So successful and enjoyable a trip did the naval officers have that, as the "Benson" was gliding back to the harbor, Lieutenant Commander Kimball broached a subject that had begun to interest the society people among the winter visitors to Spruce Beach.
"Mr. Farnum," inquired the naval officer, "I have a favor to ask of you."
"You know in advance, Mr. Kimball, that it is granted."
"I hope it is, if it's a wise favor to ask," smiled the naval officer. "In brief, the idea is this: Naturally people in this neighborhood are all agog over this submarine craft. Some of the more daring of the ladies have besought me to arrange for a few of them to have a trip on board, even to running beneath the surface. Will you do that, for a party of our friends, to-morrow afternoon?"
"We've been a good deal beset by spies lately as you have means of knowing," replied Mr. Farnum, slowly. "You'll guarantee all of the guests, of course."
"As a naval officer I wouldn't bring anyone aboard here whom I doubted," replied the lieutenant commander, flushing.
"I didn't mean to be offensive, Mr. Kimball. But I have as great a reason as Uncle Sam can have for wanting to preserve the secrets of this boat from all but sworn officers and men of the Navy. You and I are one in that desire, Mr. Kimball, so we'll gladly take out any party, ladies included, that you bring on board."
"Thank you," answered Kimball. "And I can assure you that I shall be very careful in making up my party. Oh, but won't there be fluttering hearts at Spruce Beach tonight And I'm more than half afraid that I shall make an enemy of every lady of my acquaintance whom I have to leave out of the affair. How many, guests can you take, Mr. Farnum?"
"Not above fourteen, all told," replied the shipbuilder.
"Then I shall go ashore myself this evening, to deliver my invitations."
The shipbuilder also went ashore that evening, just to see whether he could learn anything about M. Lemaire and Mlle. Nadiboff. Almost the first person Farnum encountered was reporter Hennessy.
"Oh, your people are still here," answered Hennessy, in response to the shipbuilder's question. "They're both keeping in the background, though. It looks as though they feared to run away, and were waiting to see whether the lightning were going to strike them. Now, that I've told you so much, Mr. Farnum, can't you give me a little more of the inside of this whole strange business?"
"If I did," smiled the shipbuilder, "you'd send it to your paper."
"Of course," admitted the reporter, honestly.
"I'll tell you the best I can do, Hennessy. You keep your eyes and ears open for us, and I'll give you this news story before I give it to any other newspaper man."
"You surely will?" demanded the newspaper eagerly.
"I will."
"Then I'm here to help you"
As the lieutenant commander had predicted, the ladies at the hotels were in a flutter of excitement that evening. Every one who heard of the projected trip on the submarine boat, it seemed, wanted to be invited. By the time that Mr. Kimball's list was made up it consisted of three men and nine women, these in addition to the lieutenant commander himself and Mr Featherstone.
As Jack paced the far end of the veranda that evening a girlish figure, only poorly concealed under a light wrap, stole after him. As the young woman reached him she threw back a light veil, revealing the very pretty face of Mlle. Nadiboff.
"So, my Captain," she cried, "you would forget me when you are getting up a party to take a cruise on your wonderful craft?"
If young Benson felt anything as he looked, he was staggered by this amazing bit of effrontery.
"You do not answer me," cried Mlle. Nadiboff. "You feel guilty indeed, then?"
"Perhaps 'astonished' would be the more accurate word," Jack replied, smiling now.
"My Captain, you were very pleasant with me, the first evening that we met."
"That was before," nodded Captain Benson, still smiling. He stood cap in hand, his whole bearing respectful, for he did not intend to be discourteous even to this known adventuress. He would grant her at least the courtesy due her sex.
"Before what?" she asked.
"Well, er—before that automobile ride the day."
"And why should that change your attitude toward me, my Captain?" asked the young Russian. Her tone was coaxing, almost cooing; her eyes extremely moist, as though the tears would spring forth in another instant.
"Why, you see, Mademoiselle," laughed Jack, coolly, "the finish of that automobile ride was just a trifle too exciting for me. I have plenty of the strenuous side of life out at sea. When on shore my tastes are all for the quiet, peaceful life."
"But surely you do not reproach me with having made the automobile ride unpleasant?"
"Only that, as I remember it, you dropped some dust—or something—into my eyes, and right after that two men took me away in your car—and then things happened to me."
"Why, that was all a joke," protested the handsome young woman, gazing keenly into his eyes.
"Then I'll laugh now—ha! ha! But seriously, Mademoiselle, I haven't a sense of humor that will appreciate carrying a joke quite as far as that one was carried."
"It was all a joke," Mlle Nadiboff insisted. "At least, M. Lemaire so assured me. What ever you may have thought, my Captain, I beg you will not believe that I had any notion of helping to cause you real discomfort."
Her tone was so sincere in its ring, her eyes looked so honestly and appealingly into the boy's that Jack, for an instant, had to wonder whether he were dreaming.
"My Captain," continued the Russian girl, in a voice that trembled softly, "I see, now, that I have been fearfully—cruelly—misunderstood by you. That is more than I can bear. Come, let us take a little walk together in the grounds. I want you to tell me just what part you thought I had in some affair against you. I insist; it is my right to know this. Your arm, my Captain!"
As she spoke, Mlle. Nadiboff slipped her soft little right hand inside of Captain Jack's arm.
Captain Jack took hold of that hand to disengage it. But Mlle. Nadiboff merely held the tighter, while the boy was conscious that she was gazing up at him appealingly.
"I don't wish to be rude, Mademoiselle; don't, force me to be," the submarine boy urged. "Will you kindly release my arm?"
Then, with a subdued though angry exclamation, the girl obeyed.
"You will not even hear me?" she cried, stamping one foot lightly against the veranda boards, while now her eyes brimmed with tears.
"By jove, but she's a bully actor," thought Benson, with a sort of admiration.
"I am sorry, Mademoiselle," he replied, "But I am wanted now. I am forced to say 'good evening.'"
With a bow he turned and left her, replacing his cap as he strode away.
