# Beyond the Limit

Extracted from Sunset magazine, April 1925, pp. 18–21; 81.
Beyond the Limit
By Erle Stanley Gardner
Illustrated by Henry Luhrs
As they swung again to the crest, Sumpter strained his great body upward and repeated the cry
FOG—gray, silent, dripping fog slipped over the smooth surface of the slumbering ocean. A yacht lazily rose and fell on the long swells, her huge, white sails stretching up into the thick mist—calm, silent, majestic. Occasionally a faint noise was swallowed up by the enveloping walls of silence—the “slap”, “slap”, of waves against the bow—the slow creak of a block—the “drip”, “drip”, of moisture from the boom—
Suddenly a hoarse siren boomed through the vapor—again, louder, nearer—there sounded the muffled throb of engines, the hissing of a mighty prow cutting the water; the curtain of mist parted before the towering bow of a great steamer, slicing through the water at terrific speed—a hoarse shout from a lookout, a jangling of bells, the great sides of the ship, studded with port-holes raced by and was swallowed up in the fog. A swirl of water swept upon the little yacht, rocked it violently, then subsided and once more the boat nodded upon the long, lazy swells.
On board the yacht a man of about fifty, alert, well-knit, walked aft, his keen, gray eyes twinkling with excitement.
“Well, Jan, that was a close call. She sure was travelin'—full speed ahead, fog or no fog.”
A slender, graceful girl with short bobbed hair, white duck shirt open at the throat, trousers of the same material, feet neatly encased in white, rubber-soled shoes, turned a pair of flashing black eyes toward the man.
“I tried to get her name, but the fog was too thick. To think of a captain driving a ship through a fog like this at full speed! Why—it's a crime! He missed us by inches!”
The man laughed.
“Not quite that close, Jan, but too close for comfort. Funny we didn't hear her siren before. Not that we could have got out of her way.”
Harrison G. Colton, retired millionaire, yachting enthusiast and adventurer, did not seem to share his daughter's indignation.
“Forget about it, Jan. She missed us, that's enough. I wonder if—”
He stopped and peered intently into the fog.
His daughter, holding the wheel, turned and followed his gaze.
Something black floated upon the surface of the water, progressed toward the yacht in a series of steady, rhythmic lunges—the head of a swimmer. A moment more and the shoulders could be discerned swinging in a powerful, unhurried stroke.
THE man, clad in a suit of light underwear, caught the rope the yachtsman threw to him, clambered up the side of the boat, easily, gracefully and stood dripping on the deck, a huge figure of a man, powerfully muscled, heavy of chest, lean of waist, steady, gray eyes calmly scrutinizing the world from beneath a pair of black brows.
The girl, unembarrassed, regarded him with frank interest, eyes shining, lips slightly parted.
“Why, you must—must have jumped overboard from that steamer.” The man smiled, a slow, good-natured smile.
“Can I borrow some clothes and work a passage?” he asked of the owner.
Mr. Colton had been keenly scrutinizing the newcomer.
“Come below and I'll fix you up as to the clothes. As to the passage—we're bound for nowhere in particular, are provisioned for four months, and I'll be hanged if I put in to port for any man—I'm sick of civilization, and I'm on this cruise to get the taste out of my mouth.”
The man nodded, a grave, dignified nod of acquiescence.
“Thank you,” he muttered ambiguously, and followed the owner below.
Janice Colton, left at the wheel, looked up into the gray fog.
“Of all things!” she said.
The man looked strangely incongruous in Mr. Colton's clothing. His wrists and ankles seemed fairly to burst forth. He gave his name as George Sumpter, his occupation as a “free-lance adventurer” and beyond that gave no information whatever.
“Of course,” he said, “I shall take the first opportunity to leave the yacht. I wouldn't think of spoiling your trip, and I certainly realize that if you had wanted any guests on this cruise you'd have invited them.”
It was very evident that he was a gentleman. It was equally evident that he desired to make no explanation concerning the reason which prompted him to jump overboard from the steamer and trust himself to the heaving waters of the Pacific, some fifteen miles from the California coast.
“My daughter and I were speculating as to what steamer that was,” ventured Mr. Colton. He paused.
