Dave Fearless and the Cave of Mystery Part 8

"Going to visit us?" inquired Bob.

"It looks that way."

"More trouble?" insinuated Bob.

"More meddling and spying, more like," said Dave.

Both boys watched a natty, well-manned yawl come spinning up the creek towards the _Swallow_.

The Chilian colors adorned the bow, indicating an official visit. A man in military dress directed the boat. Beside him sat another of the governor's aides in semi-official uniform.

Dave called Captain Broadbeam, and all hands on board the _Swallow_ were now interested in the approaching yawl.

"Colonel Jose Silverado, from his excellency the governor," announced the officer in charge of the yawl as he neared the side of the steamer.

"Coming aboard?" asked Broadbeam, in his blunt, gruff way.

"On duty, yes," responded the officer, very politely, but with a covert grin. "The governor's physician--Dr. Monterey," added the officer, indicating his companion.

Captain Broadbeam bowed brusquely, and with surly and suspicious mien awaited the further pleasure of the governor's envoy.

The officer glanced keenly all about the s.h.i.+p. Then he took a card from his pocket and scanned it.

"Sorry to trouble you, captain," he said, "but we have reason to believe that you have a refugee aboard your s.h.i.+p."

"A refugee?" repeated Broadbeam, with a start. "Who is he?"

"Man named Tompkins."

"Why, yes," admitted the captain, "we have a new man here by that name."

"Will you kindly summon him? We have business with him. That is the man, doctor?" inquired the officer, as the sickly-looking fellow employed by the _Swallow_ that morning slipped out from among the crew at a call from Captain Broadbeam.

"Ah, yes," nodded the governor's physician, eying Tompkins critically.

"My man, you are making us a whole heap of trouble, it seems."

Tompkins looked confused and ill at ease, gazing surlily at the deck.

"What's the matter with him?" demanded the captain.

"Suspect," announced the officer quickly. "Came in on a fruit boat a few days ago. Boat infected, and this man and the others put in quarantine.

He got away. Look him over, doctor."

Monterey stepped up to Tompkins. He examined his pulse and his tongue and tapped him on the chest. Then he said tersely:

"Strip."

Tompkins pulled off his s.h.i.+rt. As his naked back came into view several of the crew curiously regarding the scene uttered quick, startled exclamations.

Across the chest, shoulders, and arms of the suspect, the refugee, were half-a-hundred purple-black blotches.

"Spotted fever," said the governor's physician, stepping back as if his task was done and over with.

"Tut! tut! Too bad," observed Silverado. "Captain, I regret to say that this is a quarantine case."

"Eh? Oh, just so," responded Broadbeam. "Well, take him to the pesthouse, then."

The officer shook his head slowly.

"Gone too far for that," he said. "He has probably infected the others.

Let no man leave the s.h.i.+p," he called out loudly to some of the crew who were moving away in the haste of fright. "I declare this s.h.i.+p in a state of quarantine," pursued Silverado, in a tone of command, producing a doc.u.ment bearing an official red seal. "We will send you a yellow flag, captain, and you will remain here subject to official orders."

"Quarantined?" cried the captain, bristling up. "And for spotted fever?

See here, colonel, we have a skilled physician on board. We will move out to sea at once and take our own risk on this matter."

"Impossible," dissented Silverado, smiling sweetly, but with the latent malice of triumph in his undertone. "Law of the nations--no right to imperil the general safety. No, within two weeks we will give you clearance if no new cases break out. Meantime----"

The officer coolly affixed the sealed doc.u.ment in his hand to the mainmast.

Captain Broadbeam wriggled, fumed, groaned. He was too thorough a seaman to mistake his predicament. His brow grew dark and threatening.

"Bob, quick, come here."

With a violent jerk Dave Fearless pulled his startled chum to one side.

"Quick as you can," he spoke rapidly, "rush to the purser. Tell him to instantly send me up a rag that has been well saturated in turpentine."

"Why, Dave----"

"No questions, no delay," ordered Dave peremptorily.

Bob shot away on his mission, Dave set his teeth, breathing hard. In a flash a sinister suspicion had arisen in his mind. Like lightning memory flew back to the overheard interview on the porch of the native pilot between that crafty individual and the tricky Schmitt-Schmitt.

"He said he could delay the _Swallow_, he hinted at spots, some paint, at was.h.i.+ng them off," mused Dave. "Good for you. Hold on."

Dave s.n.a.t.c.hed the rag soaked with turpentine from Bob Vilett's hands.

He ran forward now to where his friends were depressedly watching Tompkins arranging his s.h.i.+rt to replace it.

Dave made a dash at the man. He held him firmly by one shoulder. With his free hand he slapped the rag briskly over his bare flesh to and fro.

Dave's eyes sparkled immediately with the intensest satisfaction. One by one the dark spots on the back of Tompkins began to disappear.

"Captain Broadbeam," cried Dave, pulling the squirming Tompkins around into full view, "a paint-trick. This man has got no more spotted fever than I have myself."

CHAPTER VII