The next few days were crowded with incident. The city was filling up with visitors, to be present at the ceremonies attending the opening of the Canal. Many of these were celebrities known all over the world. Soldiers, admirals, diplomats, men of affairs, brushed shoulders with thousands less famous, but quite as interested in the great event so soon to take place. The boys were constantly meeting someone whom they had known in the "States"; and, in the renewal of old friendships and the making of new ones, the time flew by as though on wings.
But, underneath all the hubbub and excitement, Bert was conscious of an uneasy premonition. He tried to analyze it, and, when unsuccessful in this, attempted to throw it off. Despite all his efforts, however, it persisted. Call it clairvoyance, call it telepathy, he felt aware of impending danger. Some "coming event" was casting "its shadow before."
Again and again the words of Allison recurred to him. Not that he believed in them. Although they had stirred him at the time with a sense of vague foreboding, he had dismissed them as the utterance of an enthusiast, who felt a deep antipathy toward the Japanese, and magnified the danger to be feared from them. Of course, it was absurd—that last remark of his that at that very moment a Japanese fleet might be on its way to attack the Pacific Slope. He laughed as he thought of it, but, somehow, the laugh did not ring true.
Wah Lee had kept his word, and frequently called to see his friends. But his serenity seemed to be disturbed. He appeared troubled and distrait. At times, he acted as though he were about to tell them something, but was himself in doubt as to the value of his information, and restrained himself. His all-embracing smile was conspicuous by its absence.
"What's bothering the old chap, I wonder," ruminated Tom.
"Search me," laughed Dick. "Something on his conscience, maybe. Perhaps he hasn't burned as many joss sticks before his particular idol as he feels he ought, and the failure worries him."
"I'm going to get right down to brass tacks, the next time he comes," said Bert, "and get it out of him."
But the wily Celestial baffled all efforts to "pump" him, and the matter passed from their minds.
Two days later, however, Wah Lee shuffled past Bert, as the latter was sauntering down the main street of Colon, and, apparently by accident, touched his arm in passing. Bert looked up, and, recognizing the Chinaman, started to speak to him. But the latter only gave him a swift glance from his almond eyes, and kept on, his face as stolid and inscrutable as that of a graven image. In that fleeting look, however, Bert's quick perception recognized that Wah Lee had some object in view, and wanted to talk with him. With a heightened pulse, but still retaining an indifferent air, he followed.
At the first turning, the Chinaman passed into a side street, Bert keeping a little way in the rear. The houses grew more infrequent and soon they came to the suburbs. Still on they went, until, at last, they were in the open country, and free from observation. Then, in a remote spot, where they could see for a long distance on every side, Wah Lee stood still, and Bert ranged alongside.
"Well, Wah Lee," he asked, curiously, "what's the game?"
In answer, the Chinaman drew from his pocket a crumpled sheet of paper, and handed it to Bert. He took it and smoothed it out. At first, it failed to convey any impression. The drawing was a rough one, and seemed to consist of a series of lines, punctured with dots. But gradually, as Bert gazed, his training in mechanics told him that it was a plan of some large structure. There were two rectangular outlines, that were perfectly similar, like two leaves of a table. No, they were gates. And then, like a flash, it came across him. They were the gates of the Gatun Locks! There was the wavy line, to indicate the water level, and, down below these, were the ominous dots. They seemed to be meant for holes, but his knowledge of the locks told him that they had no place in its structure. What did those holes mean?
A little shaken, he looked at Wah Lee for the key to the enigma.
"Where did you get this?" he asked.
"Found it," answered the Chinaman. "Man drop it. Man come to see my bloss. My bloss kill clanal," Wah Lee repeated.
For a moment, Bert's head swam, and a thousand bells seemed to ring in his ears. Then he steadied himself, and plied the Chinaman with eager questions that sought to pluck the heart out of the mystery. Wah Lee's knowledge of English was very limited, and it took a long time and infinite patience to get from him what he knew. Gradually, he pieced the bits together, until the whole thing became clear and coherent in his mind.
By the merest accident, Wah Lee had heard enough to know that the Japanese who employed him was engaged in a plot to destroy the Canal. How or when it was to be done, he did not know. It was doubtful if he could have grasped the details, even if he had heard them, so full they were of technical matters that conveyed to him no meaning. But he knew that the plot existed, and dimly understood that this would bring pain and suffering to Bert. As far as he himself was concerned, a dozen canals might be destroyed, without affecting him in the least. But he held the boys in strong affection for having saved his life, and he knew that he could pay his debt, at least in part, by letting them know what was brewing.
As regarded the paper, Wah Lee knew nothing, except that a white man, who spoke English, was a frequent visitor to his master, with whom he held long conferences. Only yesterday, on leaving the house after dark, he had accidentally dropped the plan, and Wah Lee, hovering near, had picked it up. A vague idea that it might be of value to Bert and prompted him to bring it to him.
This was the sum of the Chinaman's knowledge. He simply knew that his "bloss" was engaged in some kind of a plan to kill the Canal.
But Bert must know more than this—the nature of the plan, the people involved in it, the methods employed for it, the time set for its execution. Then, only, could the proper steps be taken to thwart it. How could this knowledge be obtained? Not by Wah Lee. He had accidentally stumbled upon it, and while this, of course, was an inestimable service, abler minds than his must unravel the details.
Whatever was to be done must be done quickly. Time was a factor of prime importance. Bert looked up at the sky. The sun was near its setting. Night would come on suddenly.
With the rapid resolution that was one of his chief characteristics, Bert made up his mind.
"Make tracks for home, Wah Lee," he said. "I'm coming with you."
The Chinaman made no demur and expressed no surprise. He led the way and Bert followed, racking his brain for the best thing to do. His plans took shape quickly. By the time they drew near the grounds, darkness had enveloped them like a blanket. He halted the Chinaman and talked to him in whispers.
He must get into the house, without being seen. Where did the talks with the white man take place? In the library. Very well. Was there any place where he, Bert, could be concealed and hear what went on?
But here the Oriental departed from his wonted calm. There was too much risk. Bert would be killed. His master had men in the house who obeyed him absolutely. If he merely lifted his finger, they would kill one man or twenty men.
