She led him to a broad, screened porch where a bearded giant unwound himself from a deep, comfortable chair to meet him.
“This is grandfather.” Real pride shone in the girl’s eyes. “He’s been a beach-comber for thirty years. That’s a record!”
“Now, child,” the old man drawled, “don’t you go bragging on me.
“Have a chair,” he directed Johnny.
“My cookies will burn. I’ll have to hurry,” said the girl. “Grandfather—you tell him about those spies.”
“Spies? Oh, yes. Those European fellows.” The old man’s face darkened. “I’ve been preaching against ’em for mighty nigh twenty years. Mebbe longer than that, I reckon. You see, Mr. Thompson—”
“Please call me Johnny,” said the boy. “I’m not used to the ‘Mister’.”
“All right, Johnny. That’s what it shall be. You see, Johnny, these islands were once a French colony. The French made slaves of the natives. They brought in a lot more slaves and before long, there were many more slaves than there were Frenchmen. So the natives polished up their machetes, started poundin’ their Voodoo drums, and drove the Frenchmen off the islands. This has been a republic ever since.
“But spies, now,” his voice dropped. “How’d you get to thinkin’ o’ spies?”
“Your granddaughter told me there were spies. And there’s been a green arrow—an arrow of light—on the hill at night, and another on the water. It’s sort of mysterious.”
“A green arrow of light,” the old man repeated. “That’s what Mildred was telling me. Strange that I never saw it.”
“You couldn’t,” said Johnny, “unless you were on the water. It’s near the middle of the island, and up high.”
“There’s a place up there built of stone, half castle—half prison,” Kennedy said, thoughtfully. “Some Frenchman built it, thinking he could hold out against the natives. Well, he couldn’t, and now the natives think it’s haunted. Won’t go near it. It’s a long way up a terrible trail.
“But those spies, now,” he added thoughtfully. “They may be using it for a hideout and signal tower. They stop at nothing.”
The old man rose, circled the porch like a prowling tiger, then returned to his seat.
“These natives,” he went on, “are a simple people. They can’t run a country. They found it out soon enough. So did these other people, these Europeans. I won’t name the country as you’ll learn it soon enough. Those Europeans came here and began boring in, just as they do everywhere. You’ll find them in every South American republic and every island of the sea. They’re robbers, spies, traitors!” His voice rose. “They rob the people, and at the same time plot the overthrow of all governments but their own.
“Young man!” Mr. Kennedy left his chair with surprising vigor. “Did you ever take a good look at the map, and think how important this Caribbean Sea is?”
“No, I—”
“Come here. Have a look!”
They stood before a large wall map. “Look at it,” Kennedy insisted. “Plentiful islands with Central America on the west. A score of wonderful harbors. Suppose those people took possession of these islands. Look at Haiti! A harbor where an entire navy might drop anchor! Yes—and room left for ten thousand seaplanes! Bombers! How would our Atlantic coast—Miami, Charleston, New York, Boston—how would they look, after those planes had been raiding from this base for a week, if there were war. And who says therewon’tbe!
“You saw a light on the water!” He whirled around.
“Yes! Low down! A green arrow of lights, that flashed.”
“‘Low down’!—I should say they were!” The old man grimaced. “Spies!” he muttered. “Since our Marines left the islands—we took control during the World War, you know—these islands have been nests of spies! Something should be done about it. But these natives sleep on—and Uncle Sam doesn’t care to interfere. And yet I’m beginning to hope he will—before it is too late!” His words trailed off as he resumed his seat.
“These people may call themselves beach-combers,” Johnny thought to himself. “Perhaps they are, in a way! But they’re grand folks.”
The house, which he presumed had been built with native labor, was made of massive, hardwood logs. There was no glass in the broad windows, but bamboo “screens,” which could be let down at night. Mosquito-net canopies were hung over the beds to keep out insects. Most tropical houses are like that.
Behind the house were orchards—grapefruit, oranges, bananas. And down in the flat land by the shore, sugar cane was growing.
