Читать книгу Frank Reade, Jr., and His Electric Ice Ship; or, Driven Adrift in the Frozen Sky - Luis Senarens - Страница 3

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It was late on a cold November night in the city of Boston, the sky was obscured by dark, stormy clouds, a bleak wind was whistling through the almost deserted streets, and the lights in the lamps flickered dimly.

A plainly attired man with white hair and a black mustache was walking away from the railroad depot with a handsome boy of seventeen, clad in the natty blue uniform of a military academy.

“Alfred Milburn,” the boy was saying pleadingly, “do not keep me in suspense any longer. Tell me why you wrote me to come to Boston to-night from my school. What serious news have you to tell me?”

“You must prepare yourself for a great affliction, Walter Grey,” the man replied. “I hate to break bad news, but——”

“Great heavens!” exclaimed young Grey, suddenly—“my mother——”

“She suddenly became insane, and I have had to place her in a private asylum,” said Alfred Milburn, in low, gentle tones.

A stifled cry of woe escaped the boy, and he burst into tears, for his mother was the only relative he had in the world.

He paused and glanced piteously at the lawyer, who had been acting as administrator of the fortune his father had left, and saw that Milburn was very pale and greatly agitated.

As soon as Walter could master his grief, he asked, tremulously:

“When did this horrible misfortune occur, sir?”

“Just a week ago, my boy. I am very sorry for you. Brace up! She may recover her reason. I will take you to see her to-night.”

There was a spark of hope in what the lawyer said, and Walter eagerly grasped at it, and answered:

“I can never get over this shock; but I shall try to be courageous, Mr. Milburn. Take me to her. Let me see my dear mother. Perhaps I can do something for her.”

“Very well,” replied the lawyer. “Come this way.”

He turned into a street bordering the water front, and casting a rapid glance around, failed to see any one except three men, attired in the garb of sailors, crouching in an adjoining doorway.

The lawyer drew his handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his face with it, and while apparently returning it to his pocket, dropped it. Instantly the three sailors darted from the doorway.

One of them, in a captain’s uniform, darted up behind the boy, flung an arm around his neck, pulled his head back, and clapped a sponge saturated with chloroform to Walter Grey’s nostrils.

A cry of alarm pealed from the startled boy’s lips, but it was quickly checked by a pressure of his assailant’s arm, and the moment he began to inhale the fumes of the drug he became stupefied.

Milburn recoiled a few steps.

His dark eyes were flashing with excitement.

He cautiously glanced around, and then saw a young man coming.

“Captain Ben Bolt!” he hissed.

“Well?” gruffly asked the man who held young Grey.

“There’s some one coming.”

“Blast it! But the boy’s senseless!”

“The fellow is running toward us.”

“He’s seen ther struggle, then.”

“Yes. What shall we do?”

“Carry ther lad aboard the Red Eric.”

“And you?”

“We’ll lay that lubber out!”

The lawyer picked the drugged boy up and hastened over the muddy street with him toward a big whaling ship lying at one of the docks.

In the meantime the three sailors surrounded the newcomer.

He proved to be a dashing-looking young man, with a dark mustache, a symmetrical and athletic figure, and an intellectual face.

He had been behind the lawyer and the boy when they left the depot, and seeing the assault and Milburn’s indifference, he correctly concluded that the boy had been led into a trap.

“You scoundrels!” he panted: “what are you doing to that boy?”

“Keep away thar!” roared the captain, threateningly. “Mind yer own business and clear out of this.”

“Never, until that boy is released!”

“Go fer ther meddler, my lads!”

As the three seamen closed in on him, the stranger doubled up his fist and struck out straight from the shoulder.

Biff! Bang! Thump! went his fists like pile drivers, and every time they struck a man went down.

“When people of your stamp fool around Frank Reade, Jr., you generally get left!” muttered the gallant stranger.

The sailors swore as they got up, and the captain drew a pistol.

“Cuss yer!” he growled, as he leveled the weapon at Frank’s head. “I’ll blow yer brains out fer them welts!”

Bang! went the pistol, and a cry escaped Frank.

He clapped his hand to the side of his head where the ball had grazed his scalp, and reeling back, fell senseless to the ground.

