Boy on a dock.
The boy's hand moved cautiously toward the rifle.
"That's the fellow who has been wallowing among my flowers lately. Don't go near him yet, Don!" cautioned the boy, bounding to his feet with rifle in hand, and watching his victim like a hawk.
"He's done dead, ain't he?" asked the negro, seeing the giant saurian floating on his back, his yellow belly turned toward the sky.
"Maybe not, Don. Wait till I reach his heart through the flank," replied the youngster, moving near me in order to get a better shot.
The second aim was more effective than the first, the monster's tail lashing the deep water into a repulsive shade. He then turned belly up, inert; his heart had been pierced.
"Now he is safe!" exclaimed the boy to the negro, who was already wading out with the murderous knife and a short-handled axe. The boy then walked toward me with a frank, honest gaze of inquiry, still holding the rifle, which was fully as long as himself.
At that moment I discovered that this marksman was not a boy but a girl!
Shooting alligators is one thing in which I have never indulged, and I watched the show with undisguised wonder and admiration. Discovering that the little rifle expert was a girl excited me, and as she came closer she eyed me critically from shoes to hat. Then I observed that she was older than I first thought.
"I wouldn't want you to shoot at me," I said, attempting to put her at ease. I could detect a sort of distrust in her clear gray eyes.
"I never miss a 'gator, if that's what you mean," said she, toying with her rifle and reassured by my voice. "I've been shooting 'gators all my life."
"I think it's wonderful; few men could do as well."
Still doubting, she smiled slightly and continued to study my face, my tropical clothes, even my shoes.
"Mr. Canby is not about?" I asked as I smiled down upon her.
"No, Daddy went away before daylight," and turning away to glance out toward the Gulf added, as if reassured, "The weather is good and I don't know when to expect him." Then her innate courtesy moved her. I felt that if she raised her rifle and shot me through she would do so delicately—she could not be vulgar, her straight-chiseled nose settled that.
"Won't you have a seat?" she asked, pointing to a rustic table and some chairs worked out of wreckage which stood in the center of the veranda. I thanked her and sat down, while she hung timidly on the edge of a chair opposite, trying to account for my presence.
"Don't you get lonesome and feel afraid here all alone?"
"No, I'm never afraid, and Don is always here.At the end of the week the harbor is full of boats coming in to trade. I can protect myself. A long time ago my father taught me how to shoot with a rifle and a pistol, and also to use a knife. The knife's for sharks, though."
"Then your father is not here much?" I ventured.
"No—lately he lets me run the store, and he goes away to buy sponges, 'gators' hides and sharkskins."
"Where does he sell his stock?"
"Well, I don't exactly know—sometimes in Key West, sometimes in Tampa, sometimes in Havana. He takes the skins and hides to the tannery. What do you want to see my father for?" she suddenly asked, looking straight at me.
I was off my guard. A man's question would have been easy. I knew that to make any progress I must satisfactorily answer that question at once, and instantly I thought of Ike Barry.
"I came to sell him some goods," I replied calmly.
"What kind of goods do you sell?"
"Hardware and ship chandlery—from New York," I added, so that she would not ask the name of the house—as I wasn't sure what house Ike Barry represented.
"I am sorry you did not let him know you were coming, so he would have been here. We do need goods. Trade has been good lately and we are out of a great many things," she replied, much relieved at being able to fix my status. She continued, "Have you ever seen our store? We have made it bigger lately and have much more room. Come in and I will show you."
I saw danger in this. She might ask me prices. If she did I was stumped. But I walked along with her through the store, she pointing out empty shelves and enumerating articles wanted, showing a precocious knowledge of goods, but, continuing her rôle of hostess, talking freely.
"You see, Daddy makes friends with everyone, especially the fishermen, and they come here instead of going to Key West as they used to. Theysay we sell for less, and all on the Gulf side trade at our store. We have been a long time building up our business. Daddy is very proud of it and likes to give them good things, just what they want," she said, with a naïvetté delightfully refreshing.
I don't know why I stared at the child so long. I was somehow beginning to like her. She interested me, and I began to feel as though I would hate to find anything wrong with her father to whom she referred so affectionately.
When we started back to the veranda I asked if she had any cigars. I was dying for a smoke.
"Our trade don't smoke cigars; they want only smoking and plug tobacco, but I can give you some out of Daddy's private box; he always keeps them for himself."
From a shelf she handed me a box and insisted on my taking enough to last a while, saying that it was her treat. I was surprised to see from the factory number they were an expensive popular brand made in New York.
"Now you must come out in my garden. Daddy and I have the greatest fun with the flowers. If I didn't have them I would grow very lonesome. They are my friends and are just like nice people; they talk to me," she went on, now entirely free from restraint. Her flowers were really more wonderful than they seemed at first.
Along the high-tide mark was a trimmed hedge of stunted mangrove trees with their ariel prop roots carefully trained into a fence; next to that was a row of most beautiful water lilies, seemingly ever blooming, as white as the soul of the girl who pointed them out with so much pride and joy.
"You see," she explained with artless simplicity, "one time our garden was nothing but jagged rocks and coral that grows to look like flowers. Don had to carry mud out of the water to make soil before we could do any planting. That is why I wanted to get that 'gator; he wallows them down and abuses them, and Daddy says that every 'gator's hide I get will keep me in school for amonth, and, you see, before long I'm going away up North to school. Do you know anything about the schools up there?" she looked up at me eagerly for my answer.
"No—I don't know much about the schools, but I can easily find out for you," I replied.
"Oh—I hate to think of leaving Daddy here alone, but he says—I must. I often lay in bed by the window where I can see the stars, the North star, and wonder if people I will meet there are as nice as my flowers and if the great cities are as beautiful as the forests and caves I see at the bottom of the sea when I dive for sponges."