But Bert was not to be deterred from his purpose. He had embarked on this venture, and, live or die, he would see it through to a finish. He cut short the protestations of the frightened Celestial and commanded him to show him the nearest way to the library.
There was no way, Wah Lee averred. The house swarmed with servants, and detection would be certain. Every window and every room in the mansion was ablaze with light. Unless he could make himself invisible, the attempt was hopeless.
Circling about the house, in the shadow of the shrubbery, Bert studied the location of the room that the Chinaman had pointed out as the library. It was on the second floor, and a broad veranda surrounded the house, about two feet beneath the window. Near by, a giant tree upreared its branches. With a parting word of caution, Bert shied up the tree with the agility of a cat. He ensconced himself firmly on a projecting branch, and peered through the heavy foliage.
The room into which he looked was a spacious one and furnished with all the sumptuousness of Eastern luxury. Exquisite tapestries draped the walls, and priceless jades and porcelains bespoke the taste as well as the wealth of the owner. Quaint weapons and suits of armor, doubtless worn at some time by a shogun or samurai ancestor gave a touch of grimness to a beauty and delicacy of ornament that might otherwise have been excessive.
At a magnificent library table of ebony, inlaid with pearl, a man was seated with his head on his hand, in an attitude of profound thought. His left hand, playing with the ivory handle of a dagger that lay on the desk, betrayed a certain restlessness, as though he were waiting for someone. From time to time he raised his head, as if listening. At last he threw himself back in his chair with a gesture of impatience, and, with unseeing eyes, looked out of the window. And now, Bert, from his leafy covert, could study his face at leisure.
It was a typical Japanese face, with the high cheekbones and slanting eyes that marked his race. But nothing could hide the proofs of breeding and culture that were revealed in every feature. It was the face of a statesman, a scholar, a warrior, a prince. The habit of command was stamped upon it, and in his eyes glowed a spirit of resolution that almost reached fanaticism. Bert felt instinctively that here was a foeman worthy of any man's steel, a formidable enemy who would sweep away like chaff anything that stood between him and the accomplishment of his purpose.
Once or twice, Bert had seen him in Colon, a notable figure even in a town at that time filled with notables. No one seemed to know much about him. Three years ago, he had appeared in Panama and purchased a large landed estate. He had spent enormous sums in developing it, until it had become famous throughout the Isthmus for its extent and beauty. That the owner was fabulously wealthy could not be doubted. But beyond this, all was conjecture. He had no official position or diplomatic mission. No breath of suspicion had ever been attached to him of being in any sense hostile to American interests. His suavity, his courtesy, his unquestioned wealth and standing had won for him universal respect. And yet, if Bert's suspicions proved true, the accomplished Japanese gentleman into whose eyes he was looking, was the most dangerous foe that America had in the whole wide world.
A door opened and another Japanese entered the room. He was older than the man seated at the desk, and his face was creased with the deep lines of wisdom and long experience. He might have been, and probably was, one of the "elder statesmen"—that august body, that, at home and abroad, guided the destinies of the nation. He saluted ceremoniously the owner of the house, and they were soon engaged in an animated conversation.
Then a man of a different type was ushered in by an obsequious servant. He was dressed in American fashion, but his face indicated a Spanish origin. He was a Cuban who had been educated as a civil engineer in one of the scientific schools of the United States. His features were alert and intelligent, but there was a certain shiftiness in his eyes, and something about him gave an indefinable air of dissipation. He had been employed for a time in harbor work at Vera Cruz, but had killed a man in a brawl and been forced to flee the country. On the Canal, there were eighty-seven distinct nationalities engaged in the work, and, in view of the great demand for labor, he had no difficulty in securing employment, the more easily as he was an expert in his profession. He had been assigned to the Gatun section of the work, with his quarters in the city of Colon.
The Japanese secret service, in its search for a suitable tool, had become possessed of the facts regarding the murder for which the man, Ofirio, by name, was wanted by the Mexican authorities. With infinite caution and by slow degrees, they had approached and sounded him. They appealed to his fears and his avarice. As regards the first, they could betray him to his pursuers. For the second, they promised him an amount of money greater than he could expect to earn in the course of his natural life, and a safe refuge in Japan. Under the stress of these two primal emotions, he had yielded, and, for a year past, had been in the power and the pay of Namoto, the Japanese, in whose library he was at that moment standing. He it was who had dropped the paper that Wah Lee had so fortunately retrieved and which had given Bert the first hint of the appalling disaster that threatened his country.
Bert noticed the subtle something in the air of Namoto—a mixture of power, disdain, and condescension—as he motioned the engineer to a seat. From a stray word or two that came to him, he noted that they were talking in English, which both understood, while neither could speak the native language of the other.
And now it became imperative that Bert should hear the conference that concerned him so tremendously. From where he was, he could see perfectly, but could hear nothing but an occasional disconnected word. He must leave his safe retreat, take his life in his hands and reach the veranda that ran beneath the open window.
Silently, he removed his shoes, and, tying them together by the laces, hung them over the branch. Then he crept out on the heavy bough that reached within three feet of the porch. Holding on by his hands, he let himself down, swung back and forth once or twice to get the proper momentum, and then letting himself go, landed as lightly as a lynx upon the veranda. A moment he swayed trying to keep his nearly lost balance, while he looked anxiously to see if the conspirators had heard. They showed no sign of disturbance, however, and, with a muttered prayer of thankfulness, Bert dropped on his hands and knees and crept beneath the sill. And there, safe for the instant, with every faculty strained to its utmost, he became a fourth, if unseen, member of the group.
Ofirio was speaking.
"I am sure that nothing has been overlooked," he was saying, evidently in answer to a question. "The charges of dynamite have been tamped into the holes, and there are enough of them, fired at the same moment, to wreck the eastern gate. In any event, it will so injure the delicate machinery that works them, that they cannot be moved. Portions of it, no doubt, will be blown into the Canal and block it so effectually that no ship can pass through. But, leaving that out of the question, if the gate cannot work, the Canal is put out of commission. It would be a matter of weeks, perhaps of months, to repair the damage."
