When the Cock Crows Part 3

"DEAREST ROY:

"I fell and injured my ankle and concluded to stay aboard _The Isabel_ under the care of Dr. Garnet. I awoke this morning and to my surprise, found the yacht headed down the New Jersey coast. I tried to go on deck. I found I had been locked in my stateroom.... Boat still headed south. Come to my rescue!

"I am going to place this note in a face-powder can. I see ahead a fisherman's boat. It is near enough for me to attract its attention. I shall throw the can near the boat, with the hope that the fisherman will open it and find this note. We are heading toward the Delaware Capes.

"Love to you and father, "ETHEL MARION."

She folded the note and scrawled a few words on the outside very hurriedly, for they were now almost abreast the fleet of fis.h.i.+ng yawls.

"Mr. Fisherman, I am a prisoner on my own yacht. Please help me and telegraph this letter to Mr. Morton's address." She crammed the bit of paper into the can from which she had emptied the powder. She thrust her head out of the port and uttered a shrill cry to attract the attention of the fisherman. Then she threw the can with all force toward the nearest boat.

Ethel watched in a mood of half hope, half despair. She saw the can fall into the sea. But one of the fishermen also observed the container of her message as it was thrown into the water. Ethel, watching with strained eyes, perceived the figure of a man in oilskins who suddenly thrust a boat-hook overboard, fished with it for a moment, then drew alongside the tin can, bent over, and picked it out of the water.... The girl thrilled with relief over the success of her attempt to send news of the trouble come upon her.

Nevertheless, there was, there could be, no immediate effect of the message. The engine of the yacht throbbed steadily, carrying her moment by moment further from home and lover and father and friends, to a destination unknown--a destination fraught by imagination with unguessed horrors.

Suddenly, Ethel forgot all the difficulties of this strange situation in a realization of the fact that she was hungry--atrociously hungry! It dawned upon her that she had not eaten a single morsel of food since the luncheon of the previous day. She realized then that she was entirely dependent upon her unknown captor, even for food to keep her body alive.

The distraught girl thought of the locked stateroom door, and was made frantic by the fact that she was thus shut in, a prisoner. She stared longingly at the small, round port-hole. She regarded that swinging window of heavy plate gla.s.s with an anxiety of desire that thrilled through every atom of her blood. She wondered: Could she by any chance thrust her slender body through that narrow aperture? She even went so far as to measure the width of the disc--comparing the s.p.a.ce to her own slender breadth of shoulders.

She thought that it might be possible for her to thrust her lithe form through the meager opening. She believed that she could push her body through the port-hole. She dared to hope that she might thus escape.

Down below was the runway used by the sailors. It seemed to her that the matter of escape would be simple.

Her hunger urged Ethel to make the desperate attempt. She was sure that could she once reach the runway she would be safe from detection on the part of the one directing the course of the craft from the pilot-house.

She had heard no noise from the galley, which was near her room. She was certain that it was unoccupied, and that she could slip into it unnoticed, there to satisfy her longing for food from the abundant supply of canned goods. Then, after relieving her hunger, she could determine her future conduct. She might decide to act the brave part by showing herself and demanding to know the cause of her confinement; or she might return in the way by which she had come to the stateroom, with a supply of food, and thus await developments.

The distracted girl took a full hour for consideration of the matter.

Betimes, she was bold to the point of desperation; betimes, she was flaccid with despair, helpless before the mysterious horrors of her situation. But at last courage rose in her, became dominant. She resolved to make the attempt at a descent through the opening. Now, she was not in the least intimidated by the very real danger of being unable to secure safe footing upon the narrow runway. The deck below was without a solid rail. It had only the light hand rail with an open s.p.a.ce beneath, through which her body might easily plunge into the sea.

Moreover, the peril of the exploit was increased for her by the fact of her injured ankle, which must make her footing awkward and unsteady at the best.

Ethel found some comfort on a final examination of the injured ankle.

The swelling from the sprain had lessened very perceptibly. She discovered, too, that now she could bend the joint a little without experiencing the excruciating pain which such movement had produced before she lost consciousness from the effect of the opiate. The fact that the injury was not so severe as she had thought and that she could at least depend upon the hurt member for some support, painful though it might be, heartened her anew. Without further pause for reasonings pro and con, she began to force her body through the opening.

The berth was so located that by placing her sound foot upon the edge of it she was able to thrust the upper part of her body out of the port-hole. But this aid would not serve for the remainder of the progress. To get her hips through, she would have to depend on being able to seize the hand rail and thus pull herself outward and downward.

She had no fear of being caught midway and held fast, for her measurements had proved that her shoulders were a trifle broader than her hips. The danger would lie in getting a firm grip with her hands on the rail and in the subsequent swinging down of her body to the tiny width of the runway. Now, as she lunged forward, she held her hands outstretched, as if she were about to dive into the sea. In this moment of stress she thanked G.o.d for the strictness with which her father had insisted on athletic training. She knew that her eye was keen and accurate, that her muscles were strong, ready with instant response to the commands of will.