I stopped and looked at her, astonished. Evidently she divined the question I would ask.
"Oh, yes, ever since I was a child and until lately I have gone with Daddy sponging, and can stay down longer than he can—he stays longer than anyone else. Of late he won't let me go. He says I stay down too long. But I just can't help it, for I see such beautiful things down there, great ferns as big as trees, streets, parks in so many colorsabout which I can only dream and can't describe. I feel so happy I don't want to come up, and sometimes he has to give me oxygen to bring me to. He is afraid something will happen to me so he won't let me go any more—only once in a while, in shallow water."
I saw the smoke of a train in the north and looked at my watch.
"I am sorry to leave but I must catch this train. It will stop for me."
It was like drawing her back from another world. Visibly disappointed, she started toward the store. "How did you get the train to stop here? It never did before. The trains run past here as though they were afraid," she said, more as audible thought. "Are you coming back?" she asked wistfully.
"Yes, I will come to-morrow," I replied. Then swung on the train and waved back at the lonely little figure standing beside the track.
I dropped into a seat, thoughtful indeed. If there was anything wrong with that little girl, herfather and his business, then my years of training had been wasted. I thought of what the judge told me when he gave me the warrants. On the way back to Key West I formed a plan.
In front of the hotel in Key West I found Ike Barry. "Ike, you sell from a catalog, don't you?"
"Yes—why?"
"If you will loan me your catalog I'll get an order to-morrow, and won't charge you anything but some smokes."
Ike was agreeable and explained the uniform discount on the catalog price as we drank at the soda fountain.
I was hurrying to my room to change back to working clothes, when I saw Scotty of the night before, in the lobby. He was in good clothes and bad liquor, or both. I tried to dodge him until I could get back in working garb but the light of recognition appeared in the little eyes under the deep shelf. He arose and stood near me. I was sure of the liquor then and it did not take long to develop the trouble.
"I had half a slant after you had gone last night that this was your lay," he began, after we were seated in a corner of the bar room.
"It's pretty hard to fool the Scotch," I observed as he poured out Black and White, and watched me fill a glass with gin as full as the water glasses beside it. But he did not see me change the glasses and drink the water instead of the liquor.
"Scotty, you seem troubled. How is it you are all dressed up instead of burning gasoline on the blue?"
"Think I'm in bad," he said, eyeing me closely. "I've had me doots, and your nosing around settles it."
"Scotty—you saw enough last night to know I have a first-class license for the U. S. N. I have served," I continued, as he poured out more Black and White, "and can convince you I have worked as a first-class mechanic in the German and French shipyards."
"Think you did—I know you did—and all thetime was using another tool on paper that went to Washington. But I believe you are on the level for all that, and I don't mind telling——"
"Then, Scotty, what's the use of being so tight? Will you tell me something?"
"Weel—weel—maybe," with a vicious glitter as he glanced down at his empty glass.
"Tell me how you know so well where this man Canby's place is up on the Keys?" I asked, ordering again.
"I might have told you that last night, but ye never asked me, and that has a lot to do with me just now. I don't like the way things are going with Bulow and Company. In fact, I'm downright suspicious, and I'm ready to throw up me job."
"Now you're getting down to it. What do you know about Canby?"
"You see, I've been with this Bulow job near five years. Since the old man died and this manager came in things have not been goin' right. Some time ago there comes a pink-cheeked, taller-belliedchap, I never did know his name, or just who he is. The firm has always been sore on Canby, because he's been takin' spongers' trade from them. But lately there is somethin' else. And it's him you want to know about?"
"Yes, I especially want to know about him—just now."
"No one seems to know how he got up there on the bare Keys," replied Scotty. "One morning the manager and our big-waisted pink-cheek came down to the dock in a devil of a sweat to get away up the Keys on the Gulf side. When we got opposite Canby's he ordered me to make the little bay and Canby's wharf. It was a bad place to get, drawing as much water as we did, but I got alongside the little wharf inside all right and made fast.
"The two of them looked about a bit, but no one was to be seen. They walked up to the store, went inside for a little while, and then returned. The manager said both Canby and the girl were away and the nigger was asleep somewhere. Then theybegan looking sharp about the little warehouse on the end of the wharf. But it was shut tight.
"The manager asked me for a short pinch bar I always keep and I handed it to 'beer-tub.' He was fussing with it and raised his left hand to hold the padlock while he was prying with his right when of a sudden there was a shot. I could see it came from the second story. 'Beer-tub' came rushing aboard with the manager, his hand bleeding, scared stiff, like the hell of a coward he is, and ordered me to get away quick. The shot had gone clear through his fat, dumpy, soft hand like a skewer through a roast of beef. It's bandaged yet. Now what did he want there? How did he know the Canby boat, the fast one I was telling you about, was at the Tortugas at exactly that time? It was the damn girl, they said, who did the shooting—they talk of how she can split a dime with a pistol every shot at a hundred yards."
I yawned, as if my interest was at an end, and, noting his drooping eyelids, got up and walked around for a while until he could regain himself.
To watch the little "reef girl" among her flowers on the bleached, barren coral key was good for the eyes, and more interesting even than the startling information I got out of the Scotch engineer who had been in the employ of Bulow & Co. for five years. I believed my find so important that I was willing to buy Black and White as long as he would stand it or do anything else to keep his tongue wagging, but this was not a hard task. He felt injured, his loyalty and pride were touched—I only needed to rub the sore spots.
"Scotty, have you been discharged?"
"No, siree; I never was fired in me life," said he, stoutly, his natural caution oozing away.
"But you are thinking of quitting and going back to the Royal Navy?"
