CHAPTER IX.
A deputation of three paused at the foot of the ladder leading to the captain’s quarters.
“You can’t keep it to yourselves,” Mr. Linton had said. “If there’s nothing in it, you might get yourselves into a good deal of trouble by interfering; and if your suspicions are correct, you want authority behind you. In either case the captain might resent your not reporting the matter to him. No, I won’t come; it’s your own party. I didn’t get out of my excellent bed in the small hours of the morning and wander round the ship acting Sherlock Holmes!”
“Norah, The Human Sleuth!” murmured Wally, admiringly.
Norah reddened. In the commonplace light of day she felt a little shaken about her discovery. It had seemed very certain in the night; now she wondered if it were indeed quite so sure a thing. Uncomfortable visions of bursting into the cabin of perhaps an innocent old lady, filled her mind.
“Be quiet!” said Jim, patting his chum on the head with more vigour than consideration. “Who upset himself?”
“That isn’t decent of you,” said Wally, rubbing his pate. “I’m still bruised, in mind and body. It’s evident that there’s nothing of the sleuth about this child. Well, you and Norah can go to the skipper.”
“Indeed, you’re coming too,” said Jim. “You saw the light as well as we did.”
“And messed up the show, without any assistance,” Wally added, sadly.
“Don’t be an old stupid,” said Norah. “If this show is a show at all, it isn’t a matter of one night only. We’ll get him, if he’s there to be got.”
“Of course we shall,” Jim said. “Well, we might as well go and hunt up the captain.”
“Wait until eleven o’clock,” counselled his father. “Most of the passengers are pretty well taken up then, between beef-tea and games, and you’re likely to find the boat-deck empty; it’s just as well not to court observation when you attack him in force.” So the deputation possessed its soul in what patience it might until the coast was fairly clear, and then made a rapid ascent to the upper deck.
“Shall we send him a message?” Norah asked, stopping at the foot of the ladder.
“No, I don’t think so,” Jim answered. “This is a private call, and we don’t want attention drawn to it. Come on.” They plunged up the steep steps and knocked discreetly.
“Come in,” said the captain’s voice; and they entered, to find not only Captain Garth, but the chief officer, comfortably ensconced in easy chairs; at sight of whom the deputation stopped, in some confusion.
“I beg your pardon,” Jim said; “we ought to have found out if you were engaged.”
“By no means—it’s all right,” said the captain, cheerfully. “Mr. Dixon and I were merely discussing affairs of state—the weight of brown trout, I think it was, eh, Dixon? Sit down, Miss Norah. Is it very private, or can Mr. Dixon stay?”
“It’s certainly private,” Jim said, laughing; “but I should think Mr. Dixon had better stay, or you might have the trouble of getting him back, captain.”
“It sounds alarming,” said the skipper. “May I smoke, Miss Norah?—thank you. I’ll feel better able to bear it, with a pipe, whatever it is. Not mutiny, I hope, Jim?”
“You may think it’s nothing at all,” Jim answered “But we thought we’d better tell you.” He made his story as brief as possible, watching the captain’s face—which darkened as he heard, while Mr. Dixon’s remained frankly incredulous.
“If this is so, what’s the watch doing, Dixon?” was the captain’s first question.
“The watch is generally pretty well on the look-out,” the chief officer said. “Only a night or two before, Miss Norah, here, was telling me they raided her cabin because a light was coming from it.” He stopped, for Norah had given a hasty jump. A sudden flash of comprehension illuminated a puzzle that had remained in a corner of her mind.
“I don’t believe it was my light they saw at all!” she exclaimed. “I never could make out how it could be. Jim, don’t you think it must have been the same flashes that we saw?”
“By Jove!” said Jim. “That explains it—I couldn’t understand why they went for you and your little torch.”
“You might tell me what it means,” said the captain, patiently. “I’d know more if you did!”
“My port was open—but the curtain was drawn across it,” Norah explained. “I wanted some toothache stuff, so I was using my little electric torch—it’s only a wee one, and I’m just certain it couldn’t throw any light through the curtain and outside. But the quartermaster came down and complained. I don’t believe it was my cabin at all that they saw—it was the one we were watching last night.”
