CHAPTER XXI—THE LAST DASH TO WIN
“What time is it, anyway?” breathed Joe.
That youth had awakened at last. He and Tom were discussing in whispers what it was best to do. While they were still deliberating, a scraping as though of a knife in a pipe-bowl, not a hundred yards away, had told them that watchers were still about. That had brought out Joe’s question.
“I don’t know. I’m going to see if I can make a guess,” hazarded Halstead.
He crawled forward, thrusting his head a little beyond the mouth of the hole, though still concealed by the thicket.
He tried to get at the position of the sun in the sky, but at first the limited view he could obtain was bewildering. At last, however, Halstead guessed at the position of the sun with a result that made him feel heartsick.
“Joe,” he faltered, after wriggling back into the hole, “I’m sure it must be afternoon. At that rate, we’re in our last minutes of chance. If we reach Nantucket later than four o’clock we might about as well not get there at all.”
“I’m with you for the dash, then,” breathed Joe, hard. “I don’t doubt though, that the Alvarez crowd will go to any extreme, even shooting, if they get sight of us. They’re just as desperate as we feel. However, when you’re ready to lead the dash, pass the word, and I’ll hand Ted Dunstan out.”
An impatient snort came from that helpless young man.
“Now, see here,” whispered Joe, warningly, as he gripped tightly at the heir’s arm, “just leave any sign of noise out. If you don’t—well, you’ll find me bad-tempered when I get roused.”
Tom once more stuck his head out into the thicket. He had no doubt that it was already afternoon. Yes, surely, all must be risked on the one last dash to win.
As he looked about him, and listened, he heard a new sound. It made his heart beat fast. The sound was such as would come from the slow-running gear of an automobile.
“Hear it, Joe?” he whispered, drawing his head in.
“Yes!”
“Stay here. Don’t venture out, unless I call you, Joe. But I’m going to try to get out and stop that machine. The Alvarez crew wouldn’t, or oughtn’t, dare do anything too ugly with other folks at hand. I’m going to risk it, anyway.”
An instant later Tom Halstead’s body was half-way out of the hole, though still concealed by the friendly thicket. He waited until he judged that the approaching automobile was close at hand on the nearby road.
Just as he was about to spring forth Halstead realized that even the auto might be a part of the Alvarez equipment. Yet, on the one last breath of a chance nothing was to be wasted by hesitation.
Judging the sound intently, Captain Tom suddenly leaped forth from the hole, out of the thicket, and sprinted headlong for the road. Nor had he misjudged his time. A touring car was coming along, less than fifty feet away, as Halstead reached the low stone wall. There were, including the man at the steering wheel, four men in the car.
“Stop! stop!” shouted Tom, waving his cap. “It’s fearfully important!”
As the car rolled to a stop, and the men in it leaned forward, Captain Tom experienced another great throb. One of the men in the rear seat he recognized as an officer who had joined in the search on the first day of Ted’s disappearance.
“Oh, Mr. Warren, get out here, quick!” appealed the young skipper. “There’s real and swift work in your line as deputy sheriff!”
Halstead’s excited manner and white face were enough, in themselves, to carry conviction. Warren and another man leaped from the tonneau, each reaching carelessly at a hip pocket as though to make sure that a weapon was securely there.
“Yes, yes!” cried, the delighted young motor boat skipper. “Get your pistols out. You may need ’em.”
Then, wheeling, Tom shouted back:
“Joe! Come here on the jump! It’s all safe, now!”
There was a sound of scrambling back at the thicket and hummock. Next, Dawson almost flung Ted Dunstan ahead of him, then sprang out, snatching up the slight body in his arms and running toward them.
“Now, let us into your car, and let us get away from here,” begged Tom, while Warren, staring at Joe’s burden, gasped:
“You’ve got——”
“The Dunstan heir!” Halstead finished for him. “And the Alvarez crew are thick about here. Don’t lose a moment.”
Joe leaped into the tonneau, passing up his burden ahead of him. The rest crowded in. The man at the steering wheel let out a few notches of speed, and the car shot ahead. For a few seconds nothing was heard from any hostile watcher. Then a rifle report sounded, crisp and brisk, and a bullet sang by close over their heads.
“I’m not going to have the law made a target of in that fashion,” uttered Warren. “Stop the auto, and I’ll go back to give them all the fight they want.”
“But wait until we get the Dunstan lad safe in Nantucket,” begged Halstead.
“I guess you’re right about that,” nodded the deputy sheriff.
Instead of stopping, the man at the steering wheel had put on a burst of speed.
Ted, bound and gagged, just as he had been, was being held on the knee of one of the men.
“What time is it!” inquired Captain Tom.
“Twenty-five minutes of four,” replied Warren, hauling out his watch.
“Less than half an hour to fix up everything!” gasped Tom his face blanching. “Oh, we must do some tall hurrying!”
“Why, we can be in the village in ten minutes,” replied Deputy Sheriff Warren, soothingly.
“Yes, but this young man’s father and lawyer must be in court, too, before four o’clock. Stop at the very first house where you see a telephone wire running in, will you?”
Within two minutes the man at the steering wheel began to slow down. He ran up before a cottage, stopping at the gate.
Tom leaped out before the car came to a full stop. Running to the door, he encountered a pleasant-faced young woman.
“Let me use your telephone, in a hurry, will you?” panted Halstead. “It’s on the law’s business.”
“Why, yes, of course,” replied the woman, smiling at the youth’s flushed, excited face.
She pointed to the instrument in the hall.
“Give me Horace Dunstan’s place, on the west shore, like lightning, will you, Central?” begged Tom, as soon as he had rung.
He got the Dunstan place. The butler answered that Mr. Dunstan was not at home, but at the Stillman House in Nantucket, with Mr. Crane.
