With Rawlins by his side, he wedged his way into the crowd and the two were instantly swallowed up. But a moment later they reappeared, hats and collars awry, coats torn open, and panting.
“Whew!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson. “Might as well try to get through a solid wall. Hello! There’s another wagon!”
As he spoke, a bell clanged harshly and above the heads of the mob a car crowded with police could be seen forcing its way towards the center of the disturbance which appeared to be a large garage.
At this moment a huge, lumbering motor truck crept slowly from the garage door and an angry bellow rose from the crowd. But even an East Side mob must give way before a five-ton truck and the crowd, surging back to make way for thetruck, swept around the boys and the two cars and engulfed them like a sea of rough clothes and angry, grimy faces.
“How the dickens can we get clear now!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson, as to save themselves from being knocked down and trampled underfoot he and Rawlins leaped upon the running boards and flattened themselves against the body of the car.
“Expect we’ll have to stick here until the crowd leaves,” replied Mr. Pauling, and added, “Unless they pick us up car and all and carry us out.”
Now the crowd was surging still farther back as though pressed by an irresistible force and above the bellowing, moving, multicolored wave of human heads and shoulders appeared a half-dozen mounted police, their well-trained horses forcing back the human wall which, despite jeers, taunts, threats and imprecations, gave way steadily before them.
As the police drew near and the crowd thinned out, one of the officers caught sight of the two cars and their occupants.
“Here you!” he shouted, urging his horse towards thecar. “Get them flivvers out o’ here! Right about now and move lively!”
Mr. Pauling chuckled and Mr. Henderson grinned. “Show us how!” cried back Mr. Pauling.
“No sassing back there!” stormed the policeman now riding close. “Get a move on or I’ll pinch the bunch of ye for interferin’ with the police, resistin’ an officer and blockadin’ traffic. I’ll get enough charges against ye to send youse to the island for a year.”
Mr. Henderson and Tom’s father were shaking with laughter. “Don’t be foolish, officer. Don’t you see we can’t move?” Mr. Henderson asked.
The policeman’s face grew purple with anger and he pushed his mount close beside the car, calling to a fellow officer to help him.
Exasperated by the crowd, naturally quick-tempered and in a frenzy of rage at these “swells,” as he mentally dubbed them, defying his orders, he drew his club and raised it threateningly.
Mr. Henderson leaped from the running board to the policeman’s side and in tones which eventhe angry blue coat recognized as authoritative exclaimed,
“Here, that’s enough from you! You’ll find yourself broke if you don’t look out. Your job’s to protect citizens—not to abuse them!”
A look of mingled amazement and anger swept over the officer’s face.
“An’ who may youse be?” he began, hunching himself forward and shooting forth his pugnacious jaw.
Mr. Henderson stepped a bit closer and turned back the lapel of his vest.
The sudden change in the man’s attitude and expression caused the boys to burst out laughing. Surprise, incredulity, fear, and regret all spread over his big Hibernian features in turn. His half-raised arm dropped to his side, he seemed to shrivel and shrink in size, his pale blue eyes seemed about to pop from between his red-lashed lids.
Then Irish humor came to his rescue. Drawing himself stiffly up he saluted and with a twinkle in his eyes blurted out,
“B’gorra, Sir, ’tis sorry I am. But how was Ito know, Sir? What with your kelly dinted in and your tie adrift and all. Sure I’ll see ye through here in a jiffy.”
The crowd had now been driven far back, and, escorted by the mounted men, the two cars proceeded slowly up the street until opposite the garage. A few idlers were still hovering about and were being chased away by blue coats, but inside the garage the boys could see a closely packed mass of men with policemen’s caps much in evidence, while the broad doorway was blocked by officers with drawn clubs.
As Mr. Pauling brought his car to a stop, a plain-clothes man pressed through the line of police and hurried to the car.
“What’s up?” demanded Mr. Pauling as the man came close. “Find anything?”
“Find anything!” repeated the other, his gimlet eyes fairly glistening with satisfaction. “You bet your—beg your pardon—I’ll say we did. Got the whole bunch—men, cars, booze an’ all. Want the story now?”
“No, don’t stop now, Murphy,” replied Mr. Pauling, “After everything’s cleaned up comearound to the house and we’ll hear the whole yarn, the boys are entitled to know it. I’m expecting a call to the hospital at any time and must be on hand. Glad you got them.”
“I guess I’ll stay and see the fun,” said Rawlins, “that is, if I may.”
“Let Mr. Rawlins in, Murphy,” commanded Mr. Pauling. “He’s one of our crowd and all right. Wouldn’t have got this job over without his help. See you later.”
As the car drove off, the boys saw Rawlins pushing through the cordon of police by Murphy’s side and all three breathed a sigh of regret that they, too, could not remain to see what exciting and interesting things were taking place within the garage.
But they realized that it was no place for boys and, to tell the truth, all three were quite ready and willing to go home and have a chance to calm down and rest. Tom, of course, had been through a racking experience and was utterly exhausted nervously and physically, and Frank, who was younger and of a far more nervous temperament, had been so worried and frightened over Tom’splight and the uncertainty of what was occurring under the water that he had become almost hysterical when it was all over. Even Henry had experienced enough excitement to last him for some time and boylike was crazy to rush home and tell his parents all about the remarkable adventures of the afternoon.
Leaving Henry at Gramercy Square, Mr. Pauling drove the car home while Mr. Henderson went to his office and Tom and Frank, who was staying at the Pauling home while his parents were in Europe, breathed a sigh of satisfaction when they found themselves once more in the cool, quiet interior of the house on Madison Avenue.
When, after parting with Mr. Pauling and the boys, Mr. Henderson drove towards his office, he was in high good humor. The afternoon, thanks to the boys’ radio and Rawlins’ diving suits, had been a most eventful and highly satisfactory one. Not only had the discoveries resulted in the raid on the garage, the seizure of a vast amount of contraband and probably the breaking up of the gang of rum-runners which for so long had baffled his men and himself, but it had brought in two prisoners, one of whom at least he had recognized and was mighty glad to see.
But despite all this he was sorely puzzled and cudgeled his brain to find a reasonable explanation for many things which seemed inexplicable. If, as it seemed, the garage had been a hiding place for smuggled liquor, what connectiondid it have with the submarine and the divers Rawlins had captured? Had the contraband been brought there in the under-seas boat, and if so how? He knew, as Rawlins had already pointed out, that a submarine could not go in and out of any port—in the West Indies or elsewhere—without attracting immediate attention, for there were not many of the craft knocking about and even if the natives of the islands had kept the secret some of the government’s agents who were scattered through the West Indies would either have seen or heard of the craft. Mr. Pauling, for example, had personally been to Cuba and Nassau and while he had seen schooners leave with cargoes only to return empty without being reported from any American port, still he had found or heard nothing which would indicate a submarine unless, yes, that might be possible—the schooners might have transferred their cargoes to the under-sea boat in mid-ocean or at some uninhabited island.
But even in that case, the native sailors, the mulattoes and negroes, surely would have talked about it. To them, a submarine would have been far too remarkable and interesting a thing not to havetold their wondering cronies and families about it. And where, assuming this was so, had the bootleggers secured the vessel?
