A man who had been dozing up in a seat by the bow of the boat now awoke and turned, displaying the face of a negro. He was a big and strong built fellow. And Tom, the instant he heard that low call from the bearded stranger, knew it to be Alvarez’s voice.
Pedro hurried to the stern. Some talk between the two followed, but in tones so low that Halstead could understand not a word of it, until the Spaniard, half turning away, finished by saying:
“I’ll be back soon. Be ready—and be watchful.”
The negro nodded heavily as the Spaniard started away. But this time Tom Halstead made no effort to follow the swarthy one. If the Spaniard was to return, that would not be necessary.
“I wonder how fast I can return to Nantucket, and then be ready to chase this craft when she shows her nose outside?” wondered the boy. “For it’s five to one this launch will make for Alvarez’s hiding-place, and that is where Ted Dunstan is to be found. Yet—confound it all!—if I give chase in the ‘Meteor,’ Alvarez certainly won’t lead us to the place.”
It was a puzzling, an immense problem. And whatever was to be done must be decided upon instantly. While Halstead still pondered, a cheering sound came to his ears. “Whirr-ugh! Whirr-ugh!” The negro, in his former seat at the bow of the launch had proved his watchfulness by going sound asleep and snoring!
“Oh! If I could only get through to Alvarez’s hiding-place on this boat!” thought Tom wildly, his breath coming hard and fast. No time was to be wasted in doing nothing. Assuring himself that the negro was still soundly asleep, Halstead stepped forward, cat-footed.
Still the black guardian of the boat slumbered. Tom, as he reached the water’s edge, prayed that nothing would disturb the fellow’s sleep. The launch was not a cabin affair, but there was a covered deck at the bow, and, under it, a hatchway leading into a little cubby. As the negro sat sleeping, his legs crossed squarely before the entrance to that cubby. Then Halstead edged around until he made sure that there was another little cubby under the stern-sheets of the launch.
“If I could only get in there and hide!” breathed the young skipper, fervently. Hardly had he formed the wish when he stepped stealthily to the boat. His eyes watchfully on the negro, Tom gained the stern hatch. He bent down before it to inspect the space beyond. The space in there was small, and much of it taken up by the propeller shaft boxing. It looked like taking a desperate chance to try to fold himself up in that tiny space.
“But this is a time to take desperate chances!” gritted the young motor boat captain. “And it’s the only chance I see that looks good!”