Adventure, Please!

Southland Times, Issue 22969, 15 August 1936, Page 21 (Supplement)

Adventure, Please!

(By

Chester Loring)

111. "Now for it,” I said, picking myself up and brushing- the soil off my clothes. “What’s our best plan, do you think, Coiin?” “Seems pretty obvious. We'll just have to row to the mainland and bring back any chaps we can get to help us.” "But the boats,” I objected. “They’ve taken them both back, so they won’t be missed.” Colin laughed. “Well, whoever takes the boats back has to have some means of returning, so we can count on there being a boat of some sort—we’ll borrow it.” But a surprise awaited us. As we neared the cove where the jetty was, we were aware of the sound of voices and a strange creaking noise. We exchanged meaning glances and advanced with added caution, for the night was clear and still. The next moment we had rounded an intervening ’spur of rock and were witnesses of a scene which temporarily banished all our hopes of turning the tables. Two short hours before when Mary and I had arrived, the jetty had been deserted. But now a scow lay alongside and on the jetty were four men—presumably those from the cave—each with a trolley full of the sacks of earth. Dim lanterns burned on the scow and I could see other men moving about aboard her. A handwinch operated from the scow made the creaking noise we’d heard earlier. The men on the jett”- bundled the sugar sacks together in fours in a stout net. Then they were lowered into the scow’s hold by the winch. Steadily the men persevered in their mysterious job. As long as they remained our escape from Joe’s house could help us little, for we were prisoners on the Island. For some time I watched the scene in silence, trying to puzzle it out. But why these men should go to such trouble with what appeared sacks of ordinary earth was beyond me, so after a bit I gave it up and turned to Colin. "That squashes our chances of escape,” I said. "I don’t know so much," Colin said. “Let’s wait till all this load’s been stowed aboard and the chaps with the trolleys go back for more —we may still have a chance then. ’ "That’s true,” I said a little more hopefully. . ~ And, when the men on the jetty had drifted away one by one trundling their trolleys before them, the truth of Colin’s statement was plain. With the departure of the last trolley the three men on the scow went below. We were cer-| tain at this, for the sound of voices and the clatter of crockery came distinctly to us. A savoury smelll which I’d always formerly assoc-1 iated with pie-carts pervaded the air and reminded us of our empty stomachs. . "Now’s our chance,” said. Colin. "Come on.” But I grabbed his arm and held him back. “Hold on,” I said. “There’s no sense in our both going. If we’re caught that’s the end of our chances of turning the tables. I vote one of us stays here while the other does some scouting. Then if that one gets caught the other might still be able to do something. What do you say?" "Good idea. Let’s toss fpr it,” said Colin and produced his lucky halfpenny. "Heads I go; tails you do.” He spun the coin and it came down tails.

“Good luck to you, Mart,” he said.

"Thanks,” I said. “The same to you if I get caught.” And I started forward, thanking my lucky stars that I was wearing tennis shoes so that my tread was noiseless. I reached the end of the jetty and found the little saloon aft of the scow brightly illuminated and the voices from below distinct and disquieteningly near. But for all the danger of my position such was my curiosity and interest in this mysterious scovy that I temporarily forgot my main object, namely, finding if there were a small boat to take us to the mainland. I suppose some people would call me nosey; perhaps I am. All I can say is that at times curiosity gets the upper hand of me. And as I stood on the end of that pier I was suddenly gripped by a desire to know the scow’s mission: the meaning of all those earth-filled sacks in her hold. Almost before I knew it I had jumped off the end of the jetty and

alighted softly on the scow’s deck. Even then I stood for a moment undecided, surprised at my own audacity and wondering whether I should turn back. Then one of the voices from the saloon caught my attention and neld it. “£15,000!” it said incredulously. “Seems hard to believe that that little bit of stuff is worth that much!” "And with to-night’s load we should get some more,” said another voice. That was enough for me. Without hesitation I crept forward and peered through the porthole. In the saloon three men were seated round a table. Two wore rough sailor-looking clothes, but the third was dressed just like a thousand other men you see about cities on week days, and seemed to be some sort of professional man. In his hand he held a small phial and on this the attention of the three seemed to be centred. The two seamen stared at it goggle-eyed, totally forgetful of the tea and food steaming on the table before them. “Radium,” said one of the seamen, “must be more precious than gold—or even diamonds.” Radium! With the voicing of that one word the explanation of the jvhole business dawned, upon me,

