“South American coast,” replied the captain shortly. “You’re on your way to Rio Janeiro.”
Rio Janeiro! Joe’s heart thumped violently.
“You say my folks are in on this,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “Just what do you mean by that?”
“Oh, I’ve heard all about that gang you’re running with and those phony checks, and the like of that,” answered Hennessy.
“Phony checks?” gasped Joe.
“Don’t be playing innocent,” growled Hennessy roughly. “You know well enough what I mean.”
“But you’ve got the wrong man,” persisted Joe. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never ran with a gang or handled bad checks. You’ve picked me up, thinking I was somebody else. I’m a baseball player, a member of the New York Giants.”
“They told me you’d probably say something like that,” retorted Hennessy placidly. “But you can’t pull any wool over my eyes. I’m too old a hand for that.”
The man was obdurate, and Joe ceased his useless efforts to convince him. But he knew now that his case was desperate, and he summoned all his coolness to cope with the situation. One project after another raced through his brain, to be dismissed as useless.
While they had been talking, the motor boat had made rapid progress. But now a heavy haze was settling over the water and the engine slowed down a little.