“I didn't get her name,” drawled Sumpter.
Harrison G. Colton, shrewd student of character, smiled a bit quizzically and dropped the subject. Janice, however, failed to notice the significant reticence of the reply.
“Why, you must have purchased a ticket and secured reservations!” she exclaimed impulsively.
Again a slow, good-natured smile.
As it happened, Miss Colton, I wasn't bothered about transportation or reservation. Those details were carried out for me with rare consideration, and I simply stepped aboard.”
This time Janice noticed Sumpter's unwillingness to be questioned, noticed and resented it.
“Oh yes! I see,” she flared, “and so, fearing the trip might prove monotonous, you stripped to your, er, underwear and stepped overboard. How delightfully simple—and logical.”
“Janice!” reproved her father.
Sumpter again smiled.
“A sure cure for ennui. And so you're on a four months' cruise, Mr. Colton?”
The millionaire hesitated a moment, then, apparently deciding that Sumpter's secretiveness could not be better rebuked than by answering the question at length, made a brief outline of the reasons which had brought about the unusual cruise.
“I said we were provisioned for four months. I don't know that I'll take a cruise of that length, but I do know that I won't put into port until I get good and ready. Civilization makes me sick. Automobiles, dictating machines, telephones, street cars, banks, and money, money, money. Every one is money-mad, selfish. Here I am worth—well worth enough so that I can do what I want to, and I've been a slave to my money. The very extent of my property interests has caused me to be constantly on the go. A secretary at my elbow, a private wire to the stock exchange—
“Why, my daughter here is almost a stranger to me. Ever since her mother died she's been in boarding school and college. Now that she's graduated, I just made up my mind that I'd quit. I've finished with the whole money-grubbing system. That is, until I get tired of resting and watching nature. The wireless receiving set is my only link with civilization. I've violated all maritime rules by changing the name of the yacht after I put out to sea, and nobody even knows where I am, they don't have any idea that I'm aboard a yacht at all. My secretary thinks I'm in a sanitarium somewhere with a nervous breakdown threatened.”
Sumpter scanned the yacht with the eye of an expert.
“Looks like it might be a little risky for just you two out here like this. Must be pretty hard to handle in heavy weather.”
Colton laughed. “We don't handle her in heavy weather. We aren't trying to get anywhere, and if it gets stormy we'll throw out a sea-anchor, heave to, and let it blow. I used to do a lot of sailing, and Janice is no novice, but we're not expecting anything very heavy this time of year.” Janice had been an attentive listener.
With a series of ripping explosions, the launch seemed to shoot forward in the water
“Now that we all know all about each other, we seem quite well acquainted, Mr. Sumpter, don't we!”
Sumpter laughed a deep, boyish laugh, and threw up his hands, acknowledging that the sarcasm had hit home.
“Kamerad!” he said.
As it happened, Janice's curiosity was not destined to remain long unsatisfied. That evening, as the three sat in the main cabin, Colton tuned in his magnificent receiving radio, and the party listened to a concert from one of the big broadcasting stations.
Following a musical number, the announcer stated that the next feature would be the news events of the day. There followed several paragraphs of national news, and then, startlingly clear, the voice from the loud-speaker reported:
“Suicide or Escape? George L. Sumter, who was recently arrested in San Diego for murder, and who was being taken by a posse of officers to San Francisco for trial, jumped overboard from the Sea Queen some time between eleven this morning and one in the afternoon. He worked his way through the porthole of a locked stateroom while the boat was some fifteen miles from land. It is presumed he committed suicide; but he is a wonderful swimmer, and it may well be that he was able to swim ashore, or that some small yacht was waiting for him at a designated spot. There was a thick fog at the time of the discovery of Sumpter's escape, and Captain Anderson refused to alter the course of the boat or to make any search.
“Sumpter is about twenty-five years of age, tall, well-muscled, black hair, gray eyes; weight, two hundred and ten. If he has escaped and is not a suicide he will be very desperate, and persons who may meet up with him are warned to take no chances.”
The speaker then branched off into news of international politics. Within the little cabin the eyes of the owner and his daughter turned to their guest.
