“Rough On Rats.”
The note came to a close so suddenly that Chick looked up in astonishment.
“Why didn't you go on?” he said.
“Well, the next theory is embraced in that one.”
“Murder?”
“Yes.”
“Humph!”
“What do you think of it all?”
“Decoy letter written by Hatfield. Girl detained somewhere—probably on yacht Mystery—”
“The Mystery has been searched.”
“Well, somewhere.”
“That's the point—where?” Chick looked up with a quick smile. “When I mislay anything,” he said, “I stop and try to think of all the most likely places where I might have placed it.
“Then, before beginning my search I think of all the most unlikely places.
“And I begin with the unlikeliest of the unlikely, see?”
“Yes.”
“On the theory that if I had placed the article in a likely place it would not have been lost.”
“Exactly.”
“Hatfield is a shrewd fellow, I take it from your notes.”
“Very.”
“Let us suppose that he is the guilty man.”
“Very well.”
“If he is responsible for the disappearance, where would he have hidden her?
“In the most unlikely place for her friends to search without doubt.”
“Go on, Chick; I'm proud of you.”
“Where does he keep his yacht?”
“Just below Erie Basin on the Brooklyn shore.”
“How long has he owned the yacht?”
“Two or three years.”
“Where would be the most likely place for him to conceal his prisoner?”
“Answer the question yourself, Chick; you're theorizing now, not I.”
“Well, then, on board the Mystery.”
“Good!”
“She is not there.”
“No.”
“Where then is the most unlikely place?”
“You answer again.”
“Why, the answer is plain enough to my mind, and so it is to you, I believe.”
“Never mind me; I want to hear what you have to say.”
“Very well. Let us go back again a little.”
“As you please.”
“Hatfield has no visible means of support; always pays with greenbacks and new ones—by the way, is there any suspicion of counterfeiting?”
“No.”
“Then he gets his greenbacks from a bank.”
“Probably.”
“He keeps an account and gets his own checks cashed; he is a gambler, but he doesn't get all his money in that way, or he would not be so particular about keeping the place of his account a secret.”
“Right. Go on.”
“It follows that he's engaged in some crooked work.”
“Very likely.”
“Which accounts for his frequent disappearances.”
“Probably.”
“I'd like you to answer one question.”
“What is it?”
“What impression as to his destination is created among his associates at the clubs, etc., when he is missing?”
“The yacht.”
“I thought so. Now, what reason do they give?”
“A quiet spree.”
“Does he go to the yacht?” Yes.”
“And stay there?”
“No.”
“You have found out that much?”
“Yes.”
“Then we return to my original question. If he is the man we suppose him to be, he is mixed up with a gang of crooks, of which he is probably the king pin. Those crooks are either burglars, counterfeiters, confidence men, forgers, or—or— what else shall I say, Nick?”
“Suppose you include river pirates.”
“Good! Let us drop the others and cling to that.”
“Why?”
“Well, I've read the papers, and the wharf- rats are gnawing big holes just now.”
“Right.”
“Let us say that he's a river pirate.”
“Very well.”
“River pirates are mostly of the class known as wharf rats.
“Where do wharf rats live? Why, beneath wharves, mostly, I believe.
“To return: If Hatfield is a river pirate he is a wharf rat. If he is a wharf rat he is a king among his fellows. If he is king pin, he has got a place somewhere that is fitted up for his especial benefit where he can hide without fear of discovery, and where he can interview the other rodents without trouble. Again, if he is in that business the most unlikely place for us to search for Sara Varney— not being aware of Hatfield's profession—would be at the same time the most likely place for him to conceal her.”
“Well?”
“The most unlikely place for us to search,” continued Chick, “is underneath the Brooklyn wharves; and by the same token if we are right in our surmise regarding Hatfield, the most likely place for him to conceal her is—underneath a Brooklyn wharf in some den that he has fixed up for his own accommodation.”
“Well?”
“I've got through.”
“Oh! You don't go any farther?”
“No.”
“Then we will drop this subject and take up another.”
“Correct.”
“Forget, for the moment, all that has passed.”
“My mind is a blank.”
“I have just returned from an interview with the inspector. He is bothered with rats.”
“And he wants you to transform yourself into 'rough-on-rats,' and exterminate them.”
“Exactly. A man named Gregory lost a steel casket from his yacht Twilight.”
“By Jove! You mean Big Jap Gregory, don't you?”
“Yes.”
“I know him. He's from Nevada. Knew him when I was a kid. He's a bad egg, if I'm not greatly mistaken. I worked for him once.”
“Tell me what you know about him.”
“Almost nothing in fact, and considerable in theory. He was 'super' of a rich mine, and his partners suddenly disappeared. Things seemed all right enough, but I always thought that he laid 'em out, see?”
“Yes. Any reason for thinking so?”
“No. If I had known as much then as I do now, I'd have better reasons or none at all for my suspicions. I was a kid then. Big Jap was a terror, and as a matter of fact, he's walking through the world to-day believing that he killed me.”
“Tell me about that.”
“I was in his cabin asleep one day just about nightfall. It seems he came in while I was sleeping, and something was said or done which he didn't want me to know.
“The first thing I knew I was shaken by the shoulder, and Big Jap stood over me with a bowie in his hand and a scowl on his face as black as a thunder cloud.
“'How long have you been here, you young coyote?'“he growled.
“'Since five,' I answered.' “'Were you asleep?' he continued.
“Now, as a matter of fact, I had been as sound asleep as a church in the middle of the week all the time, but thinking he was mad I thought I'd lie out of it, so I said no.
“'Not at all?' he demanded.
“'No.'
“'Do you know what has happened here?'
“'Well, I ain't blind nor deaf, you bet!'“was my reply, and then before I had a chance to dodge he brought the heavy handle of his bowie down upon my head.
“When I awoke I was in total darkness. My head ached and I felt weak. I groped around, and finally discovered that I was in an abandoned gallery of the mine.
“I crawled toward the outlet, only to find that it had been clogged with rocks since I was placed there.
“But I knew that mine better than the super. I knew another way out that had been forgotten by everybody else, and I used it.
“When I got out I made tracks for a new stamping ground, and brought up at Hellion City, where you found me.”
“And Gregory doesn't know that you're alive, eh?”
“No.”
“Good! We may utilize that fact a little later.”
What is in the steel casket?”
Gregory won't say.”
Humph! I'd like to go through it.”
“The first thing is to find it.”
“Right.”
“The second, to break up the gang that stole it.”
Sure.”
“Then we'll have some fun with Big Jap.” Chick shrugged his shoulders.
“I'd as soon handle a rattlesnake as touch that fellow,” he said. “I believe he stole every cent he's got, and that he had to do some killing to get it. Some people thought that he came from Australia. There was talk about his being an ex- convict, but I've heard him drop little remarks which make me think he came from Brazil. If he weren't so big he'd look like a Portuguese, and I think he's a sort of half-breed anyhow.”