"The longer the better, of course," said Namoto, "but we do not ask eventhat much of fate. Give us ten days of confusion and panic, with theAtlantic fleet on this side of the Canal and unable to get through to thePacific, and our victory is sure."
"How about the tunnel?" asked Togi, the oldest of the three. "Are you sure there is no suspicion that it exists?"
"Not the slightest," answered Ofirio. "I came through it myself, last night, entering it at the masked exit near the locks, and leaving it by the secret opening in your cellar. Nothing has been disturbed, and the divers' helmets were in their accustomed place. If the Americans had any knowledge of it, their soldiers would already be in possession."
"Provided that we can keep the secret until the day of the grand opening," muttered Togi, uneasily. "You are sure," he went on, "that the connections are perfect?"
"The wires have been so strung that not one of the charges has been overlooked," asserted Ofirio, confidently. "There will be no interval between the explosions. When your finger presses that button, there will be a roar that will deafen the city and shake the whole Isthmus."
There was a brief pause, and Bert's heart beat so hard that it almost seemed as though it must be heard. The hideous plot had been revealed in all its blackness. His face was blanched as he thought of the possibilities, but he exulted in the fact that, at last, he had definite knowledge. He knew what was to be done—the destruction of the Canal Gate. He knew how it was to be done—by an electric current sent through the wires to the concealed explosives. He knew when it was to be done—on the opening day of the Canal.
In his mind's eye, he could see the progress of the plan that had been conceived and carried on with such infernal cunning. With the patience of moles, they had dug an underground tunnel, extending from Namoto's mansion to within a short distance of the locks. The mention of the divers' helmets gave him a clue to the way in which the holes had been made and the dynamite inserted. No doubt they had taken advantage of stormy nights, lowering themselves into the water at a distance from the locks and then slowly groping their way toward them. The wires had found a conduit in the tunnel, and ran directly to the library of Namoto. His index finger was indeed the finger of Fate, that expected to write a record of disaster to the United States. One pressure on a button would send the electric current surging through the wires, and the great Canal would, for a time at least, be put completely out of commission.
But, after all, this was not an end in itself. It was only the means to an end. It would be mere vandalism to cripple the Canal, simply for the sake of inflicting damage. Besides, the injury could be repaired, and, in a short time, all traces of it would have vanished. There must be an object for all this enormous toil and risk. What was it?
Namoto had spoken of the Atlantic fleet not being able to get through to the Pacific. "Ten days of panic and confusion." Why was it so imperative to prevent the warships on this side from joining their comrades on the other? Naturally, to keep the Pacific squadron weak and less able to resist attack. Then, an attack was planned. By whom? Who could attack us from the Pacific side but Japan? And when? Within ten days. And again Allison's words sounded in Bert's ears like the knell of doom: "Perhaps at this very moment a Japanese fleet is on its way to the Pacific slope."
With a sinking of the heart, Bert reflected on the vast number of American warships now at Colon or hastening there. The government had planned to make a great demonstration of naval strength, in order to impress the nations of the world. For this purpose, many had been called home from European stations. Some of the most formidable dreadnoughts building at the navy yards had been rushed along in construction, so as to be manned and launched for the great review. Others, which naturally belonged to the Pacific squadron, but had been in the drydocks for repairs, would in the ordinary course of things, have been despatched before this around the Horn, to join their brethren in the Pacific. But since the opening of the Canal was so near at hand, it seemed unwise to steam ten thousand miles, when, in a little while, the same result could be attained by traveling fifty. Thus, from various causes, at least three-fourths of the American navy was on the Atlantic side. If it could be kept there, the Japanese could attack the remnant in the Pacific in overwhelming force. Then, with these captured or destroyed, the Japanese vessels could bombard San Francisco and Seattle, land their troops from the crowded transports, and gain control of the whole western coast of the United States. It was an imperial idea—boldly conceived, broadly planned, patiently developed, but—and Bert thanked God—not yet executed.
These thoughts had passed through his mind with lightning rapidity. But now, the plotters had resumed their talk. This time, it was Togi who spoke.
"I would that the time were set for to-night," he said. "The present is in our hands. The future is uncertain. Fortune is fickle. Fate has its whims, its bitter jests. All is ready. One pressure on that button, and before ten seconds have passed, the work is done. Is it wise to wait, Namoto?"
Bert scarcely dared to breathe, while he waited for the answer. It was long in coming. Namoto seemed wavering. Togi had spoken truly. The present moment was his. The future was on the "lap of the gods." Perhaps, in obedience to the mysterious laws of mind, the very presence, though unknown, of Bert, just outside the window, made him sense dimly some crouching danger. But the moment of indecision passed, and he answered, slowly:
"It cannot be, Togi. We must wait. We have waited nearly three years. Surely the gods of Japan will not desert us in the next two days. There are many reasons for waiting, but here are two:
"The shock must come at just the right moment. It will be tenfold more paralyzing, more panic-breeding. When bells are ringing, when crowds are cheering, when America is exulting, when the world is watching—at just that instant the blow must fall. The power of the unexpected is irresistible. The enemy's fall will be more crushing, and Japan will loom up, a sinister image of dread, that will fill the whole horizon.
"Then, too, with every hour that passes, our fleet is drawing nearer. From all quarters of the compass they are converging. Of course, they will not form a compact squadron, until the news is flashed to them that the Gate has been destroyed. Then they will unite for the last great rush upon the Coast."
"I should think," ventured Ofirio, "that so many Japanese warships in one part of the Pacific would be noted by merchant ships and reported to their governments. Do you not fear that suspicion may be aroused before you are ready?"
