"Stop, thief!"
Jack Benson only sped onward the faster.
"Halt, you young rascal!" roared the long-legged one, in pursuit.
"The fellow who can call names like that, under the circumstances, has no sense of humor!" chuckled the submarine boy, inwardly.
"Drop that chart and book!" panted the one in chase. "You're stealing government property!"
"Yes, but which government?" Jack shot back at his pursuer.
"Are you going to stop?"
Jack's answer was to increase his burst of speed slightly.
"Then I'm going to fire!" came the warning. Glancing over his shoulder the submarine boy saw the long-legged one still running after him. At the same time the pursuer was raising his revolver, sighting.
Jack felt a little shiver. He had never been suspected of being a coward, yet he was willing to admit that he didn't want to feel a chunk of lead plowing its way through him.
"Last word to halt!" yelled the pursuer, in an ugly tone.
"Fire, then!" dared Jack Benson.
Crack! Whizz-zz! Chug! The weapon was discharged promptly. Jack, still in flight, heard the bullet whistle by him. Then it struck the sand, fifty feet ahead, throwing up a spurt of the fine particles.
"That was for a caution. The next shot will be to hit!" panted the pursuer.
"I wonder if you can do it?" Jack taunted backward over his shoulder.
There was method in the submarine boy's tactics. He hoped, by making the stranger angry, to spoil his aim.
Crack! The bullet sped by, fanning the fugitive's face. The close aim, however, had the reverse of the effect expected by the marksman. It roused all the submarine boy's anger. He might be hit, but he would stop, now, only if a bullet laid him low.
Two more shots sped after the fugitive. Their aim was too close for comfort, though not true enough to score a hit. Each of the shots sounded a bit further back, too.
"He's getting winded," gritted the running submarine boy. "With his long legs that chap ought to get over ground faster than I. The difference is that that fellow is out of condition, and my hard work keeps me about up to the mark of condition all the time. He—"
Crack! Jack happened to turn, just as the fellow fired, and the boy was able to see that the bullet struck the ground behind him.
"Out of range!" clicked Benson. "What's the good of carrying a pocket revolver for service work? Now, if he had a dozen shots more left he would be wasting his cartridges to fire at me."
In fact, it was plain enough that the pursuer had given up the chase for the time being. Not only was he out of range of his quarry, but the long-legged one lacked the wind to keep on on foot.
"Say, what a fool I'd have been, to give up this plunder!" cried Jack, mockingly. "That chap couldn't catch me; he couldn't hit me. So I've gotten away with the stuff he was so anxious to have—and which the Army, I'll bet, would a thousand times rather he didn't have!"
"Now, how am I going to get back to the Army people?" wondered young Benson, slowing down to a walk, though keeping a vigilant lookout to the rear. "I don't want to walk something like a million miles to find a place from which I can get across the bay."
It was desolate country, over here. Jack and the long-legged one, well to his rear, now, might be the only human beings within some miles. The outlook was not an encouraging one.
"Say! Wow! Whoop! Blazes!" uttered Captain Jack, suddenly. "Now, I remember Long-legs! Millard was the name he gave when he came to us, at Dunhaven, last Fall. He was the chap who wanted to work on the submarine construction. Said he'd do any kind of work, but Grant Andrews put him in a separate shed, sorting and counting steel rivets, and never let him get near a submarine boat. That's the same fellow—Millard. Or, at least, that was the name he gave them. But, when Millard found he wasn't going to do anything but take care of rivets, he threw up the job four days after. He had pretended to be mighty hard up, too, and wanted work at any sort of wages."
Jack's face began to glow as he remembered more and more of the brief career of Millard at Dunhaven.
"And Dave Pollard, when he was over in Washington later, said he ran across Millard living at the swell Arlington Hotel! Millard had a different name in Washington, and refused to recognize Mr. Pollard—said there was some mistake. By hookey! There isn't any mistake. Millard was trying to steal submarine secrets at Dunhaven, and now he's trying to map out harbor defenses in Craven Bay!"
Again Captain Jack glanced backward over his shoulder, but Millard was no longer in sight.
"He knew me, probably, in a flash," muttered the submarine boy. "I'm sorry I didn't recognize him sooner."
Having gotten his wind back, Jack broke into a run again. Just because Millard had dropped out of sight was no reason for taking chances of a sudden swoop from the stranger.
For some five minutes Jack Benson jogged along. Then he came in sight of a little semicove. Here lay a small motor launch, whose skipper, somewhat of the fisherman type, was busily engaged with the engine.
"Say," hailed young Benson, running down to the water's edge, "can you start your engine at once?"
"I reckon," nodded the fisherman, looking up.
