The Sultan’s Pearls by Nick Carter - HTML preview

CHAPTER XII.

A PRESENT FOR SAN JUAN.

The steamer Spangled Star, very lame, with only one engine working, and with her propeller finding it difficult to urge her along on a straight course, came into San Juan harbor, wabbling toward her wharf.

Before she got in altogether, she stopped, for she was hardly manageable at intervals, and a motor boat put out from the shore and hailed her.

In the boat were Nick Carter and his two assistants, with Captain Douglas and Paul Clayton.

The police uniform of Douglas was enough to make the captain of the steamer lower a sea ladder right away. He might not have done it for one in citizen’s clothes—which was the reason Nick Carter had insisted on Douglas putting on his blue and brass, gold badge and all, to impress the commander.

Nick wasted no time when once he got on deck. Taking the skipper aside, he asked if Jabez Portersham was aboard.

“You bet he is. Of course, he is acting governor of Porto Rico, and I couldn’t help taking him as a passenger, even though it made us nearly half an hour late in getting away. I believe he’s hoodooed us, too, for I never had my machinery break down before. We’d had our engines inspected, and there was no need for them to throw off. Yet, here’s our sta’boa’d engine gone so far it’ll be only good for the junk pile, and——”

“Where’s Mr. Portersham’s cabin?” interrupted Nick, when he saw that the irate captain was likely to keep on airing his woes indefinitely. “Can we see him?”

The skipper glanced at Douglas inquiringly. An almost imperceptible nod reassured him, and he pointed to a doorway which led to the deck cabins—the most expensive on the vessel.

“Look out, chief!” whispered Patsy. “He may be waiting for us. You don’t want to run right into a gun before you know it.”

“I don’t think he would dare to shoot just now,” smiled Nick. “When he is cornered, Rayne knows enough to give in. He depends on his cunning to escape later.”

“That may be all so,” admitted Patsy grudgingly. “But you’d better let me go first. If he plugs me, it won’t matter, because I ain’t of any importance. It’s different with you. If he got you, where would we find another to take your place. So——”

Patsy was surging ahead, to go into the narrow corridor, without waiting for permission.

Nick caught him by the shoulder and swung him aside, with playful sternness.

“You rat!” he laughed. “Get out! I’m going in myself. You and Chick keep watch on deck. You never know what Rayne will do. Get out of the way!”

The detective had got into the corridor, and had his eye on the door of the stateroom that had been pointed out to him as Portersham’s, when he was startled by a loud shout from Patsy, echoed by Chick and Paul Clayton.

He understood at once that the disturbance had been caused by some act of Rayne’s, but he did not know what it was.

It would not be safe for him to go out of the corridor now, leaving a free route for Rayne to liberty.

“They may have seen him at a window,” he muttered. “Anyhow, he can’t get away so long as we have him on the ship.”

The door of the stateroom was locked. But Nick Carter had anticipated that, and already had his jackknife in his hand.

One jab and a turn of the wrist, and open came the stateroom door.

There were two rooms and a bath, it will be remembered, but only one door led to the corridor. The others communicated with each other.

Nick ran into the first room. It was empty!

He hurried to the next. To his surprise, that was unoccupied, too!

He looked into the diminutive bathroom, which was the last of the three. But he was not astonished to see that no one was in there.

“Chief!” bellowed Patsy, outside.

“By all the gods!” exclaimed Nick Carter. “He’s trying to trick us, after all.”

The window of the middle room was wide open, with the curtains flapping idly in the opening.

It was not a large window, but a man not too stout, and who was fairly active, could get through.

This was apparent to the detective at a glance. The next moment he had gone through headfirst, falling on the deck in a heap.

It was rather an uncomfortable proceeding, and he bumped his head so that it rang again. But it was the quickest way to get out, and Nick Carter did not mind a crack on the head when on the heels of a slippery criminal.

He was on his feet in an instant, and looking around to see what the situation might be.

He heard Chick and Patsy both shouting on the other side of the vessel, and could distinguish the sound of running feet. Then he saw Captain Douglas holding out his arms, as if to stop somebody at the forward end of the deck, while the commander of the steamer indulged himself in picturesque profanity, because, as he declared, they were making a fool of his ship.

“Hey, chief!” bellowed Patsy.

“What is it?” responded Nick.