"Oh, that fool, that unnatural young man!" she cried, angrily, to herself. "He prefers what he calls 'duty' to the friendly glance of a pretty eye. Bah! Perhaps he is laughing at me at this moment. If he is, he is laughing much too soon, for I shall teach him a lesson or two. You are not yet beyond my reach, my brave young Captain!"
The veil that Mlle. Nadiboff carefully wound so that two folds fell across her face concealed a hard, sneering, almost barbaric look that had crept quickly into that handsome young face.
But Jack joined his own party at once. Through the rest of the evening he did not encounter either the young woman or M. Lemaire. The latter, in fact, had made himself practically invisible of late.
The next afternoon, early, a launch from the gunboat brought off the pleasure party that was to make the trip on the submarine boat.
Mr. Farnum and David Pollard were ashore at this time. Captain Jack andEph Somers stood on the platform deck to receive and welcome the party.
The first young woman to whom Benson extended his hand to help her aboard held up a camera for him to take first of all.
"Thank you," responded the young skipper, gravely. "We will send this camera to the engine room. It will be returned to you at the end of the trip."
As he spoke, he slipped the camera box back to Eph, who started for the conning tower with it.
"But I wish to take some photographs with it," cried the young woman, indignantly. "Especially, a flashlight when we are below the surface of the ocean."
"I am most sorry, madam," Captain Jack replied, politely, "but it is wholly out of the question for any photographs to be made aboard the boat."
"No cameras! No photographs?" cried two other young women, in something like consternation. Then one of them added:
"But we want two or three photos as souvenirs—Mr. Kimball, we appeal to you."
"I am wholly powerless in the matter," replied the lieutenant commander, gravely. "Mr. Benson commands aboard this boat, and enforces the rules. I may add, however, that am wholly in sympathy with his decision. You will understand, ladies, that there are many secrets in the handling of a submarine craft like this, It would be absolutely out of the question to allow anyone to carry away photographs of the interior or the working parts of the 'Benson.'"
With that, two more cameras were passed up. Eph as quickly handed them through the conning tower to Hal, who took them down to the engine room.
Then Jack helped his visitors aboard, while Eph slipped forward to let go the moorings at the order.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen," announced Captain Jack, "I think there will be room for all on deck. If it pleases you, therefore, I propose that all remain on the platform deck while we make our run out to sea. Then, when it comes time to dive and run under the surface, we can go below."
This plan appeared to suit nearly everyone.
"But I believe I'll go below, now," proposed one tall, blond, strongly built young woman who looked somewhat Swedish. "I am afraid of too much chill air on the sea."
"Then, if it please the rest, we will all go below," Jack answered amiably.
There was instantly a chorus of dissent. The tall, blond young woman had already made her way to the conning tower, accompanied by a young man of English appearance. But Eph unconcernedly barred their way.
"Step aside, if you please, young man," urged the Englishman. "The lady wishes to go below."
"Captain's permission necessary, sir," replied Somers, quietly.
"You see, ladies and gentlemen," Jack explained, "it won't be quite possible to let visitors roam at will over the boat. It would be against my instructions from the owner. Either all must remain on deck, or all must go below."
As he spoke the young skipper thought he saw a swift look pass between the young Swedish woman and her English escort.
"Oh, well," replied the young woman, shrugging her shoulders, "I do not intend to be disagreeable. If the others wish to remain on deck, I will do so, too."
"Very good, Miss Peddensen," murmured the young Englishman.
Jack Benson took his place at the deck wheel, and Eph, after Hal had come to the conning tower opening, hurried forward once more to cast off the moorings. Then speed was called for, and the "Benson" made a graceful sight as she swept out of the little harbor with such a brilliant, interested company aboard.
The submarine continued until she was three miles out at sea.
"Now, if it pleases the company," Captain Jack called out, "we will go below and dive. Then you, will know what it feels like to be running under the surface."
From the ladies came a few little gasps of excitement. Some of them, now that the moment had come, almost wished they had remained ashore.
"No one need be afraid," smiled Jack. "This boat has been thoroughly tested. We shall go below the surface, true, but we shall come up again the instant that the proper devices are applied to our machinery. Let no one be afraid. There is not even a particle of danger."
"Not a particle," repeated Lieutenant Commander Kimball. "This is an even safer sport than automobiling."
"Let the Navy officers go below first, please," urged Jack, as the ladies began to crowd about the conning tower. He wanted this done in, order that both Mr. Kimball and Mr. Featherstone might be able to use their eyes on the guests below.
At last all had passed down the iron staircase save Eph, who remained by the wheel in the conning tower.
"Pass directly aft, everybody, please," called Jack, quietly.
"What's that for?" asked Miss Peddensen.
"We cannot allow anyone except naval officers to see how our diving apparatus is worked", replied Jack. "Some of you step into the staterooms, on either side, please. All of the visitors must be aft of this curtain."
The extreme after end of the cabin had been rigged with a heavy curtain that could be dropped into place.
"Why, I feel as if we were all being penned up here and held for the slaughter," gasped one American girl, in a tone of fright.
"Yes, indeed!" protested Miss Peddensen. "This is going too far."
"It strikes me as being a good deal like an outrage," blurted the young Englishman. "Mr. Kimball, can't you—won't you interfere in this matter?"
"I am very sorry," replied the lieutenant commander, "but I cannot. This step is necessary, in order to prevent anyone from having an improper view of the working of the craft. I am going behind the curtain with you. Mr. Featherstone will remain out in the cabin to aid in the handling of the boat. You need none of you feel any uneasiness."
Both Miss Peddensen and the Englishman ceased their objections. But Jack, remembering the glance that had passed between the pair on deck, remained behind the curtain, too, as he dropped it.
"Go ahead, Hal!" he called. "Fifty feet under the surface. Dive gently."
"O-o-o-oh!" came in little screams of alarm as the guests felt the floor on which they stood inclining at a sloping angle.
"We're going below the surface now," young Benson informed them. "We'll soon be running on an even keel."
"All below," called Hal Hastings in a few moments.
"And all clear?" asked Jack.
"All clear, Captain."