“We cut it out of the wilderness, the natives and I,” the old man rumbled, in response to Johnny’s polite inquiry. “They’re quite wonderful, these natives—once you come to understand them.
“Of course,” his brow darkened, “some of them can’t be trusted. Those men, those Europeans—” his tone was bitter, “have corrupted them. Yes, and robbed them, too! They pay little for their produce, wild rubber, chicle, wild coffee. And they charge the natives high prices for cheap goods. They get the people deeply in debt to them, and then make slaves of them.
“That,” he sighed, “was why we bought a trading schooner, Mildred and I. We wanted to give the people of our small island a chance. We were doing it, too!” He struck the table a blow with his massive fist. “By George! We were doing it!
“But our boat’s on the bottom now!” His voice fell. “Our natives took her out in a storm, and she sprang a leak.”
“Yes, I know. Mildred told me.” Johnny was wondering whether some treacherous native, inspired by the Europeans, had let the water into the Kennedy boat. At the same time he was making a resolve to do all he could to find the boat and help bring it to the surface.
Mildred entered with a great plate of cookies and a pitcher of ice-cold, fruit juice.
“I hope you like them,” she smiled.
Johnny did like them. What was more, as the moments passed he became more and more interested in his new-found friends. They were, he told himself, good, kind, intelligent people—his kind. They would do things, together. He saw himself with the girl, following obscure trails in search of that spy castle whence, perhaps, the green arrow messages came.
“Well,” he sighed at last, “I’ll have to be getting back. It’s been grand, this visit. I hope you’ll let me come back, and that—that we can do things together.” He was looking at the girl.
“Do things? What, for instance?” Her face was serious.
“Lots of things. Things that may help.” He gave her a broad smile. Then—“just a big batch of day-dreams, I guess.”
At that he shook hands with the old man, walked down the broad path with the girl, gripped her hand for an instant, then climbed into his Tub and rowed away.
“Thanks for one grand time,” he called back.
“You’re welcome, and thanks for coming,” was Mildred’s answer. And the hills echoed back, “thanks—thanks.”
Johnny had an active mind. Figuring and planning were almost continuous activities with him. Sometimes he really tried to slow the process up, but his mind would keep right on, figuring and planning.
As he rowed slowly back to the boat, his thoughts were particularly active. There were things to be done. He would see that theyweredone, in the end; he surely would. By going down in the steel ball as many times as Dave wanted him to, and by taking pictures, he’d put Dave in debt to him. Then he’d persuade Mildred to go down in the steel ball. Dave would like that. Then, at just the right time, he and Mildred would ask Dave to help find that trading boat at the bottom of the sea, and to float it once more.
Then they would get busy on those spies, he and Mildred and—and anyone else who would help. It was a patriotic duty, by thunder! It surely was! In his mind’s eye he saw the map of the Caribbean Sea, these islands at one side, the Panama Canal on the other. If the Europeans got these islands, what would happen to the canal? Filled with rocks and mud—that was the answer! They’d bomb the very daylights out of it. Yes, they must uncover those spies—at least some of them. He wondered whether the green arrow would show tonight, and whether he would be able to make any sense out of the numbers he had written down in his notebook.
“It’s some sort of code,” he told himself repeatedly. “If I can decipher it we may get somewhere.”
But here he was alongside theSea Nymph, and Dave was saying:
“Hello, Johnny. We’re shifting our position tonight—coming in a little closer. Tomorrow afternoon I’d like you to go down with me to get some pictures. You won’t mind, will you?”
That was exactly what Johnny had planned. “No, I won’t mind,” he said, “that will be keen.”
A mist drifted out over the ocean. All that night Johnny paced the deck in a chill fog. No green light showed from the island hills. Once he thought he heard men’s voices, but nothing came of it. He was glad enough when he could crawl into his berth, draw his blankets over him, and lose himself in sleep.
When he awoke the sun was shining. It was mid-afternoon, and Dave was waiting for him to appear, for their trip below.