“Catch him when he comes around!” came from Chick.

“Stop, or I’ll plug you!” roared Captain Douglas at somebody.

It was just as this threat emanated from the chief of police that a man came tearing across the deck, in the shadow of the smokestacks, and made a leap for the gangway, where the ladder hung.

The ladder was a perfectly straight one, the sort of things to be negotiated only by a nimble person, whose head was cool and level.

But John Garrison Rayne was both nimble and unterrified.

He gave one glance at the ladder, saw that the motor boat was made fast to it at the bottom, and over he went!

He was not quick enough to elude Nick Carter, however.

The detective surmised what he intended to do before he did it.

So it came about that, when Rayne was nearly at the bottom of the ladder, the detective had already begun to climb down, and was three or four rungs on his way.

Rayne feverishly began to untie the painter.

“Ha! ha!” he shouted, with laughter that had a touch of hysteria in it. “Fooled you again, Carter!”

“Not yet, my friend!” was the detective’s rejoinder. “Look out! I’m coming!”

“If you do you’ll drop into the water!”

Rayne had the boat loose by this time. Then, turning the engine over, he got it to moving as he took the wheel to steer toward the shore.

Again the rascal laughed loudly, while Chick and Patsy, on the deck above, screamed warnings to their chief.

“Look out!” begged Patsy. “Better let him go than you tumble into the sea. Don’t take the chance!”

“That’s so. Keep back!” added Chick.

Paul Clayton and Douglas were both standing near the side of the ship, looking over.

The former did not speak, while the chief of police contented himself with pointing his revolver at John Garrison Rayne, in the motor boat, and threatening to fill him so full of lead that he would weigh a ton.

It was just now that Nick Carter took the chance which his assistants pleaded so hard with him not to attempt.

He saw that there was a considerable width of open water between him and the motor boat. On the other hand, he was far enough up the ladder to be able to make a considerable broad jump.

The thought of this scoundrel getting away, now that he was so nearly caught, maddened him. So, judging his distance carefully, he leaped out from the ladder with all the power he could summon.

It was a risky performance. But luck reënforced judgment, and the detective came plump down into the waist of the little craft, immediately behind Rayne, who stood at the wheel, with his feet far down in the well.

The motor boat rocked dangerously from the concussion when Nick Carter dropped. Before it could quite recover, it was caught in a cross sea that tested it a little more.

Only the most skillful manipulation by Rayne prevented it capsizing.

Nick gave him just time to get the boat on an even keel. Then he fell upon the rascal with both hands!

A rough and tumble in a motor boat is necessarily full of risk. It is always likely to end in a ducking for both combatants.

How Nick Carter and John Garrison Rayne escaped this unpleasantness is not to be explained. Only the fact can be stated.

Perhaps it was because Nick Carter was so dexterous in putting on the handcuffs when the Apache was not looking.

At all events, in less than two minutes, after a hard fight, John Garrison Rayne lay in the bottom of the dinky little craft, handcuffed, and with the detective sitting on him.

The boat was steered back to the ship, and the others came aboard.

“See if he has got the jewelry, Chick,” ordered Nick Carter. “I’ll hold him.”

“Get back there, Chick!” commanded Patsy, grinning. “I’m the boy that can frisk him.”

“Here’s two bags,” announced Chick, as he brought them forth from the rascal’s inside pockets.

“Let Mr. Clayton look at them and see what’s inside.”

The bags were given to Clayton, and while he went hastily through their contents and saw that they made up a large part of the Stephen Reed booty, including the sultan’s pearls, Patsy found the flat packing inside Rayne’s shirt.

“That about makes the tally,” said Clayton. “How can I ever thank you, Mr. Carter?” he added, with something like a sob.

“Nonsense,” was Nick Carter’s reply. “It was all in the day’s work. Now that we’ve got the jewelry, we’ll watch it closer than we did before.”

“When are we going to New York?” asked Patsy.

“As soon as we can get a ship to take us,” said Nick earnestly.

“What are you going to do with this fellow?” asked Captain Douglas, stirring John Garrison Rayne with his foot. “Do you want to take him to New York to answer to this charge of stealing the jewelry, or will you leave him in San Juan, to be put through in our criminal courts?”

“You can have him,” laughed Nick Carter.

THE END.