"Not so," answered Namoto. "Our Naval Department has shown the utmost care and caution. For a year past the vessels have been sent to various ports along the coast of Japan. In every harbor they have lurked, one here, another there, at Nakodate, Miyako, Nagasaki, Noshiro, Ohama, and others. Some have been reported in the naval bulletins as drydocked. Others have been sent, in ones and twos, on missions of courtesy or diplomacy to China, Australia, and other countries bordering on the Pacific. So adroitly and innocently has this been done, that not even a rumor is current in any foreign cabinet that anything is afoot, and even the masses of the Japanese themselves do not know what their government is doing. But all the commanders have had definite orders so to time their departure from the various ports as to meet at a given parallel within a day or two of the time set for the opening of the Canal. That parallel is between Hawaii and San Francisco, barely two days distant from the latter. Steam is up, the magazines filled, the guns shotted, the plan of campaign worked out to the last detail. Like hawks, they are hovering within easy reach of each other, ready for the signal. The moment I press this button, the wireless will flash the news across all the continents and all the seas. Then the captains who smashed the Russians at Port Arthur and in the Sea of Japan will turn their vessels' prows toward arrogant America, and within forty-eight hours our guns will be thundering at her western doors."
A dull glow crept into his sallow cheeks and his eyes blazed, as he saw in vision the victory of his beloved Nippon.
"But there," he said, as though repenting his outburst of enthusiasm, so foreign to his habitual reticence and self-control, "they will do their part. It only remains for us to do ours. I will not keep you longer to-night, Ofirio," he went on, by way of dismissal. "Report to me to-morrow at the same hour for final instructions."
He pressed a bell, and a servant, bending low, ushered the Cuban out into the night.
But Togi still lingered. The lines in his face had deepened. His long experience had taught him how often the cup is dashed from the lips as one makes ready to drink. The reaction and depression that come to one when, after tremendous toil and strain, his plans await fruition, held him in their grip. It is true, those plans seemed faultless. Nothing had failed in their calculations. The mechanism was working without a jar. But this very perfection was in itself ominous. Perhaps, even then, fate was preparing to spring upon them and lay their hopes in ruins. And again his eyes turned longingly toward the button, the lightest touch on which would shock the world to its center.
Namoto noticed the direction of his glance and smiled.
"Be not impatient, Togi," he said. "Soon now the hour will strike that marks the beginning of a glorious era for our loved Nippon."
"Glorious, yes," answered Togi. "Whether we win or lose, it will be glorious. Our soldiers will know how to fight and die for their country, as they have always done, and even if defeated they will not be dishonored."
"Dream not of defeat," protested Namoto. "Let not that word of evil omen pass your lips. To doubt may draw down on us the frown of the gods."
"But America is a great country, and her people, too, are brave.Besides, they are as the sands of the seashore for number."
"So was Russia great, and yet we beat her to her knees. We hurled back her armies and we crushed her fleets. So will we do to this haughty country, that sneers at us as an inferior race. America has had no real war for fifty years. She has no veterans left. We have hundreds of thousands who have had their baptism of fire on the field of battle. Can their raw volunteers face the seasoned warriors of Japan? Their regular troops are but a handful and are scattered all over the country. Before any real force can be brought against us, we will have subdued all the country west of the Rocky Mountains. Then will come negotiations. As the price of peace, we will wrest from her Hawaii and the Philippines, and Japan will be the unquestioned mistress of the Pacific."
"But before this can be done," objected Togi, "will not the Canal be repaired, so that the rest of the American fleet can pass through and attack us?"
"No," replied Namoto. "Our first care will be to seize the Canal at the Pacific end and blockade it. The ships can only come out one by one, and they would be an easy prey to our vessels awaiting them in overwhelming force. We would be like cats waiting at the door of a mouse trap. If, on the other hand, they abandoned this and sailed around the Horn, it would be a matter of many weeks before they would reach us, and then they would be strained and weather tossed and uncoaled. Then, too, the Pacific squadron will have been destroyed, and we will have the advantage in ships and guns. If, on the way, they attacked Japan in retaliation, our fortifications, backed by our land forces, would hold them off." "They could land no troops and would have to content themselves with a harrying of the coast that would amount to nothing."
"Our plan is perfect," he went on; "everything has been provided for. But all depends on the blocking of the Canal. If, by any chance, it should fail, the campaign would be abandoned. Our navy is not yet large enough to match itself against the combined naval strength of America. We can only win by dividing the enemy, and beating his squadrons, one at a time. If the Atlantic fleet gets through to the Pacific, at the opening of the Canal, our labor of years will vanish into nothingness. The ships will return quietly to Japan by various, routes, and the government will be ready to deny that any such plot ever existed. If you and I are charged with the plot, our country will calmly disown us and leave us to our fate.
"And we would gladly meet that fate for Nippon's sake, would we not, Togi? We would go to our death with banzais on our lips. It is sweet and glorious to die for one's country."
"We are prepared in any event," said Togi. "If we succeed, your yacht is waiting in the harbor ready to carry us home more swiftly than any can hope to follow. If we fail—" He made across his breast the sign of hari-kari—the Japanese form of suicide.
"If we fail," agreed Namoto, solemnly, "our home will be with the immortal gods."
He reached out his hand, and Togi grasped it firmly. For a moment they looked into each other's eyes. Then with a murmured word of farewell, the elder man turned and glided from the room.
Left alone, Namoto rose and strolled restlessly about. Then he approached the window, beneath which Bert lay hidden.
For a while he stood there motionless. Then he leaned out to catch the refreshing breeze. Bert tried to make himself as small as possible, and pressed close against the house. Namoto's eyes, glancing carelessly about, suddenly fell on the crouching figure.
Startled, he drew back, a cry shrilling from his lips. Like a flash, Bert straightened up, leaped through the open window, and the next instant his hands had closed about Namoto's throat. Down to the floor they went with a crash.
But the mischief had been done. The cry of Namoto had carried beyond the room. The door burst open and a horde of retainers rushed in. There was a stunning blow on the head, a shower of sparks streamed before his eyes, his grasp relaxed, and Bert felt himself sinking, sinking into a fathomless abyss.
When he came back to consciousness, he found himself tightly bound and gagged. His head swam, and objects danced giddily before him.
Gradually he accustomed himself to the light and looked about him. A score of men stood leaning against the walls, while Namoto and Togi, seated at the desk, were conversing in low tones. They spoke in Japanese, but he had no doubt that they were deciding for him the issues of life and death. He had no delusions as to what probably awaited him. He had learned too much to be allowed to live.