“Run, boys!” hoarsely cried the desperate captain. “I had ter do it or he’d got ther best of us! That shot’ll fetch ther p’lice!”

They rushed over to the whaling ship unseen, leaving their victim lying bleeding and senseless on the sidewalk.

Boarding the vessel and going into the cabin they found the lawyer there in the gloom with the drugged boy.

“Well?” eagerly asked Milburn. “Did you down the stranger?”

“Shot him!” answered Ben Bolt, with an oath. “I see yer got ther lad aboard all right.”

“Yes; you had better put him out of sight.”

“Stow him below in a locker, boys,” said the captain to his two men.

They carried the limp form of Walter Grey out of the cabin.

When they were gone, Milburn handed the captain a big roll of bills.

“Here are the $2,500 I promised you to shanghai the boy,” said the lawyer. “You must maroon him in the arctic regions, so he can never return. If you should bring me evidence of his death I will double the amount I just gave you. Will you do it, captain?”

He bent nearer to Bolt, and hissed this in such sinister tones that the captain started, and muttered hoarsely:

“Do yer mean fer me ter put him out of ther way?”

“Yes,” was the emphatic reply.

“Why dyer want this done?”

“I’ll make a clean breast of the matter. I hold some money in trust belonging to the boy and his mother. If both die I can do as I like with their fortune. Although the woman is sane, I have paid dearly to have her confined in an asylum. She is disposed of. Now it only remains to get rid of the boy. This I leave to you.”

“I’ll do it!” muttered the captain.

“Remember, the money I paid you is some of the boy’s fortune. The remainder you are to get will come from the same source. If you fail, you will get no more of the bank notes, and may not only have to disgorge what you now have, but also answer in court as my accomplice.”

“Trust me, Alfred Milburn.”

“I’ll go now.”

“An’ as I’ve cleared my manifest in ther Custom House, an’ thar’s a tug waitin’ ter haul us out, I’ll put to sea right away, so’s no one will have a show ter git aboard an’ find ther lad.”

“You are bound for the Polar regions now?”

“Ay, ay—ther Kara Sea, off Nova Zembla, in s’arch o’ whales.”

After some further conversation the rascally lawyer parted with the villainous captain and went ashore.

The Red Eric put to sea immediately afterward, carrying the unfortunate Walter Grey away to the frozen polar regions.

In the meantime a crowd had been attracted by the pistol shot, and surrounding Frank Reade, Jr., they carried him into a drug store, where his wound was dressed.

He did not recover his senses until after the ship departed, and then found a policeman standing beside him, to whom he explained what had happened.

“My name is Frank Reade, Jr.,” said the wounded young man. “I am an inventor of submarine boats, flying machines and overland engines, and reside in Readestown. I have just invented a flying ice boat, and came to Boston to get some things for her construction. While I was passing the railroad depot on my way to the hotel where I am stopping, I saw a man and boy go by in the same direction I was taking. Then I observed how he was led into the trap.”

“What ship did they take him on?” asked the policeman.

“The Red Eric.”

“Come and show me.”

They left the drug store, and reaching the dock, learned from some longshoremen that the whaler had just departed for the Arctic.

It was a bitter disappointment, as they could not now hope to rescue the boy from his captors.

Seeing that he could do nothing further in the matter, Frank took his departure and proceeded back to the hotel.

As he entered the office he observed a woman standing before the clerk weeping bitterly, and heard her say in sob-choked tones:

“Do not refuse me lodging here, sir! You surely would not have me roam the streets all night for want of shelter.”

“Madam,” replied the clerk, “as you have no money to pay for your lodging here, I have no right to take you in.”

“Oh, this is dreadful,” said the lady in tones of great distress.

She was a very refined-looking person, with gray hair, a good face, and wore a very handsome dress, but she had on no hat.

The clerk shrugged his shoulders and turned away.

Frank was moved with pity for the lady.

He saw that she was no professional beggar.

Approaching her and doffing his hat, he said politely:

“Excuse me for interfering, madam, but I could not fail hearing what you said. If you will allow me, I would be very glad to pay your expenses at this hotel for a week.”

A cry of joy escaped the woman as she glanced at Frank.

“Thank Heaven!” she muttered. “I am safe—safe!”