In Janice's eyes was a look of startled incredulity—a look which finally became one of suspicion—and then melted into one of sympathy.
Her father's eyes expressed a certain hard, quizzical humor, a look which became more pronounced as the cabin clock ticked off the seconds and Sumpter made no attempt to deny or explain.
At length Colton arose and shut off the radio.
“Sumpter, eh?” he muttered meditatively, “George L. Sumpter, wanted for murder—and aboard my yacht.”
“Daddy, I don't believe it!” exclaimed Janice warmly.
Sumpter flashed her a quick look, impulsively drew in his breath as though about to speak, then hesitated, looked at Mr. Colton—
“I presume I may smoke?” he said, reaching toward the box of cigarettes which lay open upon the table.
Colton nodded, his eyes still upon Sumpter's face and still retaining their look of whimsical humor.
Sumpter tapped the cigarette gently upon his thumb nail, struck a match and inhaled a long draught of smoke which he gently exhaled through his nostrils.
With something of a flourish, the owner arose, returned to the radio, pressed a button, and stepped to his chair, apparently giving entire attention to the music which came pouring into the cabin through the horn of the loud-speaker. Plainly his action showed that he considered the subject closed.
For more than an hour they sat. Colton listening to the radio, absorbed in it; Sumpter smoking intermittently, maintaining absolute silence. Janice watched the two men with wide eyes, silent, thoughtful.
At length the concert came to a conclusion. Colton escorted Sumpter to his stateroom with all the courtesy which one would show to an honored guest. The boat, well out of the steamer lane by this time, sails lowered, gently rose and fell on the long swells.
SUMPTER slept well and late. When he awoke the yacht was jumping and plunging like a live thing. He could tell by the feel of the boat that she was under shortened sail and headed into a choppy sea. Hastily dressing he climbed to the deck.
Colton sat at the wheel, covered in oilskins, a short pipe gripped in his teeth, upon his face a look of fierce enjoyment. From out of the northwest there came an endless procession of plunging, choppy seas, cold, gray and relentless. The yacht quivered and throbbed as she smashed into those sullen seas. A wind shrieked and howled through the taut rigging. Spray dashed upward from the bow, hung suspended for a moment, and was then swept back across the deck in cold showers.
Sumpter made his way aft.
“I'll take her,” he yelled to the owner, “you go get yourself a cup of coffee.”
Colton nodded, indicated the course and approximate position of the yacht upon a chart which was weighted down upon a shelf under a canvas weather-shield, relinquished the wheel, and stood aside to observe the way in which his guest handled the wheel. For several minutes he stood there, critically watching. The yacht rose as lightly as a bird on the waves, hesitated a moment at the crest, then plunged downward. A huge wave would appear in front of the bow, rise to such a height that it would seem to tower over the deck, then the bow would start upward, there would be a crashing impact, a cloud of spray would dash up high in the air, and the yacht would rush swiftly upward to the crest of the new wave.
Sumpter stepped forward. There was a crash of broken glass and the muzzle of a rifle slipped through the cabin window
At times there would come a sea much higher than its companions. Upon its top would appear a curling crest of tumbled white. At such times Sumpter would deftly twist the wheel. The deck of the yacht would slant and right—quickly, firmly Sumpter would spin the wheel—the comber would slip easily astern, the yacht would nod slightly as if in approval and again roll on her way.
Colton smiled, nodded, knocked the ashes from his pipe, placed it in his pocket and inched his way along the slippery, slanting deck. Carefully working from handhold to handhold he disappeared down the companion-way.
A moment and the figure of Janice, slim, active, girlish in spite of the enveloping slicker, appeared on the deck. She stepped forward, saw Sumpter at the wheel and threw up her hand in greeting.
As she did so there came a staggering lurch, her feet slipped out from under her on the slippery deck, she crashed to the rail, her handhold torn loose—there came a swirl and a torrent of greenish white, boiling water mounted the bow and roared down the deck. There was the flutter of a white hand, a dark spot on the ocean as the slicker, pushed up by the air beneath it, bellied up on the surface, and—the deck was empty!
With a quick slash of his knife Sumpter ripped loose a life preserver, poised for a second and hurled it outward and to one side. A second or two and he had torn off his coat and outer garments and slipped into the tumbled, angry waters.
