Some preliminaries were rattled through, to the irreverent,
uninterrupted gambolling of the boys; and then, amid a trifle more
attention, the auctioneer sounded for some two or three minutes the pipe
of the charmer. Fine brig--new copper--valuable fittings--three fine
boats--remarkably choice cargo--what the auctioneer would call a
perfectly safe investment; nay, gentlemen, he would go further, he would
put a figure on it: he had no hesitation (had that bold auctioneer) in
putting it in figures; and in his view, what with this and that, and one
thing and another, the purchaser might expect to clear a sum equal to
the entire estimated value of the cargo; or, gentlemen, in other words,
a sum of ten thousand dollars. At this modest computation the
roof immediately above the speaker's head (I suppose, through the
intervention of a spectator of ventriloquial tastes) uttered a clear
"Cock-a-doodle-doo!"--whereat all laughed, the auctioneer himself
obligingly joining.

"Now, gentlemen, what shall we say?" resumed that gentleman, plainly
ogling Pinkerton,--"what shall we say for this remarkable opportunity?"

"One hundred dollars," said Pinkerton.

"One hundred dollars from Mr. Pinkerton," went the auctioneer, "one
hundred dollars. No other gentleman inclined to make any advance? One
hundred dollars, only one hundred dollars----"

The auctioneer was droning on to some such tune as this, and I, on my
part, was watching with something between sympathy and amazement the
undisguised emotion of Captain Trent, when we were all startled by the
interjection of a bid.

"And fifty," said a sharp voice.

Pinkerton, the auctioneer, and the boys, who were all equally in the
open secret of the ring, were now all equally and simultaneously taken
aback.

"I beg your pardon," said the auctioneer. "Anybody bid?"

"And fifty," reiterated the voice, which I was now able to trace to
its origin, on the lips of a small, unseemly rag of human-kind. The
speaker's skin was gray and blotched; he spoke in a kind of broken song,
with much variety of key; his gestures seemed (as in the disease called
Saint Vitus's dance) to be imperfectly under control; he was badly
dressed; he carried himself with an air of shrinking assumption, as
though he were proud to be where he was and to do what he was doing,
and yet half expected to be called in question and kicked out. I think I
never saw a man more of a piece; and the type was new to me; I had never
before set eyes upon his parallel, and I thought instinctively of Balzac
and the lower regions of the _Comedie Humaine_.

Pinkerton stared a moment on the intruder with no friendly eye, tore
a leaf from his note-book, and scribbled a line in pencil, turned,
beckoned a messenger boy, and whispered, "To Longhurst." Next moment
the boy had sped upon his errand, and Pinkerton was again facing the
auctioneer.

"Two hundred dollars," said Jim.

"And fifty," said the enemy.


"This looks lively," whispered I to Pinkerton.

"Yes; the little beast means cold drawn biz," returned my friend. "Well,
he'll have to have a lesson. Wait till I see Longhurst. Three hundred,"
he added aloud.

"And fifty," came the echo.

It was about this moment when my eye fell again on Captain Trent.
A deeper shade had mounted to his crimson face: the new coat was
unbuttoned and all flying open; the new silk handkerchief in busy
requisition; and the man's eye, of a clear sailor blue, shone glassy
with excitement. He was anxious still, but now (if I could read a face)
there was hope in his anxiety.

"Jim," I whispered, "look at Trent. Bet you what you please he was
expecting this."

"Yes," was the reply, "there's some blame' thing going on here." And he
renewed his bid.

The figure had run up into the neighbourhood of a thousand when I
was aware of a sensation in the faces opposite, and looking over my
shoulder, saw a very large, bland, handsome man come strolling forth and
make a little signal to the auctioneer.

"One word, Mr. Borden," said he; and then to Jim, "Well, Pink, where are
we up to now?"

Pinkerton gave him the figure. "I ran up to that on my own
responsibility, Mr. Longhurst," he added, with a flush. "I thought it
the square thing."

"And so it was," said Mr. Longhurst, patting him kindly on the shoulder,
like a gratified uncle. "Well, you can drop out now; we take hold
ourselves. You can run it up to five thousand; and if he likes to go
beyond that, he's welcome to the bargain."

"By the by, who is he?" asked Pinkerton. "He looks away down."

"I've sent Billy to find out." And at the very moment Mr. Longhurst
received from the hands of one of the expensive young gentlemen a folded
paper. It was passed round from one to another till it came to me, and I
read: "Harry D. Bellairs, Attorney-at-Law; defended Clara Varden; twice
nearly disbarred."

"Well, that gets me!" observed Mr. Longhurst. "Who can have put up a
shyster [1] like that? Nobody with money, that's a sure thing. Suppose
you tried a big bluff? I think I would, Pink. Well, ta-ta! Your partner,
Mr. Dodd? Happy to have the pleasure of your acquaintance, sir." And the
great man withdrew.

[1] A low lawyer.

"Well, what do you think of Douglas B.?" whispered Pinkerton, looking
reverently after him as he departed. "Six foot of perfect gentleman and
culture to his boots."

During this interview the auction had stood transparently arrested, the
auctioneer, the spectators, and even Bellairs, all well aware that Mr.
Longhurst was the principal, and Jim but a speaking-trumpet. But now
that the Olympian Jupiter was gone, Mr. Borden thought proper to affect
severity.

"Come, come, Mr. Pinkerton. Any advance?" he snapped.

And Pinkerton, resolved on the big bluff, replied, "Two thousand
dollars."

Bellairs preserved his composure. "And fifty," said he. But there was a
stir among the onlookers, and what was of more importance, Captain Trent
had turned pale and visibly gulped.

"Pitch it in again, Jim," said I. "Trent is weakening."

"Three thousand," said Jim.

"And fifty," said Bellairs.