"That I am. The Old Highland is attacked, and I'm afraid by such people as this very scum that's paying me now. I'm going to chance telling ye. I begin to think there's something rotten here," said he grimly, with the stoic anger of a Highlander examining his weapons before a mêlée chancing his life. I pushed the bottle his way again.
"Scotty, are you willing to open up?"
"Yes—try me."
"Well, it's important for me to know the movement and cargo of all Bulow and Company's ships, tugs and launches. Doing that is a thousand times more valuable than watching steam gauges in His Majesty's Navy."
A shrewd look came over Scotty's face. He placed a bony forefinger solemnly alongside his nose and his small eyes danced in anticipation.
"Have you got a wireless on your launch?" I began.
"No."
"The big steamers have?"
"Yes, all of them."
"Has Bulow and Company a private station anywhere?"
"I think they must have, or they couldn't know so much about the big ships coming in."
"Good! Now, Scotty, I'm going up to the Keys in the morning, and I'll be down on the dock to-morrow night looking for work again. Stick to your job and see what you can tuck in behind those lamps betimes," I said, edging out of the side door. I felt pretty sure of Scotty. My last glance into his eyes reassured me.
With Ike Barry's catalog, as big as an unabridged, the train stopped again at Canby's the next morning to let me off.
The little girl, evidently expecting me, smiled from behind a bank of geraniums—a natural, honest, sweet smile. Her face, framed by the flowers, I will remember forever.
"You see I am here as I promised," said I, saluting, and went down from the veranda to heramong the flowers. She seemed delighted and held out her dainty hand.
"I knew you would come!—and I told Daddy," she exclaimed. "He had to leave in the night again, but he told me to order everything we needed and give you the money," she said simply, with almost a sad look replacing her smile of welcome, at the same time watching the train grow smaller and smaller as it sped toward the Everglades and the Northland, as much a mystery to her as the life to come. Then she resumed digging about the geraniums.
"How were you guided in laying out your flower beds? There is a disorder about them that finally appeals."
"Oh, yes; I understand what you mean," she replied after hesitation. "Well—this end looks like a little room in Nereid." Her eyes were dreamy as she straightened up.
"Nereid—Nereid——" I encouraged, "why, Nereids are of the sea. Belong to Neptune. Is that why——"
"Maybe so; Daddy named it and he has good reasons for everything. He knows so much."
"But you didn't tell me where Nereid is."
"Oh, yes," she replied absently, as if arousing herself from a dream. "Nereid is in the water,—a heavenly place. I found it about fifty feet down. It's a great, big cave with an entrance so small that even after Daddy blasted it with a 'terror' I could only wriggle in."
"What is a 'terror'?" I asked, wondering if she was really dreaming or was possessed of a delightful talent for romancing.
"That's one of Daddy's inventions and we sell lots of them to the spongers. It's a stick of dynamite with a grabhook on it so it can be fastened to most anything and not wash away. A wire is attached so that it may be fired from the boat after the spongers come up. I will show you one inside. You see," she explained, "rocks and coral down there are in the way of getting the best sponges."
"How far is the Nereid?"
"It takes theTitian," said she, looking at the big launch at anchor beyond the warehouse, "about an hour to go there. You know, the bottom of the sea is much more beautiful than the land—the land around here anyway—it's even more beautiful than my flowers. It has great valleys, cliffs, caves and forests, all kinds of varicolored trees, all for the fish, and the sponge divers are the only people who ever see them. Daddy says one place is five miles deep. Oh, I would like to go down there, but I can't."
"Tell me more about Nereid. I am anxious to know."
"Oh, yes. After I could get in we got the most wonderful sponges and I would hand them out to Daddy. We went there for months and I was glad. I love to go and always hated to leave, for it was such a beautiful place. You see, I got so I could stay down longer than Daddy and the sharks could not get in and so I would just rest. Sharks are bad here and we have to keep moving every second or they attack. I could see a light there,but it was not like the sun. It made everything in the cave so bright and I could hear music at times that made me dream. It was heavenly. There were gold, green and other colors I can't describe, the sides and roof looked like diamonds and colored stones I never saw before. The long halls and rooms farther back I was unable to enter."
"Your father was never able to get into Nereid?"
"No; that's why he won't let me go any more. I would stay so long he would have to give me oxygen to bring me to. Then the beautiful things and music would become plainer and I hoped I never would come out. I would imagine I was in the North country about which Daddy tells me, where you live, where everyone hears sweet music, thousands of voices singing, a long way off but plainly. I—I thought my mother was among them. I imagined I saw rows of wonderful books, and pretty pictures, beautiful women, and grand-looking men all dressed up who knew everything—isn'tthat the way things are in great cities, with fine houses, tall buildings that reach the sky, and beautiful parks?"
This question was asked pleadingly, revealing a deep longing for the big world outside, a world of mystery to her, "but maybe it was only a dream," she added, with a plaintive little sigh.
"Yes, the world is full of good men and women and beautiful things, if we see them rightly," I replied, as I walked beside her to the steps of the veranda, marveling at her simplicity. "I think you must have a wonderful father," I concluded, as we went up the steps.
"Oh, he is indeed; we talk so much about everything and especially about the time I must leave him and go to school. I will be so lonesome for him—I do so love my Daddy. But if you are to get that train, the same as yesterday, I will have to hurry, as there are a lot of things we need to order."
"Why does your father go away so early? Does he do that every day?" I asked, getting Ike Barry'scatalog and opening it on the veranda table.
