Now the two schooners were less than half a mile apart, lunging on, almost abeam, a beautiful sight as the wind drove them and the lift of the seas cushioned them on their own buoyancy. Now he could see a name on the bows, letters of metal that glistened in the sun, a short word—Shark. A fitting title for a ship run by Swenson.
The launch came on, buffeting the seas. Suddenly the Shark shot into the wind, hung there with sails shivering, peaks lowered, rising and falling until from the Seamew they could see all the length of her deck with men scattered upon it. Through the glass Jim caught details that the rest could not. The launch came alongside, tossing. Bumpers were flung out. A big man, lithe and active, sprang for the schooner’s rail from the lesser freeboard of the launch, caught at the main rigging, jumped down on deck.
He took off his visored cap and wiped his face with the back of his hand as if to clear off spray. Jim caught the shine of a bald dome, a tonsure of red hair. Immediately he handed the glass to Baker and shouted an order. The wheel of the Seamew went up; the men sprang to ease out the sheets as she came about. The sails filled and once more she ran before the wind, southwest by five points west, her wake streaming out behind. Smartly too the Shark came surging on. The launch turned and went lunging back toward Oahu.
With a glance aft Jim went to the head of the companionway, following Kitty and Lynda down into the main cabin.
“It was Swenson?” asked Kitty.
“Yes. Trailing us. Pretty openly. If he figures he can keep us in sight night and day from here to the island he’s going to be mistaken.”
“Swenson?” Newton Foster spoke. He had evidently just made his appearance. Behind him stood Cheng, with coffee on a tray. Wiltz was making up the staterooms, not supposed to bother with extra service between meals. “What about Swenson?” Jim did not answer, glancing at Cheng, whose face showed no interest as he set down the tray and left.
“Swenson has just come out in a launch and joined his schooner, the Shark,” said Jim briefly. “I think the schooner came out from Hilo. That would account for my not finding it entered at Honolulu. I saw Swenson in Honolulu last night. At least I thought it was he. Now I know. He hasn’t been able to get hold of our figures so he’s taking a try at following. We’ve got to shake him off. I don’t quite understand his tipping his hand so early. He must know we’ve recognized him. We’ll lose him between here and Suva. If we can’t out-sail him we’ll dodge him some night. And we’ll lose him if he doesn’t guess we’re putting in at Suva. We’ll be there a day or two.”
“Do we have to call there?”
Jim nodded.
“We’ll need gasoline, fresh provisions, water. We might get that at Apia. But Samoa’s out of our way. I want to get some native boys. We’ll need them for several reasons—bush work and landings. We can’t get along without natives and Samoa is not easy to recruit from. Why?”
He had sensed a reason back of Newton’s remark.
“Just wondering. I’ve got a horrible head on me.” Newton essayed a smile of frank confession, but groaned and held his head with hands as if to prevent it splitting. “They had some native liquor last night. Had me going in no time. That’s the worst of prohibition. A chap gets all out of shape for taking a drink when he travels. Good stuff, but regular bottled lightning.” He shuddered, pushed away the coffee and tackled a cigarette.
“I’ll take a stroll on deck,” he said. “Fresh air may help.”
As he passed to the companionway he gave Jim a meaning look. Jim followed him. Newton went aft to the taffrail, gazing at the Shark throwing up a smother of spray as she came on, down to leeward a little, but holding up as close to the wind as the Seamew.
“So that’s Swenson and his schooner. Gaining any?”
“I think not,” said Jim. “He wouldn’t want to pass up. He’s doing his best, I fancy. Want to speak to me, Newton?”
“Yes.” Young Foster threw his cigarette into the wake, turned and faced Jim Lyman squarely. In that moment Jim liked him better than he had done at any time. Yet he guessed that Foster had a confession to make, and that it was tied up with Swenson.
“I made a damned fool of myself last night,” said Newton. “I have hit the hooch once in a while, Lyman—but that native stuff got me. They had plenty of it, and at first it don’t seem to affect you. There was a crowd there. Seemed as if everyone in Honolulu was invited. Lots there who didn’t know each other or even the host, a fine old chap. Open house, like the old days. Must have cost a mint. Well, there was singing and dancing—poker going on—flowers for everyone, all sorts of weird things to eat. Heaps of regular grub, too. Everything informal. Everybody laughing and talking like old friends. Partly hooch, of course.
“I told ’em, some of ’em—I didn’t meet everyone, of course—that we were on a South Sea cruise. That seemed to put me in solid. I didn’t say anything about what we were after—at least I don’t think I did. But I talked too much; I realized that, and pulled up. I was with a bunch of chaps who seemed interested. The fellows I went with, the yachtsmen, you know, wandered off. They knew a lot of people and they saw I was having a good time. This bunch seemed to know a lot about the islands, told me a lot of yarns. There was one chap who was a bit nosey. Said he’d noticed the Seamew. Wanted to know about Kitty and Lynda. Just nosey, I thought. But I didn’t enlighten him about them, I think it was that made me shut up. I went off hunting the chaps I’d come with. But I remember telling them we were going to Suva and then on down south to an island we knew about. Some blithering idiot, I know.”
“What did the man look like?”
“Oh, it wasn’t Swenson. You said he was big and red-headed where he wasn’t bald. Swenson wasn’t there at all, that I saw. This chap was lanky with a sharp face like a fox. Black eyes. Clipped moustache and a black beard trimmed Vandyke.”
The face that he had dimly seen in the dark, turning toward him from the park bench, flashed before Jim’s mind.
“Asked you where the island was, did he?”
“Yes. But of course I couldn’t tell him that. But he knows we’re going to Suva. Do you suppose—? You said you saw Swenson last night.”
“Do I suppose this man was a pal of Swenson’s? I do. If I am not very much mistaken I saw them together, long before you first came off. They probably went out to the affair later. Swenson may have stayed away. Meeting you there was a bit of luck for them.”
“I’m mighty sorry, Lyman.”
“It’s all right. No use in saying anything about it. I don’t know that there’s much harm done. They’ll try to trail us from Suva, that’s all, and they’ll make a race of it from here. They’ll try and keep us in sight in case we take a notion to change our course. I’m glad you told me, Newton.”
They shook hands, and with the grip Jim’s suspicions of Newton Foster disappeared. His confession had been too ingenuous, too unnecessary for any attempt at acting. And no actor could have emulated Newton’s expression of regret and self-contempt.
As the day passed it became evident that the two schooners were evenly matched. It was tested