Evidently the detectives were little interested in the case. They asked a few perfunctory questions and went away without making any effort to intercept the fleeing motor-boat.
"They remind me of those state police at the Elk City reservoir," said Roy indignantly, "They don't take any interest in anything they don't do themselves. Or maybe they think the matter isn't worth bothering with because we're only boys."
"No, Roy," explained Captain Hardy, "I think it must be because we're working with the secret service. The police and the secret service are as jealous of each other as two cats; and the police don't want to do anything that will bring any credit to the secret service. They might have been able to do something to intercept that motor-boat. But I don't know what we can do. What was the boat like, anyway?"
Lew was able to give a good description of it; but evidently all distinguishing marks had been removed from it. It was a craft of perhaps thirty-five feet, slender, of light draft, and quite certainly built for speed. There was no name at either bow or stern, and the boat was painted a muddy gray that made it almost invisible at a little distance, so well did the color harmonize with the color of the harbor waters. Lew had watched it until it was almost out of sight; and all he knew was that it had started straight out through the Narrows, as though bound for the ocean.
"It looks at first glance," said Captain Hardy, "as though they were going to sea; but they couldn't go far in that craft. Perhaps there is some larger vessel there that they hope to reach."
He turned the idea over in his mind for a time. "I think it more likely that they are heading for some point on land," he said. "They are so clever at deception that that is most likely to be the case; and if it is, they may not even be going in the direction they are headed for. It will soon be dark. Then they could double back unseen. It's my idea that Newark ought to be a good refuge for them. It's a pretty big place, and it's full of German sympathizers—and they can reach it the way they're going. All they need to do is to keep right on around this island. That will take them to Newark Bay. I wonder if that isn't what they're up to, anyway?"
Willie went over to the mantel and brought a large map that showed all the waters of the region. He spread it out on the table and the group gathered around it, shoulders together, heads bent low.
"They might be making for Raritan Bay or Jamaica Bay," suggested Henry.
"Yes," replied Captain Hardy, "but I don't think it likely. Quite evidently they fear pursuit, and they will know that they are safest where boats are most numerous. And I should think that would be in Newark Bay, although I don't really know."
"They could coast along the shores of New Jersey," said Henry, "or of Long Island. What would they be most likely to do?"
"Ah!" replied Captain Hardy. "That's the very question. You know what Sherlock Holmes used to say: 'Eliminate the impossible, and whatever remains, no matter how improbable, is the truth.' I think that we can eliminate the possibility of their going to sea. That is practically impossible—unless—unless—there's a ship out there waiting for them. If this were England instead of America, I'd say that's exactly what was afoot: that there was a German boat somewhere offshore waiting for them. But the possibility of there being such a ship here is so remote that we can dismiss it."
"If they aren't going offshore, where are they going?" demanded Lew.
Everybody laughed. "That's what we've got to find out," replied Captain Hardy.
"I don't see how," said Lew hopelessly.
"No more do I," rejoined their leader, "but we'll have to start with what clues we have and try to follow them. All we know is that this motor-boat is outward bound through the Narrows and presumably is going to be at the Balaklavan rendezvous at nine o'clock."
"I wish we had a Light Brigade to send after them," sighed Henry, and as the others laughed, he began to quote what he remembered of Tennyson's lines that have made the name of Balaklava immortal:
"'Into the jaws of death,Into the mouth of hellRode the six hundred.'"
Long ago dusk had come. The lights were lighted and the little group of scouts still clustered about their maps, searching vainly for a clue. Their hostess came to call them to dinner.
"I am sorry," said Captain Hardy apologetically, "but we are at work on a very grave matter and cannot possibly stop for dinner. Could you conveniently send us up some coffee and sandwiches?"
So, while they munched their sandwiches and sipped their hot coffee, the members of the wireless patrol continued their search for the missing clue. Occasionally Lew, more restless than his fellows, strolled over to the window and stood gazing out over the harbor, with its entrancing lights.
"There goes thePatrol," he called out suddenly, as a boat bearing the distinctive lights of the police department slipped down the Narrows, while he was at the window.
Captain Hardy gave an exclamation of annoyance. "Why didn't I think of that boat?" he said savagely. "We might have been able to follow the motor-boat if we could have gotten thePatrolhere. For all we know, she may have been near at hand. And she is equipped with wireless, too. Well, it's too late now." Then bitterly he added, "The man who ordered the charge of the Light Brigade wasn't the only one who blundered."
"Is there any place near New York," suddenly demanded Henry, "named Balaklava or Crimea or anything else that suggests Balaklava?"
"Get that atlas from the book-shelves and see, Henry," replied Captain Hardy. "Look through the list of towns, rivers, lakes, etc. And you, Willie, study the map a while. That seems to be your forte. You may find something to suggest Balaklava to you."
Willie laid the map squarely on the table, and while Henry pored over the atlas and the others talked, and thought at intervals, he began a systematic survey of the map. And naturally he began in the region of the Lower Bay, toward which the motor-boat had disappeared.
Minute followed minute. Dusk turned to deep darkness. Captain Hardy opened and shut his watch in desperation. Swiftly the time was drawing near for the meeting of the spies, and the wireless patrol had not only failed at the critical moment, had not only allowed the enemy to escape, but had lost all track of them. It was a bitter thought and Captain Hardy tried to shut it out of his mind and centre attention on the problem in hand. Henry was still poring over names. Willie had finished his methodical examination of the Lower Bay and was working his way northward. He followed the boundaries of the harbor up through the Narrows and along the Jersey shore, then pursued his quest throughout the length and breadth of Newark Bay. But he found nothing suggestive of Balaklava. Back to the Bay he traced his route, then slowly traversed its waters. Past Bayonne, past Bedloe's Island, past Jersey City, and up the Hudson his pencil slowly moved, as he surveyed every name and looked at every turn and angle of the shore. Then he came back to the eastern side of the Narrows and went north along the Brooklyn shore. Past the Erie Basin, past Governor's Island, past the Brooklyn Bridge, past the Navy Yard, past Blackwell's Island, past Ward's Island, past Hell Gate, with its swirling currents, and on into the Sound, he traveled in imagination, examining every point and word on the map, but he saw nothing suggestive.
