CHAPTER XVII—JOE PLAYS JUSTICE A SCURVY TRICK
Over a sea “as smooth as glass,” that fateful Monday morning, the “Meteor” made a dashing run to Wood’s Hole. It was just five minutes of seven by the clock when the swift craft tied up at the village on the mainland.
All through the trip Horace Dunstan had remained seated in one of the armchairs in the cockpit aft. His head had been bowed in sorrow. His face was haggard and ashen, for he had not slept through the night.
On the pier awaiting him stood Mr. Crane, his lawyer, and Musgrave, who had been in charge of the force of detectives who had been vainly seeking the young heir.
“You have not a word of hope, of course, gentlemen?” asked Mr. Dunstan in a weak voice.
“There is no news whatever,” replied Musgrave.
“Our only hope,” added Crane, “lies in the barest possibility that the court may find some legal excuse for adjourning the matter for a few days and giving us a chance for a longer hunt.”
“May I put in a word?” asked Tom, who had been standing close by.
“Yes,” assented Horace Dunstan.
“Now I know, and we all know,” Halstead went on, “that Ted Dunstan has been illegally spirited away and that it is simply impossible for his father to produce him in court. It is no guess-work, for I have seen Ted Dunstan, alive, and with Mr. Dunstan’s enemies. If you were to make the claim, Mr. Crane, and use me as a witness, would that help matters any in inducing the court to adjourn the matter? Could the court then legally postpone the bringing of the Dunstan heir into view?”
“I’m afraid not,” replied the great lawyer thoughtfully. “In the first place, the court would have only Mr. Dunstan’s word for it that he is really anxious to produce his son in court. There would be no evidence that could corroborate Mr. Dunstan’s statement. As to your testimony, Captain Halstead, if it were admitted at all, it would work us the greatest harm, for you would be obliged to say, under oath, that Ted told you he was with those other people by his own choice as well as at his father’s command.”
Mr. Musgrave nodded. Horace Dunstan bowed his stricken head lower.
“I understand the force of what you say, Mr. Crane,” Tom nodded.
“Hush! Here comes Judge Swan now,” whispered the lawyer. “What can he be doing here?”
A portly, white-haired man, yet with a fresh, young-looking face, had just stepped onto the pier and came toward them. He was judge of the probate court over at Nantucket.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” he greeted pleasantly. Then, by a nod, he drew Lawyer Crane toward him, though the judge spoke loudly enough for the rest to hear.
“Are you going to have a case to bring before me to-day, Mr. Crane?”
“Provided we can find young Theodore Dunstan in time, your honor,” answered the lawyer. “Our search has been unceasing.”
“I wish you the utmost measure of good fortune, then,” replied Judge Swan. “Under the terms of the will, as I understand them, this is the last day of grace that you have. But remember, court will be open up to the minute of four this afternoon.”
Mr. Crane thanked his honor. Every hearer present, however, realized that Judge Swan had answered, as far as his dignity and official position permitted, how any appeal for postponement must be answered from the bench. The motion would be denied.
The justice turned to stroll apart from the rest, but the lawyer kept at his side.
“Judge,” he asked in an undertone, “since you know the whole of our painful predicament, can you offer me any suggestion?”
“The most I can say, because it is the most I am able to say,” murmured the judge, “is that I sincerely trust that Mr. Dunstan and yourself will be able to produce young Theodore in court before four o’clock this afternoon.”
They soon turned, strolling back to the group.
“I feel a good deal annoyed,” said Judge Swan, presently. “I was in Boston yesterday. My friend, Mr. Percival, was to start over to Nantucket with me at six this morning, in order that I might open court at nine o’clock. Mr. Percival wired me yesterday that his launch had broken down, but the telegram must have reached Boston after I had gone to the train. So I must go over on the forenoon passenger steamer, I fear.”
“If we were going back sooner,” explained Mr. Crane, “my client would be most happy to give you a seat on his boat. But we feel that, if young Theodore Dunstan is found, it will be on the mainland. So we are waiting until the last moment.”
“Yet, if heaven favors us,” broke in Horace Dunstan, “we could take my son over on the regular forenoon passenger boat, and be in court this afternoon. The ‘Meteor’ could be back here soon after the passenger boat leaves. So, Judge, may I offer you the use of the ‘Meteor?’”