But the conspirators seemed perplexed. To kill him, then and there, would be awkward. There is nothing in the world harder to dispose of than a dead body. Burial, burning, destruction by acids—all left traces. And this was not Japanese but American soil. There might be a hue and cry, a search, exposure, arrest. Still, he must vanish from the land of the living.
At last, Togi seemed to have an inspiration. He bent over eagerly and disclosed his idea. Namoto pondered and found it good. He beckoned to an officer in a naval uniform, and gave him his instructions.
At a signal, four men advanced, and, taking Bert by the legs and shoulders, carried him through a secret passage into the grounds. As silently as so many ghosts, they followed a road that led through the estate to the river's brink. There lay the swift sea-going yacht that Togi had mentioned. Bert was carried on board, the vessel slipped its moorings, and like a wraith passed down the Bay of Limon and out to sea.
It was with a sinking heart that Bert saw the lights of Colon grow more and more indistinct, until they looked to be little more than a nebulous haze rising above the water. His first thought had been that the Japanese were taking him to Japan, for some reason of their own, and as they steamed on mile after mile this idea gained strength.
After his capture he had expected nothing better than instant death, and when he found that his captors had other plans he had a gleam of hope. Perhaps, after all, he could make his escape in some way, or get a message to the authorities. But when he was taken to the yacht hope died within him, and he almost wished he had been killed at the moment of capture. Knowing what he did, the possibility of his own life being spared brought him but little comfort. Once fairly at sea, and he felt that nothing could stop the awful catastrophe hanging over his country.
Filled with these melancholy reflections, he hardly noticed what was going on around him, and only looked up when two sturdy Japanese seamen approached him. They untied his bonds, removed the gag, and motioned him to follow them. Bert, seeing no sense in useless resistance, did as directed.
As he approached the port rail, he saw that a group of sailors gathered there were lowering some object over the side. As he reached the rail and looked down, he saw that it was a large, flat bottomed rowboat, with nothing in it except a wooden bailer shaped like an ordinary shovel.
This boat was quickly lowered until it touched the water, and then Bert saw what had previously escaped his notice—namely, that several holes, each about as large as a five-cent piece, had been bored in the bottom of the boat, and through these the water was rushing in a dozen little fountains.
Then he realized what were the intentions of his captors, and his heart, which at sight of the boat had begun to beat hopefully, seemed to turn to lead. This, then, was to be his end! With fiendish ingenuity, the Japs had prepared this death-trap for him, knowing that he would fight up to the last moment from the instinct of self preservation. The enemy of Japan should not die too easily. His agony must be prolonged. According to their calculations, the water would continue coming in faster than Bert could possibly bail it out, and eventually he would sink, and his perilous knowledge with him.
Well, at any rate, he resolved to make his enemies sorry that they had ever seen him. As the sailors came toward him with the evident intention of forcing him into the boat, he grasped a camp chair that was standing near the rail, and swinging it in a mighty circle about his head, brought it crashing down on the head of the foremost seaman. The man dropped as though struck by lightning, and for a second his comrades hesitated, looking about them for weapons.
At a crisp command from an officer, who was standing a little to one side, they came on again with a rush. Bert felled the first of his antagonists with the stout chair, and then, as they were too close upon him for further use of this weapon, dropped it and resorted to his fists. He struck out right and left with all the strength of his powerful muscles, and for a few seconds actually held his swarming assailants at bay. Three men dropped before his hammer-like blows, before he was finally forced over the railing by sheer force of numbers and hurled into the rowboat.
As he struck it, the water spurted through the holes in the boat, and a shrill cackling laugh came from the row of slant-eyed faces peering down over the rail. The little craft was by now a quarter full of water, and as the Japanese yacht took on speed and swung away on its course Bert started bailing desperately. He realized that there was hardly one chance in a thousand of his being picked up before, in spite of all he could do, the little boat would fill with water and sink.
However, he resolved to keep afloat as long as he could on the bare chance of some vessel passing in his neighborhood. Accordingly he set to work with the wooden scoop, sending sheet after sheet over the side. He worked desperately, and at first almost thought that he was gaining on the incoming water. His exertions were excessive, and before long he was forced to bail more slowly. He kept watching a deep scratch in the side of the boat to see if the water was gaining. With a sinking heart he realized that it was. In spite of all he could do, it crept up and up until finally it was over the scratch and the boat was nearly half full. Luckily for him, the sea was unusually calm, or he must soon have been swamped.
At the thought of all that it would mean to his country if he drowned with his secret, Bert fell to with the scoop with furious energy, but was not able to hold his terrible pace long, and finally flung down the bailer in despair.
"Perhaps I can plug up the holes," he thought, and ripped off his coat. He tore great pieces from it and tried to stuff up the holes, but to no effect. Such crude plugs as he could make were inadequate to stay the inrush of water, and he would hardly have time to insert one in one opening before that in another gave way.
So he was forced to give up this plan, and had recourse once more to the bailer. His only hope now was to keep afloat until he might be seen and picked up by a passing boat. He strained his eyes over the surrounding sea, but there was no sign of help in sight.
Slowly but surely the water crept up the sides of the boat until it was only a few inches from the gunwales. As the boat sank deeper, the water rushed in with ever-increasing force, and finally the conviction was forced in upon Bert that he had really come to the end of his resources. Of course, even after the boat sank, he could swim a little while, but after his fierce fight on the deck of the Japanese yacht and his terrific exertions afterward, he knew he would have little strength left.
Nevertheless he stripped off his outer clothing and resolved to do the best he could. Suddenly he was startled by a splashing, gurgling noise behind him, and, looking around, was surprised and puzzled to see what looked like the back of a huge whale floating within fifty feet of the stern of his little craft. In a second he understood, and a great wave of joy surged over him.
"It's a submarine," he thought, "and an American one at that," as he recognized the design.
Even as he looked, a hatch was thrown open in the deck of the submarine, and the head and shoulders of a man emerged from the aperture. Almost at the same instant Bert's rowboat gave a gentle lurch and disappeared beneath the surface. As he felt it sinking, Bert gave a great shout, and the man on the submarine whirled around in his direction, surprise written large on his countenance.