The minutes crept on. Eight o'clock had already struck. Captain Hardy was in a fever of anxiety. He could no longer sit still, but was pacing the floor. Lew, utterly hopeless of helping, stood at the window, looking out over the myriad lights of the harbor.
"There's thePatrol," he said. "She's coming back up the Narrows."
"If we only knew where to go, it wouldn't be too late yet," said Captain Hardy in a tragic voice. "It is awful to think that we have failed." In an agony of mind he began to pace the floor.
Henry had finished his perusal of the atlas and was thinking desperately over the problem. "I'd gladly go where the Light Brigade went," he muttered, "if only it would take us to those spies." And again he began to quote:
"'Into the jaws of death,Into the mouth of hellRode the six hundred.'"
Hardly had he finished, when Willie gave a loud cry. "Hell Gate!" he almost shrieked. "That's where they are going to meet."
Captain Hardy stopped abruptly in his walk. The flush of hope crept into his cheek. "It's far-fetched," he said, "but it may be. It's the only chance we've got. Can we make it in time? Where's thePatrol, Lew?"
"Right there, sir; almost out of the Narrows."
"Quick, Henry. The wireless."
Henry rushed to the wireless room. Captain Hardy strode after him. The others followed. With eager, skilful fingers, Henry adjusted his instrument and began to flash out the call for the police-boat.
Almost at once he got an answer. As Henry wrote down the letters, Captain Hardy leaned over his shoulder, his eyes fastened on Henry's pencil.
"Tell them the secret service needs them at the landing at once, Henry. Tell them to hurry."
Then, while Henry was flashing his message into the night, Captain Hardy ran to the window to see what thePatrolwould do. On and on it went, as though it had no intention of stopping, and cold beads of perspiration stood out on Captain Hardy's forehead, and he clasped and unclasped his hands in his excitement. On went the boat. Captain Hardy tore back to Henry's side.
"What do they say?" he demanded.
"They're coming, sir."
Again the captain stepped to the window. The little steamer was just beginning to turn.
"Get your hats and coats, quick," ordered the leader.
In a second the scouts were ready. In another, the little party emerged from the house and started pell-mell down the hill in a mad race to reach the landing before the police-boat got there.
Boat and boys touched the wharf at almost the same instant, and Captain Hardy's party leaped aboard before the steamer had entirely lost her headway. An officer stood at the gunwale, peering through the dark at the figures that swarmed aboard.
"I'm Lieutenant Gavigan, in command," he said, advancing toward Captain Hardy. "Are you the party that called us?"
"Yes," replied Captain Hardy.
A look of astonishment came over the lieutenant's face. "Your wireless said we was wanted by the secret service," said the puzzled lieutenant, "but these boys do not belong to the secret service. And I don't know you, either."
"I will explain everything," said Captain Hardy, "but make haste. We're after German spies that are to meet at Hell Gate at nine o'clock. Crowd on every ounce of steam you can."
"Hell Gate!" said the lieutenant sarcastically. "And do you think I'm going to take you to Hell Gate, just on your say-so—you and a crowd of kids I don't know from Adam? What do you think would happen to Lieutenant Gavigan if he went gallivantin' round the Bay without orders on joy rides like that? Nothin' doin'."
Captain Hardy smothered the indignation he felt, and began to explain courteously. "Lieutenant Gavigan," he said, "I am Captain Hardy of the United States Medical Reserve Corps and these boys are members of the Camp Brady Wireless Patrol. Last summer we did the wireless work for some of the Pennsylvania troops guarding public works, and in the course of our duties were fortunate enough to detect and capture some German spies who were endeavoring to blow up a great reservoir and cause another flood like that which wiped out Johnstown. For the last few weeks we have been helping the United States secret service keep track of German spies in New York, for, as you no doubt know, the secret service is short handed."
"Short handed," sneered the lieutenant. "Yes, and short minded, too, to be employin' a parcel of kids. But that's about as much sense as the secret service has got. If they want any spies caught, why don't they call in the cops? We'd catch 'em soon enough."
Captain Hardy choked down his resentment and went on. "We're not making any boasts as to our abilities, Lieutenant Gavigan," he said, "but we are doing all we can to help and the secret service thought well enough of us to put us to work."
The police officer looked the captain over critically. "How do I know you are what you say you are?" he asked. "Where are your credentials?"
A sudden fear smote Captain Hardy. Were all their efforts to come to naught? Were the treacherous spies to get away, now, when it seemed that they might yet be apprehended?
"We have never thought credentials would be necessary," he said, "and we have overlooked the need of providing ourselves with them. But we can satisfy you fully. Only hurry, Lieutenant, hurry."
"And where should I hurry?" the latter asked truculently. "You don't think I'm goin' to risk my head takin' the likes of you on a joy ride to Hell Gate, do you? Nothin' doin'. You come ashore and tell the captain who you are and what you want, and if he says Hell Gate, why, you'll get there, and if he don't, you won't. And that's all there is to that."
Very evidently it was useless to argue with the stubborn lieutenant. In despair Captain Hardy turned aside, desperately thinking how to meet the situation. Argument, he saw, was of no avail with this type of man. Force would have to be used. But what had he to offer that would impress the man?
