CHAPTER XX.

It was a critical moment; both men were cool and spoke in deliberate tones.

They stood alone: well toward the after-deck, while the men were all busy forward and below handling the contraband cargo.

The night was calm; the sea was unruffled; not a cloud intervened between sea and moon and stars, and yet two human lives hung in the balance--the lives of two brave men.

The detective was greatly disappointed. He had not accomplished all he desired. He had hoped not to be discovered until the schooner landed her cargo, and he had fallen upon the rendezvous and the mode of transport to the city. Still he had obtained a large amount of information, facts which he could work up; and could he only get ash.o.r.e alive, he would be able to run down close on the real backers of the contraband business, who were a band of foreigners who only made their money by illicit traffic in New York, to spend it abroad.

The chances, however, for getting ash.o.r.e were very slim. He had dared a little too much, and yet at that very moment the undaunted officer was playing a deep game.

Under a close reef the boat was heading in toward sh.o.r.e, and the detective was operating to gain time, as every ten minutes increased his chances of eventual escape.

After the detective's declaration, "Your own life will pay the forfeit!" there followed a moment's silence Vance would not break; time to him was precious while the yacht lay upon her inward course.

"You are a traitor, Ballard, you are a Government spy!"

"Who says so?"

"The charge has been made."

"Let me meet the man who makes the charge."

"And then?"

"I have made my demand. I am to receive your word that. I shall have a fair chance to settle the matter with him."

"Your request is reasonable."

"It is."

"Why not join us and then make your demand?"

"I will never join a crew with that man; this is a trumped-up charge against me to satisfy private malice."

"Why does your accuser seek to accuse you falsely?"

"I am too much of a man to bring my private quarrel to public notice; captain, the matter stands here; you know I'm no tyro; as matters stand, I am doomed; against you and your crew out here at sea I've no chance for my life; but as the chances have turned, I can guarantee fair play ash.o.r.e."

"You shall meet your accuser."

"And have a fair show?"

"Yes."

"I have your word, captain?"

"You have my word."

"Good enough, you have saved your life! I'll trust your word; if you go back on me, may the sharks soon crunch your living bones."

"You stand here, I'll bring the man aft."

"Good enough."

The captain went forward; the detective stood calm and patient, but his eyes were upon the master of the "Nancy." He saw Denman speak to the men, and then he saw the crew start in a body toward the afterdeck. Denman had proved false, the smuggler had forfeited his word.

"It's now or never," muttered the detective, and he sprung beside the rudder port and stood upon the stern rail. His form towered up through the night like an apparition, as he called in a loud tone:

"You and I will meet again, Denman. Sol Burton is a liar."

Head first the intrepid detective dove from the vessel down into the water, and when he came to the surface he was beyond range, as the yacht was moving along with moderate speed in one direction, while our hero was swimming under water in an opposite course.

"Lower away the boat!" shouted Sol Burton.

The men ran to obey, but at that moment lights were seen, and one of the men shouted:

"It's a cutter!"

Ike Denman heard the latter shout, and commanded:

"Hold fast there the boats!"

The crew had not time to take up a boat when the cutter was bearing down upon them.

"That man can never get ash.o.r.e," said an old tar; "No living man in full toggery can go over the side of this boat and ever come unaided out of the sea!"

"The cutter may pick him up," suggested Sol Burton.

"More likely to pick us up! No, no, he'll be down on the bottom before the cutter gets around, and she will not run within five miles of where he went over, if she heads her course to overhaul us."

"It's not a cutter," said Sol Burton.

"Well, let it go so; that man Ballard is with the angels by this time," came the response.

Meantime the detective was moving like a fish through the calm waters toward the sh.o.r.e.

It was a smooth sea, and only a fifteen-mile swim, and he had gone aboard the yacht prepared for the venture.

When Spencer Vance sprung overboard, he was oiled from his ears to his heels, and his clothing was ready to be peeled down to an oil-skin under-suit, lined in the inner side with soft wool.

Like a fish he cut through the waters, and his heart was as brave as his sweeping stroke, as he propelled himself forward toward she sh.o.r.e.

"It's all right, Johnny," he muttered, as he spurted some sea water from between his lips. "I'll keep my word. I'll interview Ike Denman when he is not looking for me; and, as to Sol Burton, I'll catch that man some day!"

The detective swam along merrily, and, in less than four hours after having leaped from the yacht, he crawled upon the beach, and lay down in the warm sand to rest, burying himself like a mole; and there he lay for over an hour, when he rose to his feet, and started to walk down the coast. He was not sure of the distance he would be compelled to travel, but was a.s.sured as to the direction he was to take.