Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction. Vol. 18, No. 3, September 18, 1926
- Автор: Bailey H. C., Bechdolt Jack
- Год: 1926
- Язык: английский
- Год: The Red Star News Company
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction. Vol. 18, No. 3, September 18, 1926». Краткое содержание книги:
“He didn’t get it off me.”
Brakely was silent a little while, sitting there behind me.
“I don’t think he did,” he said presently. “I don’t think you had such a gun on you — don’t see how you could have. What I think is, the policeman got it off one of the other fellows, in the scrimmage — and that’s what I’d like to sift. I’d like to know if there’s a man in that crowd — those fellows with Barney Masters — who has anything to do with Le Gorille. Of course, none of them is Le Gorille himself—”
“How do you know?”
“Well, the physical description of Le Gorille doesn’t fit any of them. The Apache is a man with unusually long arms and a tremendous chest development — I suppose his physical peculiarities earned him his sobriquet.”
Hippolyte!
I was certain of it now. The deaf mute’s pistol had been taken from me by the gendarme, but I kept my mouth shut about that. Brakely was exceedingly mystified, and I suppose that when this news came out he thought it best to cut short his visit in Monte Carlo. What had looked like a drunken escapade of sailors took an unexpected turn, and though the police wouldn’t think the Paris Apache came off a handsome American yacht, they might want to question the sailor as to where he got the pistol.
I guarded my secret. Le Gorille was on the island of Querolle, and somehow I felt that he was my friend.
Brakely lay down to sleep. I handled my sail as deftly as I could, crowding it for all possible speed, which at best wasn’t much. I hoped to get a landfall before the sun went down.
A fight lay ahead, and complications too due to the enmity that now existed between Julius Brakely and Barney Masters. It was hard to say whether this would prove an asset or an obstacle to me in my enterprise of rescuing Alonzo Lee and his daughter from all the sinister forces in action against them.
The sun kept us warm even in the stiffening breeze, which was balmy and pleasant. We had suffered from chill during the night, but the autumn in that climate is warm so long as the sun shines.
Our danger from the weather lay in one of the sudden storms for which the Mediterranean is known among sailors — danger of the raft foundering and the sun being obscured so that we would lose all sense of direction. But the breeze held steady, almost astern, and there were no signs of the shift that precedes a gale.
We suffered neither for food nor water, for the Angela Lee had been heavily provisioned. Brakely had stood by while the lifeboats were being loaded, and, of course, Barney Masters had no chance to get rid of the stores that were left. When the boats were launched and Brakely went into the hold to release me, Masters had no time to destroy the stores on the yacht, even if the thought occurred to him.
All hands were in the boats, and their hope lay in the speed with which they got out of range of Brakely’s gun. Anyhow, Barney Masters no doubt thought there was no escape for Brakely and me, and he didn’t care if he did leave food and water. We had enough on the raft for a week’s full rations.
There was no sign of a ship anywhere around the horizon.
I gave up hope in that direction. I thought that we were below the steamship tracks, and would run across no ships except one perhaps bound for some port on the big island. Sailings to and from that island were few and far between.
Brakely slept, with his head pillowed on a life preserver.
I didn’t lose sight of the fact that we were likely to become active enemies at any moment. Just now each would do all he could to save the other, for our immediate hopes were the same. What would Brakely do when we got a landfall?
He’d think himself capable then of managing the raft, if he had the island itself to make for. He’d no longer need me to keep the raft on its course, if the weather remained favorable.
Brakely woke up about noon, yawned, and stretched himself.
“Well,” he said, “I feel like lunch, George.”
“Suits me.”
He handed food to me, and I could eat and sail the raft at the same time now. By a system of calculation in which I employed my watch and the sun, I never was far off in my sense of direction.
“That story you told me about Caricar the pirate,” I said to Brakely, “it was an interesting yarn.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“You got Alonzo Lee with that story, too?”
“I shouldn’t wonder.”
“I don’t see why you wanted Alonzo Lee with you at Querolle.”
“That is a mystery, isn’t it? Have a cigarette.”
“Thanks.” He held a match for me. “I suppose Mr. Lee has been hunting for Caricar’s treasure?”
“Yes,” Brakely agreed, “and perhaps he’s found it.”
I grinned, and turned so that our eyes met directly.
“Are you going to stick to that yam?” I asked him. “Buried treasure — pirate gold! Huh?”
“Perhaps the treasure isn’t so much of a dream as you think,” Brakely rejoined. “Anyhow, that’s my story, George, and I’m going to stick to it.”
I knew that Brakely was too clever to be pumped by me, but it was a subject that I couldn’t abandon.
“It wasn’t a fair thing to drag Miss Lee into such a mess,” I suggested.
“I agree with you. But it’s her own fault. Whatever happens, George, I want you to understand that I didn’t want Miss Lee down here. Her presence complicated things. I had to make a complete new set of plans.
“She put it over her father, pumped him — and when he told her of a voyage in quest of buried treasure, he couldn’t get rid of her. She abandoned all her plans for the winter, and stuck with him. But, of course, we shall get her out of it.”
“I hope so.”
Chapter XXIX
Suspended Hostilities
About three o’clock in the afternoon I asked Brakely to relieve me at the tiller. He had offered to do that at intervals ever since he woke up, but I put him off until three. I had a particular object in that. I laid down for a little sleep, and had it on my mind to wake up in about two hours. I hit it pretty close.
It was exactly ten minutes past five when I sat up on the raft. I took a quick look at the horizon. No land in sight. Then my eyes traveled clear around the circle. No sign of a ship.
Brakely turned around and saw that I was awake.
“I’m getting worried,” he said.
“Why?”
“I’m afraid we’ve missed the island.”
“Well, I don’t know. There’s certainly no sign of it yet.”
“I want you to play square with me, George,” he said earnestly. “Are you really trying to make the island — did you lay the right course for that — or are you keeping off it until you can sight a ship?”
“I’m doing my best to make the island.”
That was the truth.
“Barney Masters and his gang are there now,” he reminded me. “They had oars and sails too. Those boats were equipped for that, and they’re much easier to handle and twice as speedy as this raft. They had that French sailor with them, Vernet — and he’d do all he could to fetch them to Querolle.”
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” I said, “he might want to keep that crowd away from the Lees.”
“Barney Masters would make him hit Querolle,” Brakely assured me. “He’d put a time limit on it. He’d say, if we don’t pick up the island at a certain time, overboard you go. Vernet’s life wouldn’t be worth a sou if he tried any tricks.”
That was probably true.
“And Vernet,” Brakely continued, “knows the Mediterranean like a fisherman knows a duck pond. He’s been cruising on yachts in this sea for years, I understand. He’ll be able to calculate where the Angela Lee went down, the same as you did. Barney Masters and I sailed the ship together, and Barney had the figures to give him. He’d compel Vernet to make Querolle.”