“Do you mean that?” asked Judge Swan, looking at the owner in delight.
“Most assuredly,” replied Mr. Dunstan. “I shall be glad, judge, if you will make use of my boat.”
“Then I shall accept with great pleasure,” replied his honor. “I know how swift your boat is.”
“Then, captain,” said Mr. Dunstan, turning to Halstead, “you understand your instructions, which are to get Judge Swan in Nantucket before nine o’clock this morning.”
“It’s the only boat in these waters that could do it,” Tom replied, with pardonable pride, as he sprang aboard.
“Come back, captain, as soon as you land his honor,” was Mr. Dunstan’s parting word. “If you pass the passenger steamer, watch for me at her rail. I may signal you.”
Before she had left the pier three hundred yards behind, the nimble motor boat was going at better than twenty miles an hour. Gradually the speed was increased. Judge Swan stood on the bridge deck beside Tom.
“It is really exciting to travel on a boat like this,” commented his honor, presently. “You must enjoy it, captain.”
“I do sir, when the engine works all right, which it does usually,” Halstead answered.
The sea as smooth as ever, and no hindering breeze blowing, the craft behaved splendidly, making within a notch of her best speed. In time they left Martha’s Vineyard behind, and headed out toward the big, green island of Nantucket.
“The engine isn’t likely to break down this morning, is she?” asked the judge, who had just returned from a smoke aft.
“I don’t think so, sir. It would make a sad mix-up in your court work if we got stuck out here on the open sea, wouldn’t it, sir?”
“I imagine it would annoy my clerk a good deal,” replied Judge Swan, reflectively. “He would have to sit in court all day without me, and then, when four o’clock came, he would, in my absence, be obliged to declare court adjourned until nine o’clock to-morrow morning.”
“And in that case there wouldn’t be any legal session of the court to-day, would there, sir?”
“There couldn’t be a legal session in my absence. However, we’ll trust that your engine won’t meet with any mishap,” replied Judge Swan, smiling and turning away.
Tom Halstead’s hands began to tremble as he guided the wheel. There was a queer look in his eyes; his head was whirling a bit.
Had Judge Swan purposely given him a hint? It was a staggering thought. Halstead, when in doubt, was likely to think and act quickly.
“Come and relieve me at the wheel for a few moments, Jed,” he called. Then, in a twinkling, the young skipper was down in the engine room.
“Joe,” he whispered, breathlessly, to his chum, “the judge just informed me that, if anything went wrong with the engine, and we couldn’t make Nantucket before four o’clock, there would be no legal session of probate court.”
“Did he mean that for a hint?” queried Joe, his look becoming keen.
“I’ll leave that for you to figure out, chum.”
“Where are we, now?” was Dawson’s next question.
Halstead informed him.
“Say,” muttered Joe, “I wish you’d go up on deck and stay there a while. I want to attend to my work for a while.”
Tom went back up on deck, lounging near Jed, at the wheel. It wasn’t long before the speed slackened. Then, the boat slowed down to mere headway. Even this soon ceased.
“I’ll try not to hinder you long,” called up Joe, showing his face in the hatchway. “I think I can soon get the engine fixed.”
“Use all the speed you can, Joe, but do it well, whatever has to be done,” Tom answered. Then he made his way aft to report to Judge Swan that the engineer had said he hoped the motor would soon be in order again.
“Are there any books aboard?” his honor wanted to know.
“There’s a book-shelf in the cabin, sir.”
Judge Swan disappeared into the cabin. The next time Halstead looked aft he saw the judge snug in one of the armchairs, reading.
The place was ideal for such a breakdown. The “Meteor” lay almost motionless upon the smooth sea, miles from land, with no troublesome reefs near. Under the awnings it was delightfully cool.
For an hour Joe remained in the motor room, neither Tom nor Jed bothering him with their presence. Then Tom went aft to see if their guest was comfortable. Judge Swan looked up with a pleasant smile.
“If I didn’t have that session of court on hand, captain, I wouldn’t mind if this break lasted all day.”
“It wouldn’t be bad,” the young skipper assented. “We have a good larder and a fine young cook aboard.”
“How serious is the break?” inquired his honor.