Rawlins had assured him the submarine was a German U-boat of a recent type, such as had been off the United States coast during the latter days of the war, but she could not be one of these, for the Navy, he knew, had accounted for them all. Had the Germans taken to rum-running? Had they secretly retained one or more submarines, and, knowing the enormous profits to be made, put them to use carrying cargoes of liquor from the West Indies to the United States? Of course this was possible, but somehow Mr. Henderson, who was famed in the Service for his “hunches,” which nine-tenths of the time proved right, had a feeling that there was something deeper, some mystery behind it, and he had high hopes of fathoming this or at least of throwing some light upon it by an interview with the unharmed prisoner.
That he would obtain a confession or even much information from the fellow, he very much doubted, for he knew the man of old—knew him for a sullen, arrogant and thoroughly desperate manand one who could and did keep his mouth shut under the most severe grilling. Mr. Henderson deeply regretted that the other prisoner had been injured by inhaling the flames in his helmet, for with two men, each thinking the other had betrayed him, there would be a good chance of getting at the bottom of things, but it was almost hopeless now. The surgeons had stated that the man was doomed, that he could not possibly survive his terrible burns and that it was doubtful if he ever regained consciousness. Mr. Pauling was to be summoned when the wounded man came to his senses, if he ever did, and in the meantime the other prisoner was to be brought before Mr. Henderson by two of his own men whom he had despatched for the purpose, for, while he and Mr. Pauling coöperated with the police in many ways, they had no desire to let the police learn of many matters that were taking place or hear statements or confessions which they might repeat.
As soon as Mr. Henderson reached his office, where the erstwhile janitor was on guard, he hurried the latter off and then, taking some documents from a safe and lighting his pipe, he proceededto study the papers with minute attention. He was interrupted in this by the return of the messenger who was accompanied by a small, wiry, dark-haired man whom Mr. Henderson addressed as “Ivan” and who seated himself in a proffered chair and proceeded to make himself quite at home with an immense black cigar.
“It’s Smernoff!” announced Mr. Henderson presently. “Got him to-day under very remarkable circumstances—no matter what. Recognized him at once although he’s shaved off his beard. Examined his mouth and chest to make sure. I expect him here in a few moments. Do you happen to know if he ever served in the German army?”
“Sure, yes, I know,” replied the Russian. “Not in the army, no, but the navy.”
“What was his job?” demanded Mr. Henderson.
“That I do not know,” replied the other with a shrug of his shoulders.
“H-m-m,” muttered Mr. Henderson. “Well, I want you to be here to interpret. He doesn’t speak much English or won’t. I guess they’re coming now.”
A moment later, there was a rap on the door andthe janitor—once more in jumper and overalls—left by another entrance and armed with dustpan and broom proceeded to busy himself in the hallway exactly as if he had not been interrupted several hours previously by Frank’s excited summons to Mr. Pauling.
At Mr. Henderson’s “Come in!” two heavily built men in civilian clothes entered, crowding closely one on either side of the sullen man who had been captured by Rawlins.
Not until they had seated themselves at Mr. Henderson’s orders would any one have suspected that the pig-eyed man was a prisoner or was handcuffed. For a space, Mr. Henderson gazed steadily and silently at the prisoner who returned his stare, hate and venom in his eyes, and then, turning to Ivan, Mr. Henderson ordered him to ask the fellow certain questions.
It is not necessary to repeat the conversation, or rather the queries and replies, and for some time no satisfactory information was brought out, the captive absolutely refusing to admit anything or to say a word which might incriminate himself or his fellows. But when, after a deal of questioning,Mr. Henderson had Ivan hint that the men captured in the raid on the garage had betrayed the Russian and his fellow diver, the man’s face took on a demoniacal expression, his eyes blazed and a torrent of curses and foul oaths burst from his lips.
A moment later, he checked his furious outburst and replied quickly to many of the interrogations put to him through the interpreter.
It was soon evident, however, that he was either extremely ignorant of many matters or else was an accomplished liar, and, while the information he gave cleared up many matters which had puzzled Mr. Henderson previously, still the most important and mysterious features of the whole case remained as much a mystery as ever.
“I guess that’s all we can find out, or all he’ll tell,” declared Mr. Henderson at last. “Take him away and be mighty careful to have him well guarded. He’s a slippery rascal and we don’t want him getting away this time.”
As the men with their prisoner left the room, Ivan rose as if to go.
“Sit down!” Mr. Henderson ordered him. “Imay need you again at any minute. We’ve got another man to question yet.”
Ivan’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but he had long been employed as an interpreter in Mr. Pauling’s service and had learned not to ask questions or make comments, no matter how amazing or perplexing a matter might appear. So, again seating himself comfortably, he lit another of his huge cigars and waited patiently and silently for further orders.
Meanwhile Mr. Henderson was going over his hastily written statements of the prisoner and with his knowledge of the man’s past and his “hunch” was striving to dovetail the information with surmises and records so as to form a complete whole.
It was interesting and fascinating work—this building up a case from fragments and conjectures—a sort of jig-saw puzzle with many of the parts missing, and Mr. Henderson was an adept at it. Indeed, he often spent hours, when he had time to spare, playing the game with imaginary or hypothetical cases exactly as a person will play a game of solitaire. It was this ability to piece together stray bits of evidence, and his almost uncannyintuition, that had secured the high position he held and had won the envy and admiration of all in the Service who knew him, although his friends good-naturedly chaffed him about his “imagination,” as they called it.
But on more than one occasion his imagination, or intuition or sixth sense or whatever it might be, had brought most astonishing results; as, for example, the capture of a band of plotters; to which he had referred when discussing the flood of Bolshevist literature and the wave of crime with his coworkers.
Now, as he studied his notes of Smernoff’s statements and at times half closed his eyes as if concentrating on some far-off matter, a smile spread across his features and from time to time he nodded approvingly.
“I’d wager it is,” he commented to himself. “Everything points that way. The submarine, Smernoff—a fanatical socialist—those remarkable deep-sea suits—the under-sea radio, the mystery about it all and yes—the time hitches perfectly. Bloody sort of brute he is—wish I could get him for that—sorry it’s out of our hands. Jove! Ihope that mate of his lives long enough to give us what we want. Smernoff admitsheknows. By Jove, it would be a coup! Wonder if those boys even dream what their experimenting has led up to!”
He was still deeply engrossed in his occupation when the phone bell rang and Mr. Pauling’s voice came to him. “He’s conscious,” said the latter, “Come to the hospital as quickly as possible. Yes, I’m going this instant. Of course. Bring Ivan.”
“Come along, Ivan!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson, as he hung up the receiver, and grasping his hat he hurried from the room into which the janitor instantly popped like some sort of automaton.
As soon as the ambulance bearing the injured prisoner had reached the hospital, the man had been taken to a private room and the doctors had devoted every attention, every latest appliance, every resource known to modern medicine and surgery to patching the horribly burned and disfigured fellow up in order to prolong his life until he could regain consciousness. In the hospital a more thorough examination had revealed the factthat the interior of his mouth was not so seriously burned as had been thought when first aid was being administered at the dock. Evidently he had had presence of mind enough to snap off the valve and to shut his lips at the first burst of flames from the chemicals when, startled by the submarine deserting them, he had instinctively cried out a warning to his mate and had allowed water to enter the tube.
