CHAPTER XXII
KIDNAPPED
A hand gripped his shoulder as though in a vise, and swung him around;the muzzle of an automatic confronted him, and behind it the threateningeyes of Joe glared directly into his own.
"Not a move, you damned spy," a voice said coldly. "Now, Mark, frisk thecuss, and be lively about it. Had a gun, hey; I thought so. Give it tome. Now get the cord over there and give him a turn or two. A very goodjob, old boy; the fellow is safe enough, I should say."
He turned his eyes away, searching the cabin, confident that West wassufficiently secured.
"Come on out, Mary," he said sharply. "Who is this guy, anyhow?"
A woman came forward through the shadows. West had a glimpse of her face,but the features were unfamiliar. A woman of forty, perhaps, stillattractive in appearance, with dark hair and bold black eyes that methis own defiantly. He was puzzled, doubtful as to what it all meant. Sothis was the woman he had seen on board; not Natalie Coolidge at all.There had been a mistake of some kind; but if so, why had these peoplegiven him this sort of reception aboard? These thoughts swept his mind ina flash, as the woman peered forward to see his features more clearly.For a moment she said nothing, and Joe broke out impatiently.
"He's the lad, ain't he?" he asked. "We ain't gone an' picked up thewrong guy?"
"No; he's the bird all right. I never lamped him but once before myself.I heard his name then, but forgot it. He's her friend, there ain't nodoubt o' that, Joe, and it ain't likely he's hanging around here just forfun, is it? My idea was it would be safer to take him in."
"Sure; what's yer name, young fellow?"
Concealment was useless; they evidently had him correctly spotted; to liewould do no good.
"Matthew West."
"That's the name," the woman exclaimed eagerly. "He is a soldier--aCaptain, or something like that. Jim told me about him; he's the samefellow who was snooping about Mike's Place last night, before wepulled out."
"Is that so? How the hell did you get out of there?"
"We had a little trouble," West admitted, "but they let me go."
"Yes, they did! I know better than that; Hobart don't do businessthat way. I reckon we've played his game all right taking you in.Well, you don't get out of here so easy, let me tell you. How'd youcome to get onto us?"
"That's my business."
"Oh, is it? Well, we'll make it ours from now on. There is one thingpretty sure--you were here playing a lone hand. So it don't make muchdifference what yer idea was. We'll take the bird along with us, Mary;then he'll be out of temptation."
The woman nodded.
"Jim will know what to do with him," she said. "All we got to do is keephim safe."
"I'll attend to that; come on, Mark, let's throw the damn sneak into thatleft-hand stateroom. He'll stay there all right. Aw, take hold; don't beafraid of hurting the fellow."
They roughed him forward, but West made no attempt to resist; his handswere bound, and he was helpless. The woman threw open the narrow door,and he was bundled unceremoniously across the threshold, and thrownheavily to the floor. He struggled partially upright, protesting againstbeing left in that helpless condition, but the red-moustached man onlylaughed, shutting the door tightly, and locking it. The single port holewas covered by heavy drapery, the stateroom in total darkness. Throughthe door panels he could hear a voice speaking.
"He's better off that way until we get out of here. You stay here, Mary,till I can attend to him myself. Those fellows ought to have that enginefixed by this time. Mark and I better go up on deck awhile."
"But, Joe, do you think they have caught on to us?" she asked anxiously.
"No, I don't; this guy wouldn't be snooping about alone if they had. Heain't no fly cop, and just happened to be loafin' here--that's my guess.He knew this was the Coolidge Yacht, and that set him to askingquestions. That guy don't look to me like he was the kind to be afraidof. All we got to do is hold him here until Jim decides what he's up to.I don't want to hurt him none, unless I have to. Everything else allright, I suppose?"
"Sure; quiet as a mouse; asleep, I guess."
"That's good; well you stay here until I come back. Want a gun?"
She did not answer so as to be heard, but West could distinguish themovement of feet in the outer cabin, and then the closing of a door.Undoubtedly the two men had gone on deck, leaving the woman there alone.His feet were not tied, and he could sit up, although the hands weretightly bound behind him. With eyes accustoming themselves to the gloom,he could discern something of his surroundings. He was in the ordinarystateroom of a small yacht, with barely space in which to move aboutcomfortably. Two bunks were at one side, with a metal stand at their footfor washing purposes. A rug covered the floor, the beds were made, and astool, screwed to the deck, occupied a position just below the porthole.A few hooks were in evidence on the opposite wall; but no garmentsdangled from them to tell of previous occupancy. Indeed the place wasscrupulously clean, as though unused for some time.
West made his way to the port, pushed aside the curtain with hisshoulders and looked out. The smallness of the opening made any hope ofescape in that way impossible; nor could he expect to attract theattention of any one ashore. His view was limited to the east and north,a wide expanse of blue water, the only thing in sight being the pleasureboat bound for Lincoln Park, already little more than a black dot in thedistance. Convinced of his complete helplessness, he sat down on thestool to consider the situation.