"Yes, about. You see, several years ago he had an accident. A shark charged him just as he was coming up, tired, to rest a moment. I saw the shark just in time, dived and ripped him open with my knife but he got Daddy's knee in his mouth, anyhow. It was so stiff he couldn't swim much and he wouldn't let me go down alone. So we added to the store and got more goods. Then Daddy persuaded all the sponge men to fish for sharks and porpoise, and shoot 'gators, the hides and skins being worth so much more now. Then, instead of selling them green, he started a place away up the country in the woods, where he tans and then sells the leather. Then he buys sponges and sells them, too. That's what keeps him so busy. I will show you some of the leather down in the warehouse when we're through. I'll go and get the list of goods Daddy and I made out last night."
I was puzzled indeed. This child was franknessitself. She, very likely, talked and thought in the same terms as her father, from long and constant companionship. There was no evidence of anything to conceal. I felt sure he was not smuggling or in contraband trade. As I walked about the veranda, waiting for her, I noticed for the first time what appeared to be a very old and battered wreck, barely visible, lying behind the coral reef that protected the little harbor.
"You have had a wreck here, I see?" I observed enquiringly, as she returned with the list.
"Oh, yes. That's been there longer than I can remember. We have some awful hurricanes at times coming in from the Gulf, and as they come up so quickly the spongers get caught once in a while," she replied, taking a chair opposite me at the table, ready to read her list. "That's why we need such fast boats—to race for shelter. My boat, theTitian, is very swift. I can even pass theSprite, Daddy's big, new boat. You see, he gave me theTitianwhen he got theSprite. TheSpriteis much bigger, but I can beat it," she chatted,laughingly recalling the fun they had racing.
I started at the first page of Ike's catalog, and ended up at the last. The little thing gave me a long order, I was afraid too much, amounting to more than they would be able to pay. But I was mistaken. When through she asked me to tell her how much it was. It took me a long time to total it for it was new to me. I told her it was over four thousand dollars, watching for a big surprise.
Not so. She staggered me. She got pen and ink and made out the check Canby had signed and gave it to me, also shipping directions; when I looked at the check it was on one of the very large banks in downtown New York.
But my hardest work was to come. I wanted a peep in the warehouse, that interested Bulow and Company so much, and was afraid she would forget her promise to show me the sharkskin leather. But she didn't. She got a key from the store and as we walked down the wharf she talked of the North, and how she longed to go to school,every time coming back to the fact that she hated to leave Daddy.
Once in the warehouse, I discovered it was much larger than it appeared from outside. What I saw amazed me. Sharkskins, tanned as white as snow and soft as fine kid, were piled, with various sizes together, higher than my head; porpoise, as thick as elephant's hide, were stacked to the cross beams. Tanned alligator hides, arranged also in sizes, filled half the warehouse. There must have been tens of thousands of dollars' worth. Keenly delighted at her father's achievements, she told me about each kind and for what purpose they were used.
In one corner were a lot of tanned sharkskins individually rolled and bound securely with sisal cords. They seemed extra heavy as they laid there in a big pile. I passed my hand over them. Evidently they were wrapping something very heavy, ingots of lead or copper.
"That's the way he ties them up for shipping so they won't take much room," she volunteered,noting my interest, and I wondered if she was as innocent as she seemed of their contents.
"Do you feel safe with such valuables around? This warehouse is only corrugated iron," I suggested. My intention was to lead up to the visit of the Bulow boat, and the subsequent shooting.
"Well"—she hesitated as though recalling a discussion with her father—"the fishermen are all honest. As rough as they are, they would not take a pin. We have never been bothered at all, except once—just lately."
I encouraged her by arching my brows inquiringly.
"One morning I was in my room that faces this way, cleaning my rifle. Don was over on the other side of the reef skinning a 'gator I had just shot, when I noticed a big cutter swing up with three men. Two got out and came in the store. I was going down at first, but somehow I stayed at the top of the stairs and listened. They talked awfully rough, and at the same time were looking all over the place. They went out to the warehouseand the fat man tried to pry off the padlock, and kept on trying. I didn't want to hurt him, but he had no right to break in, so I shot him through the hand. I hoped I had just frightened him, but blood spots were found on the wharf after they got in their boat to go away. Father said I did just right," she ended, in a dubious tone.
I now saw the train coming, and had to hurry, telling her I hoped to see her again. As I swung on board she stood watching and waving her hand with a longing, wistful expression.
Riding back to Key West I run over in my mind all that little girl had said, even those matters to which she vaguely referred. Something about her face and manner had made a deep impression on me. I felt I wanted to help this wonderful little flower girl, blooming out of the bare reefs of the Keys, having the appearance of the serrated edges of an immense alligator tail extending out of the Everglades into the Straits of Florida. There was always the possibility, it seemed to me, of its moving suddenly any time, throwing Key West and all the rest into the Gulf of Mexico, or over into the Bermudas.
Ike Barry, of the big heart, was astonished at my good day's work for him, and wanted toreciprocate. I told him to hustle the goods on promptly and that would be enough for my time and trouble. Then I inquired:
"Who is the pink-cheeked, deep-waisted Teuton individual—the comparatively new addition—is he part of the mystery about Bulow and Company?" I asked casually.
"Mystery is right!" he replied softly. "I don't know for sure. Wasn't much interested, in fact. I think it's like this. When old Bulow died the business was incorporated by the heirs, and then this fellow shows up with a big say, executively. The manager jumps when he sneezes. The change didn't affect their credit and that's all that interests me. However, I can find out easily enough, and will let you know."
"Do that, Ike, and I will call it square for getting you a new customer," but that night I found a hundred good Havanas in my room. Afterward I put on working clothes and went down to the dock to find Scotty. He was working on his engine, the cylinder heads off, getting ready for abig run the next day. I fell to and helped him, enabling me to better examine the cutter—and talk with him. Scotty was covered with sweat, grease and indignation.