“Why, Dawson reports that he hopes very soon to be under way again.”
“I hope he won’t hurry enough to interfere with thorough repair,” pursued Judge Swan.
When Tom went forward again it occurred to him to take a look down into the engine room. The sight that met his gaze was a surprising one. Joe was lying on his back on one of the lockers, the first time he had ever been asleep at his post!
The time dragged on slowly. His honor, being wholly comfortable and well occupied where he was, didn’t come forward to ask any questions.
“There’s the forenoon boat coming,” whispered Jed, at last.
“Confound it,” muttered Tom. “I wish I had thought to keep better out of her track.”
The passenger steamer soon signaled. Tom answered on the auto whistle.
Then the passenger steamer ran in closer to the motor boat. The captain of the steamer, standing before the pilot house, megaphone in hand, called over the waters:
“Are you in distress?”
“Only a temporary break in the engine,” Tom answered, through his megaphone.
“Do you need any assistance?”
“No, thank you,” Halstead responded.
“Do you wish to transfer any passengers?”
Judge Swan came forward to the young skipper. At the same time Tom saw Mr. Dunstan and Mr. Crane at the rail, among the boat’s passengers.
“How soon before you’ll be under way, Captain Halstead?” asked his honor.
Now, Joe being fast asleep, Halstead had to answer for his friend.
“Judge, we ought to be under way soon.”
“Then tell the captain of the steamer you’ve no passengers to transfer,” directed his honor, next starting aft once more.
“No passengers to transfer, captain, thank you,” Tom answered.
“All right, ‘Meteor.’ Wish you good luck!” A moment later, after both craft had whistled, the passenger steamer continued on her way.
Now, it was too bad, of course, but noon came and found the “Meteor” still unable to proceed. Soon after that Jed appeared, setting up a table in the cockpit. A cloth was laid, and a pleasing luncheon spread before the delayed judge. Joe came to at the first mention of food, and the three members of the crew ate forward.
“It’s a mean thing to have such a break out on the open,” Joe complained, as he finished eating. “However, I’ll do the best I can for you.”
The afternoon began to slip by. It was considerably after three o’clock when Joe thrust his head up through the hatchway to say:
“Captain, if you’ll be satisfied to go at slow speed, I think we can make a start now.”
“Then start her, and keep to whatever speed your judgment decides upon,” Tom replied. Making his way aft he informed Judge Swan.
“I am delighted to hear it, of course,” replied that gentleman. “I must, however, give you credit for commanding a boat aboard which a very pleasant day of idleness can be enjoyed.”
The “Meteor” was soon going at a speed that seemed lame and halting for her. She made the harbor at Nantucket, however, at 4.20, and landed her distinguished passenger. Judge Swan shook hands with all three boys, thanking them for his pleasant day.
Knowing that Mr. Dunstan was not at Wood’s Hole, Tom decided to make the run straight to the home pier. Leaving Jed at the wheel, after they were out of the harbor, the young skipper went below.
“Joe,” he asked soon, “what was wrong with the engine?”
“The vaporizer,” Joe replied briefly.
“What ailed it?”
“Why, you see,” Dawson replied calmly, “after the speed stopped I disconnected the vaporizer and put it in one of the lockers. Then, somehow, I forgot all about that vaporizer for some hours. When I thought of it I got it out of the locker, wiped it off on some waste, connected it again—and then the engine began to behave fairly well.”
Tom’s lips puckered. Whistling, he turned his face away from his chum, looking out through one of the portholes.
“What’s the matter?” inquired Dawson, looking up in some surprise.
“Joe,” retorted the young skipper, “don’t you think that was rather a scurvy trick to play on justice?”
“Trick?” repeated Joe in an injured voice. “Well, if you call that a ‘trick,’ my captain, then all I have to say is that Judge Swan didn’t seem to be very much upset about it.”
“There having been no legal session of probate court to-day,” Tom went on, “that gives our friends one day of grace in which to find Ted Dunstan.”
“I wish it were a year more, instead of a day,” sighed Dawson.
“I wonder,” muttered Tom, as though talking to himself. “I wonder whether Judge Swan hinted himself aboard the ‘Meteor’ just so Joe could play that scurvy, unmannerly trick against the blind goddess of justice? I wonder!”