“What a life!” he murmured. After he had gulped some hot coffee, hurriedly bolted some seabiscuits and a piece of pie he reappeared on deck.
“All ready?” Dave asked.
“Soon as I get my camera and things.”
“Good! I’ll have the steel ball in shape P.D.Q.,” Dave grinned, good-naturedly.
“He’s really a nice chap,” Johnny thought. “Only he takes science and discovery pretty seriously. I suppose we’ll discover some saber-toothed viper fish, or maybe some flying snails!” He smiled at his thoughts. Life was not half bad after all.
Half an hour later he was experiencing such thrills as only the deep, deep sea could bring. Some five hundred feet beneath the surface of the sea he sat doubled up in his place, staring at an ever changing panorama. A rocky wall, not twenty feet from him, stood up like a sky-scraper, straight and tall. Here and there it was broken by fissures and caves. Everywhere it was festooned with sea vegetation—seaweed, kelp, anemones. All these, with coral that rose like Gothic architecture, were entrancing.
Dave was by his side—not to admire, but to record. The look on his face was almost solemn. As they moved slowly downward Dave spoke into a small microphone and Doris, up on deck, recorded his words. Strange words they were, too: “A school of parrot fish; three hatchet fish; two round-mouths; a golden-tailed serpent dragon; a—oh—oh!—Hold everything!”
At that instant Dave’s window was opposite a dark cavern. As he threw on a more powerful light he caught the gleam of two, great eyes. How far apart they were!
Despite his efforts to remain calm, Johnny’s heart skipped a beat as, at Dave’s command, he touched his moving-picture camera and set it recording. What sort of creature was this? A whale? A blackfish? Or some strange, unknown denizen of the deep? Suppose at this instant it should become enraged, should rush out of its hiding place and drag the steel ball out into the deep—to send it crashing against the rocky wall? A broken window would mean instant death. And yet Johnny’s hand did not tremble as he adjusted his camera....
Just after the steel ball had gone over the side, Mildred Kennedy, in her dugout canoe, had arrived for a visit. It had called for real courage, this little journey. From a distance theseSea Nymphpeople had seemed so serious. All but Johnny. “But it’s not decent to stay away and not be properly sociable,” she had told her grandfather. So here she was.
There had been time only for a brief word of welcome from Doris. After that, whispering excitedly—“Dave and Johnny are below in the steel ball. It—it’s dreadfully thrilling, even here on deck,” Doris had clamped a pair of head-phones over her guest’s ears and had whispered tensely:
“Listen!”
So they were seated on the deck of theSea Nymph, listening intently for reports from below. At the same time, they talked.
“I came to visit my grandfather,” Mildred said, “just as sort of a lark. I was storm bound indoors for two weeks, and when I saw how simple and kind the natives were, the happy, free life they lived, and yet how many things could be done for them, I wanted to stay. So I just did. And I am glad. Only—” A shadow passed over her face.
“Listen!” Doris held up a finger. “Thought I heard a whisper. It—it couldn’t be Dave! I—I hope nothing has gone wrong. It’s truly dangerous being down there, and yet one does learn so much—”
“Shish!” Mildred held up a finger. “I—listen—I hear a whisper! It—it’s numbers he’s saying. How strange!”
As the two girls sat in silence, pressing the phones to their ears, listening with their every sense, they caught—in a low whisper:
“Two hundred—and—eight—and a half. Ten. No—now a drop—thirty, thirty-one—two—three—”
Then Dave’s voice boomed through, drowning out the whisper. “O.K. We saw some sort of monster,” he was saying. “He was in one of these caverns and Johnny got his picture—we hope! Wish you were down here.”
“So do we!” Doris’ voice exclaimed. “We heard a whisper. Thought you might—”
“You’ve been dreaming!” Dave boomed back. “Forget it—and tell that man at the cable to let us down again, slowly. Boy!—how I do want to see things!”