"Captain Hardy," said Roy, slipping up to his commander, "would our police cards help any?"
"The very thing," said Captain Hardy. "I had forgotten that you boys had them."
Captain Hardy hastened back to the commander of the Patrol. "Lieutenant Gavigan," he said sharply, "there are more ways than one a policeman can lose his head. One is by being a fool. Your Commissioner is keenly interested in this work of ours and is giving us all the assistance he can. Each one of my boys carries his personal permission to go where he chooses. Roy, show this officer your pass."
Roy produced his police card, and the three other boys followed his example.
"Those cards were given to my boys by the Commissioner in person," said Captain Hardy impressively. "He is keeping in close touch with this work. I should not want to have to report that you blocked our efforts and made it possible for these spies to escape."
The change in Lieutenant Gavigan was remarkable. "Crowd on all the steam you've got, Jim," he shouted to the engineer. Then turning to Captain Hardy, he said, "Why didn't you tell me you was on police business? I'll send a wireless message at once for instructions."
Captain Hardy raised his hand in protest. "Impossible!" he said. "If the Germans should pick it up, everything would be lost. Our success depends wholly upon the speed and secrecy with which we travel. How much longer will it take to reach Hell Gate?"
"A half an hour, anyway," said the lieutenant, who was beginning to look worried. Then he added, "I'm takin' an awful chance, goin' up there without orders."
"And you're taking a worse one if you refuse to go," rejoined Captain Hardy sternly.
The lieutenant wavered. Captain Hardy strode into the cabin and seized a piece of paper. Lieutenant Gavigan, curious, followed him. Rapidly Captain Hardy wrote a message on the paper.
"Send that to your Commissioner," he said, handing the completed message to the commander of thePatrol.
Lieutenant Gavigan ran his eyes hurriedly over the paper. "Captain James Hardy, M. R. C.," ran the message, "and patrol of boys request immediate assistance. Everything at stake. Send instructions at once."
The lieutenant looked relieved. "The Commissioner won't be at his office at this hour," he said, "but they'll know where to reach him."
"Then rush it," said Captain Hardy, "and make every bit of speed you can."
He stepped out into the night again. Overhead myriad stars twinkled brightly. The little craft was vibrating from stem to stern under the rapid revolution of her engines. She was ploughing through the water, throwing up a great white wave on either bow. On all sides of her vessels were coming and going on their usual missions of peaceful industry. Millions of lights twinkled in the great buildings of the city and in the factories that lined the water-front. But Captain Hardy had no eye for the beauties of the night or the swelling waves or the stimulating harbor scene. He could think of nothing but the work ahead of him, of the rendezvous in the darkness at Hell Gate. The little steamer, ploughing her way through the water, seemed to Captain Hardy to be almost motionless, so keen were his fears that he would be too late. He pulled out his watch and groaned. The boat was well into the East River, but it was already almost nine o'clock. In agony of mind he began to pace up and down the deck.
"Got an answer," said Lieutenant Gavigan, suddenly coming out of the cabin, and he thrust a paper into Captain Hardy's hand.
The latter stepped toward the light and read it. "Give any assistance requested," it read. "Thank goodness, that's settled," muttered Captain Hardy.
Then he turned to the lieutenant, who was now more than ready to oblige. "Can't you get a little more speed out of her?" he demanded.
"I'll try," said the boat's commander, and he strode off to the engine room.
Past the Brooklyn Bridge, past the Manhattan Bridge, past the Navy Yard, past factories and offices and great rows of tenements, the little police-boat sped on. But the hands of Captain Hardy's watch sped faster. Past Blackwell's Island, with its long prison buildings, past the little lighthouse at its northern end, past the darkened area of the East River Park, on toward the blackness of Hell Gate with its frightful swirling waters, rushed the speeding craft. And now, drawn by a common interest, boys and men alike crowded the bow, and policemen and scouts stood in a close knot, gazing eagerly ahead into the darkness.
A motor-boat suddenly shot across the path of the Patrol. "Halt!" cried Lieutenant Gavigan, seizing a megaphone. The motor-boat came to. Lieutenant Gavigan was about to stop to examine it.
"Go on," said Captain Hardy tensely. "That's not the boat—and there's only one man in it anyway. We're after a gang."
Darker became the way. The river broadened. The waters grew troubled. High above loomed the great arch of the new railroad bridge over Hell Gate. A sailing craft drifted silently toward them. Lieutenant Gavigan looked questioningly toward Captain Hardy. The latter shook his head.
Again he drew forth his watch and held it close to his face. "Nine ten," he said, in a voice that shook with emotion.
On rushed the little steamer. It began to turn its nose toward the wicked waters that gave the region its name. Then it ploughed into the swirls and headed for the smooth reaches beyond. No craft of any sort could be seen.
"We'll have to go through," said the lieutenant. "We can't turn here."
The boat passed under the great bridge and on through the seething rapids. It ran on for a little distance, then circled and swung back. Again it passed through the angry waters, then made a wide circuit, steaming slowly along the land, while those aboard searched the darkness, peering into every curve and indentation of the shore, to try to spy out some sign of life. Tugs were shunting car barges, and an occasional steam craft passed, but nowhere was there a sign of a motor-boat or of the fugitive Germans.
A great doubt came into Captain Hardy's mind. Could it be that after all they had been on a wild-goose chase? He had thought the connection between Hell Gate and the Balaklavan rendezvous far-fetched. But it had been the one chance left. They had tried the theory out and they were wrong. The wireless patrol had not merely lost the Germans. They had lost all trace of them. They had failed in the crisis.