"Jack Benson threw aside the heavy curtain, come forward, slowly ladies and gentlemen, and take seats," was Jack's invitation. "I am sorry I shall have to ask you all to remain seated, but we cannot have any serious shifting of weight while we are running under the water."
Though Eph was at the tower wheel Hal Hastings was now virtually in command of the boat, by previous arrangement, for young Benson meant to keep a sharp, though covert, eye on passengers.
The young skipper noted, swiftly, that Miss Peddensen had taken the seat furthest aft in the cabin, while the young Englishman was seated at the forward end of the party of guests.
"Oh, I say, Captain Benson," called the Englishman, "are you permitted to show me how you know just how far below the surface you are?"
"The gauge tells that," replied Jack. "But I will ask you to excuse me from describing it, as I wish to keep my mind on the running of the boat. Mr. Hastings will oblige you; or, I don't doubt, one of the naval officers will."
Even this momentary distraction, however, had given Miss Peddensen time to slip something out of one of her wide sleeves into her lap. And now the young Swedish woman sat so that the object taken from her sleeve was concealed behind the woman who sat next to her.
It wasn't many moments ere Jack noted some thing about the young Swedish woman that caused the young skipper to turn, every now and then, for a swift though hidden glance in her direction.
"What on earth is Miss Peddensen doing?" wondered the submarine boy. "Hang it, I believe she's up to something that she ought not to be doing!"
Through he did not turn and walk in her direction, Jack, thereafter, kept the young Swedish woman much more under secret observation.
"By Jove, I know what she's doing, now," muttered the young skipper. "That movement of her elbow betrays her, and her eyes are fixed, much of the time on her lap. If she isn't sketching something, on the sly, then my eyesight isn't as good as it used to be!"
Captain Jack Benson found himself quickly aquiver with suspicion and indignation.
"Yet I can't afford to make any mistakes," he told himself, uneasily. "I've got to be absolutely sure before I can take the risk of starting a human cyclone about my ears!"
Yet, for a brief interval more, Jack Benson hesitated.
"Is the young woman sketching, or is she merely writing?" he wondered, anxiously. He watched her a little while longer.
"No; she's sketching. Those are drawing strokes she's making."
Then, looking wholly blank, Jack Benson turned on his heel. He looked first at one mechanism, then at another. Yet, presently, stood close to Lieutenant Commander Kimball's ear.
Only a few words were said, but the naval officer understood instantly.
As Captain Jack turned and went back, Kimball also sauntered along, although he did not appear interested in the submarine boy's movements. Yet it was not long when both appeared before the young Swedish woman.
"Miss Peddensen," murmured the lieutenant commander, "may I see what you are writing?"
The woman looked up, her face composed, her eyes dancing with mirth.
"Why, surely, Mr. Kimball," she replied, laughing. "And very silly stuff you'll find it, too. I have been jotting down my impressions upon finding myself riding under the surface of the sea. I do not handle your English language very well, as you will see."
Mr. Kimball glanced hastily through the three or four pages of rather closely written note paper. It was, as the young woman had stated, a very amateurish composition, in very stilted English.
The naval officer felt a sense of mortification and his face reddened slightly. He had been led to expect that he would find something crime on these sheets of paper. Instead, he scanned a stupid piece of composition.
"I would die of humiliation, to have that read before all these people," murmured the young woman.
Lieutenant Commander Kimball gave Jack Benson a covert elbow-dig in the ribs, a move said, as plainly as words:
"The joke is on you."
Jack, however, through half open eyes, had been watching on his own account. Suddenly he made a dive forward, shooting his hands down close to Miss Peddensen's well-booted feet.
"That same old ship-rat!" exclaimed the submarine boy. "I'll catch the beast before he goes under your skirts, Miss Peddensen."
At the mention of a rat so dangerously close young woman almost shot out of her seat in anxiety to get away.
As she bounded something dropped down out of the wide right sleeve of her coat. It was a small memorandum book.
This was just what Jack Benson caught, in place of the pretended rat. Moreover, the young skipper was clever enough to catch the book so that it fell into his hands open.
"It wasn't a rat, after all, Miss Peddensen," smiled Jack, straightening up and holding the open memorandum book so that both he and Kimball could see what was traced on the two pages that lay exposed.
There were sketches of the compressors, sketches of the mechanism by which the compressed air was forced into the tanks to drive the water out—in fact, sketches of many vital features in the control of the boat. Nor was more than a glance needed to make it plain that this young woman artist possessed expert knowledge of machinery.
At the cry of "rat" three or four women jumped from their seats. The one nearest Miss Peddensen moved hastily to the forward end of the cabin.
"My dear young woman," murmured the lieutenant commander, dropping into the vacated seat beside the Swedish girl, "you won't mind, will you, if I keep these little matters to look over at my convenience!"
There was something so compelling in the look that flashed briefly in the naval officer's eyes that Miss Peddensen lost color, and stammered:
"No-o-o, certainly not; if such silly things interest you."
"They interest me very much indeed," murmured Kimball, thrusting "composition" and sketches inside his blouse.
As the naval officer plainly intended to remain where he was, Jack Benson turned, sauntering forward.
"Another spy nailed, beyond a single doubt," muttered the young submarine commander. "Will there never be an end to them."
As Captain Jack glanced at the young Englishman, Drummond by name, he saw an unmistakable flash of hostility in the Englishman's eyes.
"So you're a spy, too?" quivered Benson, inwardly, turning on his heel. After that, howsoever, the submarine boy took good care to keep Drummond under covert watch.
In time the "Benson" returned to the surface, being now much nearer land then when the aft had made its dive. A few minutes later the boat ran into the harbor and made fast at its moorings.
"What are you going to do about the young woman?" Jack found a chance to whisper, as all hands gathered on the platform deck.
"I don't believe I have actual authority to do anything," Kimball returned, also in a whisper. "But we have the drawings, and that writing, which may be a clever cipher. With that I'm afraid we'll have to remain content."
A launch from the gunboat was in waiting. In this the shore guests were taken back to land. Hardly had the launch left the side of the submarine, when a cutter, also from the gunboat, put in alongside. Two men in ordinary citizen's dress clambered aboard.
