“Ye’ll find out ye have, afore ye’re through with the law,” growled the prostrate and now prudent helmsman, from his “bed” on the deck. “Boarding a craft forcibly, on the high seas, is a crime.”
“Aw, be a good well, and run dry,” advised Hank.
There remained, now, only the holds to be investigated. Oppressed by the shortness of the time that was left to him, and fearing, also, that his guess had not been a good one, Tom Halstead sprang down the ladder into the forward hold. Here there was nothing beyond a miscellaneous cargo of supplies. The after hold was empty. With a white face Halstead reached the deck.
Here the young skipper beheld Joe and the seaman whom his chum was holding at bay.
“See here, my man,” Tom uttered hastily, turning to the sailor, “tell me just where to find the man that’s a prisoner on board, and, on behalf of Mr. Moddridge, I’ll offer you five hundred dollars in cash and a safe passage ashore on our boat.”
“There ain’t no one on this boat a prisoner, unless it’s us fellers of the crew,” returned the sailor, sulkily.
Yet, as he spoke, there was a cunning gleam in his eyes that made Halstead believe him to be lying.
“By gracious, there’s one place I overlooked,” ejaculated Captain Halstead, turning from the seaman and heading again for the hold ladder. Down he went, as fast as he could travel. With the wrench he tapped along the floor.
“Oho! It’s hollow here,” muttered the young skipper, halting in the middle of the fore hold, right over the keel. His keen eyes moved fast as he looked for some indication of unfastened planking. Finding one crack that looked suspicious, he pried in an edge of the wrench. The plank yielded, came up in Tom’s nervous, ready, strong fingers, and——
There lay Francis Delavan!