And then the bidding returned to its original movement by hundreds and
fifties; but I had been able in the meanwhile to draw two conclusions.
In the first place, Bellairs had made his last advance with a smile of
gratified vanity; and I could see the creature was glorying in the kudos
of an unusual position and secure of ultimate success. In the second,
Trent had once more changed colour at the thousand leap, and his relief,
when he heard the answering fifty was manifest and unaffected. Here then
was a problem: both were presumably in the same interest, yet the one
was not in the confidence of the other. Nor was this all. A few bids
later it chanced that my eye encountered that of Captain Trent, and his,
which glittered with excitement, was instantly, and I thought guiltily,
withdrawn. He wished, then, to conceal his interest? As Jim had said,
there was some blamed thing going on. And for certain, here were these
two men, so strangely united, so strangely divided, both sharp-set to
keep the wreck from us, and that at an exorbitant figure.

Was the wreck worth more than we supposed? A sudden heat was kindled
in my brain; the bids were nearing Longhurst's limit of five thousand;
another minute, and all would be too late. Tearing a leaf from my
sketch-book, and inspired (I suppose) by vanity in my own powers of
inference and observation, I took the one mad decision of my life. "If
you care to go ahead," I wrote, "I'm in for all I'm worth."

Jim read and looked round at me like one bewildered; then his eyes
lightened, and turning again to the auctioneer, he bid, "Five thousand
one hundred dollars."

"And fifty," said monotonous Bellairs.

Presently Pinkerton scribbled, "What can it be?" and I answered, still
on paper: "I can't imagine; but there's something. Watch Bellairs; he'll
go up to the ten thousand, see if he don't."

And he did, and we followed. Long before this, word had gone abroad that
there was battle royal: we were surrounded by a crowd that looked on
wondering; and when Pinkerton had offered ten thousand dollars (the
outside value of the cargo, even were it safe in San Francisco Bay)
and Bellairs, smirking from ear to ear to be the centre of so much
attention, had jerked out his answering, "And fifty," wonder deepened to
excitement.

"Ten thousand one hundred," said Jim; and even as he spoke he made a
sudden gesture with his hand, his face changed, and I could see that he
had guessed, or thought that he had guessed, the mystery. As he
scrawled another memorandum in his note-book, his hand shook like a
telegraph-operator's.

"Chinese ship," ran the legend; and then, in big, tremulous half-text,
and with a flourish that overran the margin, "Opium!"

To be sure! thought I: this must be the secret. I knew that scarce a
ship came in from any Chinese port, but she carried somewhere, behind a
bulkhead, or in some cunning hollow of the beams, a nest of the valuable
poison. Doubtless there was some such treasure on the Flying Scud. How
much was it worth? We knew not, we were gambling in the dark; but Trent
knew, and Bellairs; and we could only watch and judge.

By this time neither Pinkerton nor I were of sound mind. Pinkerton was
beside himself, his eyes like lamps. I shook in every member. To any
stranger entering (say) in the course of the fifteenth thousand, we
should probably have cut a poorer figure than Bellairs himself. But we
did not pause; and the crowd watched us, now in silence, now with a buzz
of whispers.

Seventeen thousand had been reached, when Douglas B. Longhurst, forcing
his way into the opposite row of faces, conspicuously and repeatedly
shook his head at Jim. Jim's answer was a note of two words: "My
racket!" which, when the great man had perused, he shook his finger
warningly and departed, I thought, with a sorrowful countenance.

Although Mr. Longhurst knew nothing of Bellairs, the shady lawyer knew
all about the Wrecker Boss. He had seen him enter the ring with manifest
expectation; he saw him depart, and the bids continue, with manifest
surprise and disappointment. "Hullo," he plainly thought, "this is not
the ring I'm fighting, then?" And he determined to put on a spurt.

"Eighteen thousand," said he.

"And fifty," said Jim, taking a leaf out of his adversary's book.

"Twenty thousand," from Bellairs.

"And fifty," from Jim, with a little nervous titter.

And with one consent they returned to the old pace, only now it was
Bellairs who took the hundreds, and Jim who did the fifty business. But
by this time our idea had gone abroad. I could hear the word "opium"
pass from mouth to mouth; and by the looks directed at us, I could see
we were supposed to have some private information. And here an incident
occurred highly typical of San Francisco. Close at my back there had
stood for some time a stout, middle-aged gentleman, with pleasant eyes,
hair pleasantly grizzled, and a ruddy, pleasing face. All of a sudden he
appeared as a third competitor, skied the Flying Scud with four fat
bids of a thousand dollars each, and then as suddenly fled the field,
remaining thenceforth (as before) a silent, interested spectator.

Ever since Mr. Longhurst's useless intervention, Bellairs had seemed
uneasy; and at this new attack, he began (in his turn) to scribble a
note between the bids. I imagined naturally enough that it would go to
Captain Trent; but when it was done, and the writer turned and looked
behind him in the crowd, to my unspeakable amazement, he did not seem to
remark the captain's presence.

"Messenger boy, messenger boy!" I heard him say. "Somebody call me a
messenger boy."

At last somebody did, but it was not the captain.

"He's sending for instructions," I wrote to Pinkerton.

"For money," he wrote back. "Shall I strike out? I think this is the
time."

I nodded.

"Thirty thousand," said Pinkerton, making a leap of close upon three
thousand dollars.

I could see doubt in Bellairs's eye; then, sudden resolution.
"Thirty-five thousand," said he.

"Forty thousand," said Pinkerton.

There was a long pause, during which Bellairs's countenance was as
a book; and then, not much too soon for the impending hammer, "Forty
thousand and five dollars," said he.

Pinkerton and I exchanged eloquent glances. We were of one mind.
Bellairs had tried a bluff; now he perceived his mistake, and was
bidding against time; he was trying to spin out the sale until the
messenger boy returned.