“There’s about one chance in ten thousand that he may live,” announced the gray-haired surgeon to his assistant. “He has not inhaled flames and it all depends upon his constitution. The shock was enough to kill an ordinary man outright, but it will be no kindness to have him survive. If it were not for Mr. Pauling’s orders I’d take the responsibility of letting him go, I believe. Gad! Can you imagine any one living with a face like that or caring enough to live to undergo the agony that he’ll suffer if he becomes conscious?”
“Not me!” replied the younger man. “I’d think it a Christian act to let cases of this sort find relief in death, but I suppose every man has a right to his life if he wants it. Have any ideawhy Mr. Pauling’s so keen on having him come to and talk?”
The elder man gazed at his assistant in a peculiar manner.
“No!” he snapped out at last. “And I’m not fool enough to ask or wonder. It’s none of our business and I intend to follow orders to the letter. But you can bet it’s something important. Just peep outside the door.”
With a puzzled expression, the young doctor opened the door cautiously and looked to left and right. On either hand, standing silently, but with watchful eyes, were two heavily built men, dressed in civilian clothes, with soft, dark felt hats on their heads and, even to the intern’s unpracticed eyes, detectives.
“Guess thereissomething doing,” he remarked as he closed the door, “couple of Bulls out there. What do they think—that he’s going to jump up and run with that face and with both eyes burned out?”
The other glanced up from where he was bending close above the cot and raised a finger for silence. Then, an instant later, he straightened up.
“Get Mr. Pauling at once!” he commanded. “Tell him the man is liable to become conscious at any instant—that he may live, but if he wants to be sure he had better come immediately.”
In the mean time, at the Pauling home, Tom had been relating his story of the strange and exciting events which had taken place under the river.
“Now, Son,” said Mr. Pauling, as Tom had thrown himself upon the lounge in the library while his mother hovered anxiously over him, “if you feel able, tell us all about it. Rawlins told us the main facts while you were getting over your fainting spell, but, as many important matters and far-reaching consequences may result from your discoveries and captures, I would like to know all the details. Just as soon as you feel tired, stop. Your health and welfare are the most important things—everything else can wait if necessary. I would not ask you now, only I know your mother is anxious to hear the story and, moreover, if I am called to the hospital, I would like to have as much information as possible. A lot may hinge on that.”
“Oh, I’m quite all right, Dad,” Tom assured hisfather. “Of course I’m tired, but I don’t mind talking. In fact I’d like to.”
So, for some time, Tom narrated his adventures, beginning with the descent to test the set at a distance and ending with the crash that sounded in his ears as he was about to emerge from the water and leaving out no detail of his sensations, thoughts or fears.
“I think it’s all quite clear,” declared Mr. Pauling when he had finished. “I’m sorry I cannot divulge everything to you now or explain all the mysteries which surround the astounding discovery that you boys and Mr. Rawlins have made. But later I can and will, as I know you must be dying of curiosity. And I can assure you of one thing: Uncle Sam will be under a great obligation to you and your radio.”
“But you said you’d tell us who the man was whom we captured and what they were doing in the garage,” Tom reminded him.
“Yes, I can do that,” replied his father, “but you two boys must learn to keep secrets and not repeat anything I tell you. The man you and Rawlins brought in—the one who was not hurt Imean—is a Russian, a rabid ‘red,’ and Henderson recognized him and later identified him beyond question by a peculiar tooth and the scar on his chest. At one time he was convicted of a serious crime against our government, but escaped mysteriously from prison. I doubt very much if we get much information from him, as he knows he must serve out his term—with a bit added to it—and he is a close-mouthed rascal. We hope more from his companion, if he recovers consciousness and can talk. If he knows he is dying he may confess at the last minute. As far as the garage is concerned, as you know, we put two and two together and decided the blind sewer had some secret opening in the block where you boys located the mysterious sending set. The fact that both those messages and the conversations you heard under water included the names of flowers convinced us that they emanated from the same source and as Rawlins assured us the conversation in what he called Dutch, but which was probably Russian, came from the men under water, it confirmed our suspicions that the man you boys located was talking to men under water or on the submarineand that somewhere in the block we would find the key to the mystery and more. From what Murphy says, and the appearance of things, we succeeded beyond our expectations. I was afraid that the rascals might have overheard you and Rawlins or that the submarine, which evidently knew that they were discovered, might have warned them. If so, we moved too quickly for them.”
“Butarethey bootleggers?” asked Frank.
“No doubt,” replied Mr. Pauling, “and many other worse things. When Murphy and Rawlins arrive we’ll probably know more and if the wounded man confesses we’ll solve many mysteries which remain to be unraveled.”
“Well, I’m mighty glad the old under-sea radio worked,” declared Tom, “but I wouldn’t go through that experience again, not for—no, not for Uncle Sam himself.”
At this moment the doorbell rang and a moment later Rawlins dashed into the room, his eyes bright and a happy grin on his boyish face.
“I’ll tell the world it’s great!” he exclaimed, “They got pretty near everything—booze, trucks, men, and that mysterious radio. And a truckloadof books and papers—cleaned out a regular nest. That man Murphy is a corker, Mr. Pauling. He said to tell you he’ll be over in a little while. They were just cleaning up when I left.”
Tom jumped up. “Hurrah!” he cried. “Then we were right all along! We always said that fellow was one of a bootlegger gang. Gee, Frank! They can’t laugh at radio or radio detectives now. It wins!”
“I’ll say radio wins!” cried Rawlins.
Before the conversation could be continued, the desk telephone rang and Mr. Pauling instantly answered.
“Hello!” the boys heard him say. “Hello! Good! Right away. Call Henderson. Yes, have everything ready. He’ll live perhaps? Yes, Henderson will bring Ivan. Keep a record of everything. Good-by!”
As he ceased speaking, Mr. Pauling sprang up. “It’s Doctor Hewlett,” he announced as he started for the door, “The man’s regaining consciousness. He may talk at any moment and I must rush there. If Murphy calls, send him over.”
An instant later, Mr. Pauling was hurrying to his car and the boys, Mrs. Pauling and Rawlins commenced discussing the events which had followed one another so rapidly during the past few hours.
Rawlins had to tell the story all over again to Tom’s mother and Frank gave his version. Then all speculated on what the mystery surrounding the submarine and the raid on the garage might be.
“It’s rather too bad that Fred can’t tell us anything yet,” said Mrs. Pauling, “but I realize, in his position, secrecy must be maintained. However, after it’s all over I suppose we shall know—that is, if the newspapers don’t tell us first. They usually manage to find out such secrets somehow.”
“Well, I admit I can’t see head nor tail to it,” declared Rawlins. “Of course, as long as Mr. Pauling says those chaps are Russians and were talking Bolshevik I suppose they are and were; but Iknowthat sub was a Hun boat—not one of the big, latest U-boats, but the kind that was over on our coast here once or twice. I’ve done a lot of work studying submarines and they can’t fool me. Now, of course there’s no reason why a Russian should not use a German sub if he could get hold of it, but what were they doing over here in the East River is what gets me. I don’t believe they were just rum-runners, even if Murphy and his crowd did find a lot of booze over there, andwhat was that cigar-shaped sub-sea gadget they were pulling along with ’em?”
“Why, I think that’s all simple,” declared Tom. “They probably brought liquor in here with the submarine and carried it to the garage in that torpedolike thing.”