At the moment he released the wheel the boat quivered, lurched; there came the terrific slatting of canvas, sounding like the reports of a hundred rifles and the anxious face of Harrison G. Colton peered from the companion-way. In a flash he took in the significance of the empty deck, the slatting sail—scorning handholds, he raced for the wheel. Quickly, deftly he brought the yacht up, gathered headway, spun the wheel, turned about and began anxiously to scan the tossing crests.
Powerfully, swiftly, as surely as a huge seal, Sumpter slipped through the waters. In an incredibly short space of time he was beside the struggling figure of Janice, helped her as she struggled and ripped loose from the enveloping garments, gazed into her startled, white face with its wide eyes, clumsily, yet tenderly pushed back the wet hair from her eyes, placed her arm over his shoulders, and—smiled.
There was only the faintest response in those wide, terror-filled eyes. Sumpter turned, waited until they were pushed to the crest of a wave, and looked for the yacht—she had turned and was zigzagging back within two hundred yards. With the eye of an expert Sumpter noticed the tumbling waves, drew a deep breath into his great lungs as they slipped down the side of the wave, threw back his head as they once more raised upward, and, on the very crest of the sea, threw his great body upward, waved his long arms and emitted a bellow which sounded above the roar of the gale like a fog-horn.
Four times he repeated his attempt to attract the attention of the yacht. Four times his efforts were in vain; she had passed by them. The fifth time his voice, borne downwind, carried above the noise of the seas and Colton turned, caught a glimpse of the waving arms as they sank back into the blue waters, and frenziedly spun over the wheel. There ensued anxious minutes, careful maneuvering, shouted directions, and a long, black rope snaked out over the ocean.
With marvelous dexterity Sumpter caught the rope, turned in the water and knotted the hemp under Janice's arms—a long minute and the pair were alongside. At a signal from Sumpter, Colton twisted the rope about a stanchion, and the big man, seemingly without effort came hand over hand up and over the rail. Together they pulled Janice from the water—unconscious.
Fifteen minutes later the yacht lay, hove-to, a sea-anchor thrown out. Janice, wrapped in warm blankets, a hot water bottle at her feet, sighed, fluttered her lids, and opened her eyes. Colton turned and placed his hand upon the bare shoulder of his guest, his eyes filled with tears.
Instantly Sumpter became conscious of his soaked underwear, his missing clothes.
“I guess you'll have to stake me to another outfit,” he remarked. “I seem to be pretty hard on your wardrobe.”
Colton did not answer for a moment. His eyes were fastened upon an object which protruded from beneath Sumpter's left shoulder, an object which showed clearly through the wet underwear—apparently an envelope wrapped in oiled silk and strapped across the man's chest.
Sumpter noticed the other's gaze and quickly twisted the packet back into place beneath his left arm.
“At your convenience,” he said, and his voice had suddenly become hard and deadly.
Colton started.
“I beg your pardon, Sumpter,” he turned toward his own cabin. “Right this way, please.”
By noon the wind had abated, the seas had smoothed out, and the ocean glinted a deep blue in the warm sunlight. Janice, fully recovered from her experience, but wrapped in warm clothes reclined in a deck-chair in the sun on the lee side of the cabin. Colton was below, Sumpter again at the wheel.
“Put,” “put,” “put,” “put,” “put,” came downwind. A long, powerful launch came slipping through the water, a huge bow-wave parting gracefully on each side of the cleaving prow. A figure came forward, carrying a megaphone. He crouched in the bow, waiting—studying the yacht through binoculars.
Janice looked enquiringly at George Sumpter at the wheel. He did not return the glance. He was watching the oncoming boat, his face set in a grim mask, jaw thrust forward, hands clenched tightly on the spokes of the wheel.
“Ahoy! Ahoy the yacht!”
Sumpter did not reply. He was studying the man at the bow. There were three men on the launch. The helmsman, and, in addition to the man at the bow, a huge, heavy-set man who stood by the rail. The latter went forward and spoke to the man with the megaphone. Instantly this man dropped the megaphone and raced back to the man at the wheel. In a few seconds the powerful launch was running within a few feet of the yacht.