"Forty-five thousand dollars," said Pinkerton: his voice was like a
ghost's and tottered with emotion.

"Forty-five thousand and five dollars," said Bellairs.

"Fifty thousand," said Pinkerton.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Pinkerton. Did I hear you make an advance, sir?"
asked the auctioneer.

"I--I have a difficulty in speaking," gasped Jim. "It's fifty thousand,
Mr. Borden."

Bellairs was on his feet in a moment. "Auctioneer," he said, "I have to
beg the favour of three moments at the telephone. In this matter, I am
acting on behalf of a certain party to whom I have just written----"

"I have nothing to do with any of this," said the auctioneer, brutally.
"I am here to sell this wreck. Do you make any advance on fifty
thousand?"

"I have the honour to explain to you, sir," returned Bellairs, with a
miserable assumption of dignity. "Fifty thousand was the figure named by
my principal; but if you will give me the small favour of two moments at
the telephone--"

"O, nonsense!" said the auctioneer. "If you make no advance, I'll knock
it down to Mr. Pinkerton."

"I warn you," cried the attorney, with sudden shrillness. "Have a care
what you're about. You are here to sell for the underwriters, let me
tell you--not to act for Mr. Douglas Longhurst. This sale has been
already disgracefully interrupted to allow that person to hold a
consultation with his minions. It has been much commented on."

"There was no complaint at the time," said the auctioneer, manifestly
discountenanced. "You should have complained at the time."

"I am not here to conduct this sale," replied Bellairs; "I am not paid
for that."

"Well, I am, you see," retorted the auctioneer, his impudence quite
restored; and he resumed his sing-song. "Any advance on fifty thousand
dollars? No advance on fifty thousand? No advance, gentlemen? Going at
fifty thousand, the wreck of the brig Flying Scud--going--going--gone!"

"My God, Jim, can we pay the money?" I cried, as the stroke of the
hammer seemed to recall me from a dream.

"It's got to be raised," said he, white as a sheet. "It'll be a hell of
a strain, Loudon. The credit's good for it, I think; but I shall have to
get around. Write me a cheque for your stuff. Meet me at the Occidental
in an hour."

I wrote my cheque at a desk, and I declare I could never have recognised
my signature. Jim was gone in a moment; Trent had vanished even earlier;
only Bellairs remained exchanging insults with the auctioneer; and,
behold! as I pushed my way out of the exchange, who should run full tilt
into my arms, but the messenger boy?

It was by so near a margin that we became the owners of the Flying Scud.




CHAPTER X. IN WHICH THE CREW VANISH.


At the door of the exchange I found myself along-side of the short,
middle-aged gentleman who had made an appearance, so vigorous and so
brief, in the great battle.

"Congratulate you, Mr. Dodd," he said. "You and your friend stuck to
your guns nobly."

"No thanks to you, sir," I replied, "running us up a thousand at a time,
and tempting all the speculators in San Francisco to come and have a
try."

"O, that was temporary insanity," said he; "and I thank the higher
powers I am still a free man. Walking this way, Mr. Dodd? I'll walk
along with you. It's pleasant for an old fogy like myself to see the
young bloods in the ring; I've done some pretty wild gambles in my time
in this very city, when it was a smaller place and I was a younger man.
Yes, I know you, Mr. Dodd. By sight, I may say I know you extremely
well, you and your followers, the fellows in the kilts, eh? Pardon me.
But I have the misfortune to own a little box on the Saucelito shore.
I'll be glad to see you there any Sunday--without the fellows in kilts,
you know; and I can give you a bottle of wine, and show you the best
collection of Arctic voyages in the States. Morgan is my name--Judge
Morgan--a Welshman and a forty-niner."

"O, if you're a pioneer," cried I, "come to me and I'll provide you with
an axe."

"You'll want your axes for yourself, I fancy," he returned, with one
of his quick looks. "Unless you have private knowledge, there will be a
good deal of rather violent wrecking to do before you find that--opium,
do you call it?"

"Well, it's either opium, or we are stark, staring mad," I replied. "But
I assure you we have no private information. We went in (as I suppose
you did yourself) on observation."

"An observer, sir?" inquired the judge.

"I may say it is my trade--or, rather, was," said I.

"Well now, and what did you think of Bellairs?" he asked.

"Very little indeed," said I.

"I may tell you," continued the judge, "that to me, the employment of a
fellow like that appears inexplicable. I knew him; he knows me, too; he
has often heard from me in court; and I assure you the man is utterly
blown upon; it is not safe to trust him with a dollar; and here we find
him dealing up to fifty thousand. I can't think who can have so trusted
him, but I am very sure it was a stranger in San Francisco."

"Some one for the owners, I suppose," said I.

"Surely not!" exclaimed the judge. "Owners in London can have nothing
to say to opium smuggled between Hong Kong and San Francisco. I should
rather fancy they would be the last to hear of it--until the ship was
seized. No; I was thinking of the captain. But where would he get the
money? above all, after having laid out so much to buy the stuff in
China? Unless, indeed, he were acting for some one in 'Frisco; and in
that case--here we go round again in the vicious circle--Bellairs would
not have been employed."

"I think I can assure you it was not the captain," said I; "for he and
Bellairs are not acquainted."

"Wasn't that the captain with the red face and coloured handkerchief?
He seemed to me to follow Bellairs's game with the most thrilling
interest," objected Mr. Morgan.

"Perfectly true," said I; "Trent is deeply interested; he very likely
knew Bellairs, and he certainly knew what he was there for; but I can
put my hand in the fire that Bellairs didn't know Trent."

"Another singularity," observed the judge. "Well, we have had a capital
forenoon. But you take an old lawyer's advice, and get to Midway Island
as fast as you can. There's a pot of money on the table, and Bellairs
and Co. are not the men to stick at trifles."

