The Pirate Story Megapack. R.M. Ballantyne

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      “Fine. Go on, Lyman.”

      Jim told his story, tersely enough. He was a little thrown off his guard by Foster’s manner, but he was not entirely disarmed. The connection between Swenson and Foxfield, particularly with regard to his knowledge of his own whereabouts that evening on his way to the Foster house, needed explaining. But Jim felt that it could do no harm to say what had happened in front of the Fosters. If one or both was in league with Swenson they would, sooner or later, know all about it, up to the time of his escape in the fog, if they did not know it already. He was a little inclined to acquit Newton Foster. His jealousy of the son had evaporated somewhat since Kitty Whiting’s exclamation of “Oh, your poor hand!” with its genuine sympathy. With both the women, Newton showed no signs of discredence of his yarn, melodramatic as it was. But he fancied that Stephen Foster’s pursing mouth disclosed symptoms of doubt. The various expressions that followed his story were typical.

      “What a terrible experience!” This from Kitty Whiting. “I think you showed great resourcefulness and bravery, Mr. Lyman. I think a great many men would have given the true figures under such circumstances. If you had not been able to get away, and to jump over—in the fog—with the tide running out—You have increased my indebtedness to you.”

      “It is just what I should have expected,” said Lynda Warner. Her eyes were shining as she nodded at Jim. “I mean Mr. Lyman’s share in it.”

      Newton Foster was ungrudging enough.

      “I wish I had been along,” he said, “You handled it in bully shape. I hope you broke Hellfire’s jaw for him. But how he found out where you were on the road to our house, how he knew you had the figures, how he knew about the pearls, is a mystery to me.”

      “Quite romantic,” was the start of Stephen Foster’s contribution. “As to Swenson,” he went on, “there has been a good deal of publicity, now and again, concerning the Golden Dolphin, when it sailed and when it was reported missing. Swenson may have read it long ago and retained interest. One of your men who was with you in the boat, Lyman, after he was wrecked might have got in touch with him. There are several possibilities. The local end of it is mysterious. The main factor is that Swenson has failed. He may think you drowned; he may think you were hit when he fired. If he has any idea you got clear, he will be likely to lie low. He may well be one of the rum-running community, and he and his schooner will readily disappear for a while. We could stir up the Wareham police, but that again might give notoriety that would be inadvisable. I should advise you to see a doctor about that hand, Lyman, I recommend my own, Dr. Dimmock. I will call him up if you like.”

      “I thank you,” said Jim. “It is not uncomfortable. It seems to me there are more important things right now.” Foster was the cold-eyed business man once more, his mouth tight-lipped.

      “As you like,” he said. “Kitty, I still think that the chances for success are extremely limited. Personally I should vote against it. However, I have already told Newton that if he is determined to join with you I withdraw opposition. My chief worry is for your ultimate disappointment concerning your father. Castles built on hopes that are largely sentimental fall with a crash too often, and you might get hurt in the ruins.

      “Newton has money of his own. He has also an equal interest with me in my share of the pearls.…”

      “I am not going after the pearls, Father. I am going because—because Kitty should not be allowed to go alone. Of course Lynda has offered—but I mean without a male relative.”

      “Of course. And youth is naturally adventurous. I was about to say that Newton has ample funds to bear the entire expense if he wants to make the gamble.”

      “I intend to. Let me do that, Kitty. If—if the thing should peter out all round, you wouldn’t want to feel that you had nothing to come back to. Unless—” The word and the pause that followed it were eloquent of Newton’s personal interest in his cousin, rather than the actual objects of the trip. But he saw that he had been precipitate and hurried on to cover the slip. “It wouldn’t do for you to burn all your bridges and sell this business.”

      “I have already sold it,” said the girl. Her uncle made a muffled exclamation.

      “The deal has been closed by wire. The transfer will be made tomorrow. The purchaser is coming up from Hartford. It was a good bargain on both sides. I got my price, sufficient, I hope, for expenses. Twenty-seven thousand dollars.”

      “You don’t mean to tell me you got that price for your stock and good will?” exclaimed Stephen Foster incredulously, seemingly annoyed, perhaps at not having been consulted, perhaps—thought Jim—at finding his niece so close to independence.

      “I am afraid, uncle, you never did properly value the selling price of antiques as compared with the buying. There is a big demand for them, and I know a good piece when I see it. Most of these were bought for small sums and then restored. At retail the stock would easily bring fifty thousand dollars. It has cost me less than ten. And I had only twenty-five hundred to start with at the very beginning. And there is the good will.

      “If Newton wants to come—as he has the right to and as your representative—he can bear half the expense. Mr. Lyman has a master’s certificate. I want him to have command of the expedition. It seems to me he has earned it—and the sixteenth share I offered him in the pearls if they are recovered—aside from having given us the position of the Golden Dolphin. Please do not protest, Mr. Lyman. It is purely business. I am sure uncle would consider such a bonus only fair. And it can come out of the Whiting share.” Stephen Foster got up and walked up and down the room.

      “I wash my hands of it,” he declared. “I consider it folly, though I shall be more than happy if you find your father, glad also to get my returns from the original investment. Make your own plans. Newton, are you coming with me? I suppose not. You’ll be wanting to start tomorrow night, I imagine.” He seemed to be trying to be heavily humorous.

      “The day after tomorrow,” said Kitty. “There are my own things to transfer to storage. Not much to pack to take with us. We are going to San Francisco to charter a ship.”

      “Why San Francisco? None of my business, of course. But—”

      “Mr. Lyman recommends it, uncle. It will save time and expense.”

      Stephen Foster shrugged.

      “Then I’ll be going,” he said. “Send back the car for you, son?”

      “I don’t believe Kitty and Lynda ought to be left alone in this house, Father. There’s only Ellen Martin, After Lyman’s experience—”

      “It might make us—me, at all events—seem safer if both of you stayed. You could share the guest room,” suggested Lynda to Lyman. “I imagine I am sufficient chaperone. As for Ellen, I know she has been listening at the door. It is a trait that she regards as a privilege. She’ll need protection anyway.”

      “If you would,” said Kitty Whiting. The young men looked at each other. Whatever their thoughts, neither could well demur. “But your hand?” she said to Jim.

      “I’ve had a worse one,” he answered. “I’ll see a doctor in the morning.”

      “Then I’ll send your things over from the hotel,” said Foster. “And some duds for you, Newton. See you sometime tomorrow, I suppose. Good night, you pack of adventurers.”

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