Dan Carter, Cub Scout, and the River Camp Read online

  CHAPTER 3 Stolen Furs

  On the morrow, Dan and Brad called early at Mr. Hatfield's home toinquire as to the condition of Jacques.

  They found the boy up and dressed, eating a late breakfast with Mr. andMrs. Hatfield and Fred. Apparently none the worse for his river adventureof the previous night, the lad seemed in fairly good spirits.

  Taking Brad and Dan aside, Fred reported to them that absolutely noprogress had been made in learning the boy's identity or anything abouthis past.

  "Just as soon as one asks him a direct question, he pretends not tounderstand," Fred complained. "It's all a pose."

  "What does your father plan to do with him?" Brad asked.

  "He hasn't decided yet. This afternoon we're going down to the Cave toclean up after last night's meeting. We'll probably take Jacques withus."

  "You know he's a Cub, I suppose," Dan remarked.

  "A Cub!" Fred was astonished. "Why, no! He didn't give us a hint of it.What makes you think so?"

  Dan and Brad related how Jacques had grasped the former's hand in theofficial Cub handclasp, mute evidence that he once had been a member ofthe international organization.

  "He's a queer duck," Fred declared. "I'm sure he didn't mention to Dadthat he ever had been a Cub. Fact is, he's kept mum about everything.Won't peep a word as to his folks or where he came from."

  The Cubs discussed Jacques a little longer, and then Brad and Dan left,but not before promising Fred they would drop around at the Cave later tohelp with the cleaning.

  Anxious to learn how much damage had been done the previous night to Mr.Holloway's sailboat, the boys next stopped at the Webster City YachtClub. From Midge, who loitered on the dock, they learned that the sailingcraft already had been hauled to a nearby boat yard to be repaired.

  "The job will cost at least forty dollars," Midge reported. "What'sworse, the boat will be out of water for at least two or three days. Itmakes me sick!"

  "Did your father learn if it was Manheim's boat that struck us lastnight?" Dan questioned.

  "Not yet. We inquired around the clubhouse, but no one has seen theManheim speedboat the last couple of days."

  Brad had noticed a mahogany speedcraft which was plowing up the channelat half-speed. "Isn't that Manheim's boat coming now?" he demanded. "Itlooks like it to me."

  "Likewise the same one that struck us last night," Midge muttered,shading his eyes as he gazed toward the sun.

  As the three Cubs watched, the boat drew closer until they could read thelicense numbers--D 351, and see the bright gleam of her brasswork.

  "The boat that hit us had no visible license," Dan said, a littletroubled. "If it weren't for that, I'd say it was Manheim's craft thatsmashed into us."

  "Who's at the wheel?" Brad demanded. "Not Manheim."

  The operator of the boat wore a striped red and blue jersey and soiledbrown trousers. His square jaw and grizzled sun-brown face of setexpression marked him as a man of surly temper.

  As the boat slid along toward the Manheim berth, he glanced briefly atthe Cubs. Then deliberately he looked away.

  "Wonder who he is?" Midge muttered. "He doesn't resemble anyone in thatboat last night."

  "Not the operator anyway," Dan agreed. "Actually, we didn't see the othertwo fellows well enough to recognize them again."

  The Cubs kept the boat in view as it maneuvered into a reserved space atthe far end of the dock. Midge asked a club member, who loitered nearby,if the speedboat belonged to Mr. Manheim.

  "Yes, that's his boat," the club member identified it.

  "But that isn't Mr. Manheim at the wheel?"

  "No, the pilot is a fellow who works for him at Skeleton Island. A newman he hired a few months ago. I've heard him called Wilson Jabowski."

  After the club member had moved on, the three Cubs watched the Manheimboat fill its gas tank at a private pump.

  "Notice her stern," Dan whispered to his companions. "Can you see anyscratches?"

  "We're too far away," Midge returned. "But I'll bet a frosted doughnut itwas Manheim's boat that rammed us last night! I'll find out!"

  Unable to restrain himself, the boy descended three steps to the lowerlevel, there to inspect the craft's hull.

  "Hey!" the boat operator shouted as Midge bent to look closely at themahogany. "What d'you think you're doing?"

  "Nothing," Midge mumbled, startled. "Just looking."

  "Well, do your lookin' somewhere else!" the man snapped. "Mr. Manheimdoesn't want kids hangin' around his boat."

  "I'm not doing any harm," Midge defended himself. "I was just noticing afew scratches on your boat. Have you been in an accident?"

  "No," the boat operator answered gruffly. "I may have scratched themahogany a couple of days ago when I was backing out of the berth. Grazeda dock post."

  "Oh, I see," Midge said, pretending to accept the explanation. "I thoughtmaybe you might have been in a collision last night."

  "Collision! What you drivin' at, you young whelp? Trying to make out itwas Mr. Manheim's boat that run into your Dad's sailboat?"

  "I didn't say so, did I? Anyhow, how did you know of it?"