"Lieutenant Commander Kimball?" inquired one of the pair.
"Yes," acknowledged the naval officer. "May we see you below, in the cabin of this boat."
"No!" replied Kimball, sternly.
"Oh, as you please, of course," smiled the one of the pair who had first spoken. "Probably I am at fault, though, in not introducing my companion and myself. My friend is Mr. Packwood; my name is Trotter. We are Secret Service men sent down here by the Secretary of the Navy, in answer to your dispatch."
As Trotter spoke he threw back the lapel of his coat, displaying a badge.
"I have also some papers to show you, Mr. Kimball," continued theSecret Service man.
"Oh, of course you may come below," smiled the naval officer. "And,Benson; I guess this business belongs to you, too."
So Jack descended with the party, while the other submarine boys andWilliamson remained on deck.
"You have, been bothered with spies, Captain?" asked Trotter, turning to young Benson, when they had reached the cabin table.
"Haven't we, though!" muttered Jack.
"And even took one out with you on this last trip of yours," laughed Mr.Trotter, producing from an inner pocket a book bound in black.
"Miss Peddensen, the Swedish young woman?" demanded Captain Jack.
"Here's the one I mean," replied Trotter, opening the book, which proved to be an album, and turning the pages over rapidly. He pointed to a photograph.
"That's Miss Peddensen," cried Jack, looking up at Lieutenant CommanderKimball for confirmation.
"Well, Peddensen is one of the names she has used," smiled Trotter.
"What foreign government does she serve?" demanded Benson.
Trotter shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, the Department has pretty good information that she has served England, France, Germany, Austria, Russia—oh, these spies have no country! They serve the fattest international purse!"
"Here is what we took from Miss Peddensen," said Kimball, gravely, laying down on the table the sketchbook and the "composition."
Taking up the latter, Mr. Trotter, after a glance declared:
"This is written in a secret cipher, most likely. Packwood, this comes in your peculiar line of work. The sketches are easy enough to understand. They are of the mechanisms displayed in this cabin."
"Yes, this is a cipher," declared Packwood, thoughtfully, after scanning the sheets a few moments. "With some study I can make it out."
"Who's the young Englishman who escorted Miss Peddensen?" demandedCaptain Jack.
"Never saw him until I glanced at him in the launch just now," replied Trotter. "He may be another spy, unknown to us, or he may be merely a good-natured and wholly innocent young chap whom the Swedish girl has lured into her service."
"What are these other pictures?" inquired Mr. Kimball, beginning to turn the leaves.
"All of 'em photos of people known to be engaged in stealing naval secrets for foreign powers," replied Trotter. "Captain Benson may keep this album for future use. I've another copy for you, Mr. Kimball."
"Why, here's a good likeness of Mlle. Nadiboff," cried Jack Benson, pausing in turning the leaves and glancing down at the picture of a face he had good cause to remember. "And here, opposite her, is M. Lemaire!"
"Oh, yes; they're both old offenders," nodded Trotter. "Turn along, and see if you remember any more faces."
"Here's Gaston, who is now in jail here," nodded Jack.
"Is he, though?" asked Trotter, with interest.
"What charge?"
"Felonious assault upon Hastings and myself."
"Good," chuckled Trotter. "I shall have to see the judge privately, and ask him to make sure that Gaston Goubet gets the longest sentence possible. Nothing like prison bars to stop the work of these international spies!"
"Why, here's even little Kamanako," smiled as he turned over another page.
"Yes, and a very smooth and slippery little spy that Jap is," declared Mr. Trotter. "He steals all kinds of secrets, from the details of sixteen inch guns down to the method of dyeing a blanket in a mill."
"Are you going to do anything with the Peddensen woman?" inquiredLieutenant Commander Kimball.
"Ain't I, though—just!" answered Mr. Trotter. "You caught her red-handed, with drawings, cipher and all."
"Will she be imprisoned?" inquired Captain Jack.
"Well, that isn't the usual way," replied Trotter. "The young woman is more likely to be taken to New York, given a passage ticket across the ocean, and notified that, if she tries to return to this country, she will find that her photograph is on file at every port of entry. It will spoil her games, without making much of a fuss."
The cutter waiting alongside conveyed Kimball and his brother officer,Featherstone, back to the gunboat. Then it ran into shore; putting Mr.Trotter and his silent companion once more on land.
For some minutes after that Jack, Hal and Eph remained absorbed in the pictures in this album of known naval spies. There were more than two dozen of these photographs, some of men, some of women. On the same page with each picture was given the subject's true name, if known, also the spy's aliases, and other information.
"Sara Nadiboff, twenty-nine, yet looks like twenty," muttered Hal, studying the information under the young Russian woman's photograph.
"And Kamanako is really Lieutenant Osuri," muttered Jack. "Yet the fellow was working in the hotel kitchen until he could get a chance to apply for a job on this craft."
"I don't recognize any other spies among these pictures," mutteredHal. "The only ones here that we know we had already guessed."
"Look at that time," muttered Jack, jumping up. "I must get on shore and see what Mr. Farnum's orders are. And—" thrusting the album in his coat pocket and buttoning it up, "I'll take this picture gallery along. Our employer will be highly interested in it."
It was dusk by the time that Benson reached the platform deck. After a few moments he succeeded in hailing a harbor boat. Yet it was quite dark by the time that Captain Jack stepped on shore.
Instead of going around by the road Jack decided to cross the grounds. As he was walking briskly toward the hotel, an athletic-looking young man stepped out suddenly, from behind of the big trees, blocking the submarine boy's path.
"Good evening, Mr. Drummond," Jack hailed, quietly.
"Now, you halt and stand right where you are," retorted the Englishman, nervously handling a heavy walking stick that he carried. "I don't know whether it's going to be a good evening for you, or not, young man. Do you know that your cursed meddling has resulted in the arrest of a most estimable young woman?"
"Who?" asked Jack, coolly.
"Miss Peddensen," replied Drummond, angrily.
"Oh, I guess the secret service men know what they're about," said Jack somewhat sarcastically.
