Caught In The Act.
Chick saw Barney leap down from the head of the barrel, and glide away in pursuit of Gentleman George.
Then Young Hercules turned and retraced his steps, or rather his crawl, until he was once more snugly hidden, directly behind the spot where Red Rob was still sitting, evidently lost in thought.
“Bah!” Chick heard him mutter at last, as he rose to return to the Rat-Hole. “I wonder if he thinks I'm as big a chump as I seem? Wouldn't he rave if he knew that the steel casket was snugly in my possession all this time? You may fool the others, Gentleman George, all you please, but you can't fool me—not quite.”
With that Red Rob disappeared on his way back to the Rat-Hole, and Chick again crept away shoreward.
He was gone a long time, but returned just before daylight.
In the barrel upon which Barney had been sitting, he found the kit of things which the professional shadow had brought for him, and then he made his way to the wharf-rat's rendezvous.
He was welcomed most cordially by Red Rob, who repeated to him an order which he had already given put to the others.
“We hey got er big scheme on hand fur tomorrer night,” he said, “an' ther boss is fixin' up ther plans, see?”
“Yes.”
“He has given orders that nobody is to leave the Rat-Hole till he comes back—me included, see?”
“Yes.”
“He says we'll make our fortunes at one whop, see?”
“Yes.”
“An' he's bound ter hev his orders obeyed, see?”
“Yes.”
Nick was about to offer an objection but he caught a look from Chick's eyes, which caused him to change his remark.
“What's on hand?” he asked. “A big job.”
“What craft is it?”
“Chief didn't say. He called me outside to tell me about it, an' I've given his orders. Any kickin'?”
“Narry a kick.”
“Right. You're a lu-lu, Sneaker.”
“You bet!”
Time passed slowly enough in the Rat-Hole. The air was bad, and the place reeked with filth and vermin, but the game was worth the candle, and so the detectives had patience.
The day came and went, and the night of the robbery was upon them.
At eleven o'clock the signal was given at the iron-bound door, and a moment later Gentleman George entered.
“All here?” he demanded. “Yes,” said Red Rob.
“Anybody been out?”
“No.”
“Good! We start in ten minutes. Rob, take three men, and get the boats.”
“Correct.”
“Now, boys,” continued the chief, “we have got the biggest job of our lives on hand to-night for we are going to strip the Nourhemal.”
“Hooray!”
“Sneaker, I look for great things from you and Rattler.”
“We'll do our share.”
“Good! Are you ready, boys?”
“All ready.”
“Then come.”
They were soon in the boats, and gliding over the black water of the bay.
The rain of the previous night had not ceased, but now it had changed to mist, and a fog hung over the river and bay.
The Nourhemal, which they intended to loot, is the largest private yacht in the world, and could more appropriately be called a steamship.
She belongs to the Astor family, and offered a fair prize for the river-thieves, if they could once succeed in boarding her, and gaining admittance to her sumptuous cabins.
During all the time that had elapsed since Chick overheard the conversation on the pier, he had found no opportunity to converse with Nick, so the detective had no idea of the plot against his life.
But that fact did not worry Young Hercules in the least. He knew what he was about, as events will show.
After a long row, the vicinity of the huge yacht was reached.
She loomed up before them, bulky and black, and the dipping oars wielded by the river-thieves made no sound as the four boats drew near to their prospective prey.
Finally they touched the sides, and the grappling irons were thrown up and caught on the sides of the vessel.
Then, one by one, the river pirates mounted to the deck.
One man was left in each boat, leaving ten to do the work aboard the ship.
Both Nick and Chick were of the latter party. Everything seemed silent and deserted.
Not a sign of life appeared aboard the Nourhemal, except for the presence of the midnight marauders who were there to steal.
Gentleman George knew that there were several men there, however, but he believed them to be sleeping, and thought to surprise them in their bunks.
The robbers crept toward the cabin. Gentleman George was in advance, and he tried the door.