The heavy-set man, and the one who had held the megaphone came to the rail.
“Heave-to,” ordered the heavy-set man. “You've the man there we want. We're coming aboard.”
With that he threw a grappling iron, watched his chance and jumped to the deck of the yacht. In a moment he was joined by the other. Together they started for Sumpter.
Janice advanced and stood directly in the path of the men.
“The idea of you thinking Mr. Sumpter is guilty of that awful crime!” she exclaimed. “You make me tired, you, you—great big bullies!”
“Here now, sister, none o' that. Just can that line o' chatter,” growled the man of the bull neck and thick lips. “We're here on business, an' before we leave we're goin' to find out how much you know about this.”
With the words George Sumpter stepped forward with the light step of the trained athlete. He poised himself easily on the balls of his feet, his shoulders slightly weaving, jaw stuck forward in an expression of grim, desperate determination—
There was the crash of broken glass, the tinkle of slivers as the broken pane showered upon the deck. The muzzle of a high-powered rifle slipped through the cabin window.
“Never mind, Sumpter,” snapped Harrison G. Colton; his gray eyes gleaming along the barrel of the rifle. “I'll take care of this.”
The smaller of the men jumped back, his right hand dropping significantly.
“Stop right where you are or you're a dead man,” came the icy tones of the millionaire yacht owner. “You fellows just remember that we're beyond the three mile limit and that I'm master of this ship. If I think there's a criminal aboard I'll take steps to see he doesn't escape and surrender him to the authorities when I make port; but I will surrender him to no man on the high seas.”
There was a calm deadly earnestness in the tone which caused the two men to glance apprehensively at each other. A moment they wavered, then the heavy-set man took charge of the situation.
“I'm a special deputy, and if you interfere with me you're going to be guilty of a crime.”
“You're a liar,” immediately rejoined Colton, squinting along the sights as he spoke. “I'm on to your little game, and if you don't get off this yacht at once I'll proceed to interfere with you in a way you'll remember.”
A sneer came to the face of the man, distorting his heavy features. His thick, flabby mouth twitched spasmodically.
“All right then. Have it your own way. We'll stay alongside until you make port, and then we'll turn you in for aiding and abetting a murderer.”
“Sounds reasonable,” came from the cabin. “Go ahead. I'll even go you one better. We'll put into port right now. I'm just going to call your bluff. We're only twenty-five miles from Monterey, and we'll see which one of us gets in jail.”
The leader turned to his companion and conferred in a whisper. “He's right, Bill. As long as he's outside the three mile limit we've got no right to enter his boat and take off a man. We'll let him think we're going in to Monterey, then, when we get within the three mile limit we'll board him again. He won't dare to resist us then, and we've got a launch that'll run circles round this old tub. He can't give us the slip.”
Aloud he said: “All right. If you want to spend the night in Monterey jail go ahead. It's nothing to me. This man Sumpter is the man I want.”
Almost unconsciously Janice had taken a position beside Sumpter, her hand on his arm—clinging to him instinctively for protection.
Colton noticed and smiled.
“One real man,” he muttered to himself.
The boarders withdrew, cast loose their grappling iron and followed along beside the yacht, which, in turn, headed for Monterey Bay. Colton ordered the men to stand off sufficiently to give him “elbow room,” and began to make sail. Aboard the launch the men laughed surreptitiously as they watched the yacht crowding on canvas.
The man at the wheel joined in the conversation.
“The poor fool,” he sneered, “wonder if he thinks he can give us the slip. We're runnin' on less than half speed right now.”
Upon the yacht Colton turned to his guest.
“I've got to give you up, Sumpter. That is, unless you can convince me of your innocence. I'd stand by an innocent man, but I couldn't afford to protect the guilty.”
Sumpter shook his head.
“I can tell you that this whole thing is a frame-up; but I can't go any further. I can't give you details. You see—well, it's not my secret.”
This time Janice made no effort to conceal the hand which clutched his arm.
“Please—oh, please,” she begged.
Sumpter shook his head although his eyes grew infinitely tender as they looked down into the girl's.