"And I know what I'm about, too!" roared the enraged Drummond, raising his cane, wrathfully. "Benson, you young sneak, I'm going to brain you!"
It didn't happen just that way.
As Drummond swung his cane and brought it down with crushing force, aimed at the submarine boy's head, Jack wasn't there.
Instead, Benson sprang about two feet to one, side. It would have been a fearful blow had Jack's head been in the way. As it was, the cane hit the ground with such force as to be thrown from the Englishman's hand.
With a growl, the fellow leaped forward and snatched up his stick. JackBenson stood leaning carelessly against a tree, in a way that enragedDrummond all the more.
"I'll show you!" snarled the Englishman. With that he aimed a blow, sideways, at Benson's head Jack ducked, then dodged out. The cane hit the tree with a force that jarred the assailant and all but dislocated his wrist. Again he dropped the stick.
Benson gave a hearty ringing laugh and this enraged the Englishman past endurance. Then Jack added, "Is that the best you can do?"
"I'll show you!" roared the other, making a leap forward. He charged straight at the submarine boy, who wheeled and darted on toward hotel.
"Don't run, you coward!" came the flying taunt.
Just then Jack Benson fell, though he did it on purpose. Straight in the path of the irate Englishman the submarine boy dropped, curling himself up.
It was too late for Drummond to halt, or to change his course. He tripped over prostrate young Benson, then lurched forward landing on his face.
Up sprang Jak Benson, planting two sterling good kicks.
"You beast! Wait until I get up!" roared the victim, in a voice like a bull's bellow.
"What's the matter here?" demanded an astonished voice, and Mr. Trotter, after a short dash, bounded through the darkness, arriving on the scene just as Drummond was getting up.
"This fellow—" began Jack.
"'Fellow'?" broke in Drummond, angrily.
"This fellow," Jack continued, calmly, "accused me of causing MissPeddensen's arrest, and promised to brain me."
"Too bad you've allied yourself with that young woman," muttered Mr.Trotter looking keenly into the Englishman's face.
"What d'ye mean?" demanded Drummond.
"Miss Peddensen turns out to be a well-known military and naval spy, though she hasn't operated in this country before in five years," replied Mr. Trotter, coolly. "However, she has been caught trying to steal the secrets of the submarine boat, and she's under arrest. My side partner, Packwood, is now engaged in unraveling a cipher that was taken from her."
"That's an impudent lie," asserted the Englishman, hotly.
"No it isn't," laughed Mr. Trotter. "It's a Secret Service fact."
"I'm going to go to Miss Peddensen, now, then," asserted Drummond.
"Right-o," drawled Trotter, so significantly that Drummond shot a quick look at the officer, demanding:
"What d'ye mean by that?"
"I'm going to take you to Miss Peddensen," returned the Secret Service man.
"I'll go all the way to Washington, by tonight's express, to see the young lady freed from this outrageous mistake," stormed the Englishman.
"I don't know about your going to Washington—to-night," repliedTrotter, yawning.
"What have you to do with that?" demanded Drummond, harshly.
"Why, I reckon, Mr. Drummond, you're my prisoner. You won't very easily go anywhere to-night, without my consent."
"Your prisoner?" demanded the Englishman angrily.
"Yes."
"By what right do you arrest me! What have I done?"
"Well, for one thing, you've tried to injure the captain of the submarine boat, all because he caught your woman friend at strange tricks on board the 'Benson.' For another reason, because we suspect anyone who defends or upholds the spy. Be good enough to step along with me, Mr. Drummond."
"I'll do nothing of the sort," blurted the astounded Englishman
"You'll go all the same," warned Mr. Trotter, first of all displaying his Secret Service badge, next running a hand back briefly to a revolver that rested in a hip pocket. "I don't much care, Drummond, whether you walk with me, or whether I have to send for an ambulance to bring you along. But you'll go just where I want you to."
The Englishman was too much terrified to reply. Two or three times he opened his mouth as though to speak, but, instead, merely swallowed.
"Come, now—forward march" advised Mr. Trotter. Drummond, without allowing himself to hesitate, went away at the side of the Secret Service man.
"Don't you want your cane?" called Jack Benson. Drummond did not condescend to answer, so the submarine boy slipped back to the tree, where he found the stick. It was a handsome piece of polished partridge wood, surmounted by a handsomely wrought head of gold.
"This will make an interesting souvenir to keep aboard the boat," musedBenson, swinging the stick as he continued his walk.
At the veranda Jack came face to face with Mlle. Nadiboff, just returning from an unaccompanied stroll down by the water front. To the submarine boy's astonishment the handsome Russian greeted him most amiably.
"You have not forgotten old friends, I hope, my Captain?" she added, smiling and with a pretty little coaxing way.
"There are some old friends," replied Captain Jack, lifting his cap, "whom it is impossible to forget."
"I hope you will continue to regard me as a friend," responded Mlle.Nadiboff, more seriously, looking him fully in the eyes.
"Why?" queried Jack.
"I may need a friend," she replied, dropping her glance for a moment.
"You in need of anything—even a friend?" cried Captain Jack, incredulously.
"I may need a friend who can speak a good word for me; who can forget things, or explain them." went on Mlle. Nadiboff, resting a hand pleadingly on his sleeve "My Captain, if need be, I shall send for you. Do not fail me! You won't?"
It looked as though the tears lay just behind her eyes. The submarine boy felt that the situation was becoming too interesting, so he lifted his cap once more as he turned on his heel.
"Mlle. Nadiboff," he sent back to her, "I trust you will never want for the most reliable friends."
He turned down the veranda to go toward the office door, when he encountered another surprise.
Leaning against one of the posts stood Kamanako, as natty and trim as though he had come from the tailor's.
Looking up with a most friendly smile, the little Japanese saluted.
"Why, how do you do?" Jack greeted him, halting. "I had an idea you had left Spruce Beach."
"I should have done so, but I started too late," replied Kamanako, still smiling. Nothing ever daunts that Japanese smile. One of these little men, being led away to have his head chopped off, goes with a smile on his little brown face.
"Started too late?" asked Jack. "How was that?"