Yes, Dave wanted to see things. Most of all, on this particular day he wished to go down—down—down into the watery depths, to discover, if possible, just how far down, sea vegetation and coral were to be found.
“If only I don’t find bottom too soon,” he thought. “And if the sea remains calm.”
The sea. He shuddered a little at this. If the anchors held—all would be well. But if they should give way—that would be truly terrible. To the right and left of them, not a quarter-mile apart, were parallel walls of rock. To be dragged against one of these—? Who could tell what disaster might result!
* * * * * * * *
In the meantime, as they listened, the two girls talked of many things, of home, of thrilling tropical nights, of Mildred’s sunken schooner and many other things.
Of a sudden, their conversation was interrupted by a sound, conveyed through their head-phones.
“Sh—“—Doris’ hand went up. “It’s that strange whisper again!”
“Whispering waters!” Mildred murmured. “How mysterious!”
Low as her tone was, the whisperer apparently caught it, for—still in that hoarse whisper—there came back:
“So we are mysterious! How very grand! And it was a lady who spoke!”
Once again Dave’s voice broke in upon the whisperer: “Doris!” Tenseness was evident in his tone. “Doris!—Tell them to hold us right where we are!”
“Hold it!” Doris called to the windlass man, instantly.
“Hold it,” came back the quick acknowledgment.
“All this,” Doris said to Mildred, “is most provoking. You are just dying to know what strange things are happening below, what marvelous discoveries are being made—but the only part you have in it is listening and waiting!”
Down in the steel ball, Dave had caught a movement to the right, away from the cliff. Switching his light in that direction he had discovered a huge, dark object moving slowly through the water.
“It’s that ‘thing’!” he told himself. “The very thing I’ve seen before!”
To his great disappointment, the form was as indistinct as before. That it might be a whale he knew quite well. He suggested the idea to Johnny.
“But it’s not a whale—I’m sure of it!” Johnny whispered. Swinging his moving-picture camera into range, he managed to catch the rear half of it before it passed from view.
“The camera sees more than the eye,” he murmured. “Here’s hoping.”
Dave turned again to his task of exploring the under-sea wall. He signalled their continued descent.
A moment later the ear-phones on deck were silent. Both Dave and the mysterious whisperer were unheard.
“Whocouldthat have been?” Mildred asked.
“I’ve no idea,” was Doris’ reply.
“Do you know,” Mildred added dreamily, “I have a feeling that whisperer was not far away!”
Doris started to speak but checked herself, suddenly. Once again she had caught the weird tones of the whisperer.
“One-eighty—eighty-two—eighty-six,” he droned. Then he raised his voice above the whisper, and called:
“Hello there—you mermaids! Are you still there?”
“Hemustbe near us!” Doris exclaimed. “If not—why would he call us ‘mermaids’?”
* * * * * * * *
At that same instant Dave was experiencing a thrill. Arrived at a spot opposite a broad shelf on the perpendicular wall, he and Johnny found themselves within five feet of the rock. Vegetation, which had been thinning out, was just disappearing.
And then Dave saw it—a long, wavering arm, reaching out for the steel ball. Involuntarily, he started back from the window. Then he laughed.
A second arm appeared. Then, a third.
“Octopus!” he whispered to Johnny. “Such a monster!” Instantly his light was on, and Johnny’s movie camera was grinding away.
“Only one of his kind I’ve ever seen!” Dave was thrilled to the tips of his toes. “Wish he’d climb on board and let us take him up. He won’t do that, but I’ll get him, all the same! Some time I’ll get him!
“How ugly he is! See how his eyes shine, Johnny! People sure would throng around him in an aquarium! Put him in with some gorgeous, tropical fish and you’d have a ‘beauty and the beast’ show! You—”
Suddenly he stopped speaking, to stare straight at the wall. They were moving away! There could be no doubt of it. Fascinated by the strangeness of the situation, he and Johnny sat motionless while the octopus faded from sight. Two yards—three—five—ten—twenty—they were swinging off! And behind him was a second wall, against which the window of the steel ball might crack like an egg shell.
