The Motor Boat Club and The Wireless Part 14

"Halstead," cried Powell Seaton, clutching at the side of the doorway, "I told you all about this hiding place. I trusted you!"

It was Tom Halstead's turn to go deathly white and stagger.

"Do you mean, sir, that YOU SUSPECT ME?" demanded the young skipper, in a voice choked with horror.

CHAPTER X

THE TRAITOR AT THE AERIALS

"Wait! Don't take anything too seriously. I've--got to--think!"

Powell Seaton had stood, for two or three moments, staring from Halstead to the other motor boat boys.

"Humph! Well, this is good, but I don't like it," grimaced Hank b.u.t.ts, taking two steps backward.

Powell Seaton began to pace the room, his hands at his head. He looked like one who suddenly found it impossible to think.

Hank opened his mouth to say something angry, but Captain Tom checked him with a look and a gesture.

"May we search in that closet for you, sir?" called Halstead, when a thud told that the owner of the bungalow had dropped heavily back into his chair.

"You may look there, if you want to. Anyone may look there--now!"

uttered the amazed one.

Without saying more Tom, in deep agitation, began the task he had invited upon himself. Joe Dawson came and stood looking quietly over his chum's shoulder, ready to help if necessary. As for Hank, he stood, a picture of injured pride, staring at the distracted man.

"No; there's nothing here," admitted Halstead, at last. "At least, the only thing we're interested in isn't here."

"Of course it isn't," moaned Seaton. "Yet you boys were the only ones I told. And, the only time I left the house, it was safe upon my return. I also told you boys that."

"If he keeps on talking in that strain," muttered Hank, half-aloud, "I'll make his head ache!"

"No, you won't," uttered Captain Tom, gripping his comrade's arm almost fiercely. "There's trouble enough on the premises as it is.

Hold your tongue, Hank, until we're all in a good mood to say pleasant things."

Thereupon, with a snort, Hank dragged a chair into a far corner, and seated himself in it.

Halstead walked slowly to the table, on which Mr. Seaton was resting his elbows, his face buried in his hands.

"There must be some explanation for this, Mr. Seaton," began the young motor boat skipper, more calmly. "I don't mind your first suspicion of me, because----"

"Not you, more than the others," broke in the bungalow's owner, excitedly. "All of you young men knew about the hiding-place. You were the only ones besides myself who did know."

Again Hank gripped his fists tightly, but a stern look from Joe Dawson prevented b.u.t.ts from giving any further expression of his feelings.

"Don't sit there like that, Mr. Seaton," broke in Tom Halstead, once more. "Whatever has happened, something must be done--and it must be the right thing, and at once."

"You can search us, if you want----" began Hank's growling voice, but Joe Dawson stood before him, towering in grim purpose.

"Don't you open your mouth again, Hank, until you've collected some sense," warned Joe. "Let Tom do the talking. He's the captain, anyway."

"You're right," responded Powell Seaton, looking up in a good deal of a daze. "I must do something--quickly--yet what?"

"If anyone has stolen the final set of papers," advanced the young skipper, "it must have been either Dalton or someone working for him.

In either case, Dalton must now have the papers, or he soon will have."

"But what does this lead to?" inquired Mr. Seaton, regarding his young captain dubiously.

"Why, sir, it must be plain that the best course is to drop all other steps and concentrate every bit of your energy and ingenuity on getting hold of Anson Dalton."

"Yet what can I do to him, if I do?"

"In the first place, you might charge him with being the man who struck Albert Clodis over the head. That would be enough to have your man arrested on, even if you couldn't prove the charge. A charge that you _can_ fight on is that of having helped to steal the 'Restless'

the other night. If you can only get the fellow locked up, then you'll have more time to find out whether there's any way of getting the missing papers away from him, or from any hiding place in which he has put them."

"Lock the fellow up?" jeered Powell Seaton. "Bah, boy, you don't seem to realize the money that's behind him. Ten thousand dollars, or a hundred thousand, it would all be the same, and Dalton, out on bail, could flee in whatever direction he wanted to."

"Then what _are_ you going to do?" demanded Captain Tom, incisively.

In this instant of utter uncertainty a tinkling of a bell broke in upon them. It was the call bell that Dawson had attached to the wireless apparatus.

"Remember, _you_ keep quiet," almost whispered Joe to Hank, then quitted the room hastily. b.u.t.ts suddenly began to grin sheepishly.

Rising, he sauntered over to a window.

Joe had hurried to the wireless room on the mere chance that it might be a message for Lonely Island. It was much more likely to be the regular business of s.h.i.+ps pa.s.sing on the sea. But as he entered the room Dawson heard the clicking call from a receiving instrument:

"CBA! CBA!" That was Lonely Island's call surely enough.

Breaking in at the key, Joe sent the sparks chasing each other up the aerials. Having answered, he slipped on the head-band, fitting the watch-case receivers over his ears. Picking up a pencil, he wrote.

It was a rush telegram from Mr. Seaton's lawyer, up at Beaufort, and it read:

Man much resembles description of Dalton has just been reported embarking on seventy-foot cruising motor boat ten miles above this city. Man in command of boat positively said to be Captain Dave Lemly.

"Remain at wire for further talk," Joe's trembling fingers signaled back. Then, leaping up, he bounded into the next room.

"Read it to me," Powell Seaton begged.

Tom Halstead took the sheet, reading rapidly yet clearly. The young skipper was excited, though he forced himself to remain cool.

"There's your call to action, Mr. Seaton," he wound up with.

"Yes, but what action?" demanded the owner of the bungalow. Ever since the discovery of the loss of the papers this man had seemed all but unable to speak.