But, to her dismay, Ethel found that, notwithstanding measurements, her shoulders would not pa.s.s through the opening. She writhed in fruitless endeavor until she was exhausted by the strain. Finally, she gave up the attempt and drew back into the cabin, utterly downcast by her failure.

Then, when she was somewhat refreshed, she tested the accuracy of her measurements. To her astonishment she found that she had made no mistake. The port-hole was in fact a little wider than her shoulders.

For a time she was puzzled by the mystery of it all. Then, suddenly, understanding came to her. She realized that the outstretching of her arms had caused a lifting and consequent broadening of the shoulders.

Once again hope filled her. She repeated her attempt, but now with arms dropped close to her sides. She thrilled with delight as her shoulders slid easily through the opening.

Then, in the next instant, the joy vanished. In its place came stark terror. For she found herself held motionless, when half way through the port-hole, with her arms bound fast by the pressure. She struggled violently, but to no avail. She was caught prisoner with a ruthless firmness that could not be escaped. Her frantic strivings did not budge her body the fraction of an inch either forward or backward. Indeed, it seemed that her futile endeavors to free herself only succeeded in wedging her more securely. She fancied that her own physical violence was causing her body to swell so that it should be gripped more fiercely by the unyielding circ.u.mference of the window. There flashed on her a memory of how once she had tried on a friend's ring, had tried it on a finger too large; of how she had pushed it down easily enough over the joint; of how she could not push it back again. She remembered how the finger had swiftly swollen until the ring was deep sunken in the reddened flesh. Now, she imagined her body, caught within the metal rim of the port-hole, was thus reddened and swollen. Her plight filled her with anguish. The dread of it made her forget in this new, overmastering fear all that she had so greatly dreaded hitherto.... Her voice broke in a scream:

"Help! Oh, help! Help!"

Almost instantly, as her voice ceased, Ethel heard the sound of hurrying feet on the deck above. She twisted her neck to look upward, and saw the pleasantly smiling face of Doctor Gifford Garnet, as he peered over the hurricane rail. In that moment of relief, the girl welcomed the familiar countenance of the family physician. She had no thought for the cunning smile that answered to her anguished appeal. She realized only that here was one to succor her in her extremity. She called out to him imploringly:

"Oh, Doctor, help me please. I am caught here. My body is swelling, I think. You must get me out at once or I shall die. Oh, hurry!"

The Doctor grinned at her with sardonic enjoyment of her predicament.

But his bland words soothed her alarm:

"I come to your rescue with all speed, Miss Ethel. Never fear, little one, you will soon be quite safe. I hasten to relieve your suffering."

He vanished. Then, a few seconds later, she saw him making his way along the runway. She did not see the hypodermic syringe he carried in his left hand. She did not understand even when he came to her, and put his two hands to her shoulders as if to help her. She felt the sting of pain in her right arm, but thought it no more than the twinge of a strained muscle. Doctor Garnet deftly slipped the hypodermic syringe into his pocket without the girl's observing it. He spoke to her gently, encouragingly, awaiting the action of the drug. Then, a few moments later, Ethel's lids drooped, her form grew limp, her head lolled to the slight swaying of the yacht. She was held now in a clutch more terrible and more relentless than that of the metal band about her body. She was the hapless prisoner of morphia. Dr. Garnet stared into the face of the unconscious girl for a long half minute, with a curious gloating in his gaze. Then, abruptly, he strode away, and as he went he chuckled softly, with infinite relish over some evil jest known only to himself.

CHAPTER VI

HUNTING A CLUE

The Morton camp was not unlike other Adirondack camps owned by the wealthy New Yorker. It consisted of vast acres of wonderful forests, where conifers and hard wood intermingled. Through the tract wandered a pellucid trout stream. At a glance, one would know that those waters were teeming with wonderful trout, that many a big fellow of the finny tribe inhabited the depths that waited for the angler's lure.

The comfortable camp, built of rough-hewn logs with low sloping roof overhanging broad verandas, was built upon a bluff immediately above and overlooking the home of the most elusive, the most splendid speckled beauties--the trout that are the most savory on the table and the gamest in the water.

This morning, Roy Morton was well content with the world. It was late summer, and something of the languor of the season coursed in his blood.

He sat on the porch, watching idly the dimpling waters below in a pool.

He had an eager eye for the occasional leap of a trout to the surface in search of prey. He watched appreciatively the glint of rainbow tints on the iridescent sides as the fish rose and the sunlight showed all its splendor. While he gazed, at intervals, Roy worked on his fisherman's tackle. As the trout leaped, he studied that for which they leaped--with an idea of fas.h.i.+oning flies to suit their capricious taste. He finally determined just the fly that he should use for a cast at this hour of the day in order to entice the appet.i.te of the trout. He had that particular fly upon his leader in readiness for a cast, and had started toward the stream to test his judgment in playing on the appet.i.te of a fish, when his attention was distracted by the approach of an ungainly boy, evidently a native.

The boy held in his hand a telegram. Roy dropped his tackle, and held out his hand for the message. Mechanically, he tossed a coin to the lad.

Then he ripped open the envelope and read the message.... And he read there Ethel's frantic appeal for help.