"There's something coming off to-morrow, and it beats hell that I can't find out just what it is. This boat goes out to-morrow and I don't go with it, for the first time. A greasy piece of German cheese from one of the big steamers is going to run her so what in the devil do you suppose they are up to?" he asked, wrathful and caustic.
I looked surprised and glanced about.
"No, they're gone now but they've been working on her most all day. Do you see that plate bolted to the deck aft? They think they're fooling me, but that is a base for mounting a five-inch gun. They put that in place to-day. Now, why do they want a gun on this craft? And rifles were brought aboard. They're here now; want to see 'em?"
"All the English and American cargo and passenger ships are mounting guns for defense now,"I suggested, but he shook his head negatively.
"This is no cargo boat. She's less than a hundred feet over all. We only take a little freight to fishermen at the Bermudas and bring in hides and sponges. We don't go where there's submarines. No—there's something else and I believe it has a lot to do with this man Canby. They're bitter against him. The manager and that tub of tallow, with his left hand still in bandage, was aboard this afternoon. I couldn't hear all they said and they talked German, which I don't understand much. I did hear Canby's name and hear 'em swear. I tell you they are up to some deviltry."
We adjusted the gasket, replaced the heavy cylinder head, and began bolting it down, both silent for some minutes.
"Scotty, what else is it that makes you think there is something wrong in the wind?" I asked, thinking hard as we worked.
"Well, why don't I go as usual? Why do they put a Boche in my place and order me to lookafter repairs on the ocean tug? And why do they want a five-pound gun and rifles? They're going to call at the Tortugas and then cross the Gulf—to Galveston or New Orleans. There's no submarine there. The fat party and two or three others are going. The cabins were fixed up to-day and a new cook is shipped."
"You couldn't hear what they said about Canby?"
"No, but I'm sure they are watching him; they know what he does every day. He's very slick and either knows too much for 'em or is beating them to something. And 'beer-tub' is a muckle sore about having his hand punctured."
All the unanswered questions Scotty asked struck me between the eyes at once. What did the manager and an executive of Bulow and Company want to see in Canby's warehouse? Was it the beautiful leather, or something else for which they were willing to "break and enter"—committing a felony—to see? Why were they mounting cannon and taking on rifles if their object waslawful and peaceful? And why did they want a crew strictly Boche? Scotty noticed my silence and looked over anxiously.
"Scotty," I asked quietly, "do you know that, outside of gold and a conscience, the Boche needs copper, rubber and cotton, in the order named, more than anything else?"
"That they do."
"Think it over. Copper from Mexico, or any Gulf port in the States. The same of cotton, and the biggest rubber port, Campeechy, across the straits. It is possible you have overlooked or forgotten something. Has any of Bulow's ships, tugs or barges handled anything like that? And that, just now, might mean a Dutchman's one per cent, besides loyalty to the murder trust, in getting that kind of merchandise into Germany through Sweden?" We both worked swiftly as we talked, running down the nuts on the cylinder-head studs.
Scotty, under his breath, began heaping curses on himself as a bonehead, and tried to take it outon the wrench he was using. I waited till he subsided.
"Scotty, you know theDeutschland, a cargo U-boat, has made a few trips to northern ports and that a sister sub they never mentioned is known to have left for this side. Is it possible Bulows have something to do with it? And that everything the Boche fails to say is just as important as what he usually lies about?"
"Yes, but damn it, man, it don't come easy for me to go back on them that pay me."
"I know, Scotty, but it ain't treason to fight a German. He lies just as easy as he ruins young girls, or mutilates prisoners and wounded men. Their hearts, throats, teeth, eyes and hands, the very marrow of their bones utter lies perfected for fifteen hundred years. Think it over, Scotty," I said, wiping my hands. "I am going up to the wireless station and will be back in about two hours."
"Don't you think there are some good ones?" he asked, looking injured, evidently shocked bythe memory that he had trusted some of them.
"Yes, Scotty, a few who left Germany because they hated it, but to be born and to grow up in Germany adds a virus to the blood that is bad. It can be neutralized about as easy as black can be made white. You can't expect to rival them in general crookedness in a thousand years' practice. They're about to hand you something."
He threw down his wrench wrathfully, wiped his hands, and followed me up on the dock.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked, his head hanging.
"If there is another man in the Bulow service you can trust, get me some information, but mind what I have told you about trusting a born German. They revel in deceit and dirty, treacherous lies. When I get back I'll tell you what I want." Instead of Scotty going back to work I saw him go down the wharf where the ocean tug was tied up, but I was not quite sure he was convinced.
I went to the wireless station and the information I got from Washington was mainly satisfactory,but a long way from completing a more or less nebulous theory, pointing to something big.
Coming back past the hotel I found a note there from Ike Barry. It read:
"The big money in Bulow is supplied by the Transatlantic Banking Company, New York. The fat party represents them."
When I got back to the dock Scotty was working listlessly. Didn't seem to care if he never got the cutters ready to go out, and looked thoroughly disgusted.
"What have you dug up, Scotty?" I knew I had him. My appeal had sunk in.
"Not a blessed thing. I thought Jim Wheeler, the assistant engineer on the tug, could tell me something, but he's gone. The crew's all sauerkraut now. I'm sure Wheeler is on the level."
"Well, drop that now and pay close attention. I have a plan. It's a big bet, but I am going to make it if you will help. When does this cutter leave in the morning?"
"Eight o'clock."
"And how long will it take to run to Tortugas?"
"She can do it in two hours easy."
"That will bring her there at ten. Scotty, she must not get there till twelve, or even later. I know what they are doing at Tortugas. How can you fix it?" I asked, giving him a strong eye bracer.
He shrank as if stung. Scotty's inherited fealty to an employer was touched. It was one thing to talk, but his nature balked at acting. He looked down at the cutter as a lover, then across to the ocean tug that had replaced all hands with German born. His eyes finally came back fighting and his hands closed viselike, struggling with himself. Now was my time to drive in the nail.
