His eye fell on the boys.
“Lads, we are going to board that schooner and try to find out something about her,” he said. “Do you want to go along?”
These were the first words the boys had had with their employer in some days. Of course both jumped at the chance, and before many minutes passed, one of the yacht’s remaining boats was being sent over the sea at a fast clip toward the derelict. Close inspection showed the schooner’s condition not to be as good as it had seemed at a distance. Her paint was blistered and the oakum calking was spewing out of her sun-dried seams like Spanish moss on an aged tree. Her sails were mildewed and torn in many places and her ropes bleached and frayed. Mingling now with the incessant, melancholy tolling of the bell, came the monotonous creak of her booms and gaffs as they swung rhythmically to and fro.
No name appeared on her bow, although blurred tracings of white paint showed that one had once been inscribed there. But there was a yellow-painted figurehead; a stern, Roman-nosed bust of a man, apparently intended for an emperor or a warrior.
“We’ll row round the stern and take a look at her name,” decided Captain Sparhawk. “We’ll have to climb aboard from the other side anyway. There is no means of scrambling up from this.”
The boat was turned and rowed under the graceful stern of the derelict. On it, in bold, raised letters, surrounded by a fanciful design, stood out, in fading colors, the lost craft’s name.
“Centurion, San Francisco,” read out Jack, with an odd thrill. There was a sudden exclamation from Mr. Jukes, who had not yet been able to make out more than the first few letters.
“What’s that?” he exclaimed, in a voice so sharp and tense that the boys turned and stared at him, as did the boat’s crew and Captain Sparhawk.
Jack repeated his answer and, to his astonishment, Mr. Jukes, the iron-jawed, self-possessed business man, who had never shown signs of possessing any more emotion than a stone, suddenly sunk his head in his hands with a groan.
“Too late after all,” they heard him mutter unsteadily. But when he again raised his face, although it was ashy pale, he appeared to have mastered himself.
“Well, we’ve reached the end of our journey, Sparhawk,” he remarked in a voice that he rendered steady by an apparent effort. “Let us go on board, however, and see if we can find some trace of the unfortunates of the Centurion.”
The captain looked as if he would have liked to ask a great many questions, but something in Mr. Jukes’ face rendered him silent. He gave the necessary orders and the boat was pulled round to the other side of the schooner. Here they were glad to find some dilapidated ropes dangling which afforded a means of getting on board. Two sailors, after first testing their weight-bearing qualities, scrambled up them like monkeys, and, under the captain’s orders, went hunting for a Jacob’s ladder which would support Mr. Jukes’ ponderous weight. One was found and lowered, and soon all stood on the silent decks which for so long had not echoed the footsteps of a human being.
“Away forward and muzzle that bell, some of you,” ordered the captain briskly. “The sound of the thing gets on my nerves.”
“Send them all forward,” supplemented Mr. Jukes. “Tell them to search the forecastle, anything to keep them busy. We will examine the cabins and officers’ quarters.”
“Are we to accompany you, sir?” asked Jack hesitatingly.
For a fraction of a second the millionaire seemed plunged in thought. Then he arrived at one of his characteristic quick decisions.
“Why not?” he asked, half to himself it seemed. “Later I shall have something to say to all of you. You have wondered at the object of this cruise, no doubt?”
Captain Sparhawk nodded gravely.
“I have guessed you had some great end to serve in it, Mr. Jukes,” he said.
“An end which has now been reached, I fear,” said the millionaire solemnly. “But come, let us proceed with our examination.”
CHAPTER VI. – A MYSTERY OF THE SEAS
At first glance Jack saw that the main cabin of the Centurion was fitted up with a luxuriousness not common to mere trading schooners. A silver hanging lamp of elaborate design, silk curtains at the stern ports, book-cases filled with handsomely bound volumes and the thick carpets on the floor, clearly indicated that whoever had occupied it had been above the class of the rough and ready South Sea trader.
In one corner stood a desk as handsome in its appointments as the rest of the furniture. But it had been roughly dealt with. The front had been smashed in, drawers pulled out and papers and documents scattered about all over the cabin floor. The door to a sleeping cabin leading off the main apartment was open. Within was the same disorder. Even mattresses had been ripped open in a hunt for something, the nature of which the boys could not guess.
Mr. Jukes hastily rummaged through the contents of the desk, selecting some papers, casting aside others as worthless, and gathered up on his hands and knees those on the floor. Then every cabin was searched and in each the millionaire took a few papers, but the look of anxiety on his face did not change, and the boys judged he had not found what he was in search of.
“Not a solitary clue,” he exclaimed with a heavy sigh as, dust-covered and perspiring from his exertions, he sank down at the long dining table in the main cabin. For a time he appeared lost in thought and the others stood about silently. To Jack it was almost awe-inspiring, to see this over-mastering man of affairs, who bullied whole corporations into his way of thinking, sitting there in the cabin of the derelict schooner utterly at a loss, and apparently defeated. At length Mr. Jukes spoke. His first words were a surprise:
“I suppose you all have heard of my brother, Jerushah Jukes?” he asked.
“The traveler and explorer?” asked Captain Sparhawk. “I guess every one in America knows of him, Mr. Jukes.”
Paying no attention to the captain’s reply, the millionaire went on.
“The papers reported some months ago that he had set out for Central Africa.”
“I read the account,” said Jack, “but – ”
Mr. Jukes waved his hand. The boy fell into an abashed silence; in a second the millionaire had changed once more from a crushed, defeated human being into Jacob Jukes, millionaire and king of commerce.
“He did not go to Africa,” he said. “Instead, his destination was the South Pacific. He chartered this schooner, the Centurion, and the last I heard of him was when he set sail from San Francisco. If no news of him was received within a certain time I promised him to come in search of him. You see,” he added with a simplicity new from him, “he was my younger brother and I promised my mother on her death-bed always to look after him.”
There was a pause. In the silence of the long-deserted cabin they could hear the dismal creak of the neglected rudder and the bang-banging of the swinging spars above.
“We were poor then, miserably poor, and my mother never lived to see the rise of our fortunes, for as I advanced in business I helped my brother up, too. But his bent was not for finance. He had a streak of the adventurous in him. But I put it to paying purpose. I seldom lose on any venture.” Unconsciously as it seemed, the hard vein in Jacob Jukes had cropped out again. “I decided to put my brother on a paying basis. The results were good. Concessions in South America, gold mines in Alaska, and certain South African enterprises were put through, largely through his instrumentality.
“And now, to get down to the present time. The Centurion was chartered to obtain for Mrs. Jukes, who has a craze for expensive and rare jewelry, the ‘Tear of the Sea,’ the most famous pearl of the South Seas. I had obtained information of its whereabouts in the Pomoutou Archipelago through means which are not important to relate here. I thought that an expedition to purchase the ‘Tear of the Sea’ and, incidentally, other pearls, would be a good investment and keep