Better luck than he expected was awaiting him, for the door was not fastened.
The fact should have warned him, but it did not.
No one having been allowed to leave the Rat- Hole since his plans were laid, he had no thought of the possibility of betrayal.
He entered, and the others followed, until the ten men were grouped there.
Then the chief, with a low word of command to his men, struck a match.
The scratching of that match had a most remarkable effect.
It seemed to produce a score of sudden sharp clicks, and instantly the cabin was flooded with light from as many bull's eye-lanterns which glared in the faces of the river-thieves.
The cabin of the Nourhemal was filled with uniformed men, who had been silently awaiting the arrival of the river-thieves.
“Betrayed!” exclaimed Gentleman George, with an oath.
“Surrender!” chorused the officers. The men had no thought of flight, so awed were they by the suddenness of the surprise.
But Gentleman George and Red Rob both made a break for liberty.
They leaped with one impulse for the door. A policeman barred the way, but Gentleman George's revolver cracked, and the officer fell to the floor of the cabin.
It left the way open for just one instant. That brief interval served the purpose of the two heads of the gang of wharf-rats.
They leaped through the door, along the deck, and plunged together, headlong into the water.
A dozen revolvers cracked behind them but they did not stop.
Their flight seemed to act like a galvanic battery upon the others.
They also made a dash for the door. But the policemen headed them off. Then a fierce fight ensued, in which two of the thieves were killed and four were wounded.
Some of the officers suffered also, but none seriously.
Short as was the delay caused by the fight, it sufficed for the escape of Gentleman George and Red Rob.
The boats in which the robbers had reached the Nourhemal were easily overtaken, having only one man in each.
Their occupants were made prisoners, but there was no sign of the two ringleaders there, nor had the men seen aught of them.
The haul was a good one, but the root of the evil was not yet destroyed.
The men they wanted most had made good their escape.
Nick, who knew nothing of the information possessed by his young assistant, was grievously disappointed.
The moment that the officers made their presence known in the cabin, the detective realized that Chick had planned the thing while he was gone from the Rat-Hole, the preceding night.
“Chick,” he said, when they were guiding the police to the Rat-Hole, in order that the place might be destroyed, “we've got our work to do all over. We'll have to begin again.”
“Why?”
“Because we've got to run down Red Rob and Gentleman George.”
“True.”
“Besides, we are no nearer the steel casket, nor to the solution of Sara Varney's disappearance, than we were before.”
“I don't quite agree with you,” said Chick, quietly.
“Eh?”
“You are partially mistaken.”
“How so? Ah! You haven't told all you know, yet.”
“Not quite.”
“Well, keep it until we are alone. Time enough, then.”
The Rat-Hole was visited by the police, and there all the further evidence that could possibly be desired was found.
Then the place was thoroughly destroyed, so that it would never again answer for a refuge for thieves, after which the arrested men were taken to Raymond street jail.
“Now Chick, talk,” said Nick, as soon as they were alone.
“I know where the steel casket is concealed,” was the reply.
“Where?”
“In the—Hotel.”
“What! That is where George Hatfield stays when he's in town.”
“Precisely.”
Nick shook his head doubtfully. “I've changed my mind,” he said.
“About what?”
“About Gentleman George.”
“In what way?”
“I thought at first that he was George Hatfield, but I have gotten over that idea.”
“So have I,” quietly.
“Then what——”
“Nick, I overheard a conversation last night which opened my eyes to a good deal.”
“Evidently.”
“If I hadn't overheard what I did, we'd be floating face down in the river by this time.”
“Humph! So bad as that?”
“Yes.”
“Lucky you heard it, then.”
“Rather. I heard more, too.”
“Well, what?”
“Enough to convince me that Red Rob and George Hatfield are the same, and that he has the steel casket in his possession.”
“Red Rob is George Hatfield, eh?”
“Yes.”
“I began to suspect it. Who then is Gentleman George?”