CHAPTER XXII A STERN LOOMS UP IN THE FOG
Joe Dawson, at the wheel of the power tender, bent grimly over the compass.
There was little need for him to look about him, anyway, since it was not possible to see anything distinctly at a greater distance than three boat-lengths away.
Almost immediately the "Panther" dropped back out of view. The big motor yacht was now to go along only at her slow cruising speed, but the launch was to make greater haste.
Tom Halstead had taken his post well up in the bow of the rolling little craft. He was listening intently for any betraying sounds ahead in their course.
"This is hardly a big enough boat for a sea like this," grumbled Mr. Jephson, who had taken up his post close to the young captain.
"The sea is a good deal on the roll to-day," Halstead assented, briefly.
"Why, this little craft acts as though she'd turn over and dump us all in the ocean," muttered the assistant district attorney, uneasily.
"The crowd we have aboard makes her sit lower than usual in the water," Tom explained.
"Is there any real danger of our tipping over, Captain?" insisted Mr. Jephson.
"Why, it might happen, of course, sir."
"Do you think it is going to happen?" demanded Mr. Jephson, anxiously.
There are many men, brave enough elsewhere, who are cowards on a heavy sea with only a small boat between themselves and the water. Back on the "Panther" the district attorney's representative had felt no sense of danger.
"Why, I don't know whether the boat is going to heel over, or not," Tom replied. "You are right in supposing that it isn't quite a large enough craft for the job in hand, but it was the only thing we had."
"I can't swim, but I'll try to keep my nerve," grimaced Mr. Jephson.
Whatever the others thought of their chances of being pitched into the ocean, none of them said anything.
Halstead looked back, presently, to inquire:
"Mr. Prentiss, can't you deaden the noise of our exhaust still more?"
"I'm trying to," replied the young assistant engineer. "Think I'm going to succeed, too."
After a few moments the tender ran along all but noiselessly. Though the exhaust still gave forth some little sound, it was wholly likely that this reduced noise would not be heard above the machinery running on the "Victor" if the expedition in the tender should be so fortunate as to catch up with the steam yacht.
The twelve men sat huddled there in the cramped space, trying to blind their minds to the danger of capsizing in the rolling sea. For more than half an hour the tender ran ahead at nearly its best speed, ere Tom Halstead called back:
"Joe, take my signals. I think we're getting in closer—to something!"
Eagerly all bent forward to listen. After a minute or two more it seemed to them that they really could hear, faintly, the rather distant sound of the moving machinery of some steam craft. Yet this noise, none too distinct, was muffled still more by the ceaseless wash of the rolling sea, whose waves broke in white crests everywhere about them.
Halstead, whose ears were perhaps the keenest on board, listened and occasionally signaled for the launch to be veered a little either to port or starboard.
Surely, they were creeping up on something that ran by machinery, though through the curtain of white no eye could make out the form of a vessel.
Somewhere, away to starboard, a great, deep note boomed out.
"That's some big vessel, like a liner," Tom whispered to Jephson. Then, from away off to port sounded the tolling bell of a sailing vessel. Both appeared to be headed toward the "Panther" launch.
"They seem to be about half a mile apart," Halstead whispered. "The 'Victor,' I think, will pass between the two craft. While that deep whistle and solemn bell are going the people on the steam yacht are not so likely to hear us. Pass the word to Mr. Prentiss to increase speed a little, if he can do so without making more noise at the exhaust."
A little faster spurted the power tender, and a little worse became the tossing in that rolling sea. All the members of the party were in drenched clothing by this time. The water came aboard faster under this burst of speed; the two seamen began to bail it out.
"If I ever get out of this boat alive, large yachts will be small enough for me in the future," Mr. Jephson told himself, nervously.
Tom Halstead was paying no heed to the incoming water. That was Joe's affair, since Joe Dawson was handling the craft.
"Pass the word to Jed to watch for signals from me," whispered Tom Halstead, tensely, a few minutes later.
"Then you think——" began the district attorney's assistant eagerly.
"Pass the word for me, please," Tom broke in.
In the gray fog ahead some craft was moving by steam power. Those in the launch could now hear the regular thump-thump, soft though it was, of machinery ahead.
Yet, to most of the silent watchers it came as something of a shock when, out of the mist ahead, there suddenly loomed, indistinctly, the stern of a hull.
Away to starboard sounded the deep whistle of the big steamship, while over to port the bell of that sailing vessel tolled. The noise enabled Halstead to creep in more closely with less dread of being discovered too soon.
A moment's breathlessness, then "Victor—San Francisco" stood out boldly before the eyes of the people in the launch as that boat shot in by the yacht's stern.
They were taking grave chances, now, of being swamped at the very door of success. None knew this better than Tom Halstead and Joe Dawson as they jointly manœuvred to run the tender up stealthily, while Jed Prentiss, trembling inwardly, kept his hand on the lever, ready to obey the slightest signal for speed.
Then, swiftly, Tom Halstead, a rifle strapped over his back, rose in the bow. In one hand he held a line to the other end of which was attached a grappling hook.
With a practiced eye and hand he measured the distance, poising the coil for a throw. Just as the tender stole in closer he made the throw.
All hands watched breathlessly for a second or two. Then, as straight and true as a well-aimed bullet, the grappling hook fell and caught at the "Victor's" stern rail.
Not an instant did the young motor boat skipper lose. There was no time to inquire whether someone else wanted to go first. Tom Halstead seized the tautening line with both hands, and began to climb as only a sailor can go up a rope.
His head quickly appeared above the steam yacht's stern rail. Tom Halstead slipped onto the deck just in time to see two men walking slowly aft. One of them was in uniform—perhaps he was the captain of the steam yacht. But the other, in civilian dress, the young motor yacht captain knew instantly from the description of him which he had heard.
"Frank Rollings, the absconding cashier!" flashed through Tom's mind.