Part 133

“There ain't very much talk--not now. It's generally reckoned that this packet is a gone goose and folks are talking about something else.”

“But she is here--she is upright and fast! She is--”

The towboat man was not enough interested to listen to statements concerning the Conomo's condition. “Look-a-here, son,” he broke in, “do you think for a minute that this thing wouldn't have been grabbed up by the real people if there had been any show of a make? I know there isn't a show!”

“How do you know?” demanded Mayo, with indignation.

“Haven't I been talking with the representative of one of the biggest salvaging companies on the Atlantic coast? He's there in Limeport now--was aboard my tug this morning.”

“How does he know?”

“Well, he does know. That's his business. And everybody in Limeport knows what he has said. He hasn't been bashful about expressing his opinion.”

Mayo leaned over the rail, a baleful light in his eyes indicating what his own opinions regarding this unknown detractor were, just then.

“I'd like to know who this Lord Guess-so is--barking behind honest men's backs!”

“Mr. Fogg! That's him! Seems to know his business!”

“Fogg?”

“'Exactly!' That's his great word,” explained the other, grinning. “Some chap, too, with cigars and language!”

“By the gods, now I know who chartered this tug!” he shouted. “What kind of a fool am I getting to be?”

He turned and ran toward the officers' quarters. He leaped into the main passageway and explored headlong the staterooms. There was no sign of his visitor.

At that moment, in the tumult of his thoughts, he had only a glimmering of an idea as to what might be the motive of the man's visit. But he was certain, now, that a wretch who had deliberately wrecked a rival steamer--if Candage's suspicions were correct--would do almost anything else for money.

A narrow companionway with brass rails led below to the crew's quarters. Mayo, coming to the head of it, saw the man hurrying to its foot. The captain grasped the rails and slid down with one swoop.

“What in the devil's name are you doing?” he gasped.

The intruder grabbed him and threw him to one side, and started up the companionway. He had dropped the suit-case to seize Mayo, and it bounced in a way to show that it was empty.

Mayo leaped and grasped the other's legs as he was mounting. The man kicked him ferociously in the breast before the attacker managed to pinion the legs in his arms. They went down together, rolling over and over.

The stranger was stocky and strong, his muscles toughened by a sailor's activities. Moreover, he seemed to be animated by something more than a mere grudge or desire to defend himself; he fought with frenzy, beating his fists into Mayo's face and sides as they rolled. Then he began to shout. He fairly screamed, struggling to release himself.

But his assailant was just as tough and just as desperate, and he had a younger man's superior agility. The other had forced the fight. Mayo proposed to hang to him until he discovered the meaning of this peculiar ferocity.

He flipped across his prisoner, clutched him by both ears, and rapped the man's head so smartly on the deck planks that his victim relaxed, half unconscious.

Then he opened staring eyes. “Let me go! Let me go! I quit. Run for it. Let me run. We're goners!” he squalled.

“Run? Why?” demanded the victor.

“Dynamite! I've planted it. The fuse is going.”

“Where is it?”

“Below--somewhere. I've forgot. I, can't remember. My mind is gone. I'm too scared to think. Run!”

Mayo jumped up and yanked the man to his feet. “Take me to it!” he shouted.