Roy was equally amazed and alarmed as he read and its meaning penetrated his brain. Usually, he was a young man distinguished for his coolness, resourcefulness and courage. Now, however, for the time being his brain was dazed; his heart leaped with fear. Through long minutes he stood motionless, staring with unseeing eyes, as if striving in vain to penetrate the veil of this terrible mystery that hung between him and the girl he loved. His thoughts were a miserable whirl of confusion; his will was powerless to marshal them in order. He did not note the going of the messenger boy, who sauntered casually back over the way he had come, whistling in happy unconsciousness as to the suffering of which he had been the harbinger.

Then, presently, Roy's mind cleared; his heart grew brave again; he felt a frantic desire for instant action. He looked about for the messenger boy, and uttered an exclamation of anger as he saw that the fellow was gone. He was desirous of sending on that very instant a telegram to the police authorities in New York, asking them to begin an investigation at once. He shouted for the boy, but there was no answer, and he realized that the messenger was gone beyond recall.

Roy wheeled, and rushed into the house. He ordered a horse saddled, and within five minutes was galloping at breakneck speed for the station. He knew that the next regular train was not due for three hours, but he had decided without any hesitation that he would order a special. He felt that no haste could equal the necessity now when Ethel was momently being carried further and further away from him, when perhaps her life, her honor, were imperilled by the scoundrels who had her in their keeping.

On his arrival at the station, Roy issued his orders with a crisp air of authority that won instant obedience from the man who served as station master and telegraph operator. The telegraph key sounded busily for a few minutes, and the matter was arranged. A special would be ready for him within an hour. This would get him to Albany in time to make connection with the limited express for New York.

That accomplished, Roy cantered leisurely back to the camp. As he rode, his mind was concentrated on plans for his future course. He resolved to keep the matter secret from his elderly mother, who was by no means in good health. Instead, he would merely tell her that a friend of his was in trouble, and that he must go immediately to New York, in order to straighten out the affair. His mother accepted his explanation without any suspicion that he had told her only a half-truth. She merely mourned over this interruption of his visit, and made him promise to return at the earliest possible moment. Roy felt shame over the subterfuge with which he had deceived his mother, but he knew that it was necessary for her own sake, while her knowledge of Ethel's plight could do no good.

Roy hastily, but methodically, packed his traveling bag, and then, after an affectionate farewell to his mother, stepped into the town wagon, and was driven to the station.

After reaching the station, Roy occupied the short interval of waiting for the special by writing out two messages, which he had put on the wire to New York. The first of these was addressed to the Collector of the Port, asking whether or not clearance papers had been taken out for _The Isabel_. The other telegram was to the most noted detective agency in the city, which contained a request that their best operative should meet him at the arrival of his train in the Grand Central Terminal. He directed that the replies, in each instance, should be sent to him at Albany, in care of the limited train with which he would make connection there.

The second message was barely completed and delivered to the telegrapher when the special roared to a standstill by the station platform. Roy sprang quickly up the steps, and almost before he had entered the car the locomotive was again snorting on its way.

The loungers about the station watched greedily this unexpected interruption of the day's routine. And, too, there was bitter envy in their hearts directed toward this handsome, young aristocrat, who could thus summon a train for his private pleasure. They could not guess anything of the black misery that marked the mood of the young man whom they deemed so favored of fate.

Roy's impatience was such that he could not sit for a minute at a time.

Instead, he strode to and fro with the feverish intensity of a leopard padding swiftly backward and forward in its cage. So he moved restlessly, though walking in the car was none too easy. There was need of haste if the special would catch the limited express at Albany. It was evident that the engineer and fireman had no mind to fail in the task set for them. The fireman gave steam a plenty, and the engineer made use of it with seemingly reckless prodigality. The car swayed and leaped with the excessive speed. On the curves, sometimes, it appeared as if it must be thrown off the track, and Roy was compelled to cling fast to his seat in order to avoid falling. But he felt no distress over the rocking, lurching progress. Rather, he found a grim joy in it, since it was haste, and always more haste, for which he longed.... And then, at last, the special thundered into the Albany station and clanged to a standstill. Roy breathed a sigh of relief. The limited express had not yet pulled in.

He had time to make inquiry concerning telegrams, and found one awaiting him from the Collector of the Port of New York. This simply stated that no papers had been issued for the clearing of the yacht _Isabel_. The message added that if the vessel had sailed it must have been stolen.

Just as he finished the reading of this dispatch, the operator handed him a second telegram--one from the detective agency. It announced that their best operative would meet him in the terminal at the gate on the arrival of the limited express in New York. There was a direction added to the effect that the operative might be recognized by his standing apart from the crowd and wearing two white carnations in the lapel of his coat.

Arriving at the Grand Central terminal, Roy walked rapidly to the exit gate. His eyes roamed for a moment over the pa.s.sing throng in search of the man with the boutonniere of white carnations, and presently picked him out where he stood a little apart. Roy hurried to him, and made himself known. At once then the two men left the station and crossed over to the Biltmore, where they took seats in the lobby for a conference.