Slowly the little police-boat finished her circuit, nosing into every dark nook and spying out every black corner; but blacker than either the night or the water was the gloom in the hearts of Captain Hardy and his fellow members of the wireless patrol. With bowed head the disappointed leader turned to the commander of the boat, to tell him to return to his dock. But Captain Hardy was too loyal to his fellows, too resentful of Lieutenant Gavigan's remarks about them to indicate by word or act that he thought they had been on a wild-goose chase. So he said simply, "We were too late, Lieutenant. They have given us the slip. But none the less I thank you for your assistance."
Then he turned aside and stood peering gloomily into the dark waters, that reflected the exact shade of his own mind. Appreciating better than his youthful companions the full extent of the disaster that had befallen them, he could not, for the time being, summon up his usual fortitude or see any hopeful prospect. Now that the spies knew that they were discovered, he felt sure that they would never risk the sending of another wireless message. And a wireless message was the sole clue by which his little patrol might once more pick up the trail of the fugitives.
But Captain Hardy's disappointment was no whit keener than that of his fellows, nor his sufferings any more poignant; yet with the buoyancy of inexperienced youth, hope was not entirely crushed in the heart of any one of the young scouts. So absolute was their faith in their leader, so astonishing had been the good fortune that so far had attended their efforts, that each felt that in some way this present disaster would yet be retrieved. And with hope as a motive power, each began, in a manner true to his character, to attack the problem that confronted them, to get ready for further service. It was a splendid example of the spirit of "never say die" that their leader had drilled into them—an example that he would be quick to follow, once the shock of disappointment had passed away.
Lew, hopeless of solving the puzzle of the spies' disappearance, was thinking of how the scouts should equip themselves if they should be called upon for a land pursuit; for at following trails and taking care of himself in the open he had no superior in the wireless patrol. Roy, keen minded as a Sherlock Holmes, was turning over in his mind the problem of the spies' escape, trying to reason out what their line of action would be in the immediate future. Willie was examining a mental landscape to decide the same question. With that wonderful facility of memory he had acquired by hours of practice at Camp Brady, he now called up the maps of the neighboring waters he had been studying; and in his mind's eye he could see every point and indentation of the shore-lines, every arm of water, every inequality of the land as pictured on the contour map, and the principal roads of the region. And he was asking himself what a party of fugitives in a small boat would naturally do.
Henry, eager as always to learn more about the wireless, had ingratiated himself with thePatrol'swireless man and was eagerly examining his instruments and plying him with questions. At first the operator answered with good-natured tolerance as one replies to the queries of a child. But when he saw how much Henry actually knew, and found that though he was only a boy he had already acted as operator at a government wireless station, he fell into an earnest discussion about the possibilities of wireless in police work—for in New York the police wireless was still in an experimental stage. Then he permitted Henry to clamp on the receivers and listen in.
Henry welcomed the opportunity, for in all the weeks they had been watching the Germans, the wireless patrol had hardly had an opportunity to listen to the myriad voices in the air. They had had to shut out all other sounds and tune down to the low lengths used by the Germans—and by nobody else. They had been like spectators at the opera with their ears plugged to shut out the music.
Now, as Henry eagerly listened in, he caught a sharp, whining note that vibrated powerfully in his ear. "There's the Navy Yard calling," he said, and a deep frown passed over his face, for it made him think of submarines and the failure of the wireless patrol. For a moment he tuned to a short length and listened for a spy message, as he had done so many times before.
"That's the Waldorf-Astoria talking," said Henry a moment later, and he copied down the message and shoved it over to the police operator.
Then followed press despatches—stories of land and sea, of fires and battles, of shipwrecks and the arrest of a spy. And again Henry scowled and slid his tuning-coil and briefly listened in at lower range.
Down the river ploughed the little steamer, repassing, one by one, the landmarks it had passed on its trip northward. As it steamed along and the meaning of their failure became more apparent to the young scouts, they became gloomier and gloomier. But Henry, exulting at the opportunity to handle such an outfit, almost forgot their failure, and drank in eagerly the gossip of the night. So engrossed was he, that he was startled when he heard the order to slacken speed, and heard his captain say, "Well, here we are, boys."
Reluctantly he removed the receivers. Then, as an after-thought struck him, he clamped them again to his ears, tuned his coil to a low length, and strained his ears in one last search for a forbidden voice in the dark. For a moment he sat listening vainly. Then, with unwilling fingers, he began to take the clamps from his head. But suddenly he jammed the receivers back on his ears and sat tense.
"Hurry up, Henry," called Captain Hardy. "We're waiting for you."
"Hush!" said Henry, lifting a warning hand. Then he sat rigid, bending eagerly forward. In his ear a call was sounding. It was the old familiar call of the motor station. He seized a pencil and began to write. A moment later he jumped to his feet and went rushing after his captain.
"Here!" he called, thrusting a paper into Captain Hardy's hand. "The motor-car station just sent this message."
"The motor-car station!" exclaimed Captain Hardy, in astonishment. "Then Sanders can't be aboard the motor-boat. The Chief said he had him covered so closely that he could not escape—and evidently he couldn't." A moment later Captain Hardy stood frowning, trying to puzzle out the meaning of it. "I don't see how he could have sent a message," he continued, "if he is so closely watched that he couldn't get away."
"Perhaps the message will tell us," suggested Roy.
"Right again, Roy," said Captain Hardy. "We'll hurry to the office and decipher it."
On the run they made their way to the subway station at Bowling Green. They caught a north bound train and shortly afterward swarmed up out of the subway and made a rush for the secret service offices.
With hardly more than a word of greeting they drew up at a table and laid the paper with the message before them.
