“It’s possible,” Bethune agreed. “Just the same, we’re in a rather responsible position.”
“I’m a trader,” Jaques remarked. “I want a fair profit on the money I lay out; but I stop at that. All the money I take is for value supplied.”
Jaques turned to Jimmy.
“Now that we’re talking about it, did you see where Clay got that case?”
“I didn’t; nor did anybody else. We were too busy to trouble about examining the hole he crawled into. I suppose there must have been a space between the top of the strong-room and the floor of the poop cabin.”
“It’s a curious place to stow a box of gold. You can understand their putting the sham case in the strong-room if they meant to wreck the boat; but then why didn’t they ship the genuine stuff by another vessel?”
“That,” said Bethune, smiling, “is the point where my theory breaks down. The only explanation I can think of seems too far-fetched to mention.”
“We will let it go,” Mrs. Jaques interposed quickly. “What do you suggest doing with the gold you brought home?”