Just as the gangplank was about to be pulled in the deckhands waited to permit a very feeble and bent old man to hobble aboard. He had long, white hair, and his face was mostly gray whiskers, except a pair of dark spectacles. A porter followed him bearing two brand new suitcases.

The adventurous four were soon comfortably perched in steamer chairs watching New York harbor slip by them. They had barely reached the Statue of Liberty when the "pirate" launched forth on one of his Munchausen-like tales of the sea.

Highly colored, picturesque, untrue and absurd as a stained gla.s.s window, nevertheless these yams took on a semblance of reality from the character of the narrator himself. In all his stories the "pirate" was the hero. n.o.body noticed that a steward had placed a fifth steamer chair beside the sailor until that worthy reached one of the main climaxes of his narrative. At that point he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked around into the whiskers and black spectacles of the old pa.s.senger. The cackling voice remarked:

"It's a lie. It's a lie. It's a lie."

Every one was astonished, but even the "pirate" had a trace of respect for such great age, and said nothing in reply. After a while he continued, only to be interrupted by the same words.

This was too much to endure, and though the if "pirate" held his tongue they rebuked the old dotard by walking away and leaning over the rail. The conversation wandered to the subject of sharks, and Pauline asked if they were as stupid as they looked.

"Don't you believe it," the "pirate" a.s.sured her. "Them sharks look stupid just to fool you. Why, I remember a time not so long ago down in Choco Bay, on the coast of Colombia, there was an old devil who used to sneak up alongside sailin' vessels in a fog. He carried in his mouth the big iron shank of an anchor he'd picked up from the wreck."

"What did he do that for?" asked Hicks.

"So the iron would deflect the compa.s.s and make them run the ship onto the Kelp Ledges, off the Pinudas, Islands. If a ship went down he stood a good chance of eating one or two o' the pa.s.sengers. But I don't mind sharks. If you want to know what really annoys me, it's them killer whales in the Antarctic that come a crowdin' and b.u.t.tin' up against ye."

"It's an internal, monumental, epoch-making lie," cackled a voice behind him. Every one looked, and there was the old man.

The "pirate" was now thoroughly exasperated. If he couldn't tell a story without being interrupted in this manner life wasn't worth living. He announced that he would find the old man and thrash him.

Owen and Hicks were annoyed, but they feared the result of the sailor's fury. They might all be arrested on arriving at Na.s.sau. This would interfere with plans, and must not be thought of. To appease the wrathful "pirate" Owen offered to have the old man thrashed so soundly that he would probably be glad to stay out of sight the rest of the voyage.

There were some rascally looking men of Spanish blood among the second cabin pa.s.sengers who, as Owen and Hicks observed, looked needy and unscrupulous.

The secretary found no great embarra.s.sment in explaining that he wished the old man thrashed quietly and privately. The Spaniards agreed to beat him thoroughly for the trifling consideration of ten dollars.

They would even throw him overboard for a very reasonable sum additional. But the bargain was struck at ten dollars for a moderate beating, and the foreigners were warned that as he was delicate they must be careful not to kill him.

During the next hour or two the old man pa.s.sed the four treasure hunters in their steamer chairs, but each time the "pirate" ceased talking before he came within earshot.

At last the old man stopped in front of Pauline and gazed long at the "pirate." He studied the rascal's face, apparently trying to remember the ident.i.ty of the man. Slowly the aged head nodded as if he was saying to himself. "Yes, he is the same man."

Then, turning to Pauline and shaking a warning finger, the old man delivered a surprising message.

Pauline was startled. The three men leaped to their feet. It was with the utmost difficulty that she was able to prevent violence.. Owen excused himself to hunt up his Spaniards and demand an explanation for their slowness. To his surprise they declared that they had tackled him and that he was as quick and powerful as a gorilla. He had thrashed them both and they were glad to escape with their lives.

The ex-secretary was incredulous, but they showed cuts and bruises and demanded their money, saying that a joke had been played on them. When Owen refused one of them drew a stiletto and the ten dollars was forthcoming.

Returning, ruefully, he related the failure of the Spaniards. The "pirate" at once said:

"Now, let me handle him."

A few moments later Boyd cornered his ancient adversary on a deserted and wind-swept piece of deck.

"Old man," snarled the "pirate," "you say all my stories are lies.