With this parting counsel Judge Morgan shook hands and made off along
Montgomery Street, while I entered the Occidental Hotel, on the steps of
which we had finished our conversation. I was well known to the clerks,
and as soon as it was understood that I was there to wait for Pinkerton
and lunch, I was invited to a seat inside the counter. Here, then, in a
retired corner, I was beginning to come a little to myself after these
so violent experiences, when who should come hurrying in, and (after a
moment with a clerk) fly to one of the telephone boxes but Mr. Henry
D. Bellairs in person? Call it what you will, but the impulse was
irresistible, and I rose and took a place immediately at the man's back.
It may be some excuse that I had often practised this very innocent
form of eavesdropping upon strangers, and for fun. Indeed, I scarce know
anything that gives a lower view of man's intelligence than to overhear
(as you thus do) one side of a communication.

"Central," said the attorney, "2241 and 584 B" (or some such
numbers)--"Who's that?--All right--Mr. Bellairs--Occidental; the wires
are fouled in the other place--Yes, about three minutes--Yes--Yes--Your
figure, I am sorry to say--No--I had no authority--Neither more
nor less--I have every reason to suppose so--O, Pinkerton, Montana
Block--Yes--Yes--Very good, sir--As you will, sir--Disconnect 584 B."

Bellairs turned to leave; at sight of me behind him, up flew his hands,
and he winced and cringed, as though in fear of bodily attack. "O, it's
you!" he cried; and then, somewhat recovered, "Mr. Pinkerton's partner,
I believe? I am pleased to see you, sir--to congratulate you on your
late success." And with that he was gone, obsequiously bowing as he
passed.

And now a madcap humour came upon me. It was plain Bellairs had been
communicating with his principal; I knew the number, if not the name;
should I ring up at once, it was more than likely he would return
in person to the telephone; why should not I dash (vocally) into the
presence of this mysterious person, and have some fun for my money. I
pressed the bell.

"Central," said I, "connect again 2241 and 584 B."

A phantom central repeated the numbers; there was a pause, and then
"Two two four one," came in a tiny voice into my ear--a voice with the
English sing-song--the voice plainly of a gentleman. "Is that you again,
Mr. Bellairs?" it trilled. "I tell you it's no use. Is that you, Mr.
Bellairs? Who is that?"

"I only want to put a single question," said I, civilly. "Why do you
want to buy the Flying Scud?"

No answer came. The telephone vibrated and hummed in miniature with all
the numerous talk of a great city; but the voice of 2241 was silent.
Once and twice I put my question; but the tiny, sing-song English voice,
I heard no more. The man, then, had fled? fled from an impertinent
question? It scarce seemed natural to me; unless on the principle that
the wicked fleeth when no man pursueth. I took the telephone list and
turned the number up: "2241, Mrs. Keane, res. 942 Mission Street." And
that, short of driving to the house and renewing my impertinence in
person, was all that I could do.

Yet, as I resumed my seat in the corner of the office, I was conscious
of a new element of the uncertain, the underhand, perhaps even the
dangerous, in our adventure; and there was now a new picture in my
mental gallery, to hang beside that of the wreck under its canopy of
sea-birds and of Captain Trent mopping his red brow--the picture of a
man with a telephone dice-box to his ear, and at the small voice of a
single question, struck suddenly as white as ashes.

From these considerations I was awakened by the striking of the clock.
An hour and nearly twenty minutes had elapsed since Pinkerton departed
for the money: he was twenty minutes behind time; and to me who knew so
well his gluttonous despatch of business and had so frequently admired
his iron punctuality, the fact spoke volumes. The twenty minutes slowly
stretched into an hour; the hour had nearly extended to a second; and
I still sat in my corner of the office, or paced the marble pavement of
the hall, a prey to the most wretched anxiety and penitence. The hour
for lunch was nearly over before I remembered that I had not eaten.
Heaven knows I had no appetite; but there might still be much to do--it
was needful I should keep myself in proper trim, if it were only to
digest the now too probable bad news; and leaving word at the office for
Pinkerton, I sat down to table and called for soup, oysters, and a pint
of champagne.

I was not long set, before my friend returned. He looked pale and rather
old, refused to hear of food, and called for tea.

"I suppose all's up?" said I, with an incredible sinking.

"No," he replied; "I've pulled it through, Loudon; just pulled it
through. I couldn't have raised another cent in all 'Frisco. People
don't like it; Longhurst even went back on me; said he wasn't a
three-card-monte man."

"Well, what's the odds?" said I. "That's all we wanted, isn't it?"

"Loudon, I tell you I've had to pay blood for that money," cried my
friend, with almost savage energy and gloom. "It's all on ninety days,
too; I couldn't get another day--not another day. If we go ahead with
this affair, Loudon, you'll have to go yourself and make the fur fly.
I'll stay of course--I've got to stay and face the trouble in this city;
though, I tell you, I just long to go. I would show these fat brutes of
sailors what work was; I would be all through that wreck and out at the
other end, before they had boosted themselves upon the deck! But you'll
do your level best, Loudon; I depend on you for that. You must be all
fire and grit and dash from the word 'go.' That schooner and the boodle
on board of her are bound to be here before three months, or it's B. U.
S. T.--bust."

"I'll swear I'll do my best, Jim; I'll work double tides," said I. "It
is my fault that you are in this thing, and I'll get you out again or
kill myself. But what is that you say? 'If we go ahead?' Have we any
choice, then?"