Suddenly Colton laughed, a short, hard laugh. Picking up his rifle he suddenly threw the wheel round. The yacht spun upon her wake and headed toward the west and the great stretch of gleaming Pacific.
Immediately the launch let out a roar of ripping explosions and seemed to shoot forward in the water. She heeled over, swung to port and easily drew abreast of the yacht. Colton stood on the side, the rifle in his hand, watching. Janice had taken the wheel. Sumpter stood stupefied.
“Hey, you,” bawled the man on the launch, “what d'ye think you're doin'. You can't run away from us with that old tub. Turn about and head back to Monterey.”
“I've changed my mind,” yelled Colton. “I'm still on the high seas, and I've determined to take a cruise. You can trail along if you want to.”
Again there was a whispered conference on the launch.
“Say, Jim, is he right?” asked the man who had been addressed as Bill.
“Hell's bells,” retorted the other, “I don't know. I'm no sea lawyer. It sounds like it's law, an' he's got a rifle an' b'gosh, I believe he's got the guts to use it. We've got revolvers, but what're they against a rifle. We aint in no position to start nothin' anyway. We'll just trail along until we strike some other boat. He's just bluffin' about that cruise anyway.”
For an hour the two boats sailed along, side by side, the yacht heeling over in the fresh wind and slipping through the waters at high speed, the launch keeping up with her easily, although using more throttle than earlier in the day.
It was the man at the wheel who first sounded the alarm.
“Say, fellows, the gas is gettin' low. That bird's sailin' along on wind. We're usin' gas an' lots of it.”
There followed another conference, then the big man once more came to the rail.
“Ahoy the yacht,” he shouted, “where the hell do you think you're goin'?”
Colton lost no time in replying.
“I just decided to go to China,” he called back across the heaving, blue waters. “The wind's just right, and my daughter has never seen the Orient.”
The other spat out a curse.
“All right. You think you're smart. We're goin' on back and have every port watched for you, an' what's more we'll have a revenue cutter on your trail inside of ten hours. Then we'll see where where you're goin'.”
Colton waved his arm.
“Go ahead. The ocean's free. We're still beyond the three mile limit. You can do anything you damn please.”
The three figures stood grouped on the deck of the yacht as the launch faded out of sight below the eastern horizon.
“Daddy, you're going to get in trouble,” said Janice, and there was a slight catch in her voice. “But, Oh Daddy, I think you're just too wonderful for words!”
Her father smiled.
“Now I'll tell you a story,” he said. “Once upon a time there was a message that was to be delivered from Mexico involving the location of some very valuable oil lands. The man who was the man behind the scene ordered the president of a big corporation to get a messenger who was all nerve, a man who knew no fear, to go and get that message, and to bring it safely back into the hands of the president of the corporation.
“That man got the message, but he was followed. After he landed in San Diego he was arrested on a faked charge and rushed aboard a boat to be taken to San Francisco. He managed to conceal the papers somewhere, or if the others ever got them, he managed to retake possession of them, strapped them under his arm, watched his chance and jumped overboard from the steamer when he saw a small yacht lying becalmed in the fog.
“He hadn't counted on the enemy boldly announcing that he was wanted for murder. He was bound by oath not to disclose his mission to any one, or to part with the possession of the papers; for that reason—”
Sumpter jumped back, his face working in surprise.
“For Heaven's sake how do you know all this?”
Colton smiled.
“Partly by deduction, and partly because I happened to be the man behind the scenes who ordered the president of the corporation to send one George L. Sumpter after those papers.”
There was a moment's silence.
“But, Daddy,” said Janice, “why didn't you tell Mr. Sumpter and save him from all that worry?”
The millionaire smiled.
“Because I was testing Mr. Sumpter, Jan. I wanted to see if he would weaken, if he would violate his oath and tell his mission.”
Janice frowned.
“Still I don't see.”
“Well,” added her father, with one of his rare smiles, as he reached forward and grasped Sumpter's hand, “I commenced to think I had something else for Mr. Sumpter, and I wanted to look him over pretty closely.”
“What else,” asked Janice.
“Oh, just another job,” answered her father with a smile as he turned and went back into the cabin, leaving the couple alone on the deck.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1930.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1970, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 54 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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