"Now, you laugh at me," replied the Japanese.
"Laughing at you? Not a bit!"
"You have told some one that I am a spy," replied Kamanako, without a trace of grudge in his voice. "So now, I cannot leave Spruce Beach. Ticket agent, he will not sell me. If I try to go on foot, the roads are watched. If I take to woods, even, I shall be found."
"Sorry," nodded Jack Benson, and passed on. "So the Secret Service net is around the place, and no suspected person can get away?" muttered the submarine boy. "Well, that's it should be. I wonder if there are any more of this strange crew—men or women spies that don't happen to have suspected so far? If there are, I don't believe they'll wriggle through the meshes of old Uncle Sam's Secret Service net, anyway."
His mind full of the doings of the day, Captain Jack Benson found Messrs.Farnum and to whom he surely had much to tell.
"We'll have no more trouble, I imagine," nodded Jacob Farnum, with a satisfied air, when Jack, at a table in the corner of the dining room, had told, in low tones, all that had happened.
"The spies are all on the defensive, now, beyond a doubt," added David Pollard. "They'll be too busy keeping their wrists out of handcuffs to devote any of their time to trying to get at the secrets of the 'Benson.'"
"I hope you're both right," said Captain Jack, gravely.
"Why, what leads you to think that we may not be?" asked Farnum, curiously.
"Nothing in the way of facts," Jack admitted. "Yet there may be others of this infernal spy gang who have not yet shown their hands, of whose existence the Secret Service knows nothing."
"Well, what can they do, if you don't allow any strangers on board the boat?" asked Mr. Farnum, point blank.
"Nothing much," muttered Benson, "unless—"
"Well, unless what?"
"See here," asked the submarine boy, "what is usually done to such spies by the United States Government?"
"Why, the law provides that, in war time, such spies can be shot in mighty quick order," replied Mr. Farnum. "In peace times the law doesn't allow anything but sending spies to prison."
"But what does the Government usually do?" pursued Captain Jack. "It seems to me I've read of suspected spies being caught around American fortifications, trying to make notes, or take photographs."
"Yes," nodded the shipbuilder.
"And I think I've read, also, that such spies are generally warned and then let go."
"That's the usual procedure, I believe," admitted Farnum.
"Then, after the spies who have been bothering us have all been rounded up and scolded, they'll be given railroad tickets and allowed go on their way?" asked Jack.
"Frankly, I'm afraid that's just what will be in the present case," admitted Jacob Farnum.
"Then," grumbled Captain Jack, making a rather wry face, "it would seem that being a foreign spy, in this country, provides one with a calling that is a good deal safer than being just a lightning rod peddler or a bill collector."
"Yes; it's really so," admitted the shipbuilder, thoughtfully.
"If that is the case," muttered Captain Jack, "the spies here at Spruce Beach will probably keep a bit quiet until they see how things are going to turn out. As soon as their minds are made easy by our generous government, then they'll plot their next moves. If they can't accomplish anything more, they may content themselves with a general revenge of some sort on the whole lot of us."
"You're not afraid of their vengeance, are you?" asked Mr. Farnum, looking up, and into the eyes of his young captain.
"I'm not afraid, of anything, sir," retorted Jack. "The master of a submarine boat has no right to be afraid of things. Even if these scoundrels should get me, in the end, all I can to is to smile, and say: 'So be it.'"
Then, in the next breath, Benson added, earnestly:
"It doesn't matter so much if these rascals get me, but I don't want them to work any mischief to the submarine."
"Bravo!" nodded David Pollard, looking on with a smile.
It is a fact that life in a constant atmosphere of danger renders the average man all but indifferent to fear. Those who meet perils daily grow to consider danger as all a part of the day's work. Perils which, a year before, would have kept Jack Benson awake with dread for a week now appeared to him as not worth thinking about until they happened.
Jack remained ashore until half-past nine. He hoped to hear some word of what the Secret Service men might have learned, or of what these representatives of Uncle Sam were doing. But no word came, so the submarine boy went down to the beach. There was but one harbor boat in sight.
"Ah done thought yo'd be gwine back to do little ship, sah, so Ah done waited fo' you'," explained the negro in the boat. "Any mo' ob yo' pahty to go abo'd to-night, sah?"
"No," Jack answered. "I'll be the last one to put off to-night."
Nor did he forget to reward the darkey's enterprise by handing him rather more than the usual boat hire.
As he stepped aboard Jack found Hal pacing the platform deck.
"Keeping deck watch, old fellow? I'm glad see that," Captain Jack said, commendingly.
"Yes; I'm on until midnight. Then Williamson stands watch until three-thirty in the morning. After that Eph comes up and takes the trick until it's time to call us all."
"When do I come on watch?" asked Jack.
"I never heard the captain of a craft had to stand watch in port," laughed Hal Hastings "Besides, old fellow, we couldn't be sure you'd be aboard to-night. So the watches are all arranged. Anyway, you'd better turn in and get a full night's sleep, for you've more on your mind than the rest of us."
"Then tell Williamson, and have him pass the word on to Eph, that watch ought to be very strictly kept," answered the young captain.
A few minutes Benson remained on deck, chatting with his chum. When he at last went below the submarine captain lost little time getting into his berth.
When Machinist Williamson came on deck at midnight a light wind was blowing, but the air was not really chilly. In his heavy reefer the machinist felt wholly comfortable after he had lighted his pipe and started his slow walk back and forth along the deck.
There did not appear to be overmuch sense in keeping this deck watch. Only a short distance away lay the United States gunboat "Waverly," with her alert marine guard. Though there was no moon, the starlight was bright enough to enable a marine on the gunboat to see anything that might skim over the water toward the "Benson."
Yet Williamson was on watch, under instructions, and he was a faithful fellow who meant to do his full duty.
"Seems kinder tough, of course, to be so long out of one's bunk in the middle of the night," the machinist admitted to himself.
Yet, had his vision been keen enough to know what was happening on shore, almost directly opposite the "Benson," Williamson would have been tenfold more alert.