"By thunder!" he exclaimed, "what in the name of—" But here he dived below and in a few seconds reappeared with a life preserver attached to a long cord. This he cast toward Bert, who in the meantime had been swimming steadily toward the submarine. Bert grasped the preserver and was rapidly drawn on board by the first man who had appeared, and by two others who by now had joined him. Bert was soon safe on the sloping deck, and was besieged by a thousand questions.
The man who had first espied Bert was evidently an officer, and he soon quitted the others and took the cross-examination in his own hands. It was some time before Bert was able to answer, and probably at no time in his strenuous career had he come nearer complete exhaustion.
Finally, however, his strength began to return, and he staggered to his feet.
"For Heaven's sake!" he exclaimed, "take me to the captain and let me give him a message I have for him. Never mind anything else just now—I can tell you all about that after we get started."
The officer saw that he was in deadly earnest, and although he was rather inclined to think this young fellow's experiences had unbalanced his mind, he led him below without further loss of time.
They descended a steep ladder, and presently entered the room in which were kept the machinery controls, gauges, and other apparatus relating to the operation of the submarine. There was a solidly built table in the center of this room, and at this, carefully examining a chart spread out in front of him, sat a sturdy, thick-set man of perhaps fifty years of age. As the officer entered, followed by Bert, the captain rose and waited for the officer's report.
He gave Bert only one glance, but it was such a keen, searching one, that our hero felt there was little in his appearance that the other had overlooked. Then the captain turned his eyes back to the officer, and returned the latter's salute.
"Well, Mr. Warren, what have you to report?" he asked.
"Why, sir," replied the officer, "I don't exactly know myself. When we ascended to the surface and I went up on deck, the first thing I saw was a foundering rowboat with this young man in it. A few seconds later it sank, and he swam toward the ship. I threw him a life preserver, and we hauled him aboard. He wouldn't answer any questions, though, and insisted on speaking with you personally, so I thought it best to bring him along."
"Very good," responded the captain, and turned slightly toward Bert."Now, young man," he said, "you wished to speak to me, and here I am.What is it you wanted to tell me?"
Thereupon Bert poured out the whole story of the Japanese plot as fast as he could speak, and the captain and his officer listened attentively, once in a while asking a terse question. The commander's eyes were riveted on Bert during his whole speech, and when he had finished he sat a few moments immersed in deep thought.
Then he sprang to his feet and gave crisp orders to get the submarine under way. "See that the lad is clothed and well taken care of, Mr. Warren," he ordered, as his commands were being carried out. "He's evidently had some rather strenuous experiences, during the last few hours, and a little food and rest will do him a lot of good. We can wake him up when we need him."
Lieut. Warren saluted, and motioned to Bert to follow him. He led him through a long passage to the officers' dining room, and when a place was set for him at the table Bert fell to with a good appetite. The officers were naturally very much interested in his adventures, and he told them as much of his recent experiences as he thought fit, of course not mentioning details of the plot. Before very long they asked him his name, and when they learned that he was actually the man who had won the Marathon race at the last Olympic games, they would gladly have made him a present of the ship had they been able.
It was with the greatest difficulty that he finally broke away and made an attempt to get a little sleep. He was so excited that he found this impossible, however, and soon returned to the company of the officers. The electric motors driving the ship were humming at top speed, and the registering apparatus indicated a rate of fifteen knots an hour. This was good speed for a submarine, but Bert figured that, as the yacht on which he had been carried out was unusually swift, it must have traveled at least one hundred and fifty miles from the Colon harbor. At the rate of fifteen knots an hour, then, it would take them a little over ten hours to get back into the harbor, and he did not know how much longer to get up the canal to the mined gate of the lock. There was always the chance of accidents or delay, and he must reach the city before the morrow dawned.
It seemed as though the time would never pass, and he tried to divert his mind by looking out of the glass windows or portholes, set in near the bow of the submarine. The boat was equipped with a powerful searchlight, which threw its brilliant rays far ahead, and lit up the ocean for a considerable distance all around. Even in his agitated state of mind, he found time to wonder at the dense and active life of the sea. Fishes, large and small and of every conceivable shape and coloring, swam close up to the porthole and seemed to be trying to look in. Some, attracted by the beams of light, followed the course of the submarine, never seeming to tire or fall back.
Every once in a while, some larger fish, engaged on a foraging expedition, would cross the path of light, and there would be a general scattering of the smaller fry, as they darted hither and thither in a frenzied search for safety. Some, indeed, the majority, were beautifully striped and spotted, and most of them Bert had never seen before. As he watched this teeming life, he grew more and more interested, and almost forgot his present surroundings. He was recalled to them by a light tap on the shoulder, and, turning around, he saw the officer, Lieutenant Warren, who had thrown him the life preserver.
"Quite an interesting study, isn't it, Mr. Wilson?" he asked, with a pleasant smile.
"I should say it was," exclaimed Bert, enthusiastically. "I never dreamed of being able to see a sight like this. It's almost worth having lived a lifetime just to have had this experience."
The other smiled at his earnestness.
"Yes," he said, "we all felt the same way you do, when we took our first few trips. There used to be hot arguments as to whose turn it was at the port hole, and we had to arrange regular times between us. The novelty soon wore off, though, and now, as you see, there isn't much competition."
"Well, it's new to me, yet, and I certainly find it very interesting," replied Bert. "These fishes seem to be every color of the rainbow, and the way they keep darting in and out reminds me of a kaleidoscope on a large scale.
"It does, rather," the lieutenant assented, "and, believe me, we see lots of things besides fishes, too. Why, I've come across all kinds of wrecked ships, from rowboats to big four-mast-ers. In tropic waters, we've seen many a ship that I'm sure was an old Spanish galleon, and I'll wager there's many a fortune in gold and silver pieces that we've had to pass over in the performance of duty. There are uncounted riches lying at the bottom of this old ocean, my boy."
"I don't doubt it in the least," answered Bert, and then Mr. Warren went on to tell him various yarns of strange adventures he had undergone and marvelous things that he had seen. Bert listened, fascinated, for the officer was a man who had not only been all over the world, but knew how to tell a story. The time passed more quickly than he had dared to hope, and just before dawn, he was told that they were almost at the entrance of the Canal.