"Run your bow in, so I can get aboard, then," directed Captain Jack, briskly. "I want to get over to where the Army tug is at work. Do you know where that is—over to the southeast ward?"
"Yep," nodded the fisherman.
"I'll give you three dollars to take me over there in a hustle," proposedJack.
"You're easy enough," grinned the man in the boat, starting the engine, then lightly driving the bow of the boat upon the sand. "But you'll pay me in advance."
"Certainly," nodded the submarine boy, taking out the money, as he stepped into the boat, and handing it over.
"Now, pick up that boathook, and shove off, and we'll start," added the master of the little launch.
As Jack snatched up the boathook he caught, sight of Millard, three hundred yards away, just coming in sight on a run.
"You'd better get your engine going fast," warned Jack, "or that fellow headed this way will make trouble for us both. He's carrying a gun."
The skipper took just one look at Millard, who was racing along, pistol in hand, and was prepared to believe his present passenger. That little launch stole out of the cover under its reverse gear until the master of the craft thought himself far enough from shore for him to be out of range of Millard's weapon.
"Who is that feller?" asked the fisherman, when satisfied that he was at a safe distance and increasing it every instant.
"From the way he's dancing up and down, it looks as if he were crazy," laughed Jack, coolly.
"What's his particular specialty in craziness?" asked the master of the launch, looking shrewdly at the submarine boy.
"Now, see here," protested Benson, good humoredly, "as I understand it, you're paid to take me over to the Army tug—not to ask questions. Am I right?"
"You're right," nodded the fisherman, then surveyed the boy's uniform curiously.
"Your uniform looks like you was in the Navy?" suggested the man at the stern of the boat.
"Does it?" queried Jack.
"Are you in the Navy?" persisted the boat man.
"Just now, I'm serving with the Army," Captain Jack replied, evasively.
"Are you—" started in the human interrogation point, anew.
"See here," broke in the submarine boy, "I thought we agreed you had just one job to do for me, and that questions formed no part of it."
"That's right," agreed the fisherman. "But say, there's just one question I wish you'd answer me. Are you—"
"No!" interrupted Benson, decisively. "I am not. I never was."
"You didn't let me finish," complained the man.
"Wait until I'm out of the boat," proposed the submarine boy. "Then ask all the questions you like. Maybe you're paid to ask questions, but I'm paid to hold my mouth shut."
It went a good deal against the submarine boy's grain to be so brusque with an inquisitive stranger, but there seemed to be no other defense.
"Oh, well, if you're ashamed of your business—" retorted the fisherman, falling into a sullen silence.
This turn of affairs just suited Benson. He compressed his lips and sat back, looking out across the bay at the tug, which was at work some three miles away.
"Can you put on a little more speed?" inquired Jack.
"No," answered the fisherman, sulkily. "Doin' all the gait she'll kick now."
So Jack possessed his soul in patience until the wheezy little launch had covered the whole distance.
While still some two hundred yards off Jack caught sight of MajorWoodruff coming out of the after cabin of the tug.
"Ahoy, Major!" yelled the submarine boy, holding his hands to his lips."Perhaps you'd better stop work until I've reported."
Then the launch ran in alongside, and Jack stepped up to the deck of the tug, holding tightly to the loot he had taken from Millard.
The master of the launch manifested a disposition to hang about in the near vicinity, until curtly ordered away by Major Woodruff.
"I suppose you thought, Major, that I took a good deal upon myself in advising you to suspend work," Jack hinted. "Yet I've something to show you, and much to tell you. And I'm wagering an anchor to a fish-hook that you'll be glad you stationed me over on that neck of sand."
Major Woodruff led the way back into the cabin. There he examined the chart, with a start of astonishment.
"The fellow was marking down all our mine positions," came savagely from between the Army officer's teeth.
Then he picked up the book.
"A nice little assortment of notes on matters of military interest along this coast," muttered the soldier. "Your long-legged fellow has been busy at other points than Craven's Bay."
Then, closing the book with a snap, Major Woodruff looked keenly at the submarine boy as he remarked:
"Mr. Benson, I think our present submarine tests can be well suspended. We have a much more important task ahead of us—to catch this impudent thief of military secrets! And, in this undertaking, Benson, you can be of the greatest sort of help!"
"You can count on me, sir," declared Captain Jack Benson, eagerly.
"I can count on every one of you submarine boys, can't I?" asked MajorWoodruff, thoughtfully.
"You can count on us," declared Benson, earnestly, "as though every one of us were sworn into the service and had a record of being tried and tested!"
