Читать книгу The "Dock Rats" of New York; Or, The Smuggler Band's Last Stand - Old Sleuth - Страница 8

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Spencer Vance had become greatly interested in the beautiful Renie during the walk along the beach. He had become deeply impressed with the purity, yet weirdness of her character. He had pressed the girl for some reminiscence of her early childhood, but she had no recollections beyond the sea and the fisherman's cabin where she had lived with old Tom Pearce and his wife.

Her supposed father had for years rowed her every morning across the bay to the mainland, where she had attended the village school, from whence she had passed to the high school, at which her reputed father had supported her for a couple of years.

Mrs. Pearce died suddenly one day after a few hours' illness. Just before her death Renie was alone with her in the room. The woman had been unconscious, but she momentarily recovered consciousness and summoned the girl to her bedside and attempted to communicate some parting intelligence, but alas! she only succeeded in uttering a few disjointed exclamations, suggestive, but not directly and fully intelligible. The half-uttered exclamations only served to confirm certain suspicions that had long floated unsuggested through the girl's mind, and her disappointment was bitter when the icy hand of death strangled the communications which the dying woman was seeking to make.

The girl had formed a sort of attachment for Tom Pearce. The man was a good-natured, jolly sailor sort of a fellow, and, as intimated, had always treated the girl with the utmost kindness and consideration.

It was thus matters stood up to the time of the detective's strange meeting with the girl upon the beach.

As the girl pointed to the house and concluded the words which close our preceding chapter, she glided away, and left the detective to "work his own passage".

During the walk along the beach Renie had been a little more explicit in explaining her immediate peril, and our hero was prepared to more intelligently enact the role of the eavesdropper.

The cabin of Tom Pearce, the boatman, was an ordinary fisherman's hut, built in the midst of white sand-hills, with a few willows planted on a little patch of made earth, and serving as protectors against the fierce summer blaze of the sun.

The detective crept up to the cabin, and climbing upon a rear shed which served as a cover to several boats and a large quantity of nets, he covered himself with a fragment of old sailcloth, and secured a position from where, through a little opening which in the summer was left unclosed, he could see into the main room of the cottage. He could not only see, but could as readily overhear any conversation that might occur.

Glancing into the room, he saw Tom Pearce, whom he had seen many times before on board several of the boats that sail over the bay. The fisherman, or rather smuggler, was seated before a table on which stood a ship's lamp, reading what appeared to be an old time-stained letter, and after an interval he muttered aloud:

"Well, well, I don't know what to do! That girl is dear to my old heart, and I'd rather die than any harm should come to her; and again I don't like to stand in her way; while according to this letter from the old woman, written nigh on to thirteen years ago, I've no right to let her pass from my possession."

The mutterings of the old man were interrupted by a loud rap at his rickety door.

"Come in!" called the old smuggler.

The door opened, and a roughly dressed man strode into the cabin.

"Hello, Pearce! I see you are here to meet me."

"Yes, Mr. Garcia, I'm waiting for you."

Mr. Garcia took a seat by the table opposite the old smuggler, and saw the latter crumple the letter, and put it in his pocket.

"Eh, old man, what's that your hiding?"

"Nothing that will interest you, sir; it's only an old letter from my dead wife, sent to me many years ago when she was visiting some of her friends over in Connecticut."

"How about this Government officer who has been prowling around here?" was the next question which fell from Garcia's lips.

"Well, that's more than I can tell you, but he'll be fixed to-night, whoever he is! Yes, sir, he'll not cause the lads any trouble, they've 'tumbled' to him! too soon."

"They've tumbled, eh?"

"Yes; and they got up a false cruise to-night on purpose to carry him out to sea."

"How was it the boys chanced to 'drop' to him?"

"Renie did the business."

"Renie did the business?" ejaculated the man.

"Yes, sir; she went through him. She is a wonderful girl, she is, but I don't think she really meant to give the fellow away, but we caught her in a trap."

"You caught her in a trap?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Well, she was sending a message to warn the detective of his danger, and the letter was intercepted, and so we got into the whole business. I tell you the fellows were mad, and had it been anybody but Renie they'd never have sent another message."

"Does Renie know her letter was intercepted?"

"I don't think she does."

"Why would she want to give the Government officer the 'tip'?"

"No telling about these women, sir, no telling about them; you see this man is a good-looking chap, a very handsome fellow, and he's a daring man, too, and a splendid sailor! It's a pity he wasn't one of the crew. I tell you he saved the lives of all the lads one night off the coast; but he's doomed! He'll never save nobody again!"

"Has he been making love to the girl?"

"No; I reckon he's never seen her, but she's seen him; you see Renie goes under cover sometimes, and she wanders along the shore for hours, and one night she came upon the detective when he was holding a parley with a pal from the city; the gal 'laid low' and overheard all that was said, and at the same time she 'nipped' a letter which the man dropped from his jacket, and thus got down on the whole business; but somehow her heart went ag'in giving the man away, and she writes a letter ready to deliver to him; and by ginger, she mislaid her letter, and my nephew, a rattling little chap, 'nipped' it and gave it to the Cap, and the whole business was out!"

"You are sure there has been no acquaintance between the detective and your daughter?"

"Yes; I am sure of that."

"Why are you sure?"

"Well, I've Renie's word, and that gal would die before she would tell a lie; no, sir, she's never spoke to him, and as she never has, she never will, for his accounts will all be cleared to-night! the lads will have a dead open and shut on him."

"I reckon you've been deceived," said Garcia.

"How so?"

"That gal has known more of this man than you think. She would not warn a stranger that his life, was in peril, especially when that stranger was her father's foe."

"Well, it don't make any difference. She will never see him again!"

"We can't tell about that."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll bet a thousand dollars the man didn't go off on the cruise to-night!"

"Yes, he did."

"Did you see him aboard?"

"No: but I know he went."

"That girl would know that the letter was lost."

"Yes, very likely."

"Well, she'd take some other measures to warn the man; you've been deceived, old man!"

"I hope you're mistaken, or it will be bad for Renie. I tell you the men will be raging mad if the detective slips through their nets to-night."

"They will be, and now you recognize the necessity of turning the girl over to me."

"I've been thinking over that matter."

"You remember what I promised you?"

"Yes, yes; but suppose he should come?"

"Who should come?"

The old smuggler had spoken the words in a thoughtful manner, and the question was really addressed to himself. The old smuggler recognised that he had made a startling admission and remained silent.

Garcia said:

"I suppose you mean the day might come when someone will appear to claim the girl, and you will lose a large sum of money?"

"No; no; you do not know what I mean, you have never heard the girl's strange history."

"I know she is not your child."

"Yes; you forced that confession from me a long time ago."

"Tell me the girl's history."

"I dare not."

"Does she know the tale?"

"No."

"She believes herself your child?"

"I think she has a suspicion that she is not my child, but she loves me."

"Has she ever asked you whether or not she is your child?"

"Never!"

"Nor hinted?"

"No."

"Then why do you say she suspects that she is not your child?"

"Well, from many little things I have been led to suspect that. She herself has a suspicion of the real truth."

"You must then tell me her history."

"I dare not."

"Listen old man, I am her friend and your friend; this is no place for Renie; when she was a mere child it was all right, but now it is not safe. You must give her to me! and listen; should anyone ever come to claim her, she shall be surrendered, and you will receive any reward that may be paid!"

"I do not think anyone will ever come for her, but could I solve one mystery I know where to look."

"For what?"

"Her friends."