“Yes,” exclaimed Wally, “and, ten to one, whoever it was heard the quartermaster raiding you, and profited by the warning. And then he thought of fitting in his wind-scoop so that it would shut out his light from the deck above.”
“That’s possible, of course,” Mr. Dixon said. “Those wind-scoops jut out a good way; I don’t believe any one looking down would see a light shielded by one. The watch is well kept—but all that the men think of looking for is a decided ray of light from a cabin window.”
“H’m!” said the captain. “You didn’t find out who occupies the suspected cabin?”
“No,” Jim answered. “We thought of doing so, but Dad reckoned it might excite suspicion if we took any steps. So we haven’t done anything.”
“Quite right. The purser can tell me easily enough.” The captain paused, and knitted his brow in thought.
“Well,” he said, at length, “it may be innocent enough—but it doesn’t sound so. I’m giving you three credit for being fairly acute observers; I don’t think you’d jump to wild conclusions.”
“We were awfully scared of making fools of ourselves!” Jim said, laughing.
“Very wholesome feeling. Anyhow, I’ll speak to the purser, and make a few inquiries. And as it’s your case, so to speak, perhaps you would all come up here this afternoon and have tea with me, and I’ll tell you anything I’ve found out. Bring your father.”
“Thanks, awfully,” said the deputation, greatly relieved at being taken so seriously.
“I don’t think I need mention that ‘a still tongue makes a wise head,’ or any sage proverb of that description?” said the captain, with a smile.
“I don’t think so,” Jim answered. “If you have a raid, Captain, may we be in it?”
“I’ll see,” said the captain. “Too soon to make rash promises—and your father might have a word to say in the matter. We’ll have a talk about it this afternoon. You can tell any one that you’re going to hear my gramophone.” He smiled at them encouragingly, and the deputation, understanding that it was dismissed, withdrew. On the boat-deck, it broke up into three, each unit rejoining the main body of the passengers separately, with an elaborate air of unconcern.
“We were wondering what had become of you,” remarked John West, whom they found, with two or three of the younger men, talking to Mr. Linton. “Some one was hunting for you two fellows to play cricket.”
“Sorry,” Jim said. “Are they playing?”
“I don’t think so—it fell through. There are really not enough passengers to get up games. Some of the more energetic are talking of a sports committee—but I’m dead against it this side of Durban. We shall probably pick up more people there.”
“You’re coming on to London?” Jim asked.
“Oh, yes—Grantham and Barry and I mean to stick together if we can, and try to get into the same crowd; we don’t care what it is, but we’d prefer a mounted one. You two had better come along with us. We’d be a pretty useful lot.”
“Thanks,” said the boys, flattered at the invitation from older men. “It would be jolly.”
“I’m a bit doubtful as to its being jolly at all,” said Grantham, laughing. “From all I can read it’s going to be a particularly beastly business, and I rather think a good deal of the ‘romance of war’ will disappear over it. The only thing is that it would be less jolly to stay out of it.”
“Yes; you’d feel a bit of a waster, to stand out, wouldn’t you?” West said. “Everybody’s going to be in it before long, I’ll bet—it will be a sort of International Donnybrook Fair.” He raised his voice to include Mr. Smith, who was standing by the rail, looking out to sea. “Going to join when you get home, Smith?”
“To join?” said the stout one, turning. “To join what?”
“Oh, just the little old Army! You’re not going to be out of the fun, are you?”
Mr. Smith shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m too old,” he said. “Men of my age aren’t wanted—it’s youngsters like you and those boys. Very useful you’ll be, if you get there. But for me—well, there is the Rifle Club of which I’m a member; and they may make me a special constable. That requires heroism, if you like—to march up and down a sloppy London street in the pouring rain for four hours each night, knowing just how much use you would be if anything went wrong.”
“But why wouldn’t you be of use?” Norah asked.
“Why?—because I am not young. Nobody is much use who is elderly—and fat. One gets flabby and one’s muscles become soft and limp. Only one’s head remains. Therefore, I cultivate my head.”
“For the sake of your country?” Grantham asked, laughing.
Mr. Smith nodded.
“Just so—for the sake of my country. We cannot all serve in the same way. Somewhere or other there will be a job of work for me, and I shall try to hold down my job, as the Americans say. No one can do more than that.” He laughed good-humouredly. “So when you are marching by in khaki, you can spare a thought for the poor, chilly special constable who keeps the streets clear for you to pass, or performs some equally dull and ordinary duty—and gets no fun out of it; not even a medal.”
