Every Man for Himself | Page 6

be almost at his elbow spoke to him
out of the darkness in low hurried tones--a woman's voice! At the same
time he felt the bow of the canoe pulled in against the bank. Before he
could recover sufficiently from his surprise to speak she had stepped
aboard and he could hear her adjusting a cushion beneath her knees.
Then came her tense whispered warning:
"Stick right here and don't talk. We haven't time to get away, but they
can't see us. Sh! Here they come!"
CHAPTER II
BLIND MAN'S BUFF
With difficulty Phil Kendrick restrained a desire to laugh outright. The
totally unexpected situation in which he found himself paralyzed his
speech and by the time he had recovered from the first shock of it a
further development held him silent. With senses sharpened he listened
in the dark to approaching footsteps and a murmur of voices, his
wonder growing as he recognized the unmistakable accents of Stinson,
his uncle's personal servant--Stinson who, by all the rules of valet
service, should be up at Sparrow Lake at that very moment with the
Honorable Milton Waring.
A key was being fitted into the padlock of the Waring boathouse. The
planking creaked as the strangers tip-toed inside. There appeared to be
several of them. A sloshing of water as they boarded the big launch,
then the first fitful rustlings of the engine as it was turned over. Soon its
loud staccatto rose above the wail of the foghorn.
Had the house been robbed? Phil dismissed this idea at once. No
valuables likely to invite burglary were kept at the Island residence,
even had Stinson's long and faithful service not placed him beyond
suspicion. Probably the valet had slipped away on a little holiday and
had been entertaining a few of his friends. With paddle shoved into the
mud to hold the canoe steady against the embankment so that it would
not capsize in the wash of the launch, Kendrick decided to sit still and

await developments.
The launch passed presently, so close to them that he held his breath.
One of the occupants was talking in low tones. Somebody laughed and
said: "That's a good one, Nickleby." A third voice spoke in gruff
admonition: "Shut up, you fellows! No names, please." After
that--silence, except for the slow chug of the engine and the purl of
water, diminishing. They were gone.
A breath of evident relief came from the unknown passenger in the
canoe.
"Pretty close, that," she whispered. "I guess we can go now, but it
would be better not to talk till we get out on the bay."
Without a word Kendrick shoved off with his paddle and turned the
nose of the canoe for the Yacht Club channel. The launch had gone
straight down the main canal to the ferry pier before heading out into
the bay and all sound of it presently was lost. He strained his eyes to
catch a glimpse of his mysterious companion, forgetting for the
moment that even had it been broad daylight the fog would have
concealed her.
He tried to decide what was the best thing to do. What sort of a game
was this that he had stumbled upon? What was this woman doing over
at the Island at 2.30 a.m. in weather like this? Who was she? Why was
she spying upon Stinson's little party, if that was what she had been up
to? It was a situation with which any young man of zest and
imagination might find interest in dallying. How should he begin?
"Pass me a paddle, Joe. It's all right to talk now." She gave a little laugh
of satisfaction and he noted that her voice was contralto and well
modulated. "This has been the best night's work yet. Did you think I
was never coming?"
Kendrick cleared his throat.
"Excuse me, madam, but there appears to be some mistake." He could

hear her startled gasp. "It is evident that you have got into the wrong
canoe in the dark. I am neither Joseph nor any of his brethren; so he
must be waiting for you still. Do you want me to turn back?"
"Wh-why,--who are you?" she managed to gasp in an alarmed voice.
"The same to you, madam, and many of them," laughed Kendrick
easily. "There's no occasion to feel frightened as I have just had a meal.
Anyone is liable to lose the way in a fog like this and I will count it a
privilege to help you locate Joe. He must be somewhere about if he was
waiting for you."
"Who are you?" she repeated more evenly.
"The owner of this canoe which you have commandeered so
successfully. Please pardon me for pointing out that it is your lead,
madam. I would be