"Scotty, there are some kinds of fire you must meet with fire, however much you hate the job. This is one of those cases. If I am right and can pull this off, it will mean millions upon millions for the Stars and Stripes and it's now only a question of days when we will be at war with Germany, too."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Yes, as sure as hell! Are you going to help me?" I shot this at him in a rasping whisper.
"I didn't say I wouldn't," he finally blurted, "but I don't know how."
"Give me your hand," I said, grabbing that greasy member and shaking it firmly. When a Scot shakes hands on a bargain he's safe.
"Now, Scotty, have you taken gasoline yet?"
"Yes."
"How much?"
"Three hundred gallons."
"Scotty, don't finish your job on that engine to-night. Let the new engineer adjust and time it after you finish in the morning. Then just before you come off slip this little ounce package in the gasoline tank."
Scotty grinned for the first time. "Will that do it?"
"In about half an hour his trouble will commence. It's a trick I learned in German shipyards."
Scotty grinned again.
"They think they know it all, especially about machinery, when, as a matter of fact, everything they have is stolen. It's their perverted, thieving ego, Scotty. They even murder more efficiently than anyone else."
Scotty laughed outright. "I wonder if they will have a different kind of hell or heaven?"
I felt sure of Scotty now, so I said, "Scotty, they know nothing about heaven. About hell, what they don't know now they will learn when America gets in the game. This very case may be the one to bring us in."
Scotty started to yell but I put my hand over his mouth. "Anyhow," he whispered, "I got one whoop coming to me later—eh?"
"You have, Scotty—stick tight, all ears and eyes, and no tongue." He stood grinning after me as I went my way. "I'll see you soon," I said in parting.
For a long time the Transatlantic Banking Company, which I have mentioned on several occasions, puzzled me. I wondered if it was truly a big bank, and why it should hold an interest in Bulow and Company. My suspicion was that it might figure in the matter at hand as it did in Howard Byng's affairs fifteen years previously.
That point mystified me. It took a long time to reason it out, although I was looking for the cloven-hoof in banks, and even governments, and I did believe that the Kaiser had been planning a world conquest ever since he tucked France's thousand millions into his wallet and went away with his chest out.
I did believe that the Germans nourished andpracticed morganatic marriage, the well-spring of most all forms of concubinage and degeneracy, liberally imported to New York and all other large cities of the world—the tap-root of the social evil. The entire German royal crowd are sexual degenerates. We allow the male as well as the female of this species to enter respectable residential sections, social clubs, and churches, there to rub elbows and even kiss with their scarlet lips girls and boys, thus encouraging further acquaintance with their kind of "morality."
We can see all that now, but I, like millions of others, didn't fall for its enormity until actually struck by lightning, so to speak.
The Kaiser's coterie had started out to seduce the world, and came with a clean, pink face. Kultur, music, art, science—frequently stolen—a stab at literature, and a big display of substance—money—were used as wedges. They began as the libertine always begins, by cloaking themselves as respectable. Hell's reward is ashes, bitter, acrid, scalding ashes, slow in coming and sometimes atthe expense of blood and millions. Adjectives, adverbs and qualifying phrases have lost their power to convey a conception of the underground system of the Hun.
While we dislike sermons and smile sometimes at our own moralizing, and hate bristling, pregnant facts, nevertheless we have faced a wall of them, and it remains to be seen whether we smash it, thereby letting in the noonday sun, or shall walk cowardly around the truth to further plague ourselves and generations to come.
I took the early train to Canby's place next morning, convinced that Bulow and Company's cutter was going out on an expedition that meant harm to the little girl's father, whom I had not met. I wondered if his delightful daughter, whom I had learned to venerate, would allow me to use a motorboat so I could go to her father. I found myself thinking of her as an "oasis on a barren Key." Of how much self-interest was concealed in that who shall be the judge? I mean the possibility of excitement, lure of danger, of servingand making a record with the Government which signed my vouchers. This child would become a valuable witness. I recalled what the old judge had said about the odor the papers gave off to him—white paper and ink can give a terrible stench to our sixth sense if one has the nostrils to detect it.
I walked through the store and came out on the big veranda, only to see her hurrying in from among her flowers. Coal-black Don was sitting on the wharf, bareheaded.
"Mr. Wood, I knew it must be you because the train never stops for anyone else!" she exclaimed, naïvely, coming up and offering me a delicate but firm little hand. "Is there something wrong? Are we going to get the goods? Daddy was so glad I ordered them and is planning on them.
"He started early for the Tortugas and will not come back till late. I tried to keep him here, and out of the water, but I can't. I know he is diving again. I can tell by his red eyes when he returns. He talks about doing it so that I may go Northto school, and makes me forget how hard he is working by telling me how much fun it is, and how he made a dummy man for the sharks to charge at. As soon as they bite at it a torpedo goes off and kills them. He says that long before he gets old he will really quit, and we will be so happy together."
"But I want to see your father this morning; in fact, it is important," I insisted quietly.
"Is it very—very important?"
"Yes, it is very important." I'll admit I lacked courage to tell her why, for it seemed a pity to disturb her delightful state of mind.
"I could take you out there in theTitian, but my father would be displeased if it were not something very important. I never did that before," she said, coming closer and eyeing me fearlessly.
"Your father would not be displeased. He would say you were the bravest and best little girl in the world." She had apparently been taught to obey and never thought to ask why I wanted to see him.
"Oh, I will gladly go. I love the water and theTitianis so fast and seems to love it, too," and with no more ado she called to Don to bring theTitianalongside the wharf and take off the cover.