“You under-rate your capabilities, Mr. Smith,” said Mr. Linton, laughing. “No one who saw you racing down the pier at Melbourne could regard you as either elderly or decrepit.”
“Well—perhaps not yet. But fat—yes!” Mr. Smith smiled deprecatingly, casting a downward glance at his ample figure. “I fear I am no longer a stayer; and in a trench I would certainly take up too much room. So I curb my ambitions. But there will be a job for me somewhere, though it may not be a showy one.” His smile widened, including all the little group; then the chief engineer passed, and Mr. Smith fell into step with him and strolled off along the deck.
“Jolly decent of the old chap,” said Grantham. “I like a man who doesn’t talk much, but is ready to take his share; and somehow, you don’t expect it from a lazy-looking, comfortable business man of his type.”
“No,” said Barry. “People like us go in as much for the fun of it—the adventure—as anything; but he can’t anticipate experiences like that. Just shows you can’t judge any one; I’d have put old Smith down as an arm-chair patriot, if ever there was one, but he seems anxious to be thoroughly uncomfortable, if necessary.”
“Oh, he’s not half a bad fellow!” Jim said. “He’s so interested about things; it’s quite jolly to talk to him. And he’s keen about his nephew and the boys on the transports. There are lots of people worse than old Smith.” Thus dismissing the claims to respect of his fellow-passengers, Jim demanded volunteers for deck-quoits, and the party, having volunteered in a body, withdrew.
The captain’s gramophone was something of an institution on the ship. It was an excellent machine, and the captain loved it. Occasionally he was induced to bring it to the saloon at night, or, in the tropics, out on the deck; but his more usual form of entertainment was to invite a select few to his cabin for tea, an invitation understood to include music. It was not therefore, regarded as anything unusual when the Linton group declined the general tea-summons, and moved away in the direction of the upper deck. In the comfortable rooms under the bridge, tea was made the chief business of the gathering, and nothing was said of any other matter until every one was served and the stewards had withdrawn. Then the captain looked round the expectant faces.
“Well, I have not much to report,” he said. He produced a plan of the ship, showing the outer view of the port-holes. “That is your cabin window, Miss Norah. Now where did you see those flashes emerging?”
“From this one,” said Norah, unhesitatingly, indicating a port-hole. “Wasn’t it, boys?” Jim and Wally, looking over her shoulder, nodded confirmation.
“Ah, so I thought! Well, that cabin has no occupant—it’s a small vacant one.”
Disappointment showed plainly written on the faces of his three younger hearers.
“That, of course, proves nothing,” went on the captain; and the faces cleared immediately. “Any one could get in to use it; it is not locked. There are no signs of its having been occupied in any way, but then, no one using it surreptitiously would leave signs. We have one piece of evidence, however; the wind-scoop is a new one, but there are scratches on it that show it has been applied, possibly by a person who did not thoroughly understand how to insert it in the port-hole. Why, you blood-thirsty young people!—you look pleased!”
The three detectives had beamed, quite involuntarily. They laughed, a little shame-faced.
“We’re anxious not to have taken up your time for nothing, sir,” explained Wally, suavely.
“H’m,” said Captain Garth, looking from one guest to another. “Mr. Linton, you look as pleased as any of them!”
“The family reputation for common sense is at stake,” said Mr. Linton, smiling. “I admit I don’t want to find they’ve led you on a wild-goose chase, captain. Besides, they woke me up; I want some compensation for a disturbed night.”
“A peaceful man, anxious to command a blameless ship, has a poor time nowadays!” said the captain. “Well, that’s how the matter stands. The cabins near the empty one are occupied by ladies, who, I think, are guiltless of anything desperate; they’re all addicted to wool-work and playing Patience. Further inquiry leads me to feel very doubtful about two men; one is employed in the galley, the other is a foremast hand. Both are Swedes.”
“But could they get into the cabin?”
“Oh, easily! Every one knows the plan of the ship, and there would be no difficulty in dodging into an empty cabin. Frankly,” said the captain, “it is a relief to me to find suspicion directed away from the passengers; it’s a much easier matter to tackle a foremast hand with alien tendencies. The sailor was seen last night under somewhat queer circumstances; he was in a part of the ship where he had no business. He gave a fairly lame excuse.”
