THE week before the sailing of the Wear Jack was a busy time for the Fisher Syndicate and business was not expedited owing to the fact that Candon had to be kept hidden. The red-bearded one seemed happy enough, spending most of his time in the engine room smoking cigarettes. At nights, safe with Hank in the “saloon,” his mind disclosed itself in his conversation.

No, this was no wasp let in on them by Barrett or the Club boys. The mind of Candon, as revealed to Hank, was as free from crookedness as the eyes through which it looked, and on most topics from the League of Nations to Ella Wheeler Wilcox, it was sound. And it was not unlike the mind of Hank. It was self-educated and their enthusiasms, from the idea of Universal Brotherhood to the idea of the sanctity of womanhood, matched, mostly.

Candon, from what one could gather, had been a rolling stone, like Hank, but he gave little away about himself and he was quite frank about it.

“I’d just as soon forget myself,” said he. “I’ve been in a good many mix-ups and I’ve missed a fortune twice through my own fault, but I’ve come through with all my teeth and no stomach worries and we’ll leave it at that.”

Barrett’s stores came on board and were stowed, and Hank, through a boarding-house keeper, got his crew, four Chinamen all of the same tong, all Lees, and bossed by a gentleman rejoicing in the name of Lee Wong Juu. Champagne Charley, Hank labeled him. They came tripping on board with their chests the night before starting, vanished like shades down the foc’sle hatch and were seen no more.

Hank, standing on the deck with George, heaved a sigh of contentment. “Well, that’s done,” said he. “There’s nothing more to take on board and we’re all ready for the pull out in the morning.”

“What time do you propose to start?” asked the other.

“Sunup. Barrett has got it into his head, somehow, we’re going at noon. I didn’t tell you, but I got wind he’d arranged for a tug with a brass band to lead us out and josh us. Can you see his face when he finds us gone?”

They went below where the cabin lamp was lit, with Candon reading a newspaper under it.

“The Chinks are come,” said Hank, taking his seat at the table, and fetching out his pipe. “There’s nothing more to come in but the mud-hook. Well, how do you feel, now we’re starting?”

“Bully,” said Candon. “I was beginning to feel like a caged canary. You chaps don’t know what it’s been the last week. Well, let’s get finished. There’s some truck still to be stowed in the after cabin and I want to do a bit more tinkering at the engine. There’s a day’s work on that engine—them cylinder rings were sure made in Hades.”

“Well, you can leave it,” said Hank. “I’m putting out at sunup. I don’t count on that engine and you’ll have time to tinker with her on the way down.” He stopped suddenly, raised his head, and held up a finger. The night was warm and the skylight full open. In the dead silence that fell on the cabin they could hear through the open skylight the far-away rattle of a cargo winch working under the electrics, the whistle of a ferry boat and away, far away, though great as the voice of Behemoth, the boo of a deep sea steamer’s siren.

“Yes,” began Hank again, gliding to the door of the saloon as he spoke, “you can tinker with it on the way down.” He vanished, and the others, taking his cue, kept up the talk. Then they heard him pounce.

“What you doing here?”

“Hullo! me—I ain’t doin’ nothin’—what you gettin’ at? You lea’ me go.”

“What you doing here, you low down scow-hunker? Answer up before I scrag you.”

“Tell you I was doin’ nothin’. I dropped aboard to see if I couldn’t borry a light, seein’ the shine of your skylight.”

“I’ll give you a light.”

Then they heard the quite distinctive sounds of a man being kicked off the ship, blasphemous threats from the wharf-side—silence.

A minute later Hank appeared, his lean face lit with the light of battle.

“Popped my head on deck,” cried Hank, “and saw a fellow on the wharf-side—I’ll swear it was Jake. He lit, and then I saw another one hunched down by the skylight. You heard me kicking him off.”

“Who’s Jake?” asked Candon, who had taken his seat again at the table.

“Watchman I fired for handing me lies more’n a fortnight ago.”

“Well,” said Candon, “the other man was Mullins, if I have my ears on my head.”

“Who’s Mullins?”

“Black Mullins, McGinnis’ left hand. Boys, we’ve gotta get out. How’s the wind?”

“Nor’west,” said Hank.

“And there’s a moon. Boys, we’ve gotta get right out now, get the whaleboat over and the Chinks ready for a tow clear of the wharf. Let’s see, the whole of the Heart crowd will be over at Tiburon, the old Heart will be in dry dock, for she’d started a butt and there’s weeks’ work on her, so they won’t be able to use her to chase us for another fortnight, get me? Well, see now, that guy will be back in Tiburon somewhere about two hours or more and he’ll rouse the hive. He’ll have seen me, lookin’ down through the skylight, and he’ll know you’re starting to-morrow. Not having a ship to chase us, they’ll board us. You’ll have a boatload of gunmen alongside somewhere about two in the morning.”

“You mean to say they’ll board us?” cried George.

“Yep.”

“But what about the police?”

“Police! Nothing. Why they’d beat it in a quick launch before the cops had begun to remember they weren’t awake.”

“Well, let’s notify the police and have an ambush ready for them.”

