The Harbor of Doubt Part 12

The heavy insurance on the fifty-year-old _May_ was about to run out, and it was almost a certainty that Burns would not recommend its renewal except at a vastly increased premium.

As a matter of fact, on a hurried trip that Code had taken, he had picked up Burns himself at St. John's, the inspector coming for the purpose of examining the schooner while under sail in a fairly heavy seaway.

All the island knew this, and all the island knew that Code was the only one to return alive. The inference was not hard to deduce, especially as the gale encountered had been one such as the _May_ had lived out a dozen times.

Had not all these things been enough to fire the impulsive, pa.s.sionate Burns with a sullen hatred, the next events would have been. For Code received his insurance without a dispute and, not long afterward, while in Boston for the purpose, had picked up the almost new _Charming La.s.s_ from a Gloucester skipper who had run into debt.

Code now saw to what Nat's uncontrolled brooding had brought him, and he realized that the battle would be one of wits.

He got up to go on deck. He had only turned to the companionway when the great voice of Pete Ellinwood rumbled down to him.

"Come on deck, skipper, an' look over this schooner astern of us.

There's somethin' queer about her. I don't like her actions."

Code took the steps at a jump, and a moment later stood beside Ellinwood. The _La.s.s_ was snoring along under full sail.

The stranger, which at eight o'clock had been five miles astern, was now, at noon, less than a mile away.

Code instinctively shot a quick glance at the compa.s.s. The schooner was running dead east.

"What's this, Ellinwood?" demanded the skipper sharply. "You're away off your course."

"Yes, sir, and on purpose," replied the mate. "I've been watchin' that packet for a couple of hours back and it seemed to me she was a little bit too close on our track for comfort. 'What if she's from St.

John's?' I sez to myself. 'Then there'll be the devil to pay for the skipper.'

"So, after you'd got your observation and went below I just put the wheel down a trifle. I hadn't been gone away from her five minutes when she followed. It's very plain, Code, that she's tryin' to catch us."

A sudden feeling of alarm took possession of Schofield. That she was a wonderful speed craft she had already proven by overhauling the _La.s.s_ so easily. The thought immediately came to him that Nat Burns, on discovering his absence, had sent the lawyer with the summons to St.

John's, hired a fast schooner, and set out in pursuit.

"Maybe it was only an accident," he said. "She may be on the course to Sable Island. Give her another trial. Come about and head for Halifax."

"Stand by to come about," bawled Ellinwood.

Two young fellows raced up the rigging, others stood by to prevent jibing, and the mate put the wheel hard alee. The schooner's head swung sharply, there was a thunder and rattle of canvas, a patter of reef points, and the great booms swung over. The wind caught the sails, the _Charming La.s.s_ heeled and bore away on the new course.

The men in the stern watched the movements of the stranger anxiously.

Ten minutes had hardly elapsed when she also came about and headed directly into the wake of the _La.s.s_. Schofield and Ellinwood looked at each other blankly.

"Are you goin' to run fer it, skipper?" asked the mate. "I'll have the balloon jib and stays'l set in five minutes, if you say so."

Code thought for a minute.

"It's no use," he said. "They'd catch us, anyway. Let 'em come up and we'll find out what they want. Take in your tops'ls. There's no use wasting time on the wrong course."

Under reduced sail the _La.s.s_ slowed, and the pursuing vessel overhauled them rapidly. With a great smother of foam at her bows she ducked into the choppy sea and came like a race horse. In half an hour she was almost abreast on the port quarter. A man with a megaphone appeared on her p.o.o.p deck and leveled the instrument at the little group by the wheel.

"Heave to!" he bawled. "We want to talk with ye."

"Heave to!" ordered Code, and the _Charming La.s.s_ came up into the wind just as the stranger accomplished the same maneuver. They were now less than fifty yards away and the man again leveled his megaphone.

"Is that the _Charming La.s.s_ out of Freekirk Head?" he shouted.

"Yes."

"Captain Code Schofield in command?"

"Yes."

"Bound to the Banks on a fis.h.i.+n' cruise?"

"Yes."

"All right; that's all I wanted to know," said the man, and set down the megaphone. He gave some rapid orders to the crew, and his vessel swung around so as to catch the wind again.

Code and Ellinwood looked at one another blankly.

"Hey there!" shouted Schofield at the top of his voice. "Who are you and what do you want?" The skipper of the other schooner paid no attention whatever, and Schofield repeated his question, this time angrily.

He might as well have shouted at the wind. The stranger's head fell off, her canvas caught the breeze, and she forged ahead. A minute later and she was out of earshot.

"Look for her name on the stern," commanded Code. He plunged below into the cabin and raced up again with his gla.s.ses. The mysterious schooner was now nearly a quarter of a mile away, but within easy range of vision.

Code fixed his gaze on her stern, where her name should be, and saw with astonishment that it had carefully been painted out. Then he swung his gla.s.ses to cover the dories nested amids.h.i.+ps, and found that on them, too, new paint had obscured the name. He lowered the gla.s.ses helplessly.

"Do you recognize her, Pete?" he asked. "I know most of the schooners out of Freekirk Head and St. John's, but I never saw her before."

"Me neither," admitted the mate, with conviction. "I wonder what all this means?"

Code could not answer.

CHAPTER XI

IN THE FOG BANK

"SQUID ho! Squid ho! Tumble up, all hands!"

Rod Kent, the old salt who had for the past hour been experimenting over the side, leaned down the main cabin hatch and woke the port watch. Behind him on the deck a queer marine creature squirmed in a pool of water and sought vainly to disentangle itself from the apparatus that had caught it.

The shout brought all hands on deck, stupid with sleep, but eager to join in the sport.

The squid is a very small edition of the giant devilfish or octopus.

It has ten tentacles, a tapered body about ten inches long, and is armed with the usual defensive ink-sac, by means of which it squirts a cloud of black fluid at a pursuing enemy, escaping in the general murk.