“What time was that, Captain?” Jim asked.
“A little after three. It might mean nothing—but putting everything together, the matter is suspicious. We’ll set a watch to-night, in two places?”
“Can we be in it?” came from Jim and Wally, simultaneously.
The captain looked questioningly at Mr. Linton.
“Oh, I leave it to you, Captain!” said that gentleman; “I can’t keep them in cotton-wool.”
“And after all, it’s their find—if it be a find,” said the captain. “At least, it’s Miss Norah’s—but I can’t very well let you watch!” He smiled at Norah.
“It’s awful to be a girl!” said she, lugubriously. “But I suppose it can’t be helped. You’ll tell me all about it, won’t you?”
“You shall know all!” said the captain, dramatically. “Well, one watch must be kept in the empty cabin you are using for a dressing-room—cheer up, Miss Norah, we’ll give you another. You boys can watch there, if you like. Then I will have men posted further aft, also in an empty cabin; and a special watch kept on deck.”
“And if we see the flashes?”
“Report to Mr. Dixon. Both watches will close up on the alley-way leading to the cabin, and we’ll burst the door in. I’m having the hinges specially fixed, so that the screws will give, if necessary. If any one is there, he must be caught red-handed, or not at all. It’s a mercy that the cabin is unoccupied and that no one has any right to be there—to break violently in upon a feminine passenger doing nothing more deadly than using a spirit-lamp to heat curling-tongs, would lead to unpleasantness with the powers that be, at home!”
“I guess it was more than that,” Wally remarked.
“Oh, of course it was! Still, it may be capable of some very simple explanation; don’t run away with the idea that we have really an alien on board.” The captain smiled. “I know you want a scalp—but I don’t know that I do. And, in any case, I want to keep the matter from the other passengers. That sort of thing only leads to nervousness and excitement and I’m especially pleased in the present state of affairs, that my passengers show no signs of getting ‘jumpy’ over war risks. Coming out, there was a lady who used to consult the officers several times a day on the probability of being sunk, and she got on our nerves.”
“She would,” said Jim. “We shan’t speak of it, Captain. But can you keep it dark, if we make a capture?”
“Oh, I think so. Everything leads me to suspect one of the two Swedes; and the temporary disappearance of a hand may be easily explained to the rest of the crew, while the passengers need never hear about it. Lots of things occur on a voyage about which it isn’t necessary to inform the passengers,” said the captain, with a twinkle. “They’re all very good, of course—but they have such a way of asking questions!”
“There’s so little else to do,” said Norah, laughing—“and such heaps of questions to ask!”
“Quite so,” agreed the captain. “Well, lest you should ask me any more just now, let’s have the music-box.” He opened the gramophone, and gave himself to melody.
Later, on their way to dress for dinner, they passed a tall, fair-haired sailor, busily cleaning paint. He looked up at the merry group, with a surly face.
“That’s a Swede, I know,” Wally said, when they were safely out of hearing. “I wonder if he’s one of the suspects.”
“If he is, he’ll be an awkward man to tackle,” Mr. Linton said. “You will have to be careful, boys; don’t run unnecessary risks in the way of going for him single-handed. That fellow is as strong as a bull.”
Jim and Wally passed over this sage advice in the airy way of boyhood.
“It really looks very likely,” said the former. “He’s probably pro-German; and it’s quite a reasonable thing to suppose that he may be in the pay of Germans in Australia, and has simply joined the ship in the hope of signalling our whereabouts to an enemy cruiser.”
“Yes—wouldn’t he get a nice bonus for us!” Wally added. “And a free trip for himself to Germany—to say nothing of the fact that he may be carrying information about the transports. Scissors!—don’t I hope we’ll get him!”
But the watch that night proved fruitless. Jim and his chum spent long comfortless hours in the little cabin near Norah’s, taking turns at the port-hole; further up, Mr. Dixon, very bored and cold, shared a similar vigil with an elderly quartermaster. But no queer flashes of light came from the port-hole between them; nor had the watch on deck anything to report. It was a disconsolate trio that met on deck next morning.