At that instant Dave heard a strange voice repeating an idiotic question:
“Hello there, you mermaids. Are you still there?”
The very sound of a human voice seemed to rouse him.
“Doris!” he called. “The anchors have pulled loose! The ship is drifting!”
“Hello, there,” called that same voice. “So you’re not a mermaid, after all!”
Something had gone wrong with Dave’s radio, Doris thought. His voice did not come through clearly.
“Hello! Hello Dave!” Doris called. “Repeat! What did you say?”
“I said are you a mermaid?” came in that teasing voice.
“Get off the air!” Doris stormed.
“Doris!” Dave roared. His voice came through clearly now. “The ship’s adrift! Tell the captain to order our main anchor line played out—to pull hard to port!”
“Anchor line out! Hard to port!” the girl cried.
“Anchor line out. Hard to port!” came booming back the repetition.
Instantly Doris found her head in a whirl. Dave and Johnny were down a full thousand feet. On each side of their ball a rock wall rose high above them. To crash against it might mean disaster.
“Haul away—Top speed!” came in Dave’s usual calm voice.
“Haul away. Top speed!” Doris called to the control man.
Complete silence followed. Even the “whisperer” appeared to have sensed the tenseness of the situation and had gone off the air.
That there was to be a race against time with their lives as a grand prize, Johnny realized at once. Here they were, several hundred feet down in the black depths of the sea, drifting at a fairly rapid rate toward a rocky wall. If they hit that wall? He shuddered at the thought. The pressure of water at that depth was tremendous. If the ball cracked, nothing could save them.
“Is there anything at all we can do?” he asked Dave.
“Not a thing, I guess,” Dave answered. Then, “Yes! Yes, there might be, at that! There are the levers! They areoutsidethe ball and can be worked fromwithin! I had them fixed up for gathering outside samples. If we lifted them into position, they’d lessen the shock if we hit the wall!”
No sooner said than done! Groping about, Johnny seized a handle here, another there, as Dave was doing. He felt much better when the outside levers were in position. They would provide a little protection, at least.
With astonishing speed, now, the wall approached. They could see every detail of the seagrowth clinging there. “Ten yards,” Johnny guessed. “Eight—five—three—” He was sitting on the inner handle of the lever and gripping the other hard. “Now—now comes the test!” he breathed.
The words were hardly out of his mouth when there came a grinding impact that all but lifted him from his place. And then—they were free of the ledge!
“Free!” Dave cried joyously. “Doris! We are safe!” he called into his speaker.
The ball rose slowly above the top of the ledge.
Dave, however, had spoken too soon. Scarcely had he settled back when a great spiral of coral, like the towers of a church, appeared to leap at them. This, he knew, grew from the top of the ledge.
There was just time for a lightning decision, but they were prepared for it.
“This lever is closest,” Dave exclaimed. “It’s our window or the lever!”
Throwing their whole weight on the lever handle, they waited a second—two—three—ten—twenty. Johnny heard his watch ticking them off....
Then came the heavy jolt. He was thrown so violently that his head struck the top, and his senses reeled.
When at last he was able to sit up and look out, he murmured a fervent “Thank God.” For the hazard was past. The glorious blue of water was all about them.
Fifteen minutes later the steel ball rested on theSea Nymph’sdeck. A few more moments and, hands first, like frogs leaping from a jar, the two tumbled out on the deck.
“Hel—hello, folks!” Dave said, standing up a trifle unsteadily. “How’s the weather up here?”
“That,” said Doris, gripping Dave’s arm without realizing it and giving Johnny a happy smile, “that was awful!”
Mildred, gazing at them admiringly, echoed the thought.
“How about a glass of lemonade, and—and something to go with it?” Dave demanded. “Chocolate coated marshmallow cake, macaroons, and—”
“Dave, you’ll get fat,” Doris laughed.
“And then I wouldn’t be able to get into the steel ball. Wouldn’t that be grand?