In an instant after speaking the submarine boy realized that this must have had a boastful sound. So he added, quickly:
"Please don't suspect me, Major, of being a braggart. But Hal, Eph and I have always taken our work with seriousness. We have always acted just as though the Flag depended upon us for its protection. We have the desire, every minute of our lives, to be great Americans—that is, great in our devotion to the Flag, even if we cannot be great in deeds."
"By Jove, I believe you!" cried Major Woodruff, reaching forward and clasping Jack's hand tightly in his own.
The major went on heartily:
"No, no, Benson, I don't consider you boastful. You're talking the way I heard some youngsters talk when I was a boy. It's refreshing and encouraging to hear you talk that way. Do you know, boy, when we older fellows sometimes get to thinking of the country's past glories, we wonder whether the boys of to-day are going to make such men as have carried the United States of America forward in the past? The thought makes us solemn and anxious. I suppose every man who is grown and on toward middle life has always, in every generation, wondered whether boys were as serious and dependable, as staunch and loyal as the boys of the day before yesterday. Look here, lad!"
Major Woodruff rose, stepping to the door aft and throwing it open. The stern of the tug was visible. From the pole that slanted out over the stern, hung the Stars and Stripes.
"You don't need to glance at that fine old bit of bunting more than a second, lad," continued the major, "before you feel all that it can ever make you feel. In your case, I believe the sight of the Flag is always an inspiration to you. I pray it is so with every boy who grows up in this country. But is it?"
Standing there before the Flag, Jack quietly doffed his cap.
"Thank you, Benson," acknowledged the major, also doffing his own cap. Then, closing the door, Major Woodruff stepped back to the table on which lay chart and book.
"This chart, Benson, shows what the rascal Millard, has been doing out on the neck. This book proves that he has been at work at some other points. The book doesn't tell much of the story, though. Of that I am certain. Millard, if he has been at work long, has compiled other notes in other written volumes. If so, then he has also made other charts of our coast defenses. For what other government has he thus marked a series of charts with our secrets? And has Millard succeeded in getting other charts, and other books of notes, off to the foreign government he is serving—or has he them hidden somewhere in this country, awaiting his chance to take the results of his spying out of the United States?"
"I wish I knew!" muttered Jack.
"I'm coming to the point," continued Major Woodruff, briskly. "Now, of course, when we discover evidence that spies of other governments are at work along our lines of national defenses, the first thing we try to do is to catch these foreign agents and all the material they have succeeded in getting together."
Major Woodruff, who was becoming considerably excited, paused to light a cigar, ere he continued, more slowly:
"Now, you and your two friends, Benson, know this fellow Millard. You will spot him instantly, wherever you go. I shall communicate with Washington, at once, by means of a telegram in cipher. The War Department will order me to use all speed in catching Millard, and in finding out where he keeps his other stolen records. Men and money will be used in running down this fellow. Yet you and your two chums should be in the front ranks of pursuit, for you will know him the instant you lay eyes on him."
"You want me to take my friends ashore, then, Major, and lay the'Spitfire' up?"
"By no means," answered Major Woodruff, decisively. "In reality operations will be suspended at this point until we have run Millard down. Yet we must have the appearance of being as busy as ever. The submarine will hover about, and this tug will be busy, apparently, in laying the bay with mines. You have a fourth man on your boat?"
"Yes, sir; Williamson, the machinist."
"Can he run the engines all right?"
"As well as any of us, Major."
"Then I will put aboard a man who can steer. Thus the 'Spitfire' will be seen moving about the bay, and apparently at work. I'll also put aboard a guard of a sergeant and three or four soldiers of the engineer corps, and they'll guard that boat from harm with their lives. That will leave all three of you young officers of the 'Spitfire' free for shore duty."
"It will, Major. And now, sir, what is that shore duty to be?"
"Simply to locate Millard. He may be at one of the hotels in Radford."
Radford was the busy, important little port four miles farther up the bay.
"He's likely to be somewhere in Radford, anyway," nodded young Benson.
"Wherever the fellow is found, he must be seized at once," continued Major Woodruff, warmly. "Any policeman will seize him on your request. I will give each of you three a written statement that you have been asked to locate Millard and have him arrested. If you run across Millard anywhere, turn him over to a policeman, then show my written authorization. On that the police authorities will hold the scoundrel and notify the military authorities. Then, once we have Millard out at Fort Craven, securely under lock and key, by authority from Washington, we will make every effort under the sun to locate his charts and notebooks."
"Why, the work you want us to do is going to be easy enough," murmuredCaptain Jack.
"It is going to be easy, if you succeed in finding the fellow, and in turning him over to a policeman," replied Major Woodruff. "And, by the way, I have just remembered that Lieutenant Ridder, of the engineer corps, reported last night from a former station in the West. No one around here will know him. Good enough! I'll have Ridder get into citizen's clothes and go about with you three. He can give you instructions on any point about which you're in doubt."