“Never mind,” Norah said, comforting. “He may have been too sleepy. He’ll be there to-night.”
He was not there, however. Again the weary night brought no satisfaction. Jim and Wally, heavy-eyed and yawning, gave up the watch towards daybreak, and sought their bunks thankfully, unable to keep awake any longer.
Mr. Dixon was sarcastic at the expense of the amateur detectives.
“Too much reading of penny-dreadfuls, and visiting picture-shows,” said he, acidly. “I’ve heard that it makes people think in melodrama, and it also appears to make them see weird flashes that aren’t there!”
“They were there!” said Wally, hotly. “We all three saw them.”
“I’m sure you thought you did,” said the chief officer, with a soothing note that was more irritating than acidity. “Now you must keep a good look-out for the sea-serpent; that’s a daylight affair, and doesn’t necessitate extra night-watches.” He yawned cavernously. “No more sitting up for me, thank goodness!—the old man reckons this business is a frost.”
The captain bore out this statement, in terms less calculated to hurt.
“We have to consider the possibility of a mistake,” he told them. “And I can’t keep men out of bed indefinitely. The officer of the watch will have special instructions for vigilance! I think that some underhand business was going on, but that the interruption on the first night scared the offender permanently.” Whereat Wally groaned with extreme bitterness.
“Cheer up!” Jim said, smiting him on the back in the privacy of their cabin. “I’m not going to give in; if he’s there, we’ll get him yet.” But though they watched as much as youth and sleepiness would let them, the nights went by, and there was no further appearance of the mysterious signals.
CHAPTER X.
“JIM! Wake up, you old sinner!”
Jim, in his sleep, was riding after a bullock on the Billabong plains. The bullock was speedy, and he and Garryowen were doing their utmost to catch and turn him. They drew near—he swung up his arm with the stockwhip, and met a soft obstacle that surprised him effectually from his dream.
“By Jove, you can hit, old man!” said Wally, in a sepulchral whisper, rubbing his side. “Call yourself a pal? Wake up?”
“I’m sorry,” Jim said, struggling to consciousness. “Did I hit you? What’s the matter, Wal?”
“Be quiet, fathead, can’t you?” whispered Wally, impatiently. “I’ve been trying to wake you silently, and you’ll raise the ship. Get up—the signaller’s at work!”
Jim was out of his berth in a moment, and at the port-hole. Far down the side of the ship they could see fitful gleams of light.
“By Jove!” he said, bringing in his head. “We’ll get him this time, Wal. Awfully sorry I was so hard to wake.”
“Well, you’ve had about six hours’ sleep in the last three nights, so it’s not much wonder,” Wally answered. “Generally you wake if a fly looks at you.” They were struggling into coats and slippers in the dark. “Come along!”
They hurried noiselessly down the passage, and turned into the narrow alley-way leading to the little empty cabin near Norah’s. The port-hole had been left open, and they peered out in turn.
“There’s no doubt this time,” said Jim, excitedly; “he’s signalling for all he’s worth. No lady with curling-tongs and a spirit-lamp about that chap! he means business.”
“What’s the plan of action?”
Jim considered.
“I don’t believe the captain would like us to tackle him alone,” he said. “I don’t think he’d get away from us—but he might, if he’s that big, powerful Swede. We want witnesses and authority, anyhow. I’ll mount guard at the entrance to that alley-way, Wal, and you go and rouse Mr. Dixon.”
“H’m,” said Wally. “And if the beast rushes you?”
“Well, he must rush,” said Jim, philosophically. “We can’t both stay, and I’d better be the one, being the stronger. Clear out, old man—look sharp! I wouldn’t let old Dixon miss seeing those flashes for a fiver!”
The entrance to the alley-way leading to the suspected cabin was dark and silent, and no faintest glimmer of light came from the skylight over the shut door. Jim took his stand in the narrow passage, bracing his muscles in case of a rush in the dark. No one could get past him, in so small a space; but a strong and determined man would, he knew, make short work of him in a wild dash for safety. Jim was grimly certain that the Swede might go over him, but not without a struggle. He clenched his fists, watching the door—imagining each instant that he heard a stealthy movement, or the slow creaking as the handle turned.
Mr. Dixon, roused from health-giving slumber, was incredulous and wrathful.