“But no!” Dave answered his own question. “It wouldn’t! Not at all. For I’ve been seeing things—wonderful things! And I’m going back tomorrow!”
After their little feast on deck, Doris accompanied Mildred to the boat’s side, gave her a hand as she dropped lightly into her dugout, and said in a friendly tone:
“You’ll come again, won’t you—very soon?”
“Oh, yes!” Mildred exclaimed. “I’ll fairly haunt you from now on, for we do get a little lonely—grandfather and I. But you must all come over and see us too! Won’t you?”
“Oh, yes, very soon,” Doris answered, cordially.
“Day after tomorrow is Sunday—how about then?”
“I’ll let you know. It’s up to Dave, really. He’s so absorbed he almost forgets to eat. You see,” Doris went on, “he’s very fond of my grandfather, and wants to help all he can.”
“These grandfathers of ours!” Mildred laughed.
Half an hour later Johnny came upon Doris, standing before an easel and putting the last touches on a picture of the sea, the island, and a gorgeous sunset.
“I didn’t know you were an artist,” he said in genuine surprise.
“I’m not,” Doris frowned. “I only make a try at it. Those colors! You never can get them just right!”
“Looks swell!” Johnny said, admiringly. “Wish I could do half so well. Why don’t you try anunderseascape?”
“What would that be?” Doris wrinkled her brow.
“You go to the bottom of the sea, fifty feet or so down, in a diving helmet. You set your easel on the bottom, weight it down, and paint—whatever you see there!”
“Not really?”
“I read about it in a book. Found it in the ship’s library. Anyway—it would be fun trying.”
“Water would spoil your paint.”
“It says not,” Johnny grinned. “Only trouble is—little fish, like flies, get into your paint!”
“I’ll try it some time,” Doris declared. “I’ve been down twice with Dave. It’s thrilling—walking on the bottom of the sea. Thanks for the idea, Johnny!”
After going on duty that night, Johnny came upon Samatan, leader of the boat’s native crew. He was seated in a corner, but one of the ship’s lamps lighted his face. He was staring at the steel ball and there was unmistakable animosity in his expression.
“Looks as if he’d like to eat it,” Johnny mused. “Wonder what it’s all about.”
A little later he heard the natives talking in their quarters below deck.
“Sounds as if they were angry about something,” he told himself. More than once he heard Samatan’s voice rising above the rest, as if he were making some sort of speech. He wondered if it could be possible that the European spies had somehow inspired these natives with hate forallAmericans.
“That would be bad,” he thought. “It might spell disaster.” He resolved to cultivate Samatan’s acquaintance to find out, if possible, just what his grievance was. Then he might put things to rights.
Maybe some superstition is connected with the steel ball, Johnny reflected. When you are among primitive people you never know quite what to expect.
That night the green arrow blinked again. Johnny saw it, shortly after midnight. The boat was closer in, now, and he could make out the separate lights of the arrow as they flashed, up there on the hillside. If there was another light out at sea, it must have been far away—or too low to be visible. He caught no sight of it.
When the arrow appeared, Johnny got busy at once. With small circles, like coins in a row, he sketched an arrow, in pencil.
From the tip of the flashing arrow to the other end, there were thirteen lights. Besides, there were two lights slanting back on each side, at the tip. These four helped form the head of the arrow. Four others, in pairs, made the feather end.
As he watched intently through powerful binoculars loaned him by the professor, Johnny noted that the thirteen lights blinked separately, but the eight which comprised the head and feather of the arrow, blinked in unison.
“Those eight lights must stand for a period,” he concluded. “The thirteen are letters, or code numbers. I wonder how they work.”
For some time, as on that other occasion, Johnny recorded the winking and blinking of the lights. When at last the green arrow became dark, he took a turn about the deck, then settled down to the task of trying to figure that code. Dawn found him still figuring, but seemingly no nearer the solution.
“Dumb!” he exploded at last, as he crammed the notebook into his pocket and went to breakfast. When he returned to the deck late that afternoon he found Doris and Dave working over some notes.