"We ought to run that rascal down, sir," answered Jack Benson, rising."Unless—"
"Unless what, Benson?"
"Why, sir, unless he's more clever than a rascal usually succeeds in being. I haven't lived so very long, Major Woodruff, but, from what little I've seen of the world, it has struck me that the cleverest scoundrels are always just a little less smart, in the end, than the average of honest men."
"I hope you'll prove it, in this case," replied the major. "And now, to signal your boat. We'll run both craft in at the ordnance dock at Fort Craven."
A couple of miles away Eph Somers was slowly running the submarine back and forth over the water in seeming aimlessness. In response to sharp blasts from the whistle of the Army tug, the "Spitfire" was seen to turn and head for the tug.
"Mr. Somers, you will follow in our wake," shouted Major Woodruff, when the two craft were within hailing distance of each other. "We will show you where to make fast at the ordnance dock."
"Very good, sir," Eph responded, with a salute.
A little later in the forenoon both boats docked at the water front ofFort Craven.
"You'll come up to my quarters, now, and meet Lieutenant Ridder," announced the Major, when he had gathered the submarine boys together, and when Jack had given necessary explanations to Williamson.
"You may not see us again, for a few days," Jack informed the machinist, in winding up.
"That won't surprise me so very much, either," laughed the machinist. "Things are always happening, where you are, and mysteries have ceased to puzzle me."
"Have you young men ever been on a military post before?" inquiredMajor Woodruff, as he led them up from the dock.
"Never sir," replied Jack. "We have seen considerable of Navy life, but this is the first time we've ever been at a fort."
"You don't see much about this place, do you," laughed the engineer officer, "that makes you think of a fort?"
"Not much," Benson admitted.
"Yet we have a fighting plant here that could prevent a big fleet, indeed, from getting far up the bay at the important cities beyond. That is," Woodruff continued, thoughtfully, in a low voice, "if the enemy, in advance of his coming here, doesn't know all about our defenses through the work of spies."
Just at the point near the dock, Fort Craven looked not unlike the yard of a big factory plant. Wagons going and coming constantly heightened this effect. Beyond, past the plain, on one side, Major Woodruff pointed out the barracks of the Coast Artillery, of the Engineers soldiers, and of the Infantry. There were also laborers' quarters, several office buildings, a hospital, a chapel, and two streets of cottages that served as quarters for the officers stationed at Fort Craven.
It was into one of these officers' streets that Major Woodruff soon led his three young companions. Admitting the boys to his home, the major took them to the library on the ground floor.
"Now, I'll telephone for Lieutenant Ridder to come over in citizen's dress," announced the major. "At the same time, I must advise Colonel Totten, who is commander of the post. He may come over here, or he may order us all over to headquarters."
Colonel Totten elected to come over to the major's quarters. He arrived just after Lieutenant Ridder, who proved to be a rather boyish looking young man, not long out of West Point.
The plans were quickly laid by which Lieutenant Ridder was to take an automobile up to Radford, going to one of the hotels and registering.
Jack and his two chums were to make the journey in another auto. They would go to still other hotels, perhaps to three different ones. At any moment when instructions were needed, any one of the three could call up Lieutenant Ridder on the telephone.
In addition, Major Woodruff gave each of the three submarine boys a written and signed authorization for them to call upon the police to seize Millard, if found, and hold the fellow for the United States military authorities.
"Now, you young men may start for Radford," continued the major. "Colonel Totten and I will busy ourselves with the despatches that must be sent to Washington about this affair. But I trust, lads, you will not fail to realize the importance of prompt success."
"It's a special duty to the Flag, sir," Captain Jack answered, simply.
The automobiles were waiting outside. Lieutenant Ridder was given a three minutes' start. Then the submarine boys followed after, in a second car.
As Radford was but four miles distant from the post the trip was not to be a long one.
"This is the sort of job that has me by the ears," glowed Eph Somers, enthusiastically. "I won't be selfish enough to say I hope to be the fellow to catch Millard. But, if he does stray my way, I hope I won't be idiot enough to let him slip through my fingers."
"I don't care if Lieutenant Ridder is the one who nabs him," remarked Hal, coolly. "All that I'm particular about is to see this foreign agent nabbed before he succeeds in getting any information out of the country."
The car that bore the boys was soon driving through the streets of Radford. Jack held in his hand a list of the better grade and middle-class hotels that Colonel Totten had given him.
"Which hotel are we going to first?" asked Hal.