The negro slid off, turtlelike, into the ebb tide and waded out to the boat, which he soon made ready for the trip.
The girl felt for her shark knife, to be sure it was there, and went into the store and got her rifle. "Daddy says for me never to go out without a rifle and a shark knife, as I may need them any time," she explained as I looked on wonderingly.
"He says, with a shark knife, rifle, some 'terrors,' an oxygen tank and a good boat, there is little danger," she volunteered, somehow thinking it necessary to reassure me as we walked to the power boat now ready for us.
The boat evidenced a feminine touch. Painted, varnished, brass shining spick and span, as would the engine room of an ocean liner. Perhapsthirty-five feet over all without a cabin, though there were bunks for two in the bow ahead of the steering wheel protected from the weather by a cowl over which the little girl could just see when standing. The shining, six-cylinder motor, with up-to-date starter and reverse clutch, was in the center at the bottom of an open cockpit extending clear astern, surrounded by seats under which was closed storage space.
"You see," she said, placing the rifle in a convenient leather holster under which hung binoculars, "we used this boat to sponge from for a long time, but since Daddy got theSpriteand gave theTitianto me I have changed it some—and painted it up to suit myself," she added, as the motor sprang into life at her touch. The cutter moved instantly toward the entrance of the little bay and out on the Gulf into a slight head wind.
"Better come up here under the cowl, for she throws a spray after she gets full headway, even if there is no sea," she warned, not moving her eyes from her steering course and glancing occasionallyat the compass in the miniature binnacle.
I took a seat on the side opposite her, protected from the spray as theTitianeagerly reached ahead. The craft seemed vitalized by her presence, and sped like the wind over the long swells now coming head-on from somewhere out in the great Gulf.
She charmed me, standing there at the wheel, on the opposite side of the cockpit, receiving the spray on her boyishly cropped hair—a baptismal glory. She was a picture with her perfectly shaped, natural feet, plump but sinuous legs bare to the knees, brown arms, remarkable chest, chiseled nose and chin, and a wonderfully calm, seraphic face, delighted with the exhilaration of motion and speed. Her great thought was that she was performing some big service for the father she loved so much. The picture will remain with me forever.
"How long will it take to get there?" I finally asked, thinking of the possibilities in Bulow and Company's movements. My intuition had floggedme to suspect certain happenings during the previous night, after I had parted from Scotty. Notwithstanding a good night's sleep my suspicions were even yet strong within me, and I actually prayed that results would spare this child from a knowledge of the savagery of the people with whom I was likely to deal.
I was positive that harm was meant to Canby, when and where was the only question. But why did they want him?—why the warrants? Why their visit to his warehouse?—and why their cannon and rifles, and other paraphernalia?
The child finally seemed to come out of a delightful reverie. She glanced back at the motor, whose every valve, spring and cylinder was humanized—biting eagerly in answer to her will.
"If Daddy is where I think he is we will reach him in another half hour; it's only about twenty-five miles from here and theTitianbehaves well. She knows she has a guest aboard," she added with a smile.
I looked at my watch. We would arrive therea little after twelve. If the little Scottish engineer had not failed we would be there in time, and then I could have another laugh at my ominous premonition that counseled such extreme haste and energy.
Finally I saw the little girl's hand leave the wheel, and reach. I watched her take from the leather pocket a pair of glasses and raise them to her eyes, meanwhile steering with the other hand.
I am willing to admit a thrill of relief when she exclaimed:
"There he is. I can see theSpritenow, I know her, as far as I can see—her lines are so different."
I arose hastily and peered in the direction she indicated. She handed me the glasses. I could but faintly discern the boat, but we were traveling so fast I soon made out a trim motor boat about as long as the Boche cutter, evidently anchored to the leeward of one of the straggling coral formations of the Tortugas group. I swept the sea, butat that moment could see no other vessel. She must have noted my relief as I returned the glasses.
"I was sure I could go straight to him. I haven't missed it much," she said, clapping her hands delightedly. "You see I wasn't two points off where he is anchored," she added, changing her course to bear directly down upon him, the spot now easily visible to the naked eye. Anticipation of the loving welcome she would receive beaming in her happy face.
My exultation did not last long. I detected something moving in the sea beyond the island. I reached for the glasses instantly to assure myself that my imagination was not tricking me. Without a possible doubt the Boche boat was coming up toward Canby's boat, shielded by the little island.
Scotty's work had delayed them some, but not quite enough. Heavy forebodings again possessed me as I watched the boat stealthily approaching. Screened by the island between it and the Canbyboat, it dashed forward at express speed. TheSpritewas manifestly at anchor with no signs of life aboard. No doubt Canby was diving and the Boche had selected that moment in which to strike.
Living this episode over again, I labor with the inadequacy of any combination of words to describe it. I saw the Boche boat bearing down like the wind upon the Canby boat—its intended victim. I was now positive, and I exulted in mind that I had Bulow in the toils. I was witnessing an overt act. But I hoped it would not bring harm to the child, such a slight bundle of charming girlhood. I cannot describe my feelings as the Boche boat, on evil bent, came swooping down from one direction and we from another with no chance to arrive there first. And if we did arrive ahead of them how could we contend with a five-pound cannon which I knew they had mounted the day before?
The little girl's face portraying unalloyed joy suddenly changed to apprehension.
"Why, there is a big boat heading directly for theSprite. I wonder what they want? It is very fast, too!" The child grasped the wheel firmly, glanced again at the motor, which seemed to throb with increased eagerness as it dashed into calmer waters on the lee side of the island.
"Why—why—that looks like the boat that came to our wharf when I was alone, and I had to shoot—oh, Mr. Wood, it is the same!" exclaimed the girl. "What can they want?—I can't see Daddy anywhere. He must be diving and may not come up until after they get there. I can see them plainly now; there are several men on deck, all looking at theSprite!" she exclaimed, with a little cry of pain so foreign to her, a cry of the wounded—soul-depressing, pleading.
She glanced at the motor behind her, as if to urge it on to greater effort. As we came up I could see now why theSpritewas speedy. The little girl and Scotty both had said she was veryfast. She was built like a scimiter, her graceful lines showing above the water, as she bowed, queenlike, to the slightly undulating sea, tugging gently at her anchor.
We were now within half a mile of our goal, and the Boche boat had stopped short like a rearing pair. They were now within a few hundred feet of the Canby craft and swung broadside, coming to a standstill with reversed engine. This was instantly followed by a puff of smoke that bespoke tragedy.
"It is the same boat, and they are shooting at theSpritewith a big gun!—they are trying to sink it!—Daddy must be diving!—I cannot see him!—He would shoot them all if he were there!—Oh! Oh!"—and she beat the wheel of theTitianfrantically with her delicate hands as if to drive it faster. As they drew closer another cannon shot boomed above the quiet sea like a knell of death.
At that instant the little girl's face changed to that of a raging woman of fearful determination.Her eyes burned and glittered, a wild fierceness unseated her gentle youth and femininity.
I don't care to witness such fierceness often—it's terrible to see in human beings. The delicate, innate, refined child disappeared, and the calm, stolid determination of a maddened woman came to view. I shall never forget this picture—it was sublime. She instantly planned.
She steered past the bow of theSprite, scanning futilely for signs of her father, then brought up with reversed engine within fifty feet of the Boche boat, and asked me to hold steady there. In an instant she had lifted one of the seats, grasped something, and disappeared over the side as smoothly as a seal.
Two men on the Boche boat came to its bow to see what was going on, but, being unarmed, I made no move, divining what she was doing. I could hear three jubilant voices; a shot hole in Canby'sSpritewas visible just above the water line. They knew it had passed out below on the other side. One of the men shouted, "She is sinking!"then added, "Better give her another shot to make sure." Then came another order to get the rifles ready for Canby "when he comes up." As if suddenly realizing there might be danger in a launch stopping so near them, three or four men faced about to look us over.
I recognized among them at once the thick waistband and heavy jowl of the leader—and, yes, there was the bandaged hand just as Scotty had described.
"What's this?" he said in perfect English. "We can't leave anyone to tell tales. We'll take no chances. Better swing around and give this one a shot, too—the rifles will not sink her.
"What do you want here?" he asked insolently, when he saw me trying to shrink up to invisibility under the cowl of theTitian.
I did not have time to answer, for a thin hand grasped the other side of the boat and the little girl came over the side holding the ends of a double insulated wire. With the savage gleam in her eyes she then without hesitation applied thetwo ends to separate poles of the battery. This done, she looked directly at the Boche with the bandaged hand, not more than fifty feet away, who stood much puzzled by her appearance from nowhere.
A fearful explosion immediately followed that carried the bow of the enemy ten feet in the air, falling back instantly as though seeking the quickest route to oblivion.
This, then, was the effect of the "terror" her father had invented!
Her face gave no sign as she started the motor and drew alongside theSprite, now but a short distance away. It was taking water in the cockpit aft as it gently rolled in the sea.
She jumped on board, went to the half-inch down line over its side which she knew led to her father working below. She tried it for weight, as he might be coming up. Not being reassured by this, she stood up in the boat and began filling herlungs. Her wonderful chest expanded to deformity before she went over the side with the down line as a guide. I knew she was bound for the bottom of the sea to rescue her father, and such terrible determination would get him, dead or alive. To one underneath water a cannon shot above is a stunning blow.
After she was over I watched the Boche boat that was surely sinking, bow down. The Huns were all below, evidently to determine the extent of the damage. Not being anchored, their wreck seemed likely to drift away.
I jumped from the littleTitianinto theSprite, to note the damage of their shots. One had evidently missed, but the other entered above the water line, and being deflected, passed out on the other side, at the water line. I thrust a piece of waste in the jagged hole and noted she had so far taken but little water.
When I looked again for the Boches they were out on deck working frantically over the singlelifeboat and were swinging it out on its davits. Craven fear had now replaced the jubilant insolence of a moment before.
I sprang back into theTitianand took the girl's rifle. At a short distance I am fairly accurate and I sent three bullets through the bottom of the light metal lifeboat. I wanted these men, they having actually committed a crime in the territorial waters of the United States. By getting them and their boat I might have the key to a violation of international law.
I called upon them to surrender or I would shoot to kill. The man with the bandaged hand and great paunch was an easy target. Dazed and chagrined at the turn of things, they stood for a moment in silence. Then followed loud talking and swinging of arms, as if accusing each other.
A panic seemed imminent among the trapped fiends, three of them went below; the cook, still clothed in white, and the engineer in greasy overalls, ran to the lifeboat, shoved it off into the seaand tumbled and plunged in after it. One began to row frantically while the other railed at those left in the sinking boat. I did not need them so bad, and without this lifeboat I was sure of the rest.
Evidently attracted by the dropping boat, the remaining three rushed back on deck, shouting curses, and shaking their fists with rage at the two in the boat making frantically for the coral island.
Their boat, with bow under, stopped sinking, evidently held up by water-tight compartments amidship and aft. Without a small boat or an engineer, I felt sure they were mine, though I knew there were rifles aboard, and the five-pounder might be brought into action if the escaping engineer was not the gunner.
As the three went below again I jumped back into theSprite. The down line evidenced life and big air bubbles coming to the surface assured me that the little girl, at least, was safe. But the least neglect in watching themovements on the Boche boat was very dangerous. I knew that deviltry was certainly being planned.