"It looks as if you suspected me of leading him astray. Now, in a sense, that's hardly fair to either of us. Don't you think your father has a will of his own?"

"I know you have some power over him, and I beg you not to use it."

Clay pulled out a chair.

"I think you had better sit down while we talk this thing over. To begin with, your father and I are old friends; we have faced hard times together and shared very rough luck. It seems to me that gives us some claim on each other."

"That is not what I mean," Ruth said firmly.

Clay was determined to spare her as far as he could.

"Then, if you suspect some other influence, I'd better warn you that you're too young and inexperienced to form a reliable opinion. You hear something that startles you, and, without understanding it, you make a blind guess. Take it from me that your father is known as one of the straightest business men in this State." He paused and laughed. "In fact, he's getting too particular for me. I'm 'most afraid I'll have to drop him."

"That is what I want you to do; I mean as a business partner."

"Then you wouldn't quite bar me out as a private acquaintance?"

"No," Ruth answered slowly. "Somehow, I feel that you might prove a good friend."

"Thanks. Now I want you to listen. I'm not going to defend my commercial character. I've taken up a good many risky deals and put them through, fighting the men who meant to down me as best I could; but all my business hasn't been a raid on somebody else's property. In fact, you can't play the bold pirate too often. Very well; now and then, when I was doing an innocent trade, I wanted a respectable a.s.sociate as a kind of guarantee, and asked your father to stand in. He's known as a straight man, and my having him helped to disarm suspicion; I'll admit that I found him useful in that respect. I hope I've said enough to satisfy you?"

Though his manner was humorous, Ruth felt somewhat comforted. His explanation sounded plausible, and she was glad to make the most of it; but it did not banish all her doubts.

"I don't want him to have anything to do with your northern trip," she persisted.

"Why?"

Ruth hesitated, and Clay felt moved to sympathy. There was distress and perplexity in her face, but what touched him most was something in her manner that suggested confidence in his ability to help her.

"I'm afraid; I feel that no good can come of it," she said with an appealing look. "You mustn't let him have any part in it."

"Very well." Clay leaned forward, speaking in an earnest tone. "Set your mind at rest. You have my word that your father shall have no share in what I hope to do at the wreck. What's more, he doesn't know all my plans about her. There's nothing in them that can injure him; on the contrary, if I can carry them out, it will be to his benefit, in a way that he doesn't expect and that you could find no fault with."

Ruth felt that he was speaking the truth; giving her a pledge of greater importance than she could gage. His manner had impressed her, and she was conscious of keen relief.

"Thank you," she said, getting up. "You must forgive my frankness-it seemed needful."

"It's a compliment, because it shows that, after all, you have some faith in me." He added, with a smile, "You won't regret it."

Ruth left him with a lighter heart. She did not know whether she had been too hard on Clay or not, but she felt that she could trust him.

CHAPTER XXVI-AN UNEXPECTED DELAY

As soon as Aynsley joined her at Victoria, the handsome schooner-yacht, with its auxiliary engines, got under way. For the first day or two the wind was fair, but although she spread a good deal of canvas, Clay insisted on keeping up a full head of steam.

"She'd slip along fast enough with her propeller disconnected and the gaff-topsails set," Aynsley expostulated. "Keeping the fires going is a waste of coal."

"I'm willing to meet the bill," Clay replied. "Guess I'm used to hustling, and I like to feel I'm getting there."

"We may get there too soon," Aynsley persisted. "I expect we'll find ice about the island."

"Then we can wait until it clears. Keep her going at her best clip to please me."

Aynsley promised to do so, though his father's eagerness made him thoughtful. As a matter of fact, Clay was tensely impatient to begin work on the wreck. He had so far never spoiled an undertaking by undue haste, but he had now a foreboding that if he delayed his attempt he might be too late. His life was threatened, and he must finish the work he had on hand while there was an opportunity.

When they lost sight of Vancouver Island the wind drew ahead, and, furling sail, the yacht proceeded under steam. For two days she made a satisfactory run, and then, as the breeze freshened and the sea got up, her speed slackened and, burdened by her heavy masts, she plunged viciously through the white-topped combers. The weather did not improve, and on the third afternoon Clay stood on the sloppy after-deck impatiently looking about. Gray mist obscured the horizon, and long ranks of frothing seas loomed up ahead. The vessel lurched over them, rolling wildly, burying her bows in the foam, which swept in across her low bulwarks and poured out through the waist gangway in streaky cataracts. The sooty cloud from her funnel streamed far to leeward, and Clay could feel her engines throbbing; but he saw that she was making poor speed, and he beckoned to Aynsley, who came aft and joined him.

"I've been watching that log since lunch, and she's doing very badly,"

he said, indicating the dial of a bra.s.s instrument on the taffrail.

"There's hardly sea enough to account for it, and they seem to be firing up."

"Saltom is having some trouble with his condenser," Aynsley explained.

"As you're anxious to get on, he didn't want to stop, but the vacuum's falling."

"Then I'll go down and see him; but I'm not an engineer, so you'd better come along."

They climbed down a greasy iron ladder, and found a man in overalls kneeling beside a big iron casting in the bottom of the engine room.

Near by piston-rod and connecting-rod flashed with a silvery glimmer between the throbbing cylinders and the whirling cranks that flung a shower of oil about, and floor-plates and frames vibrated in time to the rhythmic clangor. The engineer held an open lamp, its pale flame flickering to and fro as the vessel rolled, while he watched the index of the vacuum gage.

"You have lost half an inch since I was down," said Aynsley, stooping beside him.

"She's surely worrying me," replied the engineer. "I'll have to let up on feeding from the hot-well before long, and we haven't too much fresh water."

"Are you satisfied it's not the air-pumps?"

"Can't see anything wrong with them. I suspect there's something jambing the main inlet-valve, and the tubes may be foul, though those I took out last season were clean."

"Why didn't you sc.r.a.p the blamed condenser if you doubted it?" Clay broke in. "I haven't cut your bills, and this boat has got to go when I want her."

His tone was sharp, and the man looked up with a start.

"I don't waste my employer's money," he began; but Clay cut him short.

"Let that go! She won't run, you say. What are you going to do about it?"

Aynsley was surprised. Clay had a quick temper, but he generally knew how to keep it in check, and now his voice was hoa.r.s.e with rage.

"I'd like to stop her right away and see what's wrong, but it's a long job to strip a surface-condenser and these castings are heavy to move about."

"She'd fall off into the trough of the sea when her propeller stopped, and the rolling would make his work very difficult," Aynsley explained.

"Well," Clay said shortly, "what do you suggest?"

"I'd like a day or two to overhaul her in, up some inlet where we'd get smooth water," the engineer replied.