"I don't know," uttered Jack, suddenly, sharply. "I know what I'm going to do, however."
Leaning slightly forward the young submarine captain prodded the chauffeur lightly, twice, in the back—a signal that had been agreed upon at need.
In response, the chauffeur ran the car slowly in at the curb.
Captain Jack, opening the tonneau door, was quickly out on the sidewalk, without any need having risen for wholly stopping the car, which then shot forward again.
"Now, what on earth was that for?" demanded Eph Somers, as the car sped on.
"Don't look back," replied Hal.
"Why not?"
"Well, a certain party would see you looking at him."
"Who?"
"Why, Jack had the good luck to see Millard going along on the sidewalk.We've just passed the fellow!"
"Are we going to nab him?" demanded Somers, breathlessly.
"You'll have to leave that decision to good old Jack," chuckled HalHastings. "He's out there, dogging Millard from the rear. It's JackBenson's affair just at this moment."
It was mighty hard for Eph to refrain from looking back. But he restrained his curiosity.
When Jack Benson first touched the sidewalk, and the automobile glided on, leaving him in the wake of Millard, it was the young submarine captain's intention to follow his instructions to the letter.
Millard, having no especial reason of his own for feeling in danger, was walking along at a moderate gait, occasionally glancing into shop windows or gazing at the people whom he passed.
He did not look behind, so it was easy for Jack, less than half a block to the rear, and keeping close to the buildings, to follow without being detected.
"Hullo," muttered the submarine boy. "There's a policeman on the crossing at the next corner. In another moment our long-legged one will be safely in custody."
Feeling in his inner coat pocket for the written authorization, Benson's fingers touched the envelope.
"He's easily caught;" murmured the boy.
There is sometimes a big slip between a wish and its fulfillment. Just as Captain Jack was on the point of darting out into the street to hail the policeman a street car whizzed by. With a flying leap the policeman landed on the front platform and was whirled along the thoroughfare.
"Lesson number one about being too sure," grumbled disappointed youngBenson. "However, we'll soon come upon another policeman."
Two blocks more were covered, however, without sighting a bluecoat. Jack even began to wonder how it would do to leap upon Millard, calling upon passing citizens to aid him until a policeman arrived.
"But that would be a two-edged sword, that might cut too keenly on the wrong side," reflected the submarine boy. "Millard would be sure to claim that I was assaulting him. It would look like that, too, and I'd probably get a thumping from the crowd, while Millard slipped away. Then he would be warned that he was wanted, and he'd make himself mighty scarce after that."
Still no policeman came into sight.
"Gracious!" muttered Jack Benson, suddenly. He had just glanced into a store's show window, where a mirror was set at an angle. The submarine boy, looking into that mirror, became aware that he could see people at a considerable distance behind him down the street.
"I wonder if Millard has been taking sights, too, and has had a peep at me, that way?" muttered the boy.
At the next corner the long-legged one, after a brief look down the side street, turned into it.
"Now, that we're getting away from the main street there'll be far less chance of finding a police officer," sighed Jack, at last wholly discontented with luck.
Millard led without, apparently, ever thinking to glance back. He turned a second corner, into another small street, and kept on.
"This is getting more exciting," muttered the young trailer. "Yet all signs point to the fact that I've got to make the grab all by myself. I wonder if I can down that chap and get the upper hand of him? I don't mind a thumping, but I'd be sadly ashamed of myself to let the fellow get away from me."
Millard was walking briskly, now. Next, he turned sharply to the left.
"Ah!" Then Jack Benson shot swiftly forward on tip-toe, trying to make no noise as he ran.
For the long-legged one had, to all seeming, at the distance, wheeled and gone through the wall of a brick building.
Just an instant later, however, this impossible feat was explained. The submarine boy found himself at the street-end of a narrow alley between two brick buildings.
"He has gone into the rear house, at the end of the alleyway," decided Benson, peering down this narrow thoroughfare. "He has left the door partly open, too. I'll have to have a look-in."
As he stole down the alley-way Jack Benson was too sensible, and by this time, too much experienced in the ways of a rougher world, not to suspect that there might be some trap in that door partly open. "He may have seen me, and may have left that door open on purpose," Benson reflected. "He may be lying in wait for me, inside. Or else he may have left that door open, just to make me suspect a trap and keep out. In the meantime, he may be slipping through a door on the other side of the house, and sneaking away from me."
For a few seconds Jack Benson paused thoughtfully on the step just outside the door that was partly ajar.
"I may walk into a trap, by going inside, or I may be letting that wretch walk out of one by staying out here," wavered Benson, torn between two impulses.