“You kids are a first-class nuisance!” he said, sleepily, getting into his coat. “If this is another false alarm, Wally, I’ll have you keel-hauled!”
Wally possessed his soul in patience while his body shivered—the wind on the officer’s deck blew keen and shrill, and Mr. Dixon was far too annoyed to offer him the shelter of the cabin. The boy’s teeth were chattering when the chief officer emerged and ran up the steps to the bridge. He returned in a moment, followed by two of the watch.
“Now, where’s this precious spy-hole of yours?” demanded he.
They hurried below; past the empty drawing-room and along silent corridors, where the stillness was broken only by an occasional snore. Wally turned down Norah’s alley-way and led the way to the empty cabin, running ahead to glance out first through the port-hole, in sudden fear lest the flashes should have ceased. He made way for Mr. Dixon with a relieved little sigh.
“You can see for yourself,” he said, shortly.
The chief officer’s face was invisible, after he had peered out—but the change in his voice was laughable.
“Well, I back down,” he whispered, “I guess you kids knew more about it than I did. There’s certainly some little game going on there.” He leaned out for another long look. “I believe it’s Morse code,” he said, finally; “it’s hard to tell at this angle. But it’s signalling, safe enough.”
“Well, hurry!” Wally said. “Jim is mounting guard alone, and if it’s that big sailor, he’ll simply wipe him out.”
“Sure thing,” Mr. Dixon agreed. “Larsen is a holy terror when he gets going.” He gave hasty directions as they tip-toed up the alley-way.
“All right, Jim?” Wally whispered.
“All serene,” Jim answered. “Haven’t heard a thing, and there’s no light coming from over the door.”
“Oh, he’d be quite cute enough to block up the skylight!” Mr. Dixon agreed. “Well, you boys had better keep back and guard the mouth of the alley-way, and leave this thing to the men and me.”
“Us!” said Wally and Jim together, in a sepulchral duet of woe. “Not much—it’s our game! We’ve got to see it out, sir!”
“Well, duck if he begins shooting,” said the chief officer, resignedly. “Stay where you are, Hayward—you follow up, Bob.” He went noiselessly as a cat down the narrow alley-way to the cabin door.
“I don’t think I’ll try it,” he mused under his breath. “Better to go in unannounced.” He looked back over his shoulder. “Wally, you get the light switched on as soon as you’re in the cabin.”
In his day Mr. Dixon had played Rugby football; in later years he had been mate of a sailing ship, and had learned in that rough school how to use his weight effectively. He drew back a pace or two now, and then flung his shoulder against the door. The carefully-weakened hinges gave, and the attacking party crashed into the cabin.
They had a momentary vision of a flash of light; a guttural exclamation came from the port-hole. Then there was black darkness and the sound of men struggling. Jim was close at Mr. Dixon’s shoulder; Wally, groping round the ruined door, was endeavouring to find the electric-light button. Then came another flash of light, and a report that sounded deafening, in the tiny cabin.
“You brute, you’ve got me!” said Mr. Dixon, between his teeth.
Light flashed out as Wally found the button. The cabin was dim with smoke, and acrid with the smell of gunpowder. Jim saw a levelled revolver-barrel gleam in the blue haze; then he sprang past the chief officer, and hit wildly at a face above it. The revolver clattered to the floor. There was a thud, as the man who held it went down in a corner.
“Hold him, Wally!”
The boys were both on the struggling form; the sailor, behind them, gripping the man’s legs. The unequal fight was only momentary.
“I give in,” said the man. He was suddenly limp and powerless in their hands, panting heavily. His face was turned from them as he huddled in the corner.
“Got any more revolvers?” Jim asked.
“Nein—no. You can search me.”
Jim kept his grip on his wrists, as he glanced up at the chief officer.
“Are you much hurt, Mr. Dixon?”
“I don’t think so,” said Dixon, a little doubtfully. “Only grazed my arm—it’s bleeding a bit—and deafened me. Oh, Lord, there’s the old lady in the next cabin—I knew we’d have the ship about our ears!” He went out into the alley-way, and they heard his voice patiently. “No, it’s all right, madam—nothing to be alarmed about. No, it’s not a German warship. You’re quite safe. Go to sleep.”
He came back.
“Shut the door, Bob. Prop it with your shoulder. Now we’ll have a look at this gentleman. Stand up there, will you?”
