Every Man for Himself - Herbert Joseph Moorhouse

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stonesthrow. He edged the canoe forward gently, close to the bank, feeling his way toward the familiar landing.

      And there was not one thing to prepare him for what immediately followed. A voice which seemed to 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!"

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      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 glad to have you begin by telling me who was in that launch? Why all the excitement? Where do you want to go now?"

      "You are inquisitive enough to be a detective. Are you?"

      "In that case would I need to ask where we were going?" countered Kendrick. "I believe you said this had been the best haul yet. Whose house was it this time?"

      She remained silent. When she spoke again Kendrick fancied a nervous note in her voice.

      "Will you please explain how you happened to be waiting for me at that particular spot?"

      "Bless your heart, madam, I wasn't waiting for you! I happen to live nearby and was getting ready to step ashore when you grabbed my canoe and ordered me to keep quiet. I did so. Here we are."

      "Your discretion was commendable," she approved. "It certainly is most extraordinary. I don't see where on earth—I guess my escort has taken French leave." She tried to laugh carelessly, but she could not hide the fact that she was greatly disturbed. "Will you paddle me across to the city?"

      "And leave poor Joe out in the cold gray fog? Don't you think it would be better to turn back and give a holler or two?"

      "Never mind him. He has gone home already very likely. I will pay you one dollar to paddle me over. Is that satisfactory?"

      "It all depends. Supposing I refuse?"

      "Then I would have to ask you to step into the water and swim to shore while I do my own paddling and keep down expenses."

      "Presupposing, of course, that you own the canoe."

      "It is too bad it is so dark," she retorted impatiently, "or you would know that a revolver is pointed straight at you this very moment."

      Kendrick laughed in pure enjoyment of the situation.

      "My dear young lady,"—he had decided that she was young and he wondered if she were pretty—"you force me to the conclusion that either you are bluffing outrageously or you are a desperate character! Please don't be frightened. I'm neither Steve Brodie, the Bridge Jumper, nor the famous Jack Dalton, and in this age of safety razors Bluebeards are extra muros. This isn't the opening spasm of some blood-and-thunder novel, you know. We're right here on Toronto Bay where one can get into trouble for not showing a light after dark. Will you oblige me by unhooking the lamp at the bow there and passing it back to me so that I can light up. I promise then to start earning that dollar without further delay."

      He heard her fumbling with it. There was a splash in the water, a little cry of well feigned dismay.

      "Oh, how careless of me! It—slipped out of my hand."

      Phil grinned cheerfully as he began to dip his paddle, interest quickened. It was a neat sidestepping of his inconsiderate attempt to scrutinize her. She had taken the first trick.

      "You do yourself an injustice, madam. Are you usually so careful when you are careless?"

      "You have not told me your name yet," she reminded him, apparently more at ease now that she knew he intended to paddle her across the bay.

      "My name? It's an Indian name—Watha—Hy. A. Watha, at your service, and I am very fond of canoeing. What's yours?"

      "You need hardly ask that, Mr. Hiawatha, when you knew my sister,

      

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