Then, just as suddenly, this thought flashed through his mind:
"What you're doing is for the Flag! Never mind what happens to you,Jack Benson. Just rash in and say 'here goes'!"
There was not another second's hesitation. Jack Benson softly pushed the door far enough open to admit him. At the back of the hallway he saw stairs leading below.
"Basement stairs, with a rear basement door letting out on another alleyway!" suspected the submarine boy.
Though he had determined to be as reckless as seemed necessary in order to get quickly on the trail of the vanished one, Jack moved on tip-toe. He had all but reached the head of the stairs when a ground-floor door behind him opened noiselessly. The long-legged one, who had an equally good reach of arm, thrust out a noose that fell over the boy's head.
"Ug-g-g-gh!" rattled in Jack Benson's throat, as Millard, in grim silence, jerked the rope noose tight about the boy's neck. A sharp pull, a twist, and Millard had the boy face down in that hallway, and was kneeling on the victim's back.
"You ought to have known enough to keep away from me," growled the wretch, as he tightened on the noose.
That was about the last that the young submarine captain heard or knew, just then, for things were rapidly growing black before his eyes. Jack tried to fight, but the choking was too severe. He couldn't get even a breath of air into his lungs to give him fighting strength.
Finding that the boy's struggles had ceased, the long-legged one eased off on the noose. He bent Jack's arms behind him so that the wrists crossed. Then, pulling another cord from one of his pockets, the wretch tied the youngster's hands with a few deft movements. Oh, but this rascal was an expert artist with ropes and cords.
Jack felt himself being prodded just over the pit of the stomach, and his senses slowly wandered back to him under the disturbing handling. He was lying on his back, when his eyes opened once more. His throat felt sore, but he could breathe again.
Then the submarine boy discovered that his hands and feet were securely lashed. Beyond that, he discovered Millard squatting on the floor, close by, in Japanese fashion, for the foreign agent was sitting back on his own crossed heels.
"Feel wholly comfortable?" mockingly inquired the foreign agent, when he saw the boy's eyes open.
"Not especially, thank you," mumbled the boy, dryly.
Jack had discovered, by this time, that he was lying on a wooden floor, very likely in the basement of the house. The room contained no furniture, beyond an old table. Daylight was excluded by wooden shutters fastened into place over the windows. On the table a single candle burned in a candlestick.
"Why didn't you bring along with you, Benson," sneered the long fellow, "the property of mine that you stole from me?"
It was plain, then, that the foreign agent remembered the submarine boy well.
"Why are you playing this fool trick on me?" counter-questioned Captain Jack. "You knew I didn't have the—the things with me. You could see that."
"I put you to this inconvenience," replied the foreign agent, "because I wanted to know a few things. In the first place, why are you bothering with me, or with my plans?"
Jack remained silent.
"Won't talk, eh? Oh, well, then, perhaps we can find out a few things without any very especial help from you."
Millard bent over, thrusting his hand into one after another of young Benson's pockets. In so doing he brought to light the envelope in the lad's inner coat pocket. Just an instant later, the wretch snatched the folded sheet from the envelope, spread the paper open and held it up to the light.
"Ho-ho!" sneered the rascal, "an order authorizing you to cause my arrest? This disposes of your case, then, young Mr. Benson!"
Despite the savageness of his utterance Millard continued to gaze thoughtfully, for a few moments, at the submarine boy's face.
As the rascal gazed, however, a grayness came into his cheeks that, somehow, smote Captain Jack with secret terror.
"I—I don't see how it can be helped," gasped Millard, at last, in an altered tone that came as another dash of ice water over the submarine boy. "Benson, I hate to do it. I'd hate to use a dog in such a way, but—but there's no help for it!"
A long-drawn-out sigh, a still queerer look in his face, then the scoundrel broke forth again:
"It's your own fault, after all, boy, and there's no help for it."
"By and by I suppose you'll enlighten me as to what 'it' means?" hinted Jack, trying hard to bolster up a courage that, none the less, would ooze and drop.
Millard's only answer was to bend over the boy and roll him somewhat in examining the prisoner's bonds. It was through this that Jack discovered what he had not known before—namely, that his wrists, besides being bound behind his back, were also lashed fast to something in the flooring.
There was a queer little choke in Millard's breathing as he went out of the room and returned with a bushel basket of shavings. These he dumped on the floor, close to a wall. Then, again, he went out. When he returned he was carrying a can of coal-oil. The contents he poured over the shavings, then against the wall. Next, over the shavings, he heaped three or four newspapers.
Jack Benson didn't ask questions. Millard went at it all in such a business-like way that the submarine boy felt the words sticking in his throat; they couldn't be uttered.
Finally, when all else was ready, Millard took the lighted candle out of the candlestick.