"Forty," said Captain Hardy, counting the letters. "If they use the same cipher they did last time, that'll make five columns of eight letters each." Rapidly he set down the letters in the order indicated, thus:
T T E N RH A S E YG Y U R AI L O E BN T V R OD C Z E HI A E V CM X D E E
Then slowly he read off the message: "ECHO—BAY—REVERE—RENDEZVOUS—EXACTLY—AT—MIDNIGHT."
With a cry of joy Captain Hardy leaped to his feet. "We've got another chance," he said. "Sanders must be going to meet them at Revere Rendezvous—wherever that is." Then, turning to a man at the next desk, he inquired, "Where is Echo Bay?"
"At New Rochelle," said the agent. "That's where Fort Slocum is."
"Fort Slocum!" cried Captain Hardy. "This may be even more serious than it seems. Can this man be spying on the fort, too? How far is New Rochelle from here?"
"Eighteen or twenty miles."
"Can we get there by twelve o'clock?"
"Sure. Why?"
"The spies we are after are to meet at Echo Bay, Revere Rendezvous, at midnight. Are you sure that we can get there?" Then he glanced at his watch. "It's already long past ten."
The Chief was still at the office. The agent went to consult him, and came back for details. Captain Hardy stepped into the Chief's private office and made the entire situation plain. The Chief sat like a cake of ice, a thinking machine immovable and unmoved, listening to the recital.
"How many men have you here?" he asked his subordinate, the instant Captain Hardy had done talking.
"Four."
"Two of you go by automobile, two by motorboat. Divide these boys and take half with each party. Let those who go by land approach the meeting-place on foot and hide. The motorboat must come in behind the spy boat and cut off retreat. Be sure you are armed."
Without a moment's delay the party that was to go by boat, including Henry and Roy, rushed off to the dock where the secret service had a motor craft of the racing type, capable of making tremendous speed. Almost as quickly the other party found itself seated in a powerful touring-car, speeding northward. Captain Hardy, Willie, and Lew were in the car, together with the two agents and the driver, who was likewise a secret service man.
Up Third Avenue rolled the big automobile, dodging wagons, shooting past motor-cars, darting by trolleys, its horn shrieking an almost unceasing warning as it charged onward at the very top of the speed limit. Never had Willie or Lew ridden so fast in crowded thoroughfares, and time and again they held their breath as the big car rushed toward some obstacle in its path, expecting a crash. But under the skilled hands of the driver the great machine swept in and out, weaving its way through the traffic as an eel glides through water growths.
The first thrill passed, they turned to their captain and the secret service agents who were earnestly discussing the situation. Overhead the thunder of the elevated trains was such that at times they could hardly hear what the men beside them were saying.
"I am well acquainted with New Rochelle and the region of Echo Bay," said one of the agents, "but I never heard of any Revere Rendezvous there. However, the people of the town can doubtless tell us. We shall have time to make inquiries." And turning to the driver, he said, "Shove her to the limit, Jim."
Already the car was well up-town. Traffic had grown steadily less, and as steadily the driver increased his speed. Now they were rolling over the smooth asphalt at twenty miles an hour.
"No doubt they could tell us," replied Captain Hardy, "if there were any such place. But I fear that the name is one of the spies' own making," and he told the story of the Balaklavan rendezvous. "We think that meant Hell Gate," explained Captain Hardy. "The fact that the spies' motor-boat is now evidently on the Sound confirms that belief. But the name was far-fetched. It took us a long time to work it out. This new name may be equally obscure. We shall have to decipher it on the way."
The motor-car was approaching the Harlem River. "Your Balaklavan rendezvous is only a few blocks off there," said the agent, pointing to the east.
The car rolled up to the bridge and passed over the dark waters where tugs were shunting car-floats into their docks and churning up white foam with their propellers. Thousands of lights were reflected in the black depths. In a moment the Harlem was behind them, and they were in the borough of the Bronx. On they sped up Third Avenue.
The two boys were distracted. They wanted to see the sights, utterly new to them, and they wanted to hear the discussion of their elders. Willie, with that strange faculty of his for noting places and locations, kept watching the street signs and trying to remember where Third Avenue led to on the map.
"There are three places on Echo Bay where a motor-boat and a motor-car can easily meet," said one of the secret service men. "At the north side of the harbor entrance is a finger of land called Premium Point. On the other shore is Huguenot Park. And an arm of the bay runs inland all the way to the main street passing north through the town."
"Which place would they be most likely to select?" asked Captain Hardy.
"Well, they'd hardly try Premium Point because that is a private estate, and they would have difficulty in getting to the water-front."
"Then that limits them to the two others."
"Exactly. And one is as easy to get to as the other."
Captain Hardy frowned. "What are we going to do?" he asked. "We might pick the wrong place and miss them. And since there are several of these spies in the boat, and they are desperate fellows, we'd never dare divide our forces. What are we going to do?"
"Gee!" said Willie. "We just passed Two Hundredth Street. Some town, eh, with two hundred numbered streets?"
The car rushed on. In silence the three men were considering how they should meet the situation before them.
"If only we could get into touch with our motor-boat," said one of the secret service men, "we could arrange a plan to cover every possibility."
"We've got to find what this Revere Rendezvous is," insisted Captain Hardy. "Can't you think of anything that would suggest such a name?"
The three men fell silent, pondering the matter. The car swept on.
"Hello!" said Willie. "We've left Third Avenue, but we're going so fast now I can't make out the names on the sign-posts."