Rawlins shook his head. “No, old man,” he replied. “A sub would never do for a rum-runner. Why, every port in the West Indies is watched and the whole world would hear if a sub poked her nose into a harbor and tied up to a dock to load rum. It’s too bad we didn’t tackle those chaps out there before they got to the sub. We might have brought in that torpedo arrangement, too.”
“Gee, I’d forgotten all about that!” exclaimed Tom. “What became of it?”
“Why, didn’t I tell you?” replied Rawlins. “They shoved it into the submarine. I was watching ’em do that when they spotted me. If they’d had sense they’d have gone in after it and cleared out, but instead, they had to try rough-house stuff and got left. I expect they thought we’d seen too much and didn’t know I was armed. Then, whentheir mates in the sub heard you yelling for help and heard Frank’s replies, they thought the game was up and pulled stakes without stopping for the two chaps below.”
“I wonder if they’ll get her—the destroyers, I mean,” said Frank.
“I doubt it,” replied Rawlins. “The sea’s a mighty big place and the Lord knows where she’ll emerge. No knowing which way she headed either. For all any one knows she may have scooted over to some hangout on Long Island or swung around up the Hudson or slipped into the sound or stood out to sea. But I doubt if she’ll try getting out of the harbor submerged. Too risky. She might bump into a liner or a ship any minute and she’d have to go blind—no periscope out, you see, because she’ll know we’d have chasers, looking for her. No, I expect they’ll submerge, rest on the bottom in shallow water somewhere and wait until night. Then she could sneak out to sea with just her conning tower out. There’s about one chance in a million of finding her and that’s the only way we slipped up. Just as soon as I saw her I knew something crooked was goingon—knew it soon as ever I put eyes on those fellows in self-contained suits—infringing my patents, darn ’em—and I planned to get back and notify the authorities. Then we could have nabbed her and her whole crew. Slipped up by letting those Bolshevik birds spot me. And Tom—did you notice those fellows didn’t have those gadgets on their helmets? How do you suppose they worked their radio without ’em?”
“Gosh!” exclaimed Tom. “I didn’t think of it at the time, but it’s so. Say, what became of their suits? We can examine their outfits and find out all about it.”
“Suits are safe enough down at the dock,” Rawlins assured him. “You’ll have some fun examining them, I’ll say.”
“Why didn’t you ask Mr. Murphy all about what it meant?” inquired Frank, who had been pondering on the mystery.
Rawlins gave a hearty laugh. “You don’t know friend Murphy,” he answered. “I’ll say I asked him, but you might as well ask a lamp-post. I know why they call potatoes Murphys now—all eyes and no mouth. That’s him, too. Nice andpleasant and everything, but not a mite of information. When I asked him first time he just looked me all over as if I was some kind of a rare specimen. ‘Mr. Pauling says youse is on the level,’ he said, ‘and I’ll take his word if he says the devil himself has turned saint. But my orders is to say nothing to nobody till I reports to Mr. Pauling and my orders stays orders till he gives me new ones. He’s told me to let youse in here and to look after youse and that I’m doin’, but never a word did he say about tellin’ of youse anything, an’ that I won’t. What youse can see youse can see and welcome and what youse may overhear youse can hear, but I’d advise youse to not repeat it, and now draw your own conclusions.’”
The boys laughed. “He looked like that,” said Frank. “I can just imagine him saying it.”
“And what did you say?” inquired Mrs. Pauling. “I have met that man Murphy—he’s one of Fred’s right-hand men.”
“Oh, I knew he was right and just slapped him on the back and told him he was a good skate and I’d put in a good word for him at any time. Toldhim I didn’t want to butt in and wouldn’t bother him with any more questions.”
“Didn’t you see anything?” asked Tom.
“About as much as you could see when we were in the crowd in the car,” laughed Rawlins. “The garage wasn’t packed full, but there were about a million plain-clothes men and police there and Lord knows how many trucks, and everything that was going on was in the center. But I did see them piling a lot of boxes and papers and a lot of radio stuff into a truck and I heard a policeman smack his lips and say: ‘Glory be, but it’s a burnin’ shame to think of all the good booze that’s goin’ to waste nowadays. Sure it makes me throat feel dry as a load of hay to think of it.’”
“Perhaps,” suggested Mrs. Pauling. “These men you found have some connection with the Bolshevist threats and crimes that the papers say are taking place. Fred never lets us know much of what is going on, as he thinks I’ll worry. But whatever it is, I feel sure it has something to do with the troubles and worries Fred has had recently. Both he and Mr. Henderson have been working hard both day and night on somethingand Fred has looked as if he had some great problem on his mind.”
“Well, I hope it’s that,” declared Tom. “Say, wouldn’t it be great if we reallyhadhelped Dad and the government on something more important than smuggling liquor.”
“There’s the bell again,” exclaimed Frank. “Perhaps that’s Mr. Murphy.”
Frank’s surmise proved correct and Mrs. Pauling repeated her husband’s orders to him. Scarcely waiting to hear, the detective turned and hurried off.
“I suppose we might as well have dinner,” said Mrs. Pauling, after Murphy had gone. “There’s no use waiting for Fred, he may be away all night. You’ll have dinner with us, won’t you, Mr. Rawlins?”
Dinner over, the four returned to the library and hour after hour dragged on with no word from Mr. Pauling.
Finally, Rawlins rose to go and was saying good night when the front door opened and Mr. Pauling, Mr. Henderson and the detective Murphy arrived.
“Didn’t wait dinner for me, did you?” criedTom’s father, a note in his voice that his wife knew meant relief and elation. “Glad you didn’t. Sorry we were so late, but couldn’t get away a minute sooner. Didn’t even have a chance to telephone to you. But we’re as hungry as bears. I suppose there’s a bite to eat.”
Then, seeing Rawlins, hat in hand, he continued, “Don’t go, Rawlins. Soon as we’ve eaten we’ll try to satisfy your curiosity and the boys’ and,” he added mischievously, “the wife’s, even if she does say she hasn’t any.”
“They’re in mighty good spirits,” declared Rawlins when the three men had disappeared in the direction of the dining room. “So I guess everything’s come out O. K.”
“Yes, Fred’s had a great load lifted from his mind, I know,” agreed Mrs. Pauling, “and I’m very glad. I’ve really been worried about him lately.”
“Well, we’ll soon know what ’tis,” said Tom. “Gosh! I can scarcely wait.”
At last they heard the voices of the three men, laughing and chatting, as they left the dining room, and an instant later they entered the library.
“Now I suppose you four want the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth,” laughed Mr. Pauling, as he motioned the others to seats and settled himself in his own favorite chair. “I don’t think there’s much that I cannot reveal now—except a few matters which have no direct bearing or interest on the part you boys and Mr. Rawlins have played. Well, let’s see. I guess I’d better begin at the garage—you know already that Henderson identified the prisoner and how we had a hunch that the affair centered in that block where the boys’ radio compasses located the phantom speaker. I had an idea our men would have to surround the entire block and make a house-to-house search, but the rascals saved us that trouble. Evidently their friends had warned them that something was wrong and Reilly’s men arrived just in time. They found a truck just leaving the garage, and, remembering my orders to hold every one and everything that looked suspicious, they stopped the truck—when the driver put on speed as soon as he glimpsed the police. That was suspicious and when they overhauled it they found it loaded with liquor. Inside the garage, theyfound four more trucks and a crowd of men and Murphy here tells me they put up a mighty good fight. That, of course, drew a crowd and East Side crowds have no use for the blue coats. The result was a free for all until another wagon arrived with reserves and in the fracas several of the men in the garage broke away and disappeared in the crowd.