"I'm coming to that," said Jim. "It isn't that I doubt the investment.
Don't blame yourself for that; you showed a fine, sound business
instinct: I always knew it was in you, but then it ripped right out. I
guess that little beast of an attorney knew what he was doing; and he
wanted nothing better than to go beyond. No, there's profit in the deal;
it's not that; it's these ninety-day bills, and the strain I've given
the credit, for I've been up and down, borrowing, and begging and
bribing to borrow. I don't believe there's another man but me in
'Frisco," he cried, with a sudden fervor of self admiration, "who could
have raised that last ten thousand!--Then there's another thing. I had
hoped you might have peddled that opium through the islands, which is
safer and more profitable. But with this three-month limit, you must
make tracks for Honolulu straight, and communicate by steamer. I'll
try to put up something for you there; I'll have a man spoken to who's
posted on that line of biz. Keep a bright lookout for him as soon's you
make the islands; for it's on the cards he might pick you up at sea in a
whaleboat or a steam-launch, and bring the dollars right on board."

It shows how much I had suffered morally during my sojourn in San
Francisco, that even now when our fortunes trembled in the balance,
I should have consented to become a smuggler and (of all things) a
smuggler of opium. Yet I did, and that in silence; without a protest,
not without a twinge.

"And suppose," said I, "suppose the opium is so securely hidden that I
can't get hands on it?"

"Then you will stay there till that brig is kindling-wood, and stay
and split that kindling-wood with your penknife," cried Pinkerton. "The
stuff is there; we know that; and it must be found. But all this is
only the one string to our bow--though I tell you I've gone into it
head-first, as if it was our bottom dollar. Why, the first thing I
did before I'd raised a cent, and with this other notion in my head
already--the first thing I did was to secure the schooner. The Nora
Creina, she is, sixty-four tons, quite big enough for our purpose since
the rice is spoiled, and the fastest thing of her tonnage out of San
Francisco. For a bonus of two hundred, and a monthly charter of three, I
have her for my own time; wages and provisions, say four hundred more: a
drop in the bucket. They began firing the cargo out of her (she was part
loaded) near two hours ago; and about the same time John Smith got the
order for the stores. That's what I call business."

"No doubt of that," said I. "But the other notion?"


"Well, here it is," said Jim. "You agree with me that Bellairs was ready
to go higher?"

I saw where he was coming. "Yes--and why shouldn't he?" said I. "Is
that the line?"

"That's the line, Loudon Dodd," assented Jim. "If Bellairs and his
principal have any desire to go me better, I'm their man."

A sudden thought, a sudden fear, shot into my mind. What if I had been
right? What if my childish pleasantry had frightened the principal
away, and thus destroyed our chance? Shame closed my mouth; I began
instinctively a long course of reticence; and it was without a word
of my meeting with Bellairs, or my discovery of the address in Mission
Street, that I continued the discussion.

"Doubtless fifty thousand was originally mentioned as a round sum," said
I, "or at least, so Bellairs supposed. But at the same time it may be an
outside sum; and to cover the expenses we have already incurred for the
money and the schooner--I am far from blaming you; I see how needful
it was to be ready for either event--but to cover them we shall want a
rather large advance."

"Bellairs will go to sixty thousand; it's my belief, if he were properly
handled, he would take the hundred," replied Pinkerton. "Look back on
the way the sale ran at the end."

"That is my own impression as regards Bellairs," I admitted. "The point I
am trying to make is that Bellairs himself may be mistaken; that what he
supposed to be a round sum was really an outside figure."

"Well, Loudon, if that is so," said Jim, with extraordinary gravity of
face and voice, "if that is so, let him take the Flying Scud at fifty
thousand, and joy go with her! I prefer the loss."

"Is that so, Jim? Are we dipped as bad as that?" I cried.

"We've put our hand farther out than we can pull it in again, Loudon,"
he replied. "Why, man, that fifty thousand dollars, before we get clear
again, will cost us nearer seventy. Yes, it figures up overhead to more
than ten per cent a month; and I could do no better, and there isn't
the man breathing could have done as well. It was a miracle, Loudon. I
couldn't but admire myself. O, if we had just the four months! And you
know, Loudon, it may still be done. With your energy and charm, if the
worst comes to the worst, you can run that schooner as you ran one
of your picnics; and we may have luck. And, O, man! if we do pull it
through, what a dashing operation it will be! What an advertisement!
what a thing to talk of, and remember all our lives! However," he
broke off suddenly, "we must try the safe thing first. Here's for the
shyster!"

There was another struggle in my mind, whether I should even now admit
my knowledge of the Mission Street address. But I had let the favourable
moment slip. I had now, which made it the more awkward, not merely the
original discovery, but my late suppression to confess. I could not help
reasoning, besides, that the more natural course was to approach the
principal by the road of his agent's office; and there weighed upon my
spirits a conviction that we were already too late, and that the man
was gone two hours ago. Once more, then, I held my peace; and after an
exchange of words at the telephone to assure ourselves he was at home,
we set out for the attorney's office.

The endless streets of any American city pass, from one end to another,
through strange degrees and vicissitudes of splendour and distress,
running under the same name between monumental warehouses, the dens
and taverns of thieves, and the sward and shrubbery of villas. In San
Francisco, the sharp inequalities of the ground, and the sea bordering
on so many sides, greatly exaggerate these contrasts. The street for
which we were now bound took its rise among blowing sands, somewhere in
view of the Lone Mountain Cemetery; ran for a term across that rather
windy Olympus of Nob Hill, or perhaps just skirted its frontier; passed
almost immediately after through a stage of little houses, rather
impudently painted, and offering to the eye of the observer this
diagnostic peculiarity, that the huge brass plates upon the small and
highly coloured doors bore only the first names of ladies--Norah or Lily
or Florence; traversed China Town, where it was doubtless undermined
with opium cellars, and its blocks pierced, after the similitude of
rabbit-warrens, with a hundred doors and passages and galleries; enjoyed
a glimpse of high publicity at the corner of Kearney; and proceeded,
among dives and warehouses, towards the City Front and the region of the
water-rats. In this last stage of its career, where it was both grimy
and solitary, and alternately quiet and roaring to the wheels of drays,
we found a certain house of some pretension to neatness, and furnished
with a rustic outside stair. On the pillar of the stair a black
plate bore in gilded lettering this device: "Harry D. Bellairs,
Attorney-at-law. Consultations, 9 to 6." On ascending the stairs, a door
was found to stand open on the balcony, with this further inscription,
"Mr. Bellairs In."