And indeed they were going. As they approached the edge of the city limits, where there was little traffic and the driver could see far ahead, he pressed his foot on the accelerator and the great car went roaring through the street at more than thirty miles an hour. And as they drew closer and closer to the open country, the man at the wheel rushed them on faster and faster. In vain Willie looked at the sign-posts. The car darted past them with baffling speed. But Willie wanted to know where he was.
"What street are we on now?" he asked, leaning toward the driver.
"The Boston Post Road," said the driver, without turning his head.
Captain Hardy caught the name and his eyes flashed. "The Boston Post Road!" he repeated. "Does this go anywhere near New Rochelle?"
"Right through it," said the driver, "only they call it Main Street within the town limits."
"Does it pass near Echo Bay?"
"It's the very road that meets the arm of the bay."
Captain Hardy turned from the driver to the other secret service men. "Can you think of anything that would connect the name of Revere with the point where the bay touches this road?"
"By George!" cried one of the men. "You've hit it exactly. I had forgotten all about it, but there's a stone marker in a wee bit of a park, put up to commemorate the passage of Paul Revere on his famous ride. He came down this very road, and that marker is almost at the exact spot where the road touches the arm of the bay."
"Good!" said the captain. "That is probably the place."
"Beyond a doubt. It's the logical place, too, come to think of it. For if a fellow drove into Huguenot Park and found that somebody was trailing him, he couldn't get away. He'd be bottled up. But if he stuck to the Boston Post Road, he'd have all New England to run to. What's more, there's a road-house near by, where cars can be left. Things couldn't have been made to order any better."
"Then I guess our course is clear," said the other agent. "We'll leave our car near by and find good hiding-places close to the water at this point."
Meantime, the motor-boat, breasting the waves as though striving for a speed prize, had borne Henry and Roy and their older companions rapidly back over the path they had so recently traversed. Up the East River the craft went roaring, under the great bridges, that at night seemed only strings of fairy lights arching the stream, past prison walls and towering tenements, and on to the swirling rapids so recently visited.
The two boys paid little attention to what they were passing. Already they had seen it twice. But never had either of them seen a craft like that they were in. It was one of those long, low racing boats, steered with a wheel like a motor-car, and slopingly decked over in front to shield the driver. And it roared like an aeroplane as it tore through the water. For the boys in the boat were rushing toward their goal almost as swiftly as their comrades on land.
What most interested Henry and Roy was the array of buttons and knobs and other instruments on the dashboard, like the lighting buttons and speedometer on an automobile.
"I wonder what they are for," said Roy to Henry. "I never saw a boat like this before."
"Nor I, either," replied Henry.
"Right you are," said one of their companions. "There probably isn't another like it. It's both a motor-boat and an electric boat. Sometimes we have to be very quiet about our work and then we would never dare go roaring along as we are now. You can hear us a mile away. So we have an electric motor and storage batteries for quiet work. When we run by electricity, we don't make any more noise than a swan."
The boys expressed their admiration. "And nobody could see you, either," said Roy. "The boat's exactly the color of the water. When it's as dark as this, I'll bet you couldn't see it fifty yards away."
"Well, you may have a chance to test your belief," said the agent with a smile.
"What do you think will happen?" asked Roy.
"I don't know. But when that German motor-boat goes into Echo Bay, we've got to go after it; and we don't dare be seen, either."
"What's the bay like?" inquired Henry.
"It's an irregular little sheet of water with several small islands in it; and if these Germans go clear in, we'll nab them easily. But if they don't, we may have a lively chase."
On rushed the motor-boat. Past Classon Point, past the long projecting finger of land known as Throgs Neck, with Fort Schuyler at its extremity, then northward again into ever widening waters, past Elm Point, and Hewlett Point, and Barker Point until they were fairly in the wider reaches of Long Island Sound.
On the right loomed the high and precipitous shores of Long Island, hardly visible in the cloudy darkness. On the left, far across the waving waters, was the unseen ragged coast of the mainland, broken by a hundred irregular indentations, studded with numberless little promontories, and fringed with islands as a woman's throat is girt with a necklace of beads. Ahead of them stretched untold miles of gently heaving water. And there, too, blazed two beacons to point the path for mariners—the Sands Point Light, topping the eastern bluff, and the fiery eye of Execution Rocks, that reared their jagged pinnacles far out from the shore, to tear the bottoms of unwary ships.
"We'll go straight north," said the man at the wheel, "for those spies are without doubt biding their time in some sheltering cove among the islands over there. And there they will doubtless stay until the hour to meet their comrade."
He flashed a pocket torch on his watch. "We are in good time," he said. "We shall get there well before them. Then we shall have to hide and see what happens."
Straight up the Sound drove the rushing racer, plunging through the rolling swells, tossing the spray to right and left. Ahead of it glowed and winked the fiery eyes of the lighthouses. Along either shore shone innumerable street lamps and the lights of late retiring householders. Save for themselves the water seemed deserted. The great steamers that ply between New England and the metropolis had long since passed and vanished in the misty darkness to the north. No freighters were breasting the waves, no tugs were puffing along with strings of barges in their rear. No ferry-boats were crossing. And none of the legion of sailing craft and motor-boats, none of the thousands of pleasure yachts that sometimes dot the smiling waters in the daytime, was abroad. The little secret-service boat seemed to be alone in that vast expanse of water.
Suddenly the boat careened violently. The boys were alarmed, but their comrades merely smiled.
"We're turning," explained the man at the wheel. "Now we'll go straight into the harbor. And it will be just as well if we make less noise."
He slowed down his engine and the roaring sound died away. The boat fell off in speed, but still pushed ahead with good momentum. For perhaps a mile the boat advanced. Then the driver shut off his engine entirely.