“However, they got six and found enough contraband liquor in the trucks and in a secret room under the floor to stock a dozen saloons. Most of it was in this hidden room or cell under the floor, and very cleverly hidden, too. Had a door formed by a false bottom to a repair pit and all they had to do was to run a truck over the pit as if being repaired and pass up the goods from below. There were other things in that room, too. About twenty-five thousands dollars’ worth of furs and jewelry—all stolen here or hereabouts; opium to the value of a hundred thousand or so, to say nothing of morphine, cocaine and other drugs. In addition, there were several thousand copies of red propaganda circulars and pamphlets, a neat little engraving and printing plant and a secondtrapdoor that opened into the old sewer. And the radio set was there also. A receiving set—made in Germany by the way—and the transmission outfit. That was the cleverest thing yet—according to Henderson who knows more about it than I do. He tells me the what-do-you-call-it—aërial—was a folding affair stretched across the inside of the roof and so arranged that it could be drawn back between the girders entirely out of sight. Now I don’t know any of the technical part of this and I’ll let Henderson explain it all to you boys later if you wish. But the main thing, as I understand it, was that they could send several thousand miles with the outfit on one kind of a wave or could talk to a person a few blocks away with another sort. At any rate, we never would have found that if we hadn’t found the secret cell and the machine and a man at it. I’m not surprised Henderson’s men never located it.
“That’s all about the garage. It was the headquarters and clearing house of a dangerous gang of international cutthroats and rogues. They had been robbing right and left, carrying their loot in motor cars and trucks to the garage and hiding itin the secret room. Then from there it had been carried in watertight containers, like miniature submarines, through the old sewer to the submarine by the divers. Each time the submarine came in she brought a cargo of liquor, drugs, cigars, plumes, and other contraband and took away all the valuables and receipts from sales. The conversations you overheard were between those in the garage and other members of the gang, and the reason you boys did not hear the other speaker was because he used a radio telegraph instrument—that’s right, isn’t it, Henderson—and a very weak or short wave—let’s see, a ‘buzzer set’ you called it, wasn’t it? Well, you can get all that from Henderson, anyway.”
“But how on earth did you find all that out?” asked Rawlins, as Mr. Pauling ceased speaking to light a cigar.
“Well, it took a little urging,” replied Mr. Pauling. “Murphy and his men hinted to their prisoners that they’d been given the tip by the men on the submarine and so, of course, they told all they knew in the hope of getting lighter sentences and Henderson had the Russian up at his office withIvan and lethimthink we knew all about him and the submarine through tips given by the other crowd. As a result, we got pretty complete information from both sides. But”—here Mr. Pauling lowered his voice and signaled for Murphy to stand guard at the door—“we couldn’t get what we wanted from either the Russian or any of the gang at the garage. They’d tell us certain things—give us details and facts about matters of which we already knew—such as the means of communication, the submarine, etc., but beyond that they would not go.
“Short of torture I don’t believe they’d let out a word. And we knew—we were positive—that back of it all was something deeper—a stupendous plot aimed at the very heart and life—the very existence of the United States and England. And we felt equally positive that back of this was an arch criminal or rather arch fiend—a man with a tremendous brain, almost unlimited power and marvelous resources. We could see many things which linked this petty smuggling, the hold-ups and burglaries, the rum-running and drug-importing with events of far greater importance.But we had no proof, no evidence to go on.
“Some of our men thought they knew who this head—this nucleus of the whole affair was but they could not be sure—they would not even dare mention his name—and so we were handicapped, working in the dark. But now we do know. We know far more than I dare tell any one, than I dare think. The injured man has placed it all in our hands. It was the most astounding revelation I have ever known or ever expect to hear. I cannot tell you all—I did not even permit Murphy or the doctor to be by the man’s bedside while he spoke and as soon as I knew he could speak and understand English I sent Ivan off, too. Only Henderson and I heard what he said. This man was—yes, I say ‘was,’ because he is dead—was one of those misguided men who plotted against England and became a tool of the Germans. He betrayed his cause and his leaders, and, despised, hunted for the traitor and coward that he was, not safe either in England, Ireland or Germany, he became a man without a country, an enemy of all organized governments, a fanatical ‘red’ and a trusted emissary of this arch criminal I referred to.
“When he became conscious he raved and cursed frightfully, swearing he had been betrayed and in his mad desire for vengeance—knowing he had but a few moments to live—told us as best he could with his scorched and blackened lips and tongue what we longed to know. It was unbelievable, incredible, more marvelous than Jules Verne’s stories, but true, we know, from the way it dovetails in with other facts in our possession.
“Among other things, we learned that many mysteriously missing ships—the many passenger and merchant vessels which never reached port—were deliberately sunk, torpedoed without warning and all survivors put to death in cold blood merely to secure the gold and other valuables on board. All this treasure, all the loot from robberies and crimes committed in the United States and abroad, all the receipts from smuggling and the sales of drugs and liquors were to swell the fund this master plotter was accumulating to accomplish his final purpose.
“This he told us towards the last—when each breath was a mighty effort, when each word was wrung from him with torture—and he even tried to tell us where it was hidden, where this vast treasureis concealed, cachéd, and where we might find the headquarters of this monster in human form. He was telling us and was striving, straining to give us the location. He had mentioned the locality in a general way, was giving us the latitude and longitude and had gasped out three figures when he died—the words unfinished, the secret sealed within his lips and—most important of all, with the name of that ruthless, relentless master-fiend unspoken.”
The boys’ eyes had grown round with wonder as Mr. Pauling was speaking. Mrs. Pauling leaned forward, her face flushed, her lips parted. Rawlins had remained as silent, as immovable as if carved in stone, and even Mr. Henderson and Murphy had been so engrossed, so interested, although they knew the story as well as Mr. Pauling, that they had allowed their cigars to go out.
“Jehoshaphat!” exclaimed Tom, when his father ceased speaking. “Gosh! Wedidbutt into something worth while!”
“Oh, Gee!” ejaculated Frank in disappointed tones. “Then you don’t know where that treasure is after all!”
“No,” replied Mr. Pauling, “not within several hundred miles. But the treasure is not the important thing, it’s the man himself we want.”
Rawlins rose, his eyes shone with unwonted brilliancy, his face was flushed.
“I’ll say that’s some day’s work!” he cried. “But I’ll bet wecanget that loot—and that whole bunch of crooks, too. I’ve a scheme, Mr. Pauling, but I want a little time to think it over and get my brain straightened out. There’s been too much crowded into it during the last ten hours.”
Mr. Pauling stared at Rawlins as if he thought he might have taken leave of his senses. Then, realizing that Rawlins was in earnest, he said quietly, “All right, Rawlins. I don’t know what your scheme may be, but I’ll be glad to hear it whenever you’re ready. Call me up and we’ll hear it when you have it worked out. We owe you more than I can express to you now.”
A moment later Rawlins had gone and hardly had his footsteps died away when the telephone tinkled.