“Not me,” said Candon. “I don’t want to have any dealings with the law. Why if McGinnis and his crowd were taken, they’d swear Lord knows what about me. Besides I’m not friends with the bulls. I’m no crook, I’ve never looked inside a jail, but I’ve seen enough good men done in by the law to make me shy of it.”

“But see here,” said Hank. “I can’t take her out at night. I don’t know the lights, I’d pile her up sure.”

“I’ll take her out,” said Candon, “I’d take her out with my eyes shut. It’s near full moon and we’ll have the ebb, what more do you want?”

Hank turned to George.

“Let’s get out,” said George. “We don’t want a mix-up with those people; if we get piled, why we have the boat.”

Hank turned to Candon.

“You’re sure you can do it?”

“Sure.”

“Then come on,” said Hank. He led the way on deck.

The wharf was deserted. To the left of them lay the bay, silver under the moonlight and spangled here and there with the lights of shipping at anchor. Whilst Hank trimmed the side lights and Candon attended to the binnacle light, George went forward to rout out the Chinks. He found them finishing their supper. Lee Wong Juu was their cook as well as boss, he had lit the galley stove on his own initiative and made tea. They had brought provisions enough for supper. Their chests were arranged in order, everything was in apple-pie trim and as they sat on their bunk sides with their tin mugs in their hands and their glabrous faces slewed round on the intruder, they looked not unlike a company of old maids at a tea party.

George gave his order and they rose, put away their mugs and followed him on deck.

The whaleboat had cost Hank ninety-five dollars, second-hand. It was not a real whaleboat, either in size, make or fittings, but good enough for their purpose, carvel built, four-oared, with tins fixed beneath the thwarts to help float her in case of a capsize.

Candon was standing by the boat as George came on deck.

In the rapid moments that had come on them since the spy had been kicked off the ship, Candon had gradually gained supremacy, without effort, one might say. The man had arisen and was rising to the emergency like a swimmer on a wave, bearing the others with him. He was giving orders now quietly and without fuss.

They got the boat afloat with the four Chinks in her, and, the tow rope having been fixed, Candon got into her, having cast off the mooring ropes. Hank took the wheel of the schooner. George, standing silent beside Hank, heard the creak and splash of the oars. Then came the chug and groan of the tow-rope tightening, then slowly, almost imperceptibly the bowsprit of the Wear Jack began to veer away from the wharf. And now to port and starboard lay the glittering harbour water and astern the long line of the wharves began to show with the electrics blazing here and there where they were working cargo overtime. As the wharves receded, they stole into a world of new sounds and lights. San Francisco began to show her jewelry, glittering ribbons of electrics, crusts of gems; on the port bow the lights of Oakland, far across the water, answered to the lights of San Francisco, and across the scattered silver ferry boats showed like running jewels. The wind from the north west came steady and filled with the breath of the unseen sea.

“Lord!” said Hank, “how much further is he taking us? Seems like as if he were making for Oakland.”

“He knows what he is doing,” said George.

“Sure.”

They held on.

A Chinese junk passed, with her lateen sail bellying to the wind, and then came along a yacht, lighted and riotous as a casino, with a jazz band playing “Suwanee.” It passed and the great quietude of the night resumed. Still the tow kept on.

Then came a voice from alongside. Candon had cast off the rope and was coming on board.

To George, just in that moment, the whole scene and circumstance came as an impression never to be forgotten; the silence following the casting off of the rope, the vast harbour surface, glittering like a ball-room floor, where the helpless Wear Jack lay adrift, the lights of ’Frisco and the lights of Oakland and the secrecy and necessity for despatch lest, drifting as they were, they should be side-swiped by some Bay boat in a hurry. But he had little time for thought. Candon was on board, the boat was got in and the slack of the tow-rope, and Candon at the wheel began to give his orders with speed but without hurry.

The mainsail rose slatting against the stars, then the foresail; a Chink cast the gaskets off the jib, whilst the Wear Jack, trembling like an undecided and frightened thing, seemed to calm down and take heart. The slatting of the canvas ceased. They were under way.

Candon seemed steering for Oakland, then the Oakland lights swung to starboard and passed nearly astern. They were making for Alcatraz. The lights of San Francisco were now to port and the city showed immense, heaving itself against the moonlight; Nobs Hill, Telegraph Hill, Russian Hill, all ablaze beneath the moon, slashed with lines of light. Away beyond Angel Island showed the lights of Tiburon.

Right under Alcatraz, Candon put the helm hard over; the canvas thrashed and filled again and the Wear Jack settled down on her new tack, heading for the Presidio. Close in, the helm went over again, the canvas fought the wind and then filled on the tack for Lime Point, the northern gate post of the Golden Gate.

The breath of the sea now came strong, spray came inboard from the meeting of wind and ebb tide and the Wear Jack began to thrash at the tumble coming in from the bar.

Under Lime Point she came about on the port tack, taking the middle passage. Then beyond Pont Bonito came the tumble of the bar. The wind was not more than a steady sailing breeze but the long rollers coming in from Japan gave them all the trouble they wanted, though the Wear Jack, proving her good qualities, shipped scarcely a bucket full. Then the sea smoothed down to a glassy breeze-spangled swell and the schooner, with the loom of the land far on her port quarter, spread her wings beneath the moon for the south.