Only your gray hairs have saved you from a thrashing before this."

"If it's my gray hairs that stop you, I'll remove that obstacle."

The "pirate" was amazed to see the aged person take off his hat and remove a gray wig with his left hand while his right fist collided with the "pirate's" eye. When consciousness returned he was lying on the deck with no living thing in sight but a seagull aeroplaning on slanted wings over his head. His return to the party was more rueful than Owen's.

"What is the matter with your eye, Mr. Boyd?" asked Pauline innocently.

"Why, you see," said the "pirate," "I was looking at a girl with one of these new slit skirts and I stumbled and b.u.mped against a ventilator."

"I see," commented Owen to help him out. "You sort of slipped on a s.e.x-appeal, so to speak."

"Yes," said the sailor, gratefully. "It was just like that."

"It's a lie," said a high, thin voice from somewhere, and they noticed that a porthole behind them was open.

Pauline found conversation difficult. Hicks, as a man of few words, which gave him an undeserved reputation for wisdom. The "pirate" had given up spinning yams on account of the old man's unfailing interruption. Owen's mind, too, was preoccupied with a growing suspicion. So the adventurous young lady went to her stateroom and wrote a letter to Harry.

The sailor intimated that he had important news which could be only told in the privacy of Owen's stateroom. The secretary suspected this to be only a maneuver on the "pirate's" part to get acquainted with the whiskey he knew Owen kept with him. But the seafarer unfolded the tale of his black eye not truthfully nor accurately, except in that he had recognized Harry under the disguise of the old man.

"I more than half suspected it," said Owen, "and I have been watching his stateroom. But there is no way any one can see into his room unless by getting a look in through the porthole."

"And there's where you get a good idea," said the "pirate."

"But there's no good having a peep' at him without his disguise now that it's Harry," objected Hicks.

"No," said the "pirate," turning on Owen his l.u.s.terless sea-green eyes, faded by much grog to a dimness that reminded one of the faint lights set in ships' decks and known as "dead-eyes." "No, but your porthole idea is just the scheme to get at him and get rid of him. I can slip down a rope tonight when all is quiet and the fool pa.s.sengers are over on the other side looking at the b.l.o.o.d.y moon."

"And then what?" said Owen.

"I goes down the rope and shoots the old fool! I mean the young fool --through the porthole."

"Why, that's murder!" cried Owen. "We'd all swing for it."

"No, it ain't murder; it's suicide, 'cause I'll throw the gun in there where they'll find it when they break the door in, and everybody'll think he shot himself."

"It's practical," commented Hicks, but Owen protested. At last it was decided that a fourth man was necessary to do the shooting, and the "pirate" volunteered to produce him.

"There's an old shipmate o' mine down in the stoke hole working like a n.i.g.g.e.r. He'll be glad to do the trick for ten dollars, but we'll make it fifty because the poor fellow has a wife and children and needs the money. I'll go get him."

Owen and Hicks went on deck while Boyd descended to the fiery vitals of the steamer. It is not an easy matter to smuggle a grimy stoker from his furnace to the upper pa.s.senger decks, but the "pirate" managed it.

Meanwhile Harry was not losing time. He had taken a dictograph from his baggage, borrowed a few dry batteries and a coil of wire from the wireless operator. He carefully installed the instrument in his stateroom, and led the wires out under his door to the pa.s.sageway.

From there it was an easy task to carry them along the edge of the carpet to the door of Owen's stateroom. Arrived at the point, he was compelled to leave pliers, wire and the receiving instrument under a chair.

Like many another stateroom door, Owen's could not be locked easily from the outside, so when the three conspirators went out they left it unlocked. The old man slipped in a moment later and quickly placed the dictograph under the lower bunk.

Returning to his own room, the old man took up his instrument and listened. But he was not a very expert electrician and the dictograph for a long time failed to give anything but roars and crackling sounds, though he was convinced there were several persons talking. A last he got the thing adjusted in time to catch the last sentences of the conversation. He recognized the voice of the "pirate." It said:

"An then we lowers you down the rope to his porthole. You sticks your gun in and shoot the old fool. Don't forget to throw the gun in afterward, so they'll think he killed himself. See?"

"Sure, I got yer, matey," replied a strange voice.

After this the dictograph must have got out of order as nothing further came over the wire.