“Yes!” exclaimed Mr. Pauling as he listened. “Remarkable! Absolutely deserted! Well, Iguess that chapter’s closed. Thanks for letting me know.”
“Sorry Rawlins has gone,” declared Mr. Pauling as he hung up the receiver and wheeled about. “That was the Admiral calling. One of the destroyers has found the submarine!”
“Gosh! then they’ve caught more of the gang!” cried Tom.
“That’s the astounding part of it,” replied his father. “She was found drifting, her upper works just awash, about one hundred miles out to sea andnot a living soul on board her!”
When Rawlins called on Mr. Pauling the following day the first thing that greeted him was the announcement that the submarine had been found.
So excited were the boys that for some time they could not convey an intelligible idea of the matter and before Rawlins could grasp the details of the discovery they were plying him with questions as to his opinion in regard to it.
“What do you think became of the men?” cried Tom.
“Do you suppose it was their boat?” demanded Frank.
“How do you think it got so far away, if it’s theirs?” put in Tom.
“We puzzled over it for hours last night and no one can explain it,” declared Frank.
“Easy, boys, easy!” laughed Rawlins. “Onething at a time. Shorten sails a bit and let me get my bearings. You say the destroyer found a submarine floating just awash and absolutely deserted one hundred miles off the coast? I don’t believe itwasthat sub!”
“Could you identify it by a description—anything about it?” asked Mr. Pauling.
“Well, I don’t know,” admitted Rawlins. “I know it was a German sub and I’d recognize it if I saw it; but whether I can be sure of it by a description depends upon the description.”
“They’re towing her in,” Mr. Pauling informed him. “She was disabled and unable to come in under her own power. Until she arrives all we know is that she is a German boat—one of the medium-sized craft—that she carries torpedoes and a gun and that she is painted sea-green.”
“Fits her like an Easter bonnet,” declared Rawlins. “Under water I could not be sure of her color, but it was not black or gray—everything takes on a greenish look under water. Did they find anything suspicious on her?”
“That I can’t say,” replied Mr. Pauling. “Theydidn’t report whether they made any discoveries or not.”
“But if itisthe submarine, where are the men?” reiterated Tom.
“Search me,” replied Rawlins. “A lot of things may have happened to them. Something may have gone wrong so they were obliged to come up and knowing they would be captured they took the sub’s boats. Or again, they may have decided to desert the sub and scatter—probably they knew the chaps we got, and suspected they’d confess. It would have been an easy matter to run in close to shore, take to the boats and land and then sink the boats in shallow water so as to leave no trace. Or some ship might have picked them up. By the way, I’ve been puzzling over something. How do you suppose that sub got in and out of the West Indies without being seen and reported. If she carried contraband in and loot out she must have gone to some port.”
“Why, didn’t I explain that?” asked Mr. Pauling. “Must have slipped my mind when relating the story yesterday. The prisoner told us how they managed. The submarine never entered anyport—unless you consider the hiding place of the chief of the gang a port—but picked up her cargoes in mid-ocean.”
“Oh, I see, transferred them from another ship, eh?” said Rawlins. “Stupid of me not to think of it.”
“Not quite right yet, Rawlins,” chuckled Mr. Pauling. “It was this way. A vessel would sail from a West Indian port with a cargo and would drop it overboard at a designated spot. Then the submarine would pick it up. If they had transferred on the surface they might have been seen and rough weather would have interfered. Moreover, if those on the schooners saw the submarine or knew of her they might have talked. They imagined the things were to be grappled or brought up by divers. The head of this bunch takes no chances.”
“Ah, now I see a light dawning!” exclaimed Rawlins. “I think that solves several puzzles. You remember those messages you boys heard? Well, they always, or nearly always, included numbers—‘thirty-eight fifty, seventy-seven’ was one, I believe—and ‘good bottom’ and similar things. Ioften wondered about those, but I’ll bet those were the spots where the sub was to find cargoes dumped. Hasn’t that Russian Johnny come across with anything more about the high Muck-a-Muck of the bunch and where he hangs out?”
“No, I had another long session with him, but he swears he knows nothing about it and for once I am inclined to think he is telling the truth,” replied Mr. Pauling. “He insists that he never visited the place—never saw the chief and does not even know who he is—except that all spoke of him as of a supreme being or a king. His story is that only a few men—just enough to man the submarine—including the fellow who died, went to headquarters. That the others, including himself, were always put ashore at a small island in the West Indies where they had a camp and that they walked to the island from the submarine and from the shore to their under-sea craft in diving suits.”
“That’s a probable yarn,” assented Rawlins. “Did he tell you the name of the island?”
“He says he doesn’t know it himself, that there were a few natives there when he first arrived, but that under orders from their superiors theymurdered the blacks in cold blood.”
“Dirty swine, I’ll say!” exclaimed Rawlins. “Well, I know the West Indies a lot better than I know New York and if we can squeeze some sort of a description from old pig-eye I’ll wager I can locate that hangout. But now about that other business—those messages—have you got the notes you made of them, boys?”
“Sure,” replied Tom, “At least, Mr. Henderson has. We gave them all to him.”
“Well, we’ll need ’em if Mr. Pauling thinks my proposition all right,” said Rawlins. “I hadn’t got it quite settled as to details when I came in, but the capture of that sub—if she is the one—has cleared it all up.”
“I can tell you better what I think of any proposal you may have after I have heard it,” said Mr. Pauling.
“All right, here goes,” laughed Rawlins. “You see from what you told us about that dead fellow’s confession, I am pretty sure the big ‘I am’ of the bunch is hanging out somewhere in the West Indies. You said he was giving you the place and had mentioned three figures of latitude andlongitude when he kicked off. Now I don’t know what those figures are, but there are not such an everlasting lot of combinations of figures in the islands—that is, where a man could have a secret hangout—and I know ’em like a book—better than any book in fact—and if I had those figures I’ll bet I can locate the old Buckaroo. Not only that, but with my suits and the boys’ radio and my submarine chamber—the same as I use for taking under-sea pictures—we could get the loot and everything else if he’s got any of it under water.
“I rather figured, from what you said, that might be where he’d hide it, especially as he seems stuck on under-sea work. Why, if the old cove himself had a house under the sea I could find him! If they used this new-fangled radio under water up here you can bet your boots the old guy’s using it where he hangs out and if we’re any place near we can pick him up and the boys can locate him with that radio compass business. You see he probably won’t be wise to any one else being on to the radio business. I was afraid that sub might get back and give it away, but the chances are that if the men aboard her got ashore they either won’tdare show up down there and will just fade away or else we can beat ’em to it.
“Taking that sub gave me another idea and a good one. We can fix up the old boat and go scouting for old Stick-in-the-mud in that. If he or any of his gang see her they’ll think it’s all right and that their gang’s still in her. I know a pretty good lot about handling a sub and we can pick up a few good ex-navy men I know. Now don’t you think that’s a corking good scheme, Mr. Pauling?”
Mr. Pauling hesitated, thinking deeply, before he spoke.
“It has its good points,” he admitted at last, “but it’s rather a wild scheme—just what I should expect from a boy who’ll tackle two strangers and a submarine single-handed under water—and there’s not one chance in ten thousand that it will succeed. You see, the West Indies are a pretty good-sized place and you’d have to go by guess work a great deal, even with the figures the man gave us. However, I’m willing to aid and abet the scheme, as any chance—no matter how remote—of getting that arch fiend is worth trying. I can get the submarine without trouble and can secure menwho can be depended upon, but who’s going with you on your wild-goose or wild-man chase?”