"I wonder what we do next," said I.

"Guess we sail right in," returned Jim, and suited the action to the
word.

The room in which we found ourselves was clean, but extremely bare. A
rather old-fashioned secretaire stood by the wall, with a chair drawn to
the desk; in one corner was a shelf with half-a-dozen law books; and
I can remember literally not another stick of furniture. One inference
imposed itself: Mr. Bellairs was in the habit of sitting down himself
and suffering his clients to stand. At the far end, and veiled by a
curtain of red baize, a second door communicated with the interior of
the house. Hence, after some coughing and stamping, we elicited the
shyster, who came timorously forth, for all the world like a man in fear
of bodily assault, and then, recognising his guests, suffered from what
I can only call a nervous paroxysm of courtesy.

"Mr. Pinkerton and partner!" said he. "I will go and fetch you seats."

"Not the least," said Jim. "No time. Much rather stand. This is
business, Mr. Bellairs. This morning, as you know, I bought the wreck,
Flying Scud."

The lawyer nodded.

"And bought her," pursued my friend, "at a figure out of all proportion
to the cargo and the circumstances, as they appeared?"

"And now you think better of it, and would like to be off with your
bargain? I have been figuring upon this," returned the lawyer. "My
client, I will not hide from you, was displeased with me for putting her
so high. I think we were both too heated, Mr. Pinkerton: rivalry--the
spirit of competition. But I will be quite frank--I know when I am
dealing with gentlemen--and I am almost certain, if you leave the matter
in my hands, my client would relieve you of the bargain, so as you would
lose"--he consulted our faces with gimlet-eyed calculation--"nothing,"
he added shrilly.

And here Pinkerton amazed me.

"That's a little too thin," said he. "I have the wreck. I know there's
boodle in her, and I mean to keep her. What I want is some points which
may save me needless expense, and which I'm prepared to pay for, money
down. The thing for you to consider is just this: am I to deal with you
or direct with your principal? If you are prepared to give me the facts
right off, why, name your figure. Only one thing!" added Jim, holding a
finger up, "when I say 'money down,' I mean bills payable when the ship
returns, and if the information proves reliable. I don't buy pigs in
pokes."

I had seen the lawyer's face light up for a moment, and then, at the
sound of Jim's proviso, miserably fade. "I guess you know more about
this wreck than I do, Mr. Pinkerton," said he. "I only know that I was
told to buy the thing, and tried, and couldn't."

"What I like about you, Mr. Bellairs, is that you waste no time," said
Jim. "Now then, your client's name and address."

"On consideration," replied the lawyer, with indescribable furtivity,
"I cannot see that I am entitled to communicate my client's name. I
will sound him for you with pleasure, if you care to instruct me; but I
cannot see that I can give you his address."

"Very well," said Jim, and put his hat on. "Rather a strong step, isn't
it?" (Between every sentence was a clear pause.) "Not think better of
it? Well, come--call it a dollar?"

"Mr. Pinkerton, sir!" exclaimed the offended attorney; and, indeed, I
myself was almost afraid that Jim had mistaken his man and gone too far.

"No present use for a dollar?" says Jim. "Well, look here, Mr. Bellairs:
we're both busy men, and I'll go to my outside figure with you right
away--"

"Stop this, Pinkerton," I broke in. "I know the address: 924 Mission
Street."


I do not know whether Pinkerton or Bellairs was the more taken aback.

"Why in snakes didn't you say so, Loudon?" cried my friend.

"You didn't ask for it before," said I, colouring to my temples under
his troubled eyes.

It was Bellairs who broke silence, kindly supplying me with all that
I had yet to learn. "Since you know Mr. Dickson's address," said
he, plainly burning to be rid of us, "I suppose I need detain you no
longer."

I do not know how Pinkerton felt, but I had death in my soul as we came
down the outside stair, from the den of this blotched spider. My whole
being was strung, waiting for Jim's first question, and prepared to
blurt out, I believe, almost with tears, a full avowal. But my friend
asked nothing.

"We must hack it," said he, tearing off in the direction of the nearest
stand. "No time to be lost. You saw how I changed ground. No use in
paying the shyster's commission."

Again I expected a reference to my suppression; again I was
disappointed. It was plain Jim feared the subject, and I felt I almost
hated him for that fear. At last, when we were already in the hack and
driving towards Mission Street, I could bear my suspense no longer.

"You do not ask me about that address," said I.

"No," said he, quickly and timidly. "What was it? I would like to know."

The note of timidity offended me like a buffet; my temper rose as hot as
mustard. "I must request you do not ask me," said I. "It is a matter I
cannot explain."

The moment the foolish words were said, that moment I would have given
worlds to recall them: how much more, when Pinkerton, patting my hand,
replied: "All right, dear boy; not another word; that's all done. I'm
convinced it's perfectly right." To return upon the subject was beyond
my courage; but I vowed inwardly that I should do my utmost in the
future for this mad speculation, and that I would cut myself in pieces
before Jim should lose one dollar.

We had no sooner arrived at the address than I had other things to think
of.

"Mr. Dickson? He's gone," said the landlady.

Where had he gone?

"I'm sure I can't tell you," she answered. "He was quite a stranger to
me."