The huddled figure twisted round and struggled to his feet, facing them defiantly.
“Great Scott!” said Dixon weakly. “Why, I thought it was a decent Swede!”
The boys gaped in silence. The short figure, dusty and bedraggled, was Mr. Smith. He stood looking at them, pale, with a black streak across his face; in spite of it—in spite of his stout, panting, dishevelled form—there was something not ignoble about him. He was not at all afraid.
“On the whole, it was foolish of me to fire,” he said. “I am glad you are not hurt.”
Dixon broke into a laugh.
“Awfully decent of you!” he said. “Why do you carry a revolver if you think it foolish to use it?”
“I do not think it foolish to use it,” Mr. Smith answered deliberately. “But I had meant it for myself—if I failed. Then, in my excitement, I fought with it. That was foolish. One cannot always think quickly enough.”
“I’m glad you aimed too quickly!” said Dixon grimly. “It might have been awkward for some of us if you hadn’t——” He broke off, with a shout. “Watch him!”
Mr. Smith had sprung towards the port-hole, a dark object in his hand. Jim was just too quick for him. He caught the up-raised arm. The little man fought fiercely and silently for a moment; then he gave in, yielding what he held with a little sigh.
“Pocket-book,” said Jim, examining it.
“I’ll take it, for the captain’s perusal,” said Dixon, holding out his hand. He had twisted a towel round his arm, and his face, streaked with blood, looked sufficiently grotesque. “Before we go any further, I think we’ll search you, Mr. Smith.”
Beyond the bulky pocket-book which had so narrowly escaped a watery grave, there was little of an incriminating nature to be found on the prisoner. Dixon took charge of any papers in his pockets, and of his keys; and in a corner of the cabin Wally picked up an electric torch—a powerful one, of new and elaborate design.
“Signalling apparatus,” said Dixon, glancing at it. His anger suddenly blazed out.
“What do you mean by it, you cowardly hound? Who paid you to sell your own people to the enemy?”
“The enemy?” said Mr. Smith. “My own people?” He glanced round with sudden pride. “My people are your enemies, and I am one of them. I am a German!”
“Oh, are you?” said Dixon, weakly.
“But you don’t talk like one,” Jim blurted.
“No—why should I, when I do not wish? I have lived much in England; English is as familiar to me as German. But I have but one country, and that is the Fatherland.”
“Then it’s a pity you didn’t keep off a decent British ship,” said Dixon, wrathfully. “It makes me sick to think of you on board, making friends with every one—and doing your best to get us sunk. Women and kids, too.”
“Our ships do not send people down with the ships they sink,” said the German, proudly. “For the rest—it is war. If you were on a German ship you would be glad of a chance to do as I have tried to do. War cannot be made with kid gloves. If I sink you—then I have done a service to Germany. There is not any more to be said.”
“Glad you think so,” Dixon answered; “but I fancy you’ll find there’s rather more. However, it’s the captain’s business now.” He called the sailors. “There’s an empty cabin in the next alley-way; put this man in there and watch him. He’s not to go out under any pretext whatever.”
Mr. Smith disappeared, marching proudly between his captors, his head held high. Dixon looked after him.
“Rum little beggar,” he said. “Wonderful what a lot they think of their precious Fatherland. I travelled through it once, and I certainly didn’t want to stay—their beastly language gives a man toothache! Well, that’s a good job done, and thanks be to Morpheus, the ship is quiet. A single revolver shot doesn’t make much noise, and we weren’t noisy, except for that.”
In answer to this cheering reflection, two heads appeared in the doorway.
“We’re bursting with curiosity,” said Grantham and West. “Can’t we be told anything?”
“Oh, Lord!” groaned the chief officer. “Any more of you?”
“No, I think not,” West said. “I happened to be awake, and heard your sounds of revelry; so, apparently, did Grantham. We thought of butting in, but when we heard your voice in explaining to the old lady, we came to the conclusion that we weren’t exactly wanted. But there is a limit to one’s forbearance. Can’t we be told?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Dixon answered. “Only keep it quiet. Also, these boys can tell you, for I’m off to the captain.”
“I guess you’d better let us see to that arm of yours first,” Jim put in. “I’m a first-aid man; let me tie it up, unless you’d rather go straight to the doctor.”