“Why, we are!” cried Tom and Frank in unison.
“The dickens you are!” exclaimed Mr. Pauling. “I should say not!”
The boys’ faces fell. “Oh, Dad, please let us go,” begged Tom. “It will be great—going in a submarine and trying to find that fellow with our radio. Why won’t you let us go?”
“Too much risk,” replied his father. “I’ve had one fright over you and that’s enough.”
“Well, that rather knocks out my plans, too,” declared Rawlins. “I’d counted on the boys going to work the radio end of it—seems kind of hard on them to let some one else do it after they invented the thing and were responsible for getting the men and the sub. If it hadn’t been for them I’d never have got ’em, as it was their hearing Tom yell for help that made ’em surrender, and you’d never have thought of that block and the garage if they hadn’t located those messages with their radio compasses. I don’t think there’s any danger, Mr. Pauling.”
“I don’t agree with you,” declared Mr. Paulingin positive tones. “If you go after that man there’s every danger. You can’t tell what force he may use or how an attempt to capture him might turn out.”
“But I had no idea of attempting to get him alone,” replied Rawlins in surprise. “My plan was to have a trim little destroyer right handy and then, when we’d located Mr. Big Bug, we’d report to the jackies and let them do the dirty work. The boys wouldn’t have to be where there was any scrapping going on and that old ex-German sub is never going to be my coffin if I can help it, I’ll tell the world. No, sir, my idea was just to do the scouting, so to speak—secret service under the sea—and let the boys be in on the preliminary intelligence work running the secret service of the air as you might say.”
“Well, I suppose in that case there would be little risk,” admitted Mr. Pauling, “and as you say, theyarereally the ones who should be allowed to have charge of their own apparatus as they have earned the right to it. I’ll have to give a little more consideration to the matter before I decide, however. Possibly I may wish to go along also—orI may be asked to, when I put this matter before my superiors. Now here are those figures given by the dying man and the notes made by the boys.”
Unlocking a drawer, Mr. Pauling took out a packet of papers and spread them before Rawlins, while the two boys, now that events had taken a more hopeful and promising turn, laughed and talked excitedly to each other, wildly enthusiastic at the bare possibility of going on the unique search.
For a few minutes Rawlins studied the various sheets intently and silently, comparing the figures which the boys had heard spoken and the ones given by the dying Irishman, and at last he glanced up.
“These numbers of the boys’ will need a lot of study,” he declared, “but these the chap in the hospital gave are dead easy. One of ’em is nineteen and as there’s no longitude nineteen in the West Indies, or within two thousand miles of the islands, it must be latitude, so there we have a clue right out of the box—nineteen north latitude. Now if we take a map and follow along nineteen we’llknow it must be within a few miles of it that we’ll locate old Beelzebub. It can’t be over sixty miles north of that meridian or the man would have said twenty instead of nineteen, and it can’t be south of it or he’d have said eighteen and something. So we can be dead sure the old duck hits the hay somewhere in a sixty-mile belt bounded by meridians nineteen and twenty. Now here are the other two numbers—sixty and seventy-five. You say he sort of lost consciousness between these and you thought he said southwest by south. Well, sixty might be longitude—the sixtieth meridian is in the West Indies—but he might have meant sixty anything and so, if itislongitude he was getting at, it brings us down to a space six hundred miles east and west and sixty miles north and south—quite a considerable bit of land and water to search—about 36,000 square miles—but only a little of it’s land, so it don’t cut such a figure. That’ll take in—let’s see—some of the Virgins, I think, and a lot of little cays and quite a bit of Santo Domingo, but shucks, that’s not such a heap. But I’ll admit this seventy-five gets my nanny. It’s not minutes—’cause there are only sixty minutes toa degree and it’s a dead sure cinch that it’s not latitude or longitude if those other numbers are, and if it’s latitude it would be in the Arctic instead of the Caribbean and if it’s longitude it’ll knock calculations out for about a thousand miles and will take in all of Santo Domingo and Haiti, a bit of Cuba and most of the Bahamas. Looks as if we might have some jaunt. And I don’t get those compass bearings. However, maybe when they get that sub in and search her we’ll find some chart or something. When do you expect——”
At this moment the telephone rang and Mr. Pauling answered.
“Ah, fine!” he exclaimed. “Expect to be in within an hour! Yes, I’d be glad to. I’m bringing some others with me—Mr. Rawlins and the boys. Yes, queer we were just talking of it. Good.”
“It was the navy yard,” explained Mr. Pauling as he hung up the receiver. “They say the submarine is coming in now and will be at the yard in half an hour. The Admiral wants me to be on hand to board her as soon as she arrives and I’d like you and the boys to come along.”
“Hurrah!” yelled the two boys. “Now we’ll see what they had on her.”
“And we’ll know if she’s the right sub,” added Rawlins. “Though it’s dollars to doughnuts that she is—it’s not likely there’s more than one lost, strayed or stolen sub knocking about in these waters.”
When they reached the Navy Yard the submarine was just being docked and twenty minutes later they were entering her open hatch. The boys had never been within a submarine before and were intensely interested in the machinery, the submerging devices, the air-locks and the torpedo tubes, but their greatest interest was in the radio room. But here, much to their chagrin and disappointment, they found practically nothing. There were a few wires, some discarded old-fashioned coils, some microphones and receivers and a loop aërial. Everything else had been removed and nothing was left to show what sort of instruments had been used. The boys were about to leave when Tom noticed something half-hidden under a coil of wire, and, curious to see what it might be, pulled it out.
“Gosh!” he exclaimed as he saw what it was. “These chaps were using that same single control. This is part of it. Look, Frank, the dial is just the same as the one Mr. Henderson gave us.”
“Gee, that’s right!” agreed Frank. “But then,” he added, “after all it’s not surprising. You know Mr. Henderson said the one he gave us came from a German U-boat.”
“Not a thing in the radio room,” announced Tom, as the boys rejoined Mr. Pauling. “Everything’s stripped clean, but they used the same sort of tuner that Mr. Henderson gave us. Where’s Mr. Rawlins?”
“Somewhere under our feet,” laughed his father. “He went down to examine the hull. Wants to be sure this is the same boat.”
A few moments later the door to the air-lock was opened and Rawlins appeared.
“I’ll say it’s the same old sub!” he exclaimed. “There’s a dent in her skin near the stern on the port side. I noticed it before and it’s there all right. Found anything up here?”
“No, nothing of any value to us,” replied Mr. Pauling. “The boys say the radio’s been strippedfrom her and we haven’t been able to find a chart or a map or a scrap of paper aboard. We found two of those carriers though—the cigar-shaped affairs you saw the divers towing through the water; but they’re both empty. If these fellows took anything from the garage they disposed of it before they left the submarine.”
“Were the boats on her when they found her?” asked Rawlins.
“No, no sign of them,” replied the officer who was with them. “I boarded her first thing, but there was no sign of life aboard and no boats.”