"Did he express his baggage, ma'am?" asked Pinkerton.

"Hadn't any," was the reply. "He came last night and left again to-day
with a satchel."

"When did he leave?" I inquired.

"It was about noon," replied the landlady. "Some one rang up the
telephone, and asked for him; and I reckon he got some news, for he
left right away, although his rooms were taken by the week. He seemed
considerable put out: I reckon it was a death."

My heart sank; perhaps my idiotic jest had indeed driven him away;
and again I asked myself, Why? and whirled for a moment in a vortex of
untenable hypotheses.

"What was he like, ma'am?" Pinkerton was asking, when I returned to
consciousness of my surroundings.

"A clean shaved man," said the woman, and could be led or driven into no
more significant description.

"Pull up at the nearest drug-store," said Pinkerton to the driver; and
when there, the telephone was put in operation, and the message sped to
the Pacific Mail Steamship Company's office--this was in the days
before Spreckels had arisen--"When does the next China steamer touch at
Honolulu?"

"The City of Pekin; she cast off the dock to-day, at half-past one,"
came the reply.

"It's a clear case of bolt," said Jim. "He's skipped, or my name's not
Pinkerton. He's gone to head us off at Midway Island."

Somehow I was not so sure; there were elements in the case, not known
to Pinkerton--the fears of the captain, for example--that inclined me
otherwise; and the idea that I had terrified Mr. Dickson into flight,
though resting on so slender a foundation, clung obstinately in my mind.
"Shouldn't we see the list of passengers?" I asked.

"Dickson is such a blamed common name," returned Jim; "and then, as like
as not, he would change it."

At this I had another intuition. A negative of a street scene, taken
unconsciously when I was absorbed in other thought, rose in my memory
with not a feature blurred: a view, from Bellairs's door as we were
coming down, of muddy roadway, passing drays, matted telegraph wires,
a Chinaboy with a basket on his head, and (almost opposite) a corner
grocery with the name of Dickson in great gilt letters.

"Yes," said I, "you are right; he would change it. And anyway, I don't
believe it was his name at all; I believe he took it from a corner
grocery beside Bellairs's."

"As like as not," said Jim, still standing on the sidewalk with
contracted brows.

"Well, what shall we do next?" I asked.

"The natural thing would be to rush the schooner," he replied. "But I
don't know. I telephoned the captain to go at it head down and heels in
air; he answered like a little man; and I guess he's getting around. I
believe, Loudon, we'll give Trent a chance. Trent was in it; he was
in it up to the neck; even if he couldn't buy, he could give us the
straight tip."

"I think so, too," said I. "Where shall we find him?"

"British consulate, of course," said Jim. "And that's another reason for
taking him first. We can hustle that schooner up all evening; but when
the consulate's shut, it's shut."

At the consulate, we learned that Captain Trent had alighted (such is I
believe the classic phrase) at the What Cheer House. To that large and
unaristocratic hostelry we drove, and addressed ourselves to a large
clerk, who was chewing a toothpick and looking straight before him.

"Captain Jacob Trent?"

"Gone," said the clerk.

"Where has he gone?" asked Pinkerton.

"Cain't say," said the clerk.

"When did he go?" I asked.

"Don't know," said the clerk, and with the simplicity of a monarch
offered us the spectacle of his broad back.

What might have happened next I dread to picture, for Pinkerton's
excitement had been growing steadily, and now burned dangerously high;
but we were spared extremities by the intervention of a second clerk.

"Why! Mr. Dodd!" he exclaimed, running forward to the counter. "Glad to
see you, sir! Can I do anything in your way?"

How virtuous actions blossom! Here was a young man to whose pleased ears
I had rehearsed _Just before the battle, mother,_ at some weekly picnic;
and now, in that tense moment of my life, he came (from the machine) to
be my helper.

"Captain Trent, of the wreck? O yes, Mr. Dodd; he left about twelve; he
and another of the men. The Kanaka went earlier by the City of Pekin; I
know that; I remember expressing his chest. Captain Trent? I'll inquire,
Mr. Dodd. Yes, they were all here. Here are the names on the register;
perhaps you would care to look at them while I go and see about the
baggage?"

I drew the book toward me, and stood looking at the four names all
written in the same hand, rather a big and rather a bad one: Trent,
Brown, Hardy, and (instead of Ah Sing) Jos. Amalu.

"Pinkerton," said I, suddenly, "have you that _Occidental_ in your
pocket?"

"Never left me," said Pinkerton, producing the paper.


I turned to the account of the wreck. "Here," said I; "here's the name.
'Elias Goddedaal, mate.' Why do we never come across Elias Goddedaal?"

"That's so," said Jim. "Was he with the rest in that saloon when you saw
them?"

"I don't believe it," said I. "They were only four, and there was none
that behaved like a mate."

At this moment the clerk returned with his report.

"The captain," it appeared, "came with some kind of an express waggon,
and he and the man took off three chests and a big satchel. Our porter
helped to put them on, but they drove the cart themselves. The porter
thinks they went down town. It was about one."

"Still in time for the City of Pekin," observed Jim.

"How many of them were here?" I inquired.

"Three, sir, and the Kanaka," replied the clerk. "I can't somehow fin
out about the third, but he's gone too."

"Mr. Goddedaal, the mate, wasn't here then?" I asked.

"No, Mr. Dodd, none but what you see," says the clerk.

"Nor you never heard where he was?"

"No. Any particular reason for finding these men, Mr. Dodd?" inquired
the clerk.

"This gentleman and I have bought the wreck," I explained; "we wished to
get some information, and it is very annoying to find the men all gone."

A certain group had gradually formed about us, for the wreck was still
a matter of interest; and at this, one of the bystanders, a rough
seafaring man, spoke suddenly.