Over there on the shore, in a clump of flowering, semi-tropical bushes, crouched two men. On the ground with them lay a metal cylinder some two feet long and seven inches in diameter. There was also a coil of wire and a boxed magneto battery.
One of the pair held to his eyes a pair of night marine glasses.Incessantly this watcher kept his gaze focused on Williamson.
About two o'clock in the morning Williamson found it necessary to go below for a few moments. After reaching the conning tower he paused, for a few moments, to look keenly all about him.
Yet, look as he would through the night, the machinist's vision could not see that the bush hidden pair on shore, guessing his intention from his stop by the conning tower, had silently taken to the water. With them they towed the metal cylinder, which floated. To the cylinder was attached one end of the light wire.
Some distance out from the shore the pair halted, treading water, only their eyes above the surface. But Williamson could not make out such small objects at the distance. Then he went below.
"Now, for it," breathed one of the swimming pair, tensely.
Both swimmers struck out strongly, yet silently, making fast progress through the water by means of some of the best strokes known to swimmers.
When they reached the port side of the submarine Williamson was still below. Nor had the attention of the marine guard on the "Waverly" been attracted.
In just another swift instant the swimmers made a dive that carried them and their cylinder below the surface.
Straight up against the bottom of the hull the pair went.
When they returned to the surface the metal cylinder was in place below.
Glancing backward only once, to make sure that Williamson was not yet on deck, and that the gunboat's marine guard had not detected their stealthy work, the swimming pair struck out lustily for shore.
Back into the same clump of bushes they made their way. In the first few moments neither of the recent swimmers appeared to dare a glance into the face of his comrade. In silence they fitted the shore end of the wire to the battery.
Then one of the pair seized the handle to pomp the fatal electric spark along the wire to the hidden mine under the "Benson's" hull.
"Remember what happened to the 'Maine'!" this wretch chuckled hideously.
"What's that noise?" wondered Williamson.
He stopped, listening intently, for he was still below.
Against the bottom of the "Benson's" hull he heard a steady, slow, monotonous bumping. As he listened, his face took on an anxious look.
"We're in a friendly port," muttered the machinist. "It can't be anything very wrong, and yet—"
That slow steady bumping continued.
"Anything bumping against the bull of a boat at anchor, in that fashion may be wrong," concluded the man, swiftly.
His mind made up to this much, the rest was not difficult to decide. The cause of that bumping required instant investigation. Williamson caught up the tool that came quickest to hand, a pair of nippers, thrust them into his jumper and raced up to the deck.
"If it's any real mischief," he muttered, "I hope I won't be too slow—too late!"
With that he dived overboard, at the starboard rail, the side nearest the gunboat. There was a splash—then the waters closed over the machinist.
He came up at about the point he had planned, where he had heard the bumping.
Held below water as he was by the under-hull of the submarine, he could move with certainty, though but slowly.
Groping, the machinist encountered the metal cylinder. Quickly he felt for its connections which, like a flash, he knew must exist. He found the wire, but reached for another. It all had to be done swiftly, for his reserve "wind" was fast giving out. Not finding a second wire, he fastened his nippers against the first wire—then cut. Now, steering the metal cylinder, he pushed it out from under the hull. Cylinder and man rose together.
Whew! What a powerful breath the man took! Then he steered the cylinder carefully against the hull, and managed to hold it there until he could reach a piece of cordage and make the cylinder fast.
This done, he dashed below, thumping hard on the door of the stateroom occupied by Captain Jack Benson and Hal Hastings.
"Eh? What is it?" called Jack, almost instantly.
"You're wanted on deck, Captain—instantly," replied the dripping machinist.
"Oh, all right, Williamson," and Benson's feet hit the stateroom floor.
A minute later he was above, Hal following only some twenty seconds behind his young chief.
Williamson swiftly told how he had heard the bumping against the hull, and how he had found the cylinder, with a wire connection.
"Gunboat, ahoy!" roared Captain Jack, snatching up a megaphone and holding it to his lips.
The response was prompt. In less than three minutes a cutter, containing an officer, a corporal and four marines, was alongside.
"The first thing for us to do is to take that cylinder aboard the 'Waverly' and investigate it," decided Ensign Foss. "I'll leave the marines here until I get further instructions from the commanding officer."
"Anything happening?" demanded Eph, reaching deck just after the cutter had put off. He eyed the marine squad curiously.
"Just what we're trying to find out," replied Jack.
"It must seem to you that I acted amiss in leaving the deck," put inWilliamson.
"But you didn't," retorted Jack. "Had you been on deck you wouldn't have heard that infernal machine bumping against the hull."
"Infernal?" echoed Eph Somers, rubbing his eyes. "Say, have I been missing a whole lot by being asleep?"
The other three told him quickly all they knew of what had happened.
Within five minutes the cutter came back, bringing two more marines and a young second lieutenant of that corps.
"Lieutenant Commander Kimball's compliments, sir," reported the second lieutenant. "He will put in an appearance as soon as that cylinder has been investigated. He has sent me with instructions to see what had best be done."
"I don't believe there's much doubt as to what had best be done," replied Captain Jack, quickly. "Williamson reports having cut a wire that was attached to that cylinder. I think we can find that wire again, and, if we do, we can easily follow it to its other end."
"By jove, that's good enough," muttered the lieutenant.
"Williamson is already wet," proposed Jack. "He can dive again, and see whether he can pick up that wire. If he needs any help, I'll go overboard with him."
"Wait until I see what I can do," proposed the machinist.
This time he dived over the port side of the craft. Three or four times he came up for air, next going, below again. At last, however, Williamson came up, calling:
"I have a part of the wire in my hands."
Lieutenant Foster ordered his marines into the cutter, inviting Jack and Hal also to go with him. They rowed out alongside of Williamson, picking up the machinist and his wire.
"We'd better put your man back on the boat, hadn't we, Mr. Benson?" inquired the marine lieutenant.
"I'm not such weak stuff as that, sir," almost grumbled the machinist. "I can stand a few minutes more in wet clothes, and I want to go along to see where this wire leads."
"Good enough," nodded Lieutenant Foster, he gave the order to row along slowly, while two marines in the bow of the cutter slowly gathered in the wire, at the same time signaling back the direction in which it lay.