"Those fellows might be in Echo Bay itself," he said. "They couldn't find a safer place to hide than right among the pleasure craft. We won't take any chance of being discovered. We'll just glide in like a shadow and anchor where we can watch things."
He switched over to his electric drive and the boat began to forge ahead again, but with all the stealth of a tiger in the jungle. The operation of its machinery was noiseless, and only the gentle slap of the waves against the bow gave audible evidence of its passage. For a considerable time they rode in silence. In the thick darkness the shore was almost invisible while the glowing street lights that shone here and there served only to accentuate the blackness of the night. Close together in the cockpit huddled the passengers, for the air was raw and chilly.
"Until we've got those fellows safe in handcuffs," said the man in charge of the party, "I don't want one of you to speak aloud. And stay down in the bottom of the boat where you can't be seen."
Noticeably the speed of the little craft fell off, It no longer drove through the waves, but slipped through them so softly that even the gentle splashing at the bow was ended. Presently Henry missed the slight vibration, of which he had been but semi-conscious, and he knew that the pilot had shut off his power completely.
Now the shores, with their towering trees, began to loom up uncertainly in the darkness, and Henry knew that the boat was slipping into the harbor. Presently he became aware of a dark spot ahead of them on the water, then another, and another; and straining his eyes, he saw that before them lay a great company of motor-boats and sailing yachts. Very slowly his own craft drew nearer, for it had all but lost its headway, until it was close to the fleet of pleasure boats. Then there was a tiny splash and one of the secret service men began to pay out the anchor rope over the side. The little boat came to rest, and lay quiet, rolling gently, while its occupants crouched in the cockpit, listening and peering through the thick darkness as they waited.
Never had either of the boys been in such a situation before, and the strangeness, the mysteriousness of it impressed them powerfully. All the sights and sounds of the day were missing and in their place arose a host of unfamiliar sensations. Mist was rising all about them, making the darkness denser and more impenetrable. Not a star was to be seen. The shore-line was only a vague, uncertain black bulk. As they huddled silently in the bottom of the little boat, they became conscious of the voices of the night; but these voices were different from the nocturnal whisperings of field and forest which they knew so well. Now they heard only the lisping of water. Little wavelets broke gently against their slender craft. And all about them rose the musical whisper, the liquid murmur of waters gently lapping the rocks or swelling against the sides of boats. At times the breeze could be heard sighing softly through the rigging of near-by yachts. It was weird and uncanny.
And the sensations that came of it were strange and powerful. In the forest the young scouts had lain in wait for enemies, had hidden in the darkness to trap desperate foes, had watched, with bated breath and pounding hearts, for shadowy forms to appear. They were not unaccustomed to danger and the suspense of an ambush. But in the forest they had solid ground beneath their feet. Trees and other tangible objects were all about them. But here everything seemed unreal, almost ghostly. The darkness of the forest was no blacker than the night here in the open. And yet there was no shady covering of leaves to shut out the light—only a strange, weird, unearthly canopy of mist. In the forest innumerable tree trunks offered concealment to approaching enemies; yet here in the open with nothing tangible to obstruct the vision, it was almost impossible to see anything, strain the eyes as one might.
A feeling of awe came over the young scouts, and both were conscious of a creepy sensation. So unreal appeared their surroundings that it seemed as though anything coming out of the mist would be kin to it, unreal and ghostly. So they sat in the bottom of the boat, only the tops of their heads showing above the low gunwale, as they waited in breathless silence, peering through the night, listening with cocked ear, and straining forward to catch every slightest sound.
Under the covered bow of the boat, the driver flashed his torch for a second on the face of his watch.
"Eleven forty-five," he muttered. "There ought to be something doing soon."
A minute passed. The silence was unbroken. Another minute went by. The sighing of the wind in near-by riggings was the only audible sound. Again a minute passed. No sound of boat or boatmen broke the gloomy silence. Once more the pilot peeped stealthily at his watch and gave a muttered exclamation. A feeling of uneasiness took possession of the watchers. They stirred nervously. Dark fears crept into their minds. Had something happened to alter the plans of the spies? Had Sanders sent another wireless message to his comrades, naming another meeting-place? Henry's heart almost stopped beating at the thought that it might well have happened. Bending toward his comrade, he whispered his fears. His voice trembled as he spoke. Roy uttered a low exclamation of dismay. Then there was silence again, and the four sat listening with strained attention—listening for what they feared they would never hear.
And then they heard it. From far down the Sound came the reports of a rapidly beating marine motor. At first the noise was so faint as scarcely to be audible, like the dropping of a pin on a bare floor. Then the fog seemed to magnify the sound and it became suddenly louder. Then it died away again, but it was more distinct than it had been at first. A minute passed. Noticeably the sound grew in volume. Another minute passed. Distinct now was every beat of the motor. With lips parted, heads slightly turned, and eyes peering through the dark, the watchers waited with beating pulses as the sound came on. There could be no doubt it was made by a fast craft. And there could be no doubt that the boat was rushing northward close to the shore. Was it the boat they waited for? Would it turn at the harbor entrance? Or would it go tearing onward, leaving them in despair?
Now it was almost abreast of the harbor's mouth. Another minute, a few seconds, would tell the story. And not one of the watchers breathed as they hung on the sound. On and on it came, until the scouts knew that it was directly abreast of the channel. Would it turn? Would it enter the harbor? Or would it rush straight by? Unable longer to control himself, Roy stretched out his hand and gripped Henry's shoulder. And Henry, like himself, was all atremble. The secret service men stirred nervously. But nobody said a word.
Then the passage of the sound seemed to end. It was no longer rushing by. It seemed stationary. But momentarily it grew in volume. It was coming straight toward the watchers. The boat had entered the harbor. A sigh of relief escaped every lip.