The little submarine flew into the great new waterway, and hesitated no more than the brave hearts guiding its course. Its powerful searchlight illuminated the Canal from side to side, and they were able to get an idea of the immensity of the completed enterprise. Mile after mile, the smooth concrete wall slipped away back of them, thick, ponderous, designed to last as long as civilization lasted, and perhaps longer. As Bert gazed, his heart thrilled with a great pride at what his country had accomplished, and this feeling was succeeded by a fierce hatred of those who were plotting to set the great work at naught.
But now, the submarine had almost reached the mined gate of the Lock, and its speed was gradually reduced three-fourths. It nosed cautiously along, until the searchlight revealed a vast structure directly ahead. Instantly the motors were reversed, and by the time the boat's speed had been checked, it was not more than thirty feet from the gate.
In the meantime one of the crew had been encased in a diver's suit and now made ready to leave. He was conducted into an air-tight room near the bottom of the submarine, and, after the door had been securely fastened, water was admitted. When the room was full, the diver opened a door in the hull and stepped out of the boat, which had previously been lowered until it rested on the Canal bottom.
From the porthole in the submarine's bow he could be seen slowly making his way, following the luminous path made by the searchlight. In a short time he reached the gate of the lock, and began to follow its course toward the bank. He was soon out of the range of vision of those at the porthole, but, in a few minutes, returned; and it could be seen, by the way in which he still scanned the walls, that he had not yet found the wires leading to the explosives.
He had traversed perhaps half the distance from the center to the other bank, when he was seen to stop suddenly and carefully examine something near the lock.
"I'll bet he's found the wires," exclaimed Bert, excitedly.
"Very likely he has," replied Mr. Warren. "I was beginning to be afraid that the plotters had buried the wires so cunningly that it would be almost impossible to get at them."
But here, all doubts on the subject were set at rest, as they saw the sailor draw a pair of wire cutters from his belt and ply them on something near the wall. Immediately afterward he straightened up and waved his hand, as a signal that everything was all right.
"By Jove," cried the lieutenant, drawing a long breath, "I guess now we've spoiled those fellows' plans for good. But, believe me, that was rather ticklish work. I expected almost every minute to be wafted heavenward by a charge of dynamite. None of us would have had the slightest chance in the world, if that explosion had taken place."
"I rather think you're right," agreed Bert. "But why doesn't the man come back? He seems to be continuing his search along the Lock gate."
"Oh, that's because the captain gave him orders before he went out to examine the wall from end to end for traces of a second set of wires. But I guess that the Japs had such confidence in their handiwork that they had no doubt of the success of their one set. I must confess that I haven't much doubt regarding them, either, if we hadn't happened along to spoil the whole show for them."
"Yes, the whole country owes Mr. Wilson a debt of gratitude it can never repay," broke in Captain Clendenin, who had come up and overheard the lieutenant's last remark. "It would have been a heavy blow, and one that would have required the expenditure of thousands of lives to recover from. The value of your services cannot be rated too highly, sir."
"I'm grateful for your high opinion of me, I'm sure," replied Bert, much confused by such high praise, "but it was as much by luck as anything else that I first got wind of the plan, and after that, of course, there was only one thing for me to do."
"That's all very well," responded the captain, "but nevertheless not many men I know would have done it, and I abide by my statement. It is no light thing for a young man to attempt, singlehanded, to thwart the plans of a great and powerful nation."
The diver had by this time completed a very thorough inspection of every inch of the gate, and in a short time returned to the submarine. He entered the water-filled room from which he had stepped forth, and, after he had closed the door in the vessel's hull, pulled a signal rope, and in a very few minutes the powerful pumps had emptied the room of water. Then the man was admitted to the body of the boat and relieved of his cumbersome suit.
This done, he immediately reported to the captain, and gave him a detailed account of what he had found.
"There were two sets of wires, sir," he said, "so that if one had not worked, the other would. I looked very carefully along the walls for other wires, but didn't find any."
The captain dismissed him, with a word of approbation, and then gave orders for the submarine to get under way. This was done, but Captain Clendenin had no intention of rising directly to the surface. The water chambers were pumped out very slowly, and, as the boat gradually rose, it was steered slowly back and forth across the face of the gates, and men were stationed at the portholes to look for any indication of other wires. They found none, but were able to see where the dynamite charges had been placed. Evidently the walls had been charged with enough of high explosives not only to derange the machinery but possibly to blow it into fragments.
The men in the submarine shuddered as they thought of the awful catastrophe that would have occurred, and thanked the Providence that had enabled them to avert it. Bert became a veritable hero to all on board. Of course, by this time, the crew had gained a pretty good idea of how matters stood, and had as strong an admiration for him as had the officers. They were all picked men, chosen for their intelligence and bravery, and were therefore well fitted to appreciate these qualities when found in others. And Bert's exploit was after their own heart.
He had free run of the ship, and had learned the uses of most of the ingenious devices that were scattered everywhere about the boat. Accordingly, as he now stepped into the control room, he saw at a glance that they were nearing the surface of the water, being at this moment only twenty feet beneath it.
The gauge indicated less and less depth, and suddenly a burst of sunshine entering the porthole told Bert that they were at the surface. The hatchway was thrown open and he ascended to the deck. The pure, sweet air was very grateful after the somewhat confined atmosphere of the submarine, and Bert drew in great breaths of it. Pretty soon Lieutenant Warren joined him on the little platform and shared with him the beauty of the morning.
"It certainly gets pretty close in here at times," he remarked. "Once we got stuck on the bottom and had all sorts of a time getting off. Our reserve supply of air was used up and we all thought we'd suffocate, sure. But we managed to get loose from the wreck we were mixed up with, just in time, and I don't believe that I ever enjoyed the sight of the blue sky as I did then. It was a narrow squeak, and no mistake."
"I should say it was," answered Bert, and then, after a pause, he asked: "But where are we bound for, now, Lieutenant? What's the next move in the game?"
"Why, we'll get news of this plot to the Canal authorities and the War Department, as soon as possible, and then it will be up to them to act as they see fit. You've done your part and we've done ours, and they in their wisdom can decide the future policy of the nation."
