Ahead and not far distant lay an unroofed wharf
with a steam craft of considerable size beside it. Toward this the palanquin was borne, and up a gangplank to the deck of the boat. Beyond the bow of the craft, pointing into the stream, showed the dark waters of the Straits, with the wooded and mountainous Marin County shore opposite, and the lights of Sausalito shining in the distance.
A last desperate hope of escape was in each boy’s mind as they glanced anxiously about. But the surroundings were not prepossessing. Who was there to hear a cry for help in those desolate surroundings? Who to lend a helping hand? No, it would be folly to make a dash for freedom now. Especially, inasmuch as not only did they have Matt Murphy, his Chinese satellite and the chauffeur to reckon with, but also a half-dozen others indistinguishable in the gloom, who stood a little to one side, prepared to deal with them if necessary.
Obedient, therefore, to Murphy’s command, they followed toward the vessel, trod the loose boards of the wharf with lagging feet, passed up the gangplank beneath the light and stepped aboard. Not giving them any time for looking about, Murphy immediately led the way to a small salon from which opened a number of cabins. Mr. Temple and Bob were given one, Frank and Jack another. Their bags from the Palace Hotel already were in the
rooms, and on a bunk Mr. Temple found a small heap of silver and bills with a brief note of explanation that this constituted change from his check. A receipted bill was with the money.
“This looks bad, boys,” said he, pocketing the money. “This scoundrel Folwell evidently has a tremendously effective organization. The way in which we were brought here, this steam trawler—for such I take her to be, and that means a ship that can weather heavy storms, the expedition with which our belongings were brought from the hotel, even the careful accounting for my money—all these give convincing proof that it is no common desperado with whom we have to deal.”
Frank yawned. They were all gathered in the little cabin assigned Mr. Temple and Bob.
“Ho, ho,” said Frank, stretching, “I’m sleepy.”
The older man regarded him enviously.
“I wish I could feel like that,” he said.