"I guess the mate won't be gone," said he. "He's main sick; never left
the sick-bay aboard the Tempest; so they tell ME."

Jim took me by the sleeve. "Back to the consulate," said he.

But even at the consulate nothing was known of Mr. Goddedaal. The doctor
of the Tempest had certified him very sick; he had sent his papers in,
but never appeared in person before the authorities.

"Have you a telephone laid on to the Tempest?" asked Pinkerton.

"Laid on yesterday," said the clerk.

"Do you mind asking, or letting me ask? We are very anxious to get hold
of Mr. Goddedaal."

"All right," said the clerk, and turned to the telephone. "I'm sorry,"
he said presently, "Mr. Goddedaal has left the ship, and no one knows
where he is."

"Do you pay the men's passage home?" I inquired, a sudden thought
striking me.

"If they want it," said the clerk; "sometimes they don't. But we paid
the Kanaka's passage to Honolulu this morning; and by what Captain Trent
was saying, I understand the rest are going home together."

"Then you haven't paid them?" said I.

"Not yet," said the clerk.

"And you would be a good deal surprised, if I were to tell you they were
gone already?" I asked.

"O, I should think you were mistaken," said he.

"Such is the fact, however," said I.

"I am sure you must be mistaken," he repeated.

"May I use your telephone one moment?" asked Pinkerton; and as soon as
permission had been granted, I heard him ring up the printing-office
where our advertisements were usually handled. More I did not hear; for
suddenly recalling the big, bad hand in the register of the What Cheer
House, I asked the consulate clerk if he had a specimen of Captain
Trent's writing. Whereupon I learned that the captain could not write,
having cut his hand open a little before the loss of the brig; that the
latter part of the log even had been written up by Mr. Goddedaal; and
that Trent had always signed with his left hand. By the time I had
gleaned this information, Pinkerton was ready.

"That's all that we can do. Now for the schooner," said he; "and by
to-morrow evening I lay hands on Goddedaal, or my name's not Pinkerton."

"How have you managed?" I inquired.

"You'll see before you get to bed," said Pinkerton. "And now, after
all this backwarding and forwarding, and that hotel clerk, and that
bug Bellairs, it'll be a change and a kind of consolation to see the
schooner. I guess things are humming there."

But on the wharf, when we reached it, there was no sign of bustle,
and, but for the galley smoke, no mark of life on the Norah Creina.
Pinkerton's face grew pale, and his mouth straightened, as he leaped on
board.

"Where's the captain of this----?" and he left the phrase unfinished,
finding no epithet sufficiently energetic for his thoughts.

It did not appear whom or what he was addressing; but a head, presumably
the cook's, appeared in answer at the galley door.

"In the cabin, at dinner," said the cook deliberately, chewing as he
spoke.

"Is that cargo out?"

"No, sir."

"None of it?"

"O, there's some of it out. We'll get at the rest of it livelier
to-morrow, I guess."

"I guess there'll be something broken first," said Pinkerton, and strode
to the cabin.

Here we found a man, fat, dark, and quiet, seated gravely at what seemed
a liberal meal. He looked up upon our entrance; and seeing Pinkerton
continue to stand facing him in silence, hat on head, arms folded, and
lips compressed, an expression of mingled wonder and annoyance began to
dawn upon his placid face.

"Well!" said Jim; "and so this is what you call rushing around?"

"Who are you?" cries the captain.

"Me! I'm Pinkerton!" retorted Jim, as though the name had been a
talisman.

"You're not very civil, whoever you are," was the reply. But still a
certain effect had been produced, for he scrambled to his feet,
and added hastily, "A man must have a bit of dinner, you know, Mr.
Pinkerton."

"Where's your mate?" snapped Jim.

"He's up town," returned the other.

"Up town!" sneered Pinkerton. "Now, I'll tell you what you are: you're a
Fraud; and if I wasn't afraid of dirtying my boot, I would kick you and
your dinner into that dock."

"I'll tell you something, too," retorted the captain, duskily flushing.
"I wouldn't sail this ship for the man you are, if you went upon your
knees. I've dealt with gentlemen up to now."

"I can tell you the names of a number of gentlemen you'll never deal
with any more, and that's the whole of Longhurst's gang," said Jim.
"I'll put your pipe out in that quarter, my friend. Here, rout out your
traps as quick as look at it, and take your vermin along with you. I'll
have a captain in, this very night, that's a sailor, and some sailors to
work for him."

"I'll go when I please, and that's to-morrow morning," cried the captain
after us, as we departed for the shore.

"There's something gone wrong with the world to-day; it must have come
bottom up!" wailed Pinkerton. "Bellairs, and then the hotel clerk,
and now This Fraud! And what am I to do for a captain, Loudon, with
Longhurst gone home an hour ago, and the boys all scattered?"

"I know," said I. "Jump in!" And then to the driver: "Do you know Black
Tom's?"

Thither then we rattled; passed through the bar, and found (as I had
hoped) Johnson in the enjoyment of club life. The table had been
thrust upon one side; a South Sea merchant was discoursing music from a
mouth-organ in one corner; and in the middle of the floor Johnson and
a fellow-seaman, their arms clasped about each other's bodies, somewhat
heavily danced. The room was both cold and close; a jet of gas,
which continually menaced the heads of the performers, shed a coarse
illumination; the mouth-organ sounded shrill and dismal; and the faces
of all concerned were church-like in their gravity. It were, of course,
indelicate to interrupt these solemn frolics; so we edged ourselves to
chairs, for all the world like belated comers in a concert-room, and
patiently waited for the end. At length the organist, having exhausted
his supply of breath, ceased abruptly in the middle of a bar. With
the cessation of the strain, the dancers likewise came to a full stop,
swayed a moment, still embracing, and then separated and looked about
the circle for applause.