“Oh, it’s you, is it, Captain Tom?” continued the butler. “You and Dawson being away, the master imagined that you might be on the track of the young gentleman. So, this afternoon, right after luncheon, Mr. Dunstan and Mr. Crane went over to the Stillman House to wait for any news that might come.”
“I’ve found Master Ted, and we’re trying to rush him to the court house in time. I’ll call up Mr. Dunstan, thank you.”
With that he rung off, asking for the Stillman House. Nor did it need more than a few seconds to get that anxious father to the telephone. He had been waiting for such a call, hoping against hope.
In the fewest words possible Halstead told his employer the bare news of finding the Dunstan heir, adding that they were now on the way to the court house with him.
“Be over there, you and Mr. Crane,” urged Halstead, feverishly. “We will do our best to reach you in time. Now—we’ve got to hustle—good by, sir!”
Again ringing off, then uttering a breathless “Thank you,” and leaving a quarter of a dollar to pay tolls, Tom dashed out of the house.
Just as he had disappeared into the house, Warren turned to Joe, asking curiously:
“Why have you got the lad bound and gagged in this fashion?”
“Because he wouldn’t come any other way,” retorted Joe.
“Can’t we just as well remove the cords and the gag, now?” insisted the deputy sheriff.
“Yes; if you’ll he responsible for his not getting away,” agreed Dawson.
“Oh, I won’t let him get away, if he’s foolish enough to want to,” promised Warren. He freed the young man. As soon as he could talk Ted broke forth, angrily:
“This is all a wicked shame! My father wanted me to keep out of the way for the present. These boys have been meddling from the start. My father will be awfully angry with them, and with you all.”
“He will, eh?” queried Warren, good-humoredly. “Young man, do you know that your father is nearly distracted over your absence, and that he has had a lot of police officers and a small army of detectives hunting for you all these days?”
“I don’t believe it,” retorted Ted, stubbornly. “Anyway, I haven’t broken any law, and you’ve no right to keep me here. I’m going to get out of this car.”
“I’m very sorry to say that you’re not, at least not until I’ve seen your father,” rejoined the deputy. “My boy, I believe you’ve been badly imposed upon by rascals. In any case, you’ll stay right here with me until some one older than you are changes the orders.”
At this moment Tom came running down the path from the house.
“There’s the fellow who’s been the worst of the lot,” cried Ted bitterly, tears of rage shining in his eyes.
“Has he?” smiled Warren. “Then I believe Halstead will come in for a pretty handsome reward from your father.”
“Maybe,” hinted Joe, “if you folks can get us into Nantucket and up at the door of the probate court before the minute of four.”
“Start her up, please,” begged Halstead, as his feet struck the running board and he squeezed in among the tightly-packed crowd. “What time is it now—exactly?”
“Twelve minutes to four,” responded Warren.
“Whew! What if we miss?” quivered Halstead, his face again paling.
“We won’t,” Warren assured him, as the car lurched forward.
Nor would there have been any danger, but about a mile out of Nantucket something went wrong with the gasoline flow. The man driving the car had to get out and crawl under. Two others got out and helped him. Halstead, who had wound and set his watch by the deputy’s, sat watching the fateful minutes slip by. In a very short time the car was ready to go on again.
“I’ll speed her now,” promised the man at the steering wheel. “It’s make or break.”
It was barely one minute before four when the touring car raced in sight of the court building. In Nantucket the news had spread like wildfire and now a crowd of hundreds of residents and summer guests had collected before the court building. But at the gate of the grounds, each with a watch in his hand, stood Horace Dunstan and Lawyer Crane.
“Here they come, Crane, thank heaven!” breathed Mr. Dunstan, tears of joy springing up in his eyes. “Now rush, man—rush!”
Inside the court room Judge Swan sat on the bench. Down below stood a solitary clerk. Two court officers lounged listlessly. Judge Swan, having no case before him, was sorting some papers. He looked up to say:
“Mr. Clark, if there’s no further business to come before the court to-day, you may declare it adjour——”
“One moment, your honor!”
Lawyer Crane fairly ran into the court room breathless, waving a paper above his head as though to attract attention.
At that same instant a great, rousing, hoarse cheer began to well up outside.
“I will ask the court to remain on the bench one or two minutes more,” called the lawyer imploringly. “My clients, Mr. Horace Dunstan and his son will appear before you instantly.”
Then father and son entered. The two court officers had already stirred themselves into life to hold back the crowd of hundreds that attempted to rush in also. Judge Swan nodded to the clerk, and the lawyer, finding that his appeal was heard and granted, lost his excitement, becoming once more the cool, methodical man of affairs.
Tom and Joe, and the officers waited in the corridor in case they should be asked to make oath to their adventures. But the court not having been in session the day before, thanks to Joe’s accident, all that was necessary was for the judge to question the two Dunstans, to affix his signature to certain papers and to order the will of Aaron Dunstan entered for probate.
It was all over in ten minutes and court was promptly adjourned, and Master Ted’s great inheritance was secured to him if he lived up to all of the requirements of that remarkable document.
As the two Dunstans came out again the crowd surged about them in a craze of hoarse excitement. Tom and Joe were caught up by men and carried on their shoulders. It was a wild turmoil of laughter, cheering and shouting.
Laughing good-naturedly both boys presently escaped from those who were carrying them. Tom tried to push his way back to the Dunstans. The crowd tried to make way for him, but it could not all be done in an instant. While one of the young captain’s hands was behind him he felt a piece of paper thrust against the palm.
As soon as he could, in that great crush, Halstead brought his hand before him. On it, in scrawling letters, had been penned these words:
“It is all over—except your reward.”
Reward? Tom Halstead understood that message in an instant. It was a plain threat from the balked Alvarez crew.