“It’s darned funny!” commented Rawlins. “If these lads took to the boats they did it deliberately and took mighty good care to clean the old sub out before they left. That disposes of the theory that they were compelled to leave. Do you know what the trouble was with her machinery, Commander?”
“Haven’t found out yet,” replied the officer. “We’ll have the engineers aboard as soon as Mr. Pauling is through inspection.”
“Didn’t see any signs of small boats near where you found her, did you?” inquired Rawlins.
The officer shook his head.
“No,” he replied, “but it was pretty dark and they might have been within a few miles—very low visibility.”
“And no other vessel that might have picked them up?” continued Rawlins.
“Not a sail in sight—except a fishing smack about ten miles off. We ran down to her and boarded her. Thought they might have sighted the sub, or picked up the men. They hadn’t done either. Bunch of square-heads that didn’t seem to know what a sub was, just dirty fishermen.”
“Dead sure they were?” asked Rawlins. “Didn’t notice where she hailed from, did you?”
The officer flushed.
“Afraid we didn’t,” he admitted, a trace of resentment at being questioned in his tones. “She hoisted sail soon after we left her.”
“And nothing peculiar about her in any way, I suppose?” suggested Mr. Pauling.
“Well, I didn’t see anything,” replied the commander, “but I believe one of my bluejackets made some remark about her rig. He’s a bo’sun’s mate and an old man-o-warsman—Britisher but naturalized citizen and served in the British navy. Wouldyou like to question him? I’m no expert on sailing craft myself.”
“Better talk to him, Rawlins,” suggested Mr. Pauling.
As there seemed nothing more to be discovered on the submarine the party left the under-sea craft and walked to the destroyer which had found her. The sailor to whom the officer had referred proved to be a grizzled old salt—a typical deep-sea sailor and the boys could not take their eyes from him. Touching his gray forelock in salute, the man hitched his trousers, squinted one eye and reflectively scratched his head just over his left ear.
“Yes, Sir,” he said, in reply to Mr. Rawlins’ question. “Shewasa bit queer, Sir. Blow me ef she warn’t. Man an’ boy Hi’ve been a sailorin’ most thirty year an’ strike me if Hi ever seed a Yankee smack the like o’ her, Sir. What was it was queer about her, you’re askin’ on me? Well, Sir, ’twas like this, Sir. She had a bit too much rake to her marsts, Sir, an’ a bit too high a dead-rise an’ her starn warn’t right an’ her cutwater was diff’rent an’ her cuddy. She carried a couple o’ little kennels to port and sta’board o’ her companion-way,Sir—same as those bloomin’ West Hindian packets, Sir. An’ as you know, Sir, most Yankee smacks carry main torpmas’s and no fore-torpmas’ while this e’er hooker was sportin’ o’ sticks slim an’ lofty as a yacht’s, Sir, an’ a jib-boom what was a sprung a bit down, Sir. But what got my bally goat, Sir, was the crew. Mos’ of ’em was Scandinav’ans, Sir, but the skipper was a mulatter or somethin’ o’ that specie, Sir, an’ blow me hif he didn’t talk with a haccent what might ha’ been learnt at Wapping, Sir.”
Rawlins whistled.
“I’ll say there was something queer about her!” he exclaimed. “Anything else? Did you note her name and port?”
Once more the old sailor scratched his head and shifted the tobacco in his cheek before replying.
“Cawn’t say as how Hi did, Sir,” he announced at last. “You see, Sir, she had her mainsail lowered, Sir, and a hangin’ a bit sloppy over her stern, Sir, an’ we was alongside an’ didn’t pass under her stern, Sir.”
“What sort of boats did she carry and how many?” asked Rawlins.
“Dories, Sir, six of ’em,” replied the sailor, “anything more, Sir?”
“No, I think that’s all. Thanks for the information,” replied Rawlins and then, reaching in his pocket he handed the man several cigars.
Touching his forelock again and with a final hitch of his trousers the sailor turned and strolled off with the rolling gait of the true deep-water seaman.
“Well, what do you make of it?” asked Mr. Pauling, when the sailor was out of earshot.
“I’ll say it’s blamed funny that packet was hanging around near the sub,” replied Rawlins. “It might be a coincidence—Bahama smacksdocome pretty well up here during the summer—and she might have been a rum-runner, but putting two and two together I’d say she was waiting for the sub and that the crew were on board her when the destroyer came up.”
“Jove!” ejaculated Mr. Pauling. “Then you think she was a West Indian boat?”
“I don’t think, I know!” answered Rawlins. “A Bahama schooner—not any doubt of that. Only Caribbean craft carry those two deck-houses andthat sprung jib-boom and the darkey skipper with the English accent just clinches it. I’ll bet those square-heads were Russian Johnnies or Huns off this darn sub. Say, if we don’t get a move on they’ll beat us to the islands yet!”
“Gosh!” exclaimed Tom. “I’ll bet they took their radio outfit aboard.”
“I’ll say they did!” declared Rawlins. “And like as not they’ll be under full sail for the Caribbean by now and working that radio overtime to get word to the old High Panjandrum down there.”
“Not if I know it!” cried Mr. Pauling. “Come along, Rawlins. I’m going to see the Admiral.”
The result of that hurried and exceedingly confidential interview was that, as the boys and Mr. Rawlins were crossing the Manhattan Bridge in Mr. Pauling’s car, they looked down and saw a lean, gray destroyer sweeping down the river with two others in her wake, black smoke pouring from their funnels, great mounds of foam about their bows and screeching an almost incessant warning from their sirens as they sped seawards bearing orders to overhaul and capture a Bahama schoonerthat, under a cloud of canvas, was plunging southward on the farther edge of the Gulf Stream, her mulatto skipper driving his craft to her utmost, while aloft two monkeylike negro seamen were busily stretching a pair of slender wires between the straining lofty topmasts.
Two days later, a black-hulled liner steamed out from New York’s harbor and dropping her pilot also headed southward for the Bahamas. Upon her decks stood Tom and Frank with Mr. Pauling and Mr. Henderson by their sides, while in the Navy Yard, with a marine guard tramping ceaselessly back and forth about her, a submarine was being feverishly fitted for a long cruise.
After much discussion, Mr. Pauling had at last given consent to the boys joining in the search for the mysterious master mind whose plans had so far come to grief through their efforts, although he refused to consider letting them go south on the captured submarine. But the boys had no objections to this, for they did not look forward with any pleasure to an ocean voyage in the sub-sea boat and were filled with excitement at the thoughts ofthe adventures in store for them when they joined Rawlins, and the submarine at a prearranged meeting place in the Bahamas.
As they watched the skyline of New York fade into the mists of the summer afternoon and the smooth gray-green sea stretched before them beyond the Narrows, they were thinking of the adventures which had so strangely fallen to their lot in the great city and Tom chuckled.
“Remember when we first called ourselves radio detectives?” he asked Frank, “Gosh! we never thought we’d even strike anything the way we did.”
“You bet I do!” rejoined Frank. “Say, wasn’t Henry sore because he couldn’t go and wasn’t he crazy to find out what we were going for? It’s great! And we’re real radio detectives now—working for Uncle Sam, too!”
“Rather, I should say, ‘radio secret service,’” said Mr. Henderson who stood beside them. “But don’t talk about it. Remember the first thing for a person in this service to learn is to hear everything, see everything and say nothing.”
“We will!” declared the boys in unison.