"Up with your anchor," whispered the pilot, "before he shuts off his power."
His companion leaned stealthily over the side and rapidly paid in the rope, lifting the light anchor over the gunwale and cautiously stowing it in the bottom. And he was none too soon. Hardly was the anchor aboard before the roaring sound ceased and the oncoming boat approached with lessened speed. But the scouts' boat rode free, ready for instant work.
"Down with you," whispered the pilot. "Keep your heads below the gunwale till they're past."
The party crouched lower. On came the spy boat. Its muffled engine beats were hardly louder than the pounding of the hearts that watched. It drove steadily forward. Now it was a few fathoms astern. Now it was abreast. Now it had passed. Stealthily four heads slipped above the gunwale of the scout boat. The spy craft was already lost in darkness. The pilot grasped his wheel. He turned a switch and the boat began to vibrate silently. Then it moved forward, gathering momentum with every second. Under the covered deck the other agent flashed a light on his watch.
"Eleven fifty-eight," he whispered. "They figured it down close."
On went the boat. The craft ahead of them was still invisible though but a few hundred feet distant. But by peering sharply at the water, the pilot could see where it had passed. The surface was still agitated. Faintly came the sound of the muffled motor. The pilot increased his speed, but no sound came from his boat. Like a ghost it glided through the dark waters.
"Look sharp," whispered the pilot. "Let me know if you see them. We've got to get as close to them as we can, and yet we must not be seen."
On went the spy craft. It slid past the park. The street leading to that was faintly illumined by occasional lights.
The pilot uttered a low exclamation of alarm. "If they look back," he whispered, "those lights will betray us. We're right between them and the spies."
Sharply he swung his craft to the right, crowding close to the shallow waters that edged the channel. If he ran into the mud flats disaster might result. But to stay where they would be silhouetted against the street lights was to court discovery. He had chosen the lesser of two evils.
On they went. Not yet had they come in sight of the fugitive craft in front of them. The pilot increased his speed, leaning anxiously forward as he peered through the darkness. Over the sides of the boat his fellows craned their necks, searching the blackness for a glimpse of the quarry.
Suddenly they became aware that the motor ahead of them had stopped. Then masses of shadow seemed to close in on either hand, making the water itself darker than ever. The boat ahead had turned off its power and was propelled only by the momentum it had gained. Instinctively Roy laid his hand on the pilot's shoulder. But the latter had already stopped his engine.
As silent as a shadow the boat slid forward. Suddenly Roy detected what he was looking for. At the same moment a high bank loomed up directly before them. The craft ahead turned toward the right and slipped along the narrowing channel. A few yards further on, it came to rest, its nose lying softly against the muddy shore. Before it the steep bank led upward to an open, level space that both Roy and Henry felt instinctively was a public highway; for on either hand, though at many rods' distance, could be seen the glow of a lamp that was invisible itself.
The scout boat also came to rest, its momentum overcome by the resistance of the water. Like a shadow it lay, not more than fifty yards from the waiting spy craft. Crouching low behind the gunwale, its four occupants held their breath as they watched the party in the boat ahead. Assisted by the faint glow of the distant street lamps, they could vaguely make out the forms of their quarry; while the darkness of their own background rendered them practically invisible.
But no one in the spy boat was looking behind him. All were straining their eyes for the man they had come to meet. Excepting for the gentle voices of the night there was not a sound. Then a whistle rose from the spy boat—a short, sharp note thrice repeated. From the darkness an answer sounded a dozen rods distant. Then footsteps were heard, as some one picked his way uncertainly along the sloping bank. Suddenly the footsteps ceased and stillness reigned. Roy instantly comprehended the fact that the person approaching had paused to listen. His heart gave a leap of joy. He himself had heard no alarming noises, but he instantly guessed that something had caught the ear of the stranger. And Roy knew that his companions who had come by motor-car must have made these sounds. Trembling with excitement, he gripped Henry's shoulder.
On came the man. Now the scouts could vaguely distinguish his form. He called in a low voice, and some one in the spy boat answered. Suddenly the man turned sharp about. From the darkness behind him came the unmistakable sound of a pebble kicked by a human foot. In the opposite direction a stone rolled down the bank and splashed noisily into the water. With an oath, the man on the bank turned and ran toward the motor-boat. To right and left in the darkness came the scurrying of feet and the command "Halt!" The fugitive leaped forward. Frantically the men in the spy craft were trying to head their boat about. The fugitive reached it and leaped aboard. Then he turned to face the figures rushing toward him. At the same instant the scout boat suddenly moved forward. From the spy boat a pistol-shot rang out. Before another could follow, an electric torch was shining full on the spy craft, and the agent in the scout boat was covering the fugitives with his automatic.
"Drop that gun!" he commanded. "Hands up, or I'll fire!"
Taken by surprise, the man who had just boarded the craft let his weapon clatter to the floor. And in the sudden illumination Henry saw with exultation that the man was the motor-car driver, the German agent, Sanders.
"Hands up!" repeated the secret service man imperatively, noticing that one of the fugitives was crouching in the bottom of the boat with his hands hidden. In reply the man straightened up. Like a flash his arm shot out and a pistol cracked. But before a second bullet could follow, a form leaped into the shallow water and a great fist shot into the man's stomach, doubling him up like a jack-knife. The same hand then grasped the nose of the spy craft and dragged it toward the shore, while the pilot of the scout boat brought his craft close beside that of the spies. Other torches flashed in the darkness, and one by one the fugitives were manacled—Sanders, and the spy from the cliff, and the German grocer, and his errand boy, and a stranger who ran the boat.