He had been a fool; there was no doubt as to that; the only thing now washow he could best retrieve his folly. He had walked blindly into a trap,suspecting nothing, confidently relying on his own smartness, believinghimself unknown. Now he must find his way out. It angered him to realizehow easily it had been accomplished; not so much as a blow struck; noopportunity even for him to cry out an alarm--only that dark cabin, andthe threatening revolver shoved against his cheek. He wondered whereMcAdams was; perhaps hunting him even then on the pier; and Sexton, whathad he succeeded in discovering out at Fairlawn? That Natalie Coolidgehad returned home, no doubt. At least he no longer believed she was withthis yachting party--evidently there was but one woman on board. Yet,whether she was there or not, it was clear enough from what he had heardthat this sudden voyage of the _Seminole_ had some direct connection withthe mystery he was endeavouring to solve. That was why he had beendecoyed aboard, and made prisoner--to keep him silent; to get himsecurely out of the way. Yet this knowledge revealed nothing as to whattheir real purpose was.
What did they intend doing with him now that he was in their hands? Joehad declared his fate would be left with Hobart. Then it must be thatthey had a rendezvous arranged somewhere with that arch-conspirator, somehidden spot along the lake shore where they were to meet shortly, anddivide the spoils, or make further plans. Hobart unquestionably was theleader of the gang; but who was the woman? She had evidently been inMike's Place the night before, and had a glimpse of his face. She musthave left with that party in the automobile, yet she surely was not theone who had dropped that note begging the police to search this vessel.
What then had become of the other? If she was being held prisoner, it wasnot at all probable she had been left somewhere ashore; apparently shehad reason to know where she was being taken--to the _Seminole_;otherwise she would never have written as she did. She must haveoverheard their plans, before she hastily scratched off the notedesperately; and yet those plans might have been changed. However, if so,why were these people--accomplices of Hobart no doubt--fleeing in theyacht, seeking to conceal their identity in an effort to disappear? Whatwere they fleeing from? Why were they so fearful of discovery by thepolice? What would cause them to kidnap him, merely on suspicion that hewas a friend of Natalie Coolidge? The very act was proof positive of thedesperation of their crime. It could be accounted for on no other theory.
West paced the narrow space, his brain whirling, as he attempted toreason the affair out, his own helplessness becoming more and moreapparent.
What could he do? There was but one answer--absolutely nothingas he was then situated. He could only wait for some movement on thepart of the others; his fate was out of his own hands; he had been afool, and must pay the price. The cords about his wrists chafed and hurtwith each movement. The metal wash-stand gave him an inspiration; itsupper strip was thin, and somewhat jagged along the edge; possibly itmight be utilized to sever the strands. It was better to try theexperiment than remain thus helplessly bound. With hands free he couldat least defend himself.
He made the effort, doubtfully at first, but hope came as the sharp edgebegan to tear at the rope. It was slow work, awkward, requiring all thestrength of his arms, yet he felt sure of progress. He could feel thestrands yield little by little, and redoubled his efforts. It hurt, therope lacerating his wrists, and occasionally the jagged steel cut intothe flesh cruelly, but the thought of freedom outweighed the pain, and hepersevered manfully. At last, exercising all his muscle, the last frayedstrand snapped. His wrists were bleeding, and the hands numb, but thesevered cord lay on the floor and he again had the free use of his arms.The sudden freedom brought new hope and courage. He listened at the door,testing the knob cautiously. There was no yielding, and for the moment nosound reached him from without. The woman was doubtless there on guard,and any effort he might make to break down the door would only bring thewhole gang upon him. Unarmed, he could not hope to fight them all. As hestood there, hesitating, unable to determine what to attempt, he becameaware of a throbbing under foot, increasing in intensity. West knewinstantly what it meant--they were testing out the engine; if all workedwell, the boat would cast off.
He sprang back to the port and stared out, eagerly hoping that, as theyswept out into the lake, he might find some opportunity to communicatewith some one on the pier. Perhaps by this time Mac would have arrived,and be watching their departure, unable to intervene, as he had nowarrant for arrest, or any definite knowledge that the yacht was beingused for a criminal purpose. He had not long to wait. Hurrying stepsechoed along the deck; a voice shouted out some order, and the end of aloosened rope dropped splashing into the water astern; the boat trembledto the pulsations of the engine, and West realized that it was at firstslowly, then more swiftly, slipping away into the broad water. Already hecould perceive the white wake astern, and, an instant later, as the turnto the right widened, he had a glimpse of the pier, already separatedfrom him by a broad expanse of trembling water. Above the noise his voicewould scarcely reach that distance. A crowd of people stood therewatching, clinging along the edge of the promenade--McAdams was not amongthem. It would be useless to strive to attract their attention; not oneamong them would comprehend; even if they did, not one of them couldhelp. He still stood there, gazing back at the fast receding pier,gradually becoming blurred in the distance, but hopelessly. He knew nowhe must face his fate alone.