  "Heard about the accident here at the club," the boat operator retorted."Let me tell you something! This boat wasn't away from Skeleton Islandlast night! And another thing, Mr. Manheim doesn't go around smashingsailboats."

  "Who said he did?" Midge demanded, now on the defensive. "I never accusedhim."

  "No, but you're thinking it was this boat that hit yours. Oh, I heard youboys whispering! Well, get this straight! You better not go to Mr.Manheim with your complaints."

  "I'm sorry if I said anything to offend," Midge replied, his voice stony."To tell you the truth, I did think maybe it was his boat that struckours in the dark. If I've made a mistake I apologize."

  "You sure made a mistake, kid. Now get going all of you! I want to fillthis gasoline tank and get back to Skeleton Island."

  Embarrassed by the reprimand, the three Cubs took themselves to the clubwhere they sat on the veranda drinking cokes.

  "I sure made the old boy sore," Midge said between sips of the iceddrink. "I never intended to accuse him or say anything about theaccident. He snapped me up so fast."

  "Almost as if he had a guilty conscience," Dan agreed. "Maybe he heardabout the accident here at the club the way he said. Then again, maybe hedidn't."

  "Those scratches on the boat weren't very deep," Midge said thoughtfully."All in all, I guess I'd better not exercise my gums too much over thething. Dad wouldn't like it."

  Brad, who had been scanning the morning paper while his companionstalked, now uttered a startled snort.

  "Say, will you look at this!" he exclaimed, tapping a front page newsstory. "Guess what happened last night?"

  "Break it to us gently, Brad, my boy," Midge laughed.

  "It says here that a box of furs valued at $8,500 was stolen last nightfrom Pier 23. So far the police haven't traced the thieves."

  Dan relieved Brad of the newspaper and read the account for himself. Thestory related that during the early hours of the evening, a fastmotorboat had pulled alongside of Pier 23 where a box of furs had beenpiled up with other merchandise for shipment. Before the warehousewatchman had suspected what was happening, the craft with its unknownoccupants had sped away into the darkness.

  "Say, do you suppose that could have been the same boat that struck uslast night?" Dan demanded as he finished reading the story.

  "What time did the robbery occur?" Midge asked thoughtfully.

  "The story doesn't say. But you remember, the boat was showing no lights,and coming from the general direction of the docks."

  "That's true," Midge admitted, impressed. "All the same, Manheim isn'tthe type of man to get mixed up in a fur theft. In the first place, hehas plenty of money."

  "We may have been mistaken about it being the Manheim boat," Dan argued.

  "In any case, this story about the fur theft is int
eresting," Brad said,rereading it. "It looks to me as if the river pirates are getting prettybold when they can pull off a robbery practically under the eyes of thewatchman."

  "I wish we had more information," Midge remarked. "Pier 23 isn't far fromhere. Why not go there and see if we can pick up any more information."

  The proposal appealed to Brad and Dan. Finishing their drinks, theycaught a bus which dropped them off a few minutes later at the commercialarea of the river.

  Midge, who was fairly familiar with this section of the waterfront, ledhis companions toward a small warehouse whose corrugated steel door stoodslightly ajar.

  Inside, an elderly man was taking an inventory of boxes and cratesstacked against the wall. A spry, wiry little fellow with white hair andenergy that belied his sixty-nine years, he whirled around as he heardthe boys enter.

  "You startled me," he chuckled, obviously relieved. "After last night,I'm a mite jumpy."

  The Cubs noticed then that the warehouse man carried a revolver in aholster at his belt.

  "I'm Hank Hawkins, at your service," he announced cheerfully. "What can Ido for you youngsters?"

  "We'd like a little information about the robbery last night," Dan spokeup. "We're not just asking questions out of curiosity. We may have someinformation for you too."

  "You kids know something about it?"

  "We may have seen the boat that pulled away from the pier. We're notsure. What time did the robbery take place?"

  "Say, who are you kids anyhow?" the watchman demanded, without answeringthe question.

  Brad gave his name and introduced his companions, explaining that theywere Cub Scouts. "I guess you think we have our nerve barging in likethis," he added. "We read about the fur robbery in the paper, and we wantto learn the details."

  "I see." Hank sat down on a packing case to light his pipe. "Well, thereain't much to tell. The Hodur and Fameister firm sent through a box ofexpensive furs. They were to have been picked up at 10 o'clock last nightby the freighter _Albone_. At eight thirty I set out the box along withsome others that were to go. Then I stepped back into the warehouse for aminute, and it happened."

  "You say the theft occurred about eight thirty?" Dan asked thoughtfully.

  "It was about that time. Ordinarily, it wouldn't have been dark, but aheavy fog had rolled in."

  "Did you see the motorboat and the men in it?" Midge asked.

  "Caught a glimpse of 'em as they pulled away--that was all. It allhappened so fast. They had that box off the pier and were gone before Iknew what was up."

  "What sort of boat was it?" Brad inquired.

  "A 20-ft. high-powered speedboat. Mostly she was a blur in the dark. Nota light showing."

  "How many in the boat?"

  "Three, I'd say."