Only a few minutes were needed thus to follow the trail straight to the clump of bushes on shore.
"Nobody leave the boat until we have a lantern ready," directed Lieutenant Foster. "We don't want to tramp out the trail of the rascals who laid that mine."
The marine lieutenant himself was the first to step ashore, and JackBenson was with him.
"Here are the footprints of the rascals," announced Foster, as the two stepped cautiously into the bushes.
"Yes; there were just two of them here, apparently," replied Jack, after studying the prints, and discovering the marks of only two different sizes or kinds of shoes.
"Here's the imprint of a box," added Foster. "Good heavens, the scoundrels had a regular magneto battery, insulated wire and all, for firing that mine from the shore. Mr. Benson, they meant to blow your boat into Kingdom Come!"
"It looks that way," replied Jack Benson, composedly.
On hearing that voice, so even and unaffected in its utterance,Lieutenant Foster looked at the submarine boy keenly.
"By Jove, Benson, you're cool enough to be an admiral," muttered the marine officer, admiringly.
"Why, this doesn't seem to be a joke on me," replied Captain, Jack, smiling back at the lieutenant.
"A joke!"
"It's one on the Secret Service," laughed Jack, quietly. "They are the ones who are supposed to have the job of keeping off spies and all of their kind."
"Yes; this certainly came from the spies, or their friends," muttered Lieutenant Foster. "Jove, but we have a desperate crowd to deal with when they'll go to such a length as this in time of peace!"
"Oh, it may all turn out to be a joke," put Hal, quietly. "Some one may have been doing this to try us out. That metal cylinder may prove to have been loaded with ginger-bread or peanuts. If anyone has been trying a joke on us, then I'm mighty glad we didn't get rattled."
"I reckon we shall soon know just what that cylinder did contain," muttered Lieutenant Foster. "Here's another cutter coming from the 'Waverly,' and I think I make out Lieutenant Commander Kimball in the stern-sheets."
It was, indeed, the lieutenant commander. As he stepped ashore, his face coming into the circle of light cast by the lantern, his features were seen to be white with anxiety.
"We have just looked into the cylinder," he announced, in a low voice."We found there enough gun-cotton to blow the 'Benson' into inch pieces.It was a fearful crime to plan."
Jack Benson and Hal Hastings heard, but did not change color. There was no sense in losing nerve over a disaster that had been averted in time.
"The first thing to do, of course," continued Lieutenant CommanderKimball, "is to send instant word to Messrs. Trotter and Packwood.They have a heap of work ahead of them."
"As to our own boat's crew," replied Jack, "I fancy the best thing we can do is to go back on board, since we can't do anything here. One of us will keep watch, and the rest of us can get some of a night's sleep yet."
"Why, yes, if you youngsters can sleep, after such happenings," laughedKimball.
By this time Lieutenant Foster and two of his marines had followed the trail of footprints as far as the hard road. Here all trace was lost.
"What you want to do, Williamson," declared Jack, as soon as the submarine people were back on their own craft, "is to get into some dry clothes and make yourself a pot of hot coffee. Then get in between blankets for a sleep. I'll finish out your watch."
Nor was Benson alone in his watch, for a cutter from the gunboat, containing a corporal and two marines, beside sailors to row the boat, moved slowly around the submarine at a distance of fifteen or twenty yards.
After the rest had gone below, Captain Jack, hanging over the rail of the platform deck, saw other lanterns gleaming in and around the clump of bushes.
"That must be the Secret Service people, pulled out of their comfortable beds," mused Benson, smiling. "Won't they feel upset at any such thing happening hours after they've arrived on the spot?"
After Eph Somers had reported on deck to take his watch, Jack went below, once more dropping into sound slumber. The smell of coffee and bacon was wafted in from the galley when the young submarine captain next awoke.
"Well," announced Eph, as Jack and Hal came forward for their breakfast,"Trotter and Packwood haven't caught the fellows that laid the mine."
"It doesn't look strongly probable that they'll catch them, either," Jack replied. "I don't believe that the fellows who did that trick are any of the regular spies. For that matter, we now of only three spies here who are men. Drummond is under arrest, and so is Gaston. Neither of them could have had a hand in it. And there were two, so, if M. Lemaire was in it, he had an unknown accomplice. But I don't believe M. Lemaire had any personal hand in laying that mine. I've a notion that he considers himself entirely too high class to go into any mere blasting operations."
"'Mere blasting operations' is good," smiled Hal Hastings, "when we stop to think what those 'blasting operations' might have done for us if it hadn't been for Williamson."
"Anyone taking my name in vain?" demanded the machinist, smiling as he put in an appearance at that moment.
"We're trying to see," Eph explained, "whether we can do any better guessing than the Secret Service men as to the fellows who were kind enough to lay that mine under us last night."
"Got it figured out?" asked the machinist, as he transferred, a generous helping of bacon, eggs and fried potatoes, to his plate.
"For myself," put in Hal, "I'd suspect that fellow Gaston, in an instant, if he had only been at liberty. That fellow has an eye that looks like all the letters in the word 'r-e-v-e-n-g-e.'"
"That's so," nodded Jack, thoughtfully, as he ate. "But we happen to know that Gaston is very safe under lock and key. By the way, fellows, I don't suppose Mr. Farnum and Mr. Pollard have heard the news yet, or they'd be out here on the double quick."
After breakfast Jack went ashore alone, to carry the exciting news to his employers. He found Messrs. Farnum and Pollard in the breakfast room at the Clayton. Both were astounded when they heard the news of the night's doings.
"Who on earth could have put up such a job against the submarine?" gasped David Pollard.
"I don't know, sir," Captain Jack replied. "But I've left Hal on board, in command, and I mean to find out something about this business, if there is any way to do it."
With that he excused himself, rising and leaving the table at which his employers were seated.
Jacob Farnum gazed after his young submarine captain, then whispered to the inventor:
"That youngster has some notion in his head of where to look for the infernal criminals. And, ten to one, his idea is a good one that will bear fruit!"