“Hello, Johnny. How about those pictures we took yesterday?” It was Dave who spoke.
“Oh, yes,” Johnny exclaimed. He had forgotten them. “Come on to the darkroom, if you like. I’ll develop them right away.”
Doris accompanied them to the darkroom. There, fascinated, they watched strange creatures of the depths come out on the film.
The great, shadowy creature which had peered out from a rocky cavern was, the picture revealed, a veritable deep-sea monster.
“If only I could bring him up!” Dave exclaimed. “But then, he’d never live at surface levels. But our great, sea-green octopus, I do believe, could live anywhere. I’m going after him!”
Most interesting of all—and most baffling—was the picture Johnny had taken of the great, slow-moving thing seen in the open water far from the rocks.
“Oh, that!” exclaimed Dave, as it began coming out in the film, “that’s really a monster for you!”
“If itisa monster,” said Johnny, in a tone of mystery.
Whatever it might be, the picture only added to the mystery. Too far away, too indistinct to be seen clearly, the thing might have been a whale, or some other form of deep-sea monster. Truth was—deep down in his heart Johnny believed it to be neither. His theories were too fantastic to be put into words—at the moment.
* * * * * * * *
Their afternoon ashore the following day proved interesting, inspiring, and exciting.
They were served a grand meal of native wild turkey, baked sweet potatoes and all manner of delicious, tropical fruits. After that, Mr. Kennedy took Dave, Doris and the professor for a look at some unusual wild birds, nesting at the edge of the jungle.
Johnny settled himself comfortably in a split-bamboo chair and gave himself over to wondering and dreaming.
Mildred had gone to supervise the washing of her precious dishes—some of which dated back to ancient buccaneer days—so Johnny was alone with his thoughts. And strange thoughts they were.... He recalled having heard the bearded giant Kennedy saying to the professor—too much absorbed in research to pay much attention—“Those men, those Europeans! They starve their own people, and use the money to buy gunboats and cannon. They are slaves—those people—slaves! If we don’t watch outwe’llbe slaves, too!... Look at this Caribbean Sea! More important than the Mediterranean ever was! And who’s to stop them from taking possession of these islands? Why, even the president of this poor little Republic is in debt to them! Up to his ears!”
Was Kennedy right? Johnny wondered, dreamily. What of that signal up there on the ridge—the signal of the green arrow? Wasitoperated by spies? And if so—what had they been saying with those blinking lights? What—
“Penny for your thoughts!” Mildred was back.
“Not worth it.” Johnny stood up. “Tell you what, though—I’ll play you a game!”
“What sort of game?”
“Game of the Green Arrow. The object is to discover what it says!”
Drawing up a small table, Johnny spread a notebook and some papers on it.
“Now,” he said. “Here’s a drawing of the green arrow. Twenty-one green lights make the arrow. Thirteen in a row,” he pointed out, “two here, two there, and two more on each side at the other end. The last eight blink all at the same time, but the thirteen—only one at a time. By their blinking they are conveying messages. But what do they say? Here’s a set of papers with records of their blinking, all marked with numbers. If you can work that out, you go to the head of the class!”
“I see. Easy as that!” Mildred laughed, and promptly seated herself across from him.
After that, save for the lazy hum of bees or the sudden whir of humming birds’ wings, there was silence in the place....
Suddenly the girl sprang up. “Why, I—I’ve got it!” she cried, excitedly.
“Just like that!” Johnny smiled.
“Well, I certainly have! Listen! This is what that first message says:
“Keep a sharp lookout. There are counter-spies afloat.”
“WHAT! Gee willikens!” Johnny gazed at her, truly amazed. “How could you make it read like that?”
“Because that’s the way itdoesread!” she raced on. “It’s really easy. There are twenty-six letters in the alphabet. Having thirteen lights suggests that they have split that twenty-sixin two. Each light must stand fortwoletters. But the question is—which two? Well, thetopthirteen stand for A, B, C, etc. But what about the bottom ones?
