“There is nothing in the papers to show what happened to your brother, sir?” asked Captain Sparhawk presently.
“Nothing. They are merely formal documents, ship’s papers, clearance bills and so forth. There is no memorandum relating to the pearl in any way.”
Captain Sparhawk knitted his brows. For a minute he appeared lost in deep thought.
“Do you mind telling us the name of that firm, sir?” he asked at last.
“There is nothing we can prove against them,” said the millionaire. “They work without their hands showing in any of their ugly transactions. Their name, however, is F – & Freres.”
“Of Amsterdam?” queried the captain.
“The same. They have practically a monopoly of the pearl trade of Europe.”
“I know that, sir,” said the captain, clenching his hands. “They tried to work their tricks on a ship-mate of mine who went a-pearl trading. But, sir, to change the subject, did you ever hear of ‘Bully’ Broom?”
The millionaire shook his head.
“I have; and have good cause to remember him,” said the captain. “But none of that at this time. Sir,” he continued earnestly, “your brother may be as safe and sound as we are. He may have the pearl. But if neither of these things have happened, Bully Broom is the man to look for if we have to hunt him all over the Pacific. I’ve sailed these seas and know that ‘Bully’ Broom did F – & Co.’s dirty work for them. He calls himself a trader, but, like lots of others doing business under that name in these waters, ‘Pirate’ would be a sight better name for him.”
“And you think that this man ‘Bully’ Broom, as you call him, has something to do with this mysterious disappearance of my brother?” asked Mr. Jukes, who had listened with deep attention, willing to hear of any clue, however slight.
“I ain’t dead sure,” said the captain, “but it’s my impression that if the firm you spoke of was after this ‘Tear of the Sea,’ then ‘Bully’ Broom knows where Jerushah Jukes is,” and he brought his lean, gnarled fist down with a thump on the table.
The old ginger came back into Mr. Jukes’ eyes, the wonted crisp authority into his voice as he snapped out:
“That being the case, we’ll find ‘Bully’ Broom.”
“No matter where we have to go?” asked Captain Sparhawk, raising his eyebrows.
“We’ll scour the whole Pacific if necessary. But nobody of the Sea Gypsy’s crew need accompany her against his will. All I ask is that they remain till we can touch at some civilised port, such as Papeiti or Honolulu and ship a man in his place. Do you boys wish to stick?”
“To the finish,” came from Jack, and Raynor, standing beside him, nodded his assent.
As for Captain Sparhawk, he simply reached out one of his brown hands toward the millionaire, who clasped it, and said:
“I’m with you till the bottom drops out of the ship.”
“Thank you, Sparhawk. It’s what I expected of you all,” said Mr. Jukes quietly, but his voice shook.
Thus, in the desolated cabin of the derelict Centurion, there was ratified a bargain that was to lead the boys into strange seas and stranger adventures.
CHAPTER VII. – AN OLD ENEMY ODDLY MET
The lads stood on the stern deck of the Sea Gypsy, gazing behind them. On the horizon hovered a tall, black column of smoke. It marked the last resting place of the Centurion, for Mr. Jukes, after ransacking the cabin of everything associated with his brother, had decided to burn the derelict, which, if she had drifted into the paths of navigation, might have proved a dangerous menace.
“Well, Billy, the mystery is solved at last,” said Jack.
“Yes, and in a way I’d never have guessed in a thousand years. Mr. Jukes must be very fond of his brother. It’s a new side of his character to me.”
“Same here,” agreed Jack. “While he has always been just and kind, I thought him a regular man of business, with ice-water instead of red blood in his veins, and his heart in his enterprises only.”
“Just goes to show that you are liable to run up against a streak of sentiment when you least expect it,” said Raynor.
“I see now why an embargo was put on the wireless,” said Jack presently.
“I can’t figure it out. I should have thought he would have used it to try and locate the Centurion.”
“I guess he figured that if he did so, some ship might pick up the message and it would reach the ears of that Amsterdam firm and they would find out about this expedition in search of Jerushah Jukes.”
“Perhaps that’s it. But there’s one thing sure and certain, Jack.”
“And that is – ?”
“That we can’t do much without coal.”
“Jove, that’s true; I’d forgotten that. What rotten luck! Where is the nearest coaling place?”
“Papeiti, in Tahiti, I reckon.”
“How close are we to that port now?”
“Well, to-day’s reckoning puts us in Latitude 29 degrees, 49 minutes.”
“I’ll have to look at the map, but that makes it quite a run.” The second mate came bustling up to Raynor.
“The skipper and Mr. Jukes want to see you in the captain’s cabin,” he said.
“Do you know what about?” asked Raynor.
“Coal, I think. How much have you got to keep those old tea-kettles of yours chugging?”
“Precious little since your gang on deck let that deck-load be washed overboard,” grinned Raynor, as he hurried off.
The consultation lasted a long time. But at length Raynor returned with the news that, for as long as possible, full speed was to be made with the coal in hand, and that then canvas would be spread, for the Sea Gypsy was schooner rigged and in addition carried a big square sail on her foremast.
For two days good time was made, but when Raynor, with a rueful face, announced that only a few shovelfuls more coal remained in the bunkers, they were still many weary sea-miles from their destination. However, sailors are proverbially inclined to make the best of things. The Sea Gypsy’s canvas was bent, and under a spanking breeze they glided, at a fair speed, over the sparkling waters, while in the engine room the fires were drawn and the engines grew cold.
But a steam vessel, while she will behave fairly well under canvas, is not designed for sail and makes an astonishing amount of what sailors call “lee-way,” that is, the wind, if it blows a’beam, constantly drives her side-ways, or crab-fashion, of a direct course, so that for every mile she makes in a forward direction a considerable amount of lee-way has to be deducted. For this reason all hands looked forward to a long and tedious voyage before the highlands of Tahiti were sighted.
Now that there was no doubt as to the fate of the Centurion, and no danger of her being captured, the Sea Gypsy’s wireless was set to work again. But they were traveling