"But what do you think that will be?" queried Bert. "They'll declare war, now, won't they?"
"That's a hard question to answer," mused the other, "but it's my private opinion that the whole matter will be hushed up. You may be sure that those engaged in this affair have covered their tracks very skillfully, and it would be practically impossible to prove that they were accredited agents of the Japanese Government. And in a case of that kind, the world requires more than mere suspicion, you know."
"Yes, I guess you're right," said Bert, thoughtfully. "Come to think of it, I'm the only one who overheard the plotters, and my evidence probably wouldn't be sufficient to prove a connection between them and the Japanese Government. I hadn't thought of that before."
"Well, I rather think that is the way it will work out," said the lieutenant. "However, you never can tell which way the cat will jump at Washington, and this may be the first move in a great war. We won't have many days to wait to find out, anyway."
The submarine made all haste to the nearest cable station at Colon, and from there ciphers in the navy code were sent to the authorities, narrating all the events connected with the plot.
Bert was put ashore, as soon as the submarine reached harbor, and parted from her officers with warm expressions of mutual esteem. The morning was well advanced, as he hurried toward his hotel. There was a hum of preparation apparent, the streets were crowded with throngs hastening to secure a point of vantage for the coming spectacle, and flags and bunting floated everywhere. And just then, as he turned a corner, Dick and Tom, with a wild yell pounced upon him. The anxiety and fear written on their haggard faces were replaced by a look of inexpressible delight. They grabbed his hands and pounded him on the back and otherwise acted as though suddenly deranged.
"You old rascal," shouted Tom. "Where on earth have you been?"
"Glory, hallelujah," cried Dick. "We've searched high and low and have nearly gone crazy."
Their queries rained on him without stint, but not till they had reached the hotel and he had bathed and dressed did he pour out the details of the astounding plot. The boys were thunderstruck at the peril, missed only by a hair's breadth, and their pride in Bert's achievement and joy at his return were beyond all words.
They were sitting on the upper veranda, as they talked, and the huge American flag that flew over the hotel, floated past them, just brushing them, as though in a caress.
"Old Glory," murmured Bert.
"The flag still waves," added Tom.
"Yes," exulted Dick, "and not at half-mast, either."
It was noon, and Namoto sat in his library, waiting.
He was alone. All preparations had been made for instant flight. His household treasures, his heirlooms, his followers, with Togi in charge, had been sent to the yacht, that, with steam up, was lying at its moorings. The captain had reported the disposition of the prisoner, and had received his master's commendation. And now, after measureless toil and risk and scheming, Namoto prepared to taste the sweets of victory.
How near that victory was! The ceremonies were to begin at twelve. He saw in imagination the crowded wharves and banks, the shouting throngs, the stately ships, as, decked with flags, they moved slowly up the bay to the entrance of the Canal. As the first one entered the locks there was to be a salvo of artillery from all the vessels of the fleet. And then, his turn would come. A slight pressure on that button, and there would be a crash, a roar that would echo around the world. Japan would hear and rejoice; America would hear and tremble. To the one, it would be the signal of glorious triumph; to the other, the crack of doom.
There it was, now! Through the window came the boom of guns. He waited till the echoes died away.
Then, smiling, he forced the button down, and listened for the thunder of the explosion.
Silence!
Wonderingly, he pressed again.
And again, the silence of the grave!
Wildly, desperately, frantically, he pushed down with all his strength.Then, pale as ashes, he rose to his feet.
He had failed. How or why, he did not know. But, he had failed. He had gambled for great stakes and lost.
He could still escape. His yacht was waiting. He walked with a firm step over to the wall, and took down a dagger that had belonged to his ancestors.
And when Togi and the captain, alarmed at his non-appearance, burst into the room an hour later, they found him there. His home in Japan, his beloved Nippon, would never see him again. His soul had gone in search of that other home, promised by his creed to those who die for their country—the home of the immortal gods.
* * * * * * *
And all through that day and many days succeeding, the great Atlantic fleet climbed over the ridges of the continent and dropped into the Pacific. And out on that vast expanse, other ships, under another flag, melted away on the horizon, like the passing of an evil dream. The threat of invasion was over. In Tokio, they writhed in secret over the miscarriage of their plans, while in the inner circles of Washington there was unfeigned relief and rejoicing. And all America, unknowing of the peril so narrowly escaped, gloried over the successful opening to the world of the great Panama Canal.
For, as had been predicted, the matter was hushed up and buried in the official archives—that graveyard of so many tragedies, actual and impending. Those who knew were pledged to secrecy. Some day, perhaps, when the time was ripe, America would demand with interest the debt due from Japan. But while there could be no public recognition of Bert's services, he cherished as one of his choicest treasures a personal letter from the President thanking him for his splendid achievement in behalf of the nation.
And now they were on their way home, their hearts aglow with patriotism, after the stupendous proof of their country's genius and destiny, as shown in the great Canal.
Wah Lee, who had been under the close watch kept on all the household, after Bert was discovered, had escaped from the yacht, in the confusion following the death of Namoto, and sought refuge with the boys. His delight at finding Bert safe and sound was only second to that of Dick and Tom. At his earnest entreaties, they had agreed to take him to "Amelika" and look after his future fortunes. He was hobnobbing now with some of his yellow-skinned compatriots in the steerage, while the boys sat on the upper deck of the liner, as it drew away from Colon.
"It's a burning shame," Tom was saying, hotly. "You saved the country from disaster, and scarcely anyone knows it."
"Yes," asserted Dick, emphatically, "your name ought to be a household word all over the United States."
"Easy there, fellows," said Bert. "Anyone else could have done it. I simply had the chance and took it. It was sheer luck."
"No," cried Dick. "It was sheer pluck."
He had struck the keynote of his comrade's character. And, in Bert's later career, that quality of pluck persisted. In the field of sport it was soon to be as prominent as in the dashing adventure through which he had just come triumphant. How brilliantly it came to the fore in the exciting struggle that awaited him will be seen in "Bert Wilson's Twin-cylinder Racer."
The End