  The information tended to convince the Cubs that the craft was the sameone that had smashed into Mr. Holloway's sailboat.

  As they were telling Hank about the incident, a tapping sound was heardon the planking outside the door. A moment later, a blindman led by aseeing-eye dog, groped his way into the warehouse.

  "Good morning, Joe," the watchman greeted him. "How's business today?"

  "Lousy," the blindman complained. "I've sold only four packages ofpencils all morning. The sun's so hot it's wilting me. Mind if I chin fora few minutes while I cool off?"

  "Glad to have you," Hank said, guiding the man to a seat on a box. "Boys,meet Joe Matt, a friend of mine."

  The Cubs gave their own names. Feeling sorry for the man, Brad thenbought a package of pencils for a quarter. However, the blindman pocketedthe coin rather indifferently.

  "What do you hear from the cops?" he asked Hank. "Any clue as to the furthieves?"

  "Apparently it was a clean get-away. The box was insured for only halfits value and that makes it tough for Hodur and Fameister. I'm lucky Ididn't lose my job?"

  "Why should anyone blame you?" the blindman demanded. "It wasn't yourfault."

  "No, but maybe my employer will figure I should have had my eyes open alittle wider. It's the first time I've lost anything in the eighteenyears I've been workin' on the waterfront."

  Hank discussed the theft at length and then began to tell other tales ofthe waterfront which kept the Cubs enthralled. Brad, Dan, and Midgepresently found themselves drawn into the conversation. They told oftheir Cave on the hillside and the exciting treasure hunt which had ledto the discovery of Jacques lying on the beach.

  "Jacques?" the blindman interposed. "Is that his name? Must be one ofthose foreigners."

  "French, we think," Midge revealed, failing to notice the look of intentinterest in the blindman's otherwise mask-like face. "He's not much totalk."

  "Hasn't told you anything about himself?"

  "Not yet."

  "Where is the youngster now?"

  "He may be at the Cave."

  The blindman talked a few minutes more and then arose to leave. Dan alsoslid down from the packing box on which he had perched himself.

  Slight as was the movement, it disturbed the seeing-eye dog. With asnarl, he sprang at the boy.

  Startled, Dan leaped backward. The blindman uttered a sharp command.

  "Here, Rudy! Come here! Behave yourself!"

  Still growling and eyeing Dan with deep hate, the dog allowed his masterto grasp him by the leash.

  "Quite a vicious dog you have there," Brad said, edging away. "He mighthave taken a chunk out of Dan."

  "Rudy isn't vicious," the blindman denied. "Now and then he takes adislike to someone. Usually he won't attack unless he's annoyed."

  "That's encouraging," Dan said with a wry grin. "Believe me, in thefuture I'll take pains not to annoy him."

  Without apologizing for the incident, the blindman took the dog and wentoff down the wharf. For a long while, the Cubs could hear his canetapping on the planks.

  "Joe Matt isn't a bad sort after you know him," the watchman remarked,aware that the Cubs had not been favorably impressed by the man'smanners. "Being blind would make anyone out-of-sorts, I guess."

  "Sure," Brad agreed. "I suppose he's attached to that dog--though he's anugly animal. Wouldn't want to meet him on a dark night."

  "You can bet I'll give him a wide berth," Dan added with a laugh. "Rudydidn't go for me. And the feeling's mutual! By the way, Hank, how longhave you known Joe Matt?"

  "Oh, I don't remember," the watchman replied indifferently, knocking theashes from his pipe. "Six months maybe. Well, I've been spinning yarnslong enough. Got to do a little work now."

  Accepting the remark as a dismissal, Dan, Brad and Midge said goodbye,and left the warehouse. At the bus line, they debated, and finallydecided to make an appearance at the Cave.

  "Mr. Holloway and Fred will need some help cleaning up the place," Dandeclared. "Also, if Jacques is there, I'd like to talk to him again."

  "He seemed to go for you more than anyone else," Brad said, signaling toa bus driver. "Maybe you can get him to loosen up a bit."

  The sun was high overhead as the three Cubs alighted from the bus tenminutes later. Crossing the beach, they climbed to the Cave.

  Entering, they saw at once that something was amiss. Mr. Holloway andFred were there alone, their brooms discarded. Rather dejectedly they satat a table, studying an object which was hidden from view.

  "Hi!" Dan greeted the pair. "Where's Jacques? We thought you werebringing him here."

  "We did," replied Fred significantly.

  The other Cubs looked quickly about the disordered room. Plainly Jacqueswas nowhere in the Cave.

  "Where is he?" Brad demanded. "Don't keep us in suspense. He didn't takea turn for the worse?"

  Mr. Hatfield shook his head.

  "No, Jacques appeared fine when last we saw him. This will explain." Hethrust a note into Brad's hand. "The lad left it here a few minutes ago."

  In a large, hard-to-read scrawl, the boy had written:

  "Thanks for everything. Goodbye."

  Beneath the message appeared a crudely drawn Wolf
cub, its sharp earspointing to the final word: "Jacques."