Only a few weeks before in the school laboratory the conversation had turned to radium, and Mr Bancroft, our science master, had told us that this marvellous curative substance was probably the most valuable stuff in the world. It is extracted from pitch-blende, a substance sometimes found in company with deposits of iron or lead ore. And this gang of scoundrels had evidently discovered a patch of pitch-blende and were working it secretly. As I thought of it I became mighty indignant. Then I remembered my mission, and made hastily for the side of the scow, but in the half-light I stubbed my toe against a gadget fixed to the deck. To keep from falling I made a wild grab at the nearest object which chanced to be the large hook of the hand-winch, dangling in mid-air. I managed to touch it, but before I could get a grip it slipped from my grasp and swinging in a semicircle, clattered on the side of the saloon. Unless I acted quickly the game was up. Of course my first impulse was to run. But, you see, I’d just read a detective story about a criminal pursued by the police who hid right under their very noses

and afterwards got right away. And now something prompted me to follow his lead. A big piece of canvas lying on the deck seemed to offer the best hiding place, and I was under it in a twinkling. And none too soon! Td hardly pulled the canvas over myself when the three men burst on deck. “Look!” shouted one. "Look at the hook of the winch! That’s what hit against the wall—and it wouldn’t have swung like that unless someone had touched it.”

"You’re right,” said another. "And there’s the someone! On the jetty! Quickly, after him!” There was a loud clattering as they scrambled ashore. I dared to lift a corner of the canvas. The moonlight afforded me a glimpse of a running figure in the distance with three larger ones in hot pursuit. The best thing possible had happened. Fearing something had happened to me Cojjn had come to investigate. At me moment of my accident he had been half-way along the jetty and the men rushing out of the saloon had caught sight of him and given chase. For the present I had the freedom of the vicinity. I crawled out from my hiding place, thanking my lucky stars that Colin was a cham-

pion runner and would give the men a run for their money. I looked through the saloon porthole as I passed and saw the phial of radium. I dashed in and grabbed that fifteen thousand pounds worth. Then I put it $ igerly into my breast pocket and went to look for a boat. My luck held. Floating on the far side of the scow and therefore previously hidden from me I found a dinghy. And best of all, fixed to the stern was an outboard motor. I almost whooped for joy as I clambered in. I happen to know something about outboard motors and after a few seconds of experimental tinkering it spluttered into life. I gave the engine full play and zoomed out of that little cove in a cloud of spray and a noise like an aeroplane. I was out of the cove when I was hailed. “Heave to! Heave to, there!” "Not likely!” I yelled. “If you don’t,” came the reply, “I start shooting.” I felt a bit sick at that, but nevertheless held my course thinking it was only bluff. Crack! There came a staccato report magnified by the stillness of the night. I distinctly heard the sharp chud of the bullet in the sea just beside the boat. I can tell you it isn’t pleasant to be shot at. Your heart races, your scalp creeps and your stomach heaves. I’m not ashamed to say that I reached out hastily to turn the motor off. But even as I did so it occurred to me that I was every second getting further from the three men. I crouched in the stern and putting the tiller hard over to port shot away at right angles, thus turning my stern to the shore and offering the least possible target. A second shot rang out: the bullet gouged a long.streak of white in the gunnel and striking a rowlock ricocheted whining into the night. That was all. I don’t think I need to tell the rest of my story in detail. Suffice is to say that three quarters of an hour after my escape I returned with 10 men in the “Weka,” a fishing launch belonging to a neighbour. But as we drew near Pine Island we found that our boat was not the only one in the vicinity. For ahead of us the dark shape of the mysterious scow loomed against the sky, her sails bellying gently to the slight breeze now stirring and her engines racing. We were in a quandary, for it was obvious that we had no way of stopping the scow, and yet our pride revolted at the thought of letting it go unchallenged. "Ahoy there! Come any closer and I open fire! If you’ve got that kid aboard he’ll convince you I’m in earnest!” Discretion is the better part of valour; we let the scow go and proceeded to Pine Island, where we found Colin and Mary locked in the attic. Joe Matson had disappeared with the scow, and he and the others have not been seen since.

Of course the police were called in, and a week later they received word that a scow had been run aground and deserted in the Southland Sounds district. They took me down there, and I was able to identify the scow as the one used by the crooks. The tube of radium realised £16,000 on the Continent, and for my part in the business I now have a substantial sum to my credit in the bank. I also have the dinghy with the outboard motor to remind me of the day I craved adventure, and got it. I’m very proud of that little boat, especially when people ask to see it and stare at the long groove gouged out of the gunnel. I’ve named her “Adventuress.” The End