"This candle will burn for thirty minutes yet," guessed the wretch, noting its unburned length with the air of an expert "That will be time enough. Poor lad!"
He set the lighted candle down on top of the papers, over the pile of oil-soaked shavings. It fitted nicely into a place that the wretch had made ready for it. Then, without a word, the long-legged one tip-toed softly over and bent beside the submarine boy.
"Open your mouth," he ordered.
Of course Captain Jack didn't propose to do anything of the sort. With one hand, however, Millard gripped the boy's nostrils, pressing tightly. Just a little later Jack had to open his mouth for air.
"Thank you," mocked the other, and neatly shoved a handkerchief between the boy's jaws. This he tied in place, and rising, looked down upon a gagged foe. Then, with a last look over at the candle, the long-legged one darted from the room.
Left alone, Jack Benson watched that candle on top of the prepared heap. His eyes gleamed with the fascination of terror. When that candle burned down to the right point it would set fire to the paper, and then—!
Try as he would to bolster his grit, Captain Jack Benson found himself in a fearful plight. At first, he could only stare, with terror-dilated eyes, at that candle—ever burning just a slight fraction shorter!
While the horror-laden moments were dragging by Jack heard a step on the stairs behind his head. Then he realized that some one was looking into the room. Then a voice spoke. It was Millard's, though scarcely recognizable on account of its huskiness.
"It's a fearful thing to do, Benson, but—but I can't help it! If you only knew what it means to me to win!"
Then followed a moment of utter silence. Jack could hear his own heart beating, as he fancied he could hear that of his persecutor. Then there was another sound, as though some light-weight metallic object had fallen to the floor.
"Good-bye, old chap! I—I respect you for your calm grit—that's all I can say."
There was the sound of a quick turn, then soft footsteps. Jack knew that Millard had fled.
"He respects me for my 'calm grit'!" laughed Jack, grimly—almost hysterically. "Doesn't the scoundrel know that I'm all but frozen into the torpor of dread?"
Then, just as suddenly, an anguished "oh!" broke from the boy's lips, to be followed, instantly, by a tremor of hope.
For, except at the time when interrupted by Millard's return, the young submarine captain had been fighting savagely at the bonds behind his back. Now, he fancied, he heard or felt a single strand giving way.
"I've got to get out of this quickly, if at all!" quavered the boy, staring with wavering eyes at the ever-shortening candle-bit. "There won't be anything left to do—except bear it—if I'm ten minutes longer at this all but hopeless task."
After a few frenzied moments of struggle there was another "r-r-rip" behind him—close to his wrists.
Now, young Benson fought with rage and frenzied strength. His gaze was ever toward the candle, burning lower. It seemed as if it must communicate its flame to the paper at any instant.
There came another ripping sound. Captain Jack Benson, though he could not see, felt something giving around his wrists. Frantically he squirmed and twisted with his hands. Then, suddenly, his wrists fell apart—free!
With an exulting throb of gratitude for this well-nigh unexpected boon, Benson forced himself up into a sitting posture. He was shaking, now, from sheer nervousness.
Swiftly, tremulously, he felt in his pockets.
"My long-legged friend never thought to take my knife—probably because he hadn't the slightest idea I'd be able to use it," thrilled the submarine boy, as he forced a blade open.
It didn't seem to take an instant, now, to cut the cords and set his feet free. Jack staggered to his feet. The lighted candle had burned down, now, even more perilously close to the paper—but what did the submarine boy care now? At the worst, he could easily run from this house which, he felt certain, was untenanted save for himself.
As soon as he could steady himself well enough, Benson bent and snatched up the burning candle from the tinder-like bed on which it stood propped.
"Instead of destroying me," he chuckled, "this candle will now light me on my way out."
At the doorway at the end of the room Jack Benson, by some strange chance, happened to remember that slight metallic sound of something falling to the floor while Millard was speaking. Now, Jack bent over, holding the candle to aid him in his hunt. Ah! There it was! Yet how utterly insignificant—nothing but a hairpin!
"Trifles often lead to something big, though," muttered the submarine boy, dropping the hairpin into his pocket. "I've been too much around machinery to despise small things."
Candle in hand, Jack quickly ascended through the rest of the house, after finding, in the lower hallway, a stout stick that he picked up. With this club he felt he had a weapon to be depended upon at need.
But there was nothing in the rest of the little three-story house to throw any light upon the habits of Millard, or the place for which that worthy had departed.
In one upper room Benson found a small mirror hung from a nail in the wall. In this same room was a small trunk, lid up and empty.
