“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.”
CHAPTER IV.
A Night Expedition.
Darkness was just becoming a settled fact when Nick Carter, accompanied by Chick, reached that part of Brooklyn which is popularly known as Gowanus.
Both were disguised, and they looked like a couple of city toughs who were bent on mischief.
The detective knew that the part of the river front which they were visiting was that most frequented by the real article of river pirate, and as they were bent upon that identical business they would be much more apt to fall in with the gang for which they were searching.
The tip had been given to the police, and Superintendent Campbell, of Brooklyn, had issued orders in accordance with Nick's plans, which were as unique as they ultimately proved effective.
There was a private yacht in the bay which had not as yet been visited by the wharf rats, and Nick conceived the idea of being detected in the act of looting it himself.
Chance favored him in a way he had not imagined.
His original scheme was to be arrested in the act of robbing the yacht, to make his escape, and to have the papers filled with the story of his exploit.
He knew if there was a regularly-organized gang of river thieves that hearing of his daring they would make an effort to recruit him among them.
But luck, which never deserted Nick Carter, stood him in hand that night, and effectually shortened the time that would have been necessary to carry out his first scheme.
The two detectives found a boat underneath a pier of which they did not hesitate to avail themselves.
“This is a wharf rat's outfit,” muttered Chick, who was examining the contents of the craft.
“All the better,” was Nick's reply. “Shove her off.”
Young Hercules, as Chick was sometimes called, was about to comply when a voice arrested him.
Nobody was visible, and yet the voice seemed to come from quite near.
“Who's there?” it demanded, in a gruff tone.
“What's that to you?” was the detective's uncompromising reply to the question.
“What are you doing with that boat?” demanded the voice again.
“That's my business, sonny.”
“Oh, is it? Well, I reckon it's mine, too.” Bah!” said Nick. “Shove off, Rattler,” he continued to Chick.
“Say, Johnnie Fresh!” shouted the owner of the strange voice.
“Well, what?” replied Nick. “I've got you covered, see?”
“See? No, kin you?”
“Ef you go out with that boat I'll bore you. Understand that?”
“Rats!”
“Eh? What's that?”
“I said rats.”
“What did you say that for?”
“F'r instance. You make me tired, an' jest fur fun I'll show you up, see?”
As the detective spoke he touched the spring of his little bull's eye lantern, and directed the rays straight at the spot from whence came the sound of the voice.
There was a smothered oath from the owner of the voice as the light fell full upon him, blinding him completely for the moment.
“Hands up!” ordered Nick, sternly, “or I'll bore you, see?”
They were all underneath the pier, Nick and Chick being in the boat, and the stranger, with half his body showing above a timber, upon which he was leaning; with a revolver gripped in either hand.
“Now speak 'r down you go,” continued Nick. “I mean business, I do, see? I don't want no croakers nur fly cops 'round me to-night.”