“The simplest way,” she leaned forward, smiling, “would be to put thelastthirteen letters under thefirstthirteen! Then, blinkingonelight fortwoletters, let the fellow receiving the message seewhichof the two letters makes sense.
“I tried that,” she went on “and it didn’t make any sense at all, so I ran thelastthirteen, backwards. By trying each of the two possible letters in each instance, I got the message I just read to you.”
“Which must be just about right,” Johnny breathed. “Mildred—you’re a wonder! Now let the old green arrow blink! We’ll always know what it’s saying—and we may make some startling discoveries.” With that he seized her hands and whirled her wildly about the broad porch.
“List—listen,” she panted, as, quite out of breath, she dropped into a chair, “what’s that?”
“Natives singing, I suppose” said Johnny, “they are fond of singing.”
“Those singers are not natives!” The girl held up a hand for silence. “They never sing like that. Besides—all those voices are men’s!”
Mildred was leaning forward, lips parted, listening intently.
“What are they singing?” she whispered.
“I can’t make it out,” was Johnny’s slow reply. “Too far away. Besides—it doesn’t sound like English, at all.”
“Now,” she said, softly, “now it is coming out stronger.” A sudden breeze wafted the distant voices toward them.
“It’s a funny old song,” said Johnny. “I’ve heard it somewhere. Perhaps it’s from light opera.”
“But how strange to be singing that, here! Who could they be?”
“Who knows?” Johnny answered slowly.
“Now they’re coming closer,” he said a moment later. “Must be eight or ten of them!”
“Suppose they come all the way?” She gripped his arm firmly. “That would be—”
“I think we’ll take care of ourselves, Mildred.” His tone was deeply serious. “Some time,” he added, reflectively, “we’ll go up to that ancient castle that was a fort—and, perhaps, a prison!”
“We might, some day. Only—”
“Only what?”
“It might be dangerous.”
“Poof!—What is danger?”
“I know. That’s the way I feel, sometimes. What’s the use of being afraid of—of anything?
“But we’d have to find the right trail,” she added. “Those hills are terrible. They’re all cut up with ravines. There are animal trails and native trails running everywhere. It—it’s almost impossible to keep them straight.”
After that, for a time, they were silent. The sound of singing, coming ever closer, increased in volume. The tunes changed, but not once could they understand the words. It was strange.
Somewhere in the jungle a jaguar screamed Nearer at hand some night-bird sang: “Oh—poor—me! Oh—poor—me!”
“It’s dark,” Johnny whispered. “Seems like the folks should be back?”
“They were going quite a distance, and anyhow they took flashlights.”
To Johnny, the place suddenly seemed deserted and silent. Seeing a high-power rifle in the corner, he picked it up and threw back the catch. It was loaded. He set it back without a sound.
“There!” The girl’s sudden exclamation startled him. “They’ve stopped singing! I expected that!”
“Why?”
“I don’t believe they knew anyone lived here. I could tell all the time just how far they were, on the trail. I’ve heard natives singing over that trail a hundred times. The sound changes when they reach the clearing.”
“And you think—?”
“I think that when they reached the clearing they were surprised. They didn’t want to be seen. That’s why they stopped singing. Now they must be going back.”
“Or—coming on!” Johnny stepped to the corner and took up the rifle.
“No!” the girl’s tone was decisive. “They’ve turned back.”
A moment passed in silence;—two—three—four—five. Then the girl sprang silently to her feet.
“Come!” she gripped his hand. “Let’s go have a look!”
Astonished, Johnny caught up the rifle and followed. Never had he known anyone who could get over a jungle trail so fast in the night. She carried a flashlight, but seldom used it. Three times she paused to listen. The third time, as Johnny stirred slightly in the path, she whispered:
“Shish!”
“Sounds like oars,” Johnny whispered back.
“Itisoars!” came back in a barely audible whisper.
“Then they came by boat.”