Back to the basement Jack returned. At the rear he found a small yard. Beyond that a fence, with a gate in it. The gate was unlocked. On a nail at the edge of the gateway Jack found a fluttering fragment of gray veiling.
"A woman has left here," thought Jack, holding the fragment of veiling in his hand. "Or else Millard got away disguised as a woman. That trunk may have held woman's apparel for the very purposes of such an escape."
This rear gateway opened upon a long, narrow alley that led to a street beyond.
Having satisfied himself on this point, Benson stepped back into the yard.
"Hold on! Here's something that will help," muttered the boy, staring down curiously at the ground.
It was the imprint of a foot in a wet spot on the ground. As Jack bent over it he saw the marks of diagonal criss-crossing such as is found in the soles of rubbers.
"The print is a fresh one. Either Millard wore rubbers away, or some woman has been here who wore them," Jack concluded.
Dropping his cudgel, since he would have no use for it, Benson made his way down the alley to the street beyond. At the corner stood a small grocery store, whose proprietor was in the doorway.
"I wonder," began Jack, "whether you saw a woman came down out of this alley-way lately? A tall woman?"
"About twenty minutes ago I saw a tall woman, in a gray dress and wearing a gray veil," replied the storekeeper.
"Was she carrying anything?"
"Some sort of a grip—a suit case, I guess."
"Did you ever see the woman before?" persisted Jack.
The storekeeper shook his head.
"Which way did the woman go?"
"I don't remember, particularly, but I think down that way," replied the grocer, pointing.
Jack hurried along. It was a quiet part of the town. None of the people to whom he spoke within the next three or four minutes remembered having seen the tall, veiled woman in gray, though some "thought" they "might have."
"I reckon," wisely decided Captain Jack Benson, "that I know just about enough to take my information to Lieutenant Ridder."
As agreed, the young West Pointer was in a room at the Grindley House. As this room was equipped with a telephone, the young Army man was in touch both with Fort Craven and with the submarine boys, should the latter find anything to report over the talking wire.
Here in the room Captain Jack found Ridder, for the boy had felt it best to go direct to the hotel.
"Surely, you haven't found out anything as quickly as this?" asked the young lieutenant of engineers, looking up in surprise.
"I've learned a few things," replied Jack, quietly.
"Sit down, and let us hear what you've learned."
Jack dropped to the chair, but Lieutenant Ridder, when he heard the news, was so excited that no chair could hold him.
"Jove! and just our luck!" gasped the Army officer. "No policeman in sight! Now, if you three boys had kept together—"
"But, you see, when I dropped from the automobile, I wasn't sure it wasMillard. I had had only a glance, and his face was away from me."
"If you see that wretch again, jump on him wherever he is."
"I could have done it, this last time," Benson nodded. "Yet I had an idea that, if I followed him, he might lead me to the place where he kept his maps and his other stolen information. And he did, I guess," added Jack, with a somewhat disappointed smile.
"Wait a moment. I'll try to get Major Woodruff over the wire," mutteredLieutenant Ridder. "He may have some orders for us."
Major Woodruff was at his home. He heard the message and sent his orders crisply.
"The major thinks we had better keep this matter from the police, yet, and do our best to find Millard, either in his own garments, or behind that gray dress and veil," announced the Army lieutenant.
"Then I wish we had the other boys here," muttered Jack, wistfully.
At that moment the 'phone bell rang. It was Hal, reporting, and inquiring whether any word had come from his chum.
"Mr. Benson is here, and I think you'll do well to get here as quickly as you can," replied Ridder.
"Is there any word—" began Hal Hastings.
Ting-ling-ling! The 'phone bell rang, cutting off Hal. The latter had received his orders, and his next concern was to obey them. That was lesson number one in brisk Army discipline.
Hal was on hand in five minutes. While Jack was recounting to him the adventure with Millard, Eph Somers came in. He stood in the background, listening, his jaw gradually dropping until his mouth was wide open.
"You heard how Benson ran into the fellow?" asked Lieutenant Ridder, turning to Somers.
"Yes," muttered Eph, disgustedly, "and I guess I have been enjoying the fool's part of the adventure!"
"How so?" demanded the Army officer quickly.
"I met that same woman, I'll bet a cookie," growled Eph, "and—and—I—"
"Well, sir?" demanded Lieutenant Ridder, briskly.
"I carried that bag forher—carried it nearly two blocks!"
"What's that?" cried Jack Benson, leaping up. "How—"
"No; I don't believe, on second thought, that I'm the prize fool."
"Come, come," directed Lieutenant Ridder. "Talk up quickly, young man."
"If you want to hear what I have to say," retorted Eph, with a slight flash of his eyes, "you'll have to wait until I get around to it."
It was serving direct