The Secret of the Reef Part 41

"I'll be ready when I've finished this pipe," he said. "You'd better screw up that pump-gland in the meanwhile. I didn't get as much air as I wanted last time."

Moran set about it, and, though time was precious, Jimmy did not try to hurry him, but stood listlessly looking out to sea. A fine rain was falling, there was very little wind, and belts of fog streaked the dim gray water between him and the horizon. He was watching one belt when it seemed to open and a blurred shape crept out. Jimmy dropped his pipe and scrambled to the cabin top. He could distinguish a patch of white hull and a tall mast. As he called to the others a short funnel appeared, and a trail of smoke lay dark along the edge of the fog.

"We don't need the gla.s.ses to tell whose boat that is," he said harshly.

They knew her at the first glance and their faces hardened.

"Clay's lost no time," Bethune remarked. "Well, I suppose it means a fight, and we'll gain nothing by running away now, but we may as well stop diving until we find out whether it's worth while to go on."

After securing the pumps and gear they waited, watching the yacht's approach. She came straight on at moderate speed, and stopped three or four hundred yards away. They saw the anchor splash and heard a rattle of chain, but after that there was no sign of activity on board the vessel.

"It's my opinion Clay knows who we are," Moran said.

"You can take that for granted," Bethune replied. "We'll hear from him before long, but he doesn't mean to show any eagerness in sending a boat off. As time's getting on, I think we'll have supper."

As they finished the meal a smart gig, pulled by uniformed seamen, approached the sloop, and when she stopped alongside the helmsman handed Jimmy two notes.

Opening them in the cabin, he showed his companions two sheets of fine paper bearing an embossed flag and the vessel's name. One note stated that Mr. Clay requested their company at supper on board his yacht, and the other, which was longer, was from Aynsley. He said that although he was not sure they had much cause to remember him with grat.i.tude, he would be glad to see them, and hoped they would not refuse his father's invitation.

"Do you think Clay made him write this?" Jimmy asked.

"No," said Bethune. "On the whole, I imagine it was sent without Clay's knowledge. Of course, Aynsley had some reason for writing, but while I can't tell what it is, he's not in the plot."

"Anyway, I'm not going; I've no wish to sit at that man's table."

Bethune grinned as he indicated his pilot jacket, which was shrunk and stained by salt-water, and his old sea-boots.

"Our get-up's hardly smart enough for a yacht's saloon; and I've a notion that it might be wiser to stay where we are. Still, we'll have to see him before long, and you'd better write a civil refusal; though I'm afraid we can't match his decorative stationery."

Jimmy tore a leaf out of his notebook and scribbled a few moments with a pencil. Then he read to his comrades:

_"Mr. Farquhar and his friends regret their inability to leave their boat, but would esteem Mr. Clay's company if he cares to visit them."_

"Bully!" exclaimed Bethune. "You've sealed it with a thumb-mark, and-well, we haven't an envelope."

When the gig's crew rowed away with the note the three men gathered together in the little cabin.

"Will he come, do you think?" Moran asked.

"Oh, yes; but he'll take his time, and get his supper first comfortably," Bethune replied. "I'm rather anxious about the thing, because if he doesn't come we can look out for trouble."

"If that's what he wants, he'll get it," Moran drawled, from his corner on a locker.

Jimmy sat smoking in thoughtful silence. He had learned that Clay was cunning and unscrupulous; and, if worse came to worse, they were cut off from any outside help by leagues of lonely sea. Their enemy had a strong crew who were, no doubt, well paid and ready to do his bidding; for Jimmy knew that Clay would not have sailed on such an errand with men he could not trust. The sloop's party would be hopelessly outmatched if he used force; and it would be difficult to obtain redress afterward, because they were only three in number, and all interested in the undertaking, while Clay would have many witnesses, who could claim to be independent. The situation needed careful handling, and Jimmy was glad that Bethune was on board. For all that, if things came to the worst, Clay should not find them easy victims.

Presently he went out to look at the weather. The rain had stopped and low mist hung about, but a half-moon was rising in a patch of clear sky.

The swell heaved, long and smooth, about the sloop, which swung up and down with a regular motion. Jimmy could see the yacht's anchor light not far away and the yellow blink from her saloon windows, but he could hear nothing that suggested preparations for sending off a boat. As it was cold in the c.o.c.kpit, he returned to the cabin, where the others had lighted the lamp, and none of them said much for the next hour. They could hear the loose halyards slap the mast and the water splash about beneath the floorings, and the soft lapping of the tide along the planking.

Moran suddenly raised his hand, and, after their long wait in suspense, it was a relief to hear the measured splash of oars.

"That means he's willing to make terms," Bethune said.

Five minutes later the yacht's boat ran alongside and Clay climbed on board.

"You can take a run ash.o.r.e, boys, and come off when we signal," he said to his crew, and then turned to Jimmy. "I've come for a talk."

"Will you come below," said Jimmy, moving back the scuttle-slide. "Be careful how you get down: there's not much room."

Clay b.u.mped his head before he found a place on a locker, where he sat silent for a moment, looking about. The light of the bulkhead lamp revealed the rough discomfort of the narrow cabin. Condensed moisture glistened on the low roof-beams; the floorings were damp and littered with coils of rope. The end of a torn sail projected from the forecastle door, and damp blankets were loosely spread on the lockers to dry in the warmth of the rusty stove. All this indicated stern, utilitarian economy, and the men's ragged, work-stained clothes were in keeping with it; but Clay noticed that their expression was resolute.

In the meanwhile they were studying him, and it struck them that he looked ill. His face was flabby and there were heavy pouches under his eyes.

"So my invitation didn't bring you off!" he said. "Were you afraid I might carry you out to sea?"

"Not exactly," Bethune replied. "One would not suspect you of so crude a plan. Can't you take it that we were afraid of a change of wind? You see, it's a rather exposed position."

"That's so," Clay agreed; "you have no steam to help you ride out a breeze. But we'll get down to business. I made you an offer of five thousand dollars to give me the first chance of cleaning up this wreck.

I'll now go a thousand dollars better."

"Is that your limit?"

"It is; you'll save time by realizing it. I've bid up to the last cent I think worth while."

"Suppose we decline?"

"You would be foolish. You have no claim on the wreck; in a sense, I have, and if we can't come to some understanding I begin work at once.

My yacht can hang on through a gale of wind and with our outfit we can get something done in pretty bad weather. You have a small sailing-boat and poor, cheap gear. As soon as a breeze gets up you'll have to quit."

"I imagine you haven't yet mentioned all your advantages over us,"

Bethune suggested.

Clay looked at him keenly and then smiled. "That's so. I'm trying to be polite."

"In fact, you're keeping your strongest arguments in reserve. Unless we agree to your proposition, there's not much chance of our recovering anything from the wreck?"

"You're pretty near the mark," Clay answered, smiling confidently.

"The odds seem against us. Perhaps I'd better be candid. The truth is, we have already recovered something of importance."

Clay's expression became intent.

"Then you're smarter than I thought and you played your hand well the last time I met you. However, it will probably save us all trouble if we put our cards on the table. What have you got?"

Bethune took out his notebook.

"To begin with, two bags of gold; the weight and marks, so far as we could make the latter out-"

"Shucks!" interrupted Clay. "They don't count. You can keep your share of their salvage. Come to the point."