“Well, we’ll have a look at it,” said Dixon. “Come along to my cabin—there’s room there and we can speak out—I’m sick of whispering!”
The arm was found to be bruised and grazed only, and the patient declined to disturb the doctor’s slumbers. Jim tied it up in his best style, while West and Grantham, sitting on the victim’s bunk, heard with unconcealed envy the story of the night.
“Some chaps have all the luck,” West said, sadly. “Why shouldn’t we be in it?—and we sleeping next door! And who’d have thought it of meek little Smith!”
“I expect his name’s Schmidt if every one had his due,” said the chief officer, rising. “Thanks, Jim. Now I guess you youngsters had better turn in—there’s nothing more for you to do. I’ve got to see that that battered cabin door is fixed before curious passengers get asking questions in the morning.”
Mr. Smith was officially reported as ill next day, and his absence caused no comment; a hint that his ailment might be infectious kept any benevolent people from offering to visit him. The nervous old lady was inclined to be garrulous about the midnight disturbance, but as she was known to be a person of hysterical tendencies, curiosity was not excited. Mr. Dixon, appealed to, spoke vaguely of a wave dashing in at the port-hole and making “no end of a row.”
“But I heard voices!” protested the old lady.
“Yes, ma’am—you would, if the stewards were cleaning up a wave. It makes ’em fluent!” said the chief officer.
To the Linton tribe, assembled in his cabin, the captain was more communicative.
“Schmidt is his name—Hans Schmidt. There’s any amount of evidence against him in the papers; the pocket-book he tried to throw out of the port contains much full and true information about our transports, a complete cipher code of signals, and translations of various other codes. It’s evident that the police were on his heels in Melbourne—that’s why he joined so hurriedly. He covered his tracks well, too; made them think he had gone to Brisbane. Otherwise, they would have caught him on thePerseusat Adelaide.”
“What did he hope to do?” Mr. Linton asked.
“Well, there was always a chance of his attracting a German cruiser. I don’t think it was a strong one—but of course you can’t tell. It would have simplified matters for him greatly; put him safely among his own people, and he would have done his beloved Fatherland a mighty big service in betraying a prize like this ship into its hands. He says he knew he was taking big risks for small chances, but apparently that didn’t trouble him. I don’t consider he’s to be blamed from his point of view, except in using his revolver; and that seems to distress him more than anything else. He asked for Dixon this morning, and apologised!”
“If he could have used it sufficiently, I don’t suppose it would have troubled him,” observed Mr. Linton.
“Oh, if he could have taken the ship, of course it wouldn’t!” the captain said, laughing. “Patriotism would have risen beyond any claims of mercy then. No—it’s because it was so futile to use it, and he risked damaging Dixon and the others for nothing. That consideration is really weighing on his mind. He’s one of those careful beggars who can’t bear making an error of judgment, I fancy.”
“I think I’m a little sorry for him,” Norah said. “After all, it was his own country he was battling for.”
“That’s so,” said the captain. “Put one of our fellows to play a lone game on a big German liner, and I fancy we’d be quite proud of him if he managed to signal a British cruiser. The shooting’s inexcusable, of course. Well, I’ve got to take him to England—I can’t have the ship delayed at Durban over a trial. And as the mouthpiece of the owners, I say, ‘Thank you very much!’ to Miss Norah and you two boys.”
The three thus marked for fame looked down their noses and felt uncomfortable.
“Glad we got him,” Jim said, awkwardly. “I wonder what about his nephew in our contingent, by the way?”
The captain laughed.
“I rather fancy you wouldn’t find that nephew,” he said. “If he exists—well, he’s probably in a trench, fighting in France, with a name like Johann and an unpleasant propensity for beer!”
CHAPTER XI.
THEPerseuswas coming gently in to Durban Harbour, past a long breakwater and a high green bluff that towered sheer from the water. Some one had just told Norah that it swarmed with monkeys, and she was straining curious eyes upwards, trying vainly to pierce the dense growth that covered it.
“Well, it may,” she said aloud, in accents of disappointment. “But I can’t see a sign.”
“A sign of what?” asked Wally’s cheerful voice.
“Monkeys. Mr. West says they are there, and I did want to see them. To see them . . .