How long Roy sat there he did not know, but it was some time after two bells, and the harbor was as quiet as it ever becomes, when Roy heard the sound of a motor-boat. There was nothing unusual in that and Roy would have given the matter no thought had not the engine suddenly stopped. The sound seemed to have been straight out from the Lycoming’s pier. Roy at once thought that the little craft was suffering from engine trouble. He wondered where and what it was and if help were needed. Thinking he might be able to see its lights, Roy walked to the stern and sat down on a life-raft. No lights were visible. That did not seem strange, as Roy’s vision was obstructed on either hand by a long pier shed. Near the Jersey shore a ferry-boat, brilliantly illuminated, was drawing into its slip, and Roy almost forgot the motor-boat as he watched the distant ferry.
Then suddenly he sat straight up with a start. The sound of oars came to his ears. They were dipping slowly and gently in the water and ordinarily such a slight sound would have been indistinguishable. But the silent, empty pier sheds acted as sounding-boards and both magnified and reflected the sound. Roy’s first thought was that the passengers in the motor-boat had abandoned their craft and were coming ashore in a rowboat. He wondered how they would make a landing, for the doors of the pier sheds were tightly closed. Probably, thought Roy, they see the lights of the Lycoming and hope to get aboard her. The dock between the piers was so dark that Roy could hardly see anything in it. He strained his eyes but could not make out the boat. He was about to call out to it, for he was certain that it was in the dock, when it occurred to him that if the occupants of the boat were in distress they would make their presence known. Then, for the first time, he thought of thieves.
Just then the glowing ferry-boat came directly astern of the Lycoming; and, although it was on the other side of the river, the broad reflection of its lights in the water, like a ribbon of gold, showed Roy the boat he was looking for. He could see it but dimly, yet he was certain that the craft below him was the motor-boat itself. Three men were in it. One was carefully propelling it with long oars, and the attitudes of the two others showed that great caution was being observed in the approach.
Roy sat still as an image. He was now fully convinced that the men in the boat were thieves. What they were after he could not conceive. They could not hope to get aboard the Lycoming, for a sailor was on watch. Nor could they hope to break into a pier shed. Roy crushed down his desire to raise an alarm and sat silent, determined to discover what they were up to before he made any move. If the Lycoming were their object, he would thwart them. He had not long to wait. Very cautiously the motor-boat crept near the Lycoming. A long, low whistle was heard and all was still again. Then Roy heard an indistinct, guarded sound, like the careful raising of a window, followed by a low whistle. The motor-boat stole cautiously to the very side of the Lycoming. Roy crept to the edge of the deck, in order to keep the boat under observation, and peered down. Distinctly he could see that one of the lower ports was open and two heads were thrust out. Then the heads disappeared and a moment later a small bale of something came slowly through the port and was seized by the men in the motor-boat. They stowed it away in the boat, then turned again to the open port.
Roy had seen enough. It was time for action. But what should he do? Roy’s mind worked like lightning. If he raised an outcry the thieves would start their engine and be off while their confederates on the Lycoming would slip back to their quarters. If the thieves were to be caught, it must be done by stealth. But how? In a second Roy thought of the wireless.
Cautiously drawing back from the edge of the deck, he tiptoed rapidly to the wireless house, threw open his switch, and sent forth a call.
“KIN—KIN—KIN—WNA,” flashed his signal through the night.
Almost immediately came back the answer, “WNA—III—GA.” It was the police boat Patrol replying to Roy’s frantic call.
“This is the Confederated liner Lycoming, pier 14, North River,” rapped out Roy as fast as he could work his key. “Thieves in motor-boat taking stuff from confederates in the ship. What shall we do?”