T. C. Bridges
Martin Crusoe (29) (A Boy’s Adventure on Wizard Island)

XXIX. The Rescue

The last thing Martin heard as he went down beneath the gang was the shrill blast of a whistle. Then he was fighting for dear life, trying to hold off a pair of horny hands which clutched at his throat.

The very number of attackers was in his favor. The men fell over each other, and got in one another’s way.

“Get up, you fools!” snarled the voice of the tall Cuban. “Out of my way. Let me get at him!”

Martin, half-stunned and breathless, saw the tall figure loom above him, caught the dull glint of a knife blade, and knew that worse than a ducking threatened him. With a last frantic effort he writhed aside, and, seizing the nearest body, pulled it down on top of him.

The Cuban snarled like an angry dog, and, catching hold of the man whom Martin held, tried to tear him from his grasp.

A loud shout came from somewhere at the quay end of the alley. There was a sound of running feet.

“Beat it!” yelled one of the gang. “The cops!” Like a flash the gang melted away, all but the man whom Martin held and the tall Cuban, who still struggled frantically to drag him away.

“Is that you, Martin?” came Captain Krieger’s anxious voice, and at the sound the Cuban let go and turned to fly.

Quick as thought, Martin stretched out one arm and caught him by the ankle. He tripped and came down, thud, upon the sand, and Martin, hurling aside the man who was on top of him, sprang up and flung himself upon the leader of the gang.

At that very moment Captain Krieger, with three other men, came tearing up.

“This is the man,” panted Martin breathlessly. “Hold him! Don’t let him go! He’s the one who set them on me.”

“Let me go!” gasped the Cuban. “You’re not police. You’ve no right to hold me.”

“If we ain’t got the right we’ve got the might,” came the dry voice of Mr. Ladd. “Say, Captain,” he added, “here’s a bit o’ cord. Tie his thumbs behind his back. That’s the way to fix vermin of his sort.”

“Are you hurt, Martin?” asked Captain Krieger anxiously.

“Nothing to signify,” Martin assured him, “but that long chap would have knifed me if you hadn’t come when you did. How did you get on my track?”

“It was Mr. Ladd here. Seems he was watching you. He ran down to the wharf and called us.”

“I’m very grateful to you, Mr. Ladd,” said Martin frankly.

“You don’t need to be,” laughed the other. “I reckon I’m going to get a story for my paper that’ll pay me for my bit of trouble. But, see here, Mr. Vaile, this here Cuban ain’t one of the chaps that got stuck over the Cleansand Bay business. They were all white men. Who is he, anyway?”

“Just what I’m wondering,” said Martin. “To tell you the truth, I thought I recognized his voice. Bring him into the light and I’ll soon see if I know his face.”

At the end of the alley they came out upon the wharf, where electric lamps were now alight. In spite of his resistance, they hauled the man roughly under the nearest lamp.

“Now then, Mr. Vaile,” said Ladd, “who is he?”

Martin stared at the fellow a moment. His eyes widened with amazement.

“Why—why,” he gasped, in utter astonishment, “it’s Morton Willard!”

“Your late father’s partner?” snapped Ladd.

“That’s who it is,” declared Martin. “He’s darkened his face, but I’d know him anywhere.”

He turned on Willard.

“You blackguard!” he cried hotly. “So, having got rid of my father, you thought you’d kill me and go free!”

“You are wrong,” answered Willard, who was glancing this way and that, like a trapped rat. “It wasn’t my fault. I had nothing to do with it. Let me go!”

“A likely story,” said Ladd dryly. “See here, Vaile, this is going to be mightily interesting. Now, what do you reckon to do about it? Of course, you can hand Willard here over to the police, if you’ve a mind to, and charge him with assaulting you, but I wouldn’t do that.”

“What would you do?” asked Martin.

“Take him along to that craft of yours and keep him,” replied Ladd significantly. “Maybe he’ll talk then.”

“I won’t! You shall not do it! You have no right!” cried Willard fiercely.

Captain Krieger chuckled grimly.

“You’re right, Mr. Ladd. The Saga is a better prison than any lock-up in this town. Bring him along, men.”

In spite of his struggles, Willard was rushed over the edge of the wharf, down the steps, and two minutes later was safely lodged in the body of the submarine.

Ladd saw him fastened up, then turned to the others.

“Good night,” he said. “You’ve done a mighty good stroke of work this evening. Now, see here. I’m going to busy myself getting evidence against this galoot, but I’ll be round again some time tomorrow.”

He was turning to go when Willard spoke again.

“Stop!” he said hoarsely. “Wait a minute! There are things I can tell you!”

“I guessed he’d weaken,” said Ladd scornfully. “Wal, out with it, Willard!”

“No, not if you are going to prosecute. Unless I have your promise that you won’t prosecute, I will not say a word.”

“That’s a mighty queer bargain,” replied Ladd in his driest tone. “How’s Mr. Vaile here to know you’ve got anything to tell that’s worth his while to hear?”

Willard’s sallow face worked nervously. Blackguard as he was, there was precious little pluck in his make-up.

“It’s well worth his hearing,” he insisted. “He’d give anything to hear it.”

“I can’t imagine anything you have to say being worth hearing,” said Martin in disgust.

“It’s about your father,” Willard said.

“My father is dead,” answered Martin curtly.

Willard’s narrow eyes were fixed on Martin.

“How do you know he is dead?” he asked.

Martin started.

“You wired me yourself,” he snapped.

Willard paused. There was an ugly smile on his thin lips.

“Supposing,” he said slowly—“supposing I told you that he was not dead at all?”

Martin stared at the man. For a moment he could not speak. The shock was so great it left him breathless.

Ladd was the first to find his voice.

“Are you meaning to tell us that Mr. Vaile is still alive?” he demanded.

“I said he might be,” snarled the other, “but I’ll not tell you another thing unless I have your word you won’t prosecute.”

“Promise him anything if he’ll tell,” cried Martin. “I’d give all I have on earth to know that my father was alive and well.”

“Go slow,” advised Ladd. “Just remember that if you refuse to prosecute this galoot, your father’s liable to be arrested if he is alive. It’s like this. While none of us here doubt that Willard and not your father was responsible for the Cleansand swindle, other folk won’t think the same.”

“I can’t help that,” said Martin doggedly. “I’d give anything to find my father alive.”

Ladd shrugged his shoulders.

“Just as you like, Vaile. It’s your picnic, not mine. And one way or another, it will make just as good news for my paper.”

He turned to Willard.

“You’re safe from me,” he said, “so far as the law goes, but that don’t alter my opinion that you’re the dirtiest skunk that ever walked on two legs. Now, then, out with it. Is Mr. Vaile alive, and, if so, where is he?”

“He is alive,” answered Willard. “But he’s in a place that you can’t get to unless I tell you where it is.”

Martin’s face lit up.

“Father alive? Then I shall see him again,” he said hoarsely.

Captain Krieger cut in. Of course Martin had long ago told him the whole story.

“Then you will take us to him, Mr. Morton Willard,” he said sternly. “At once, too. And if you don’t, I’ll promise you this—that even if you are not handed over to the law, as you richly deserve to be, I, personally, will give you such a thrashing that you will be sorry you were not in prison.”

The iron determination in his tone cowed Willard completely.

“I will take you there,” he said sullenly, “but when I have done that, I have your promise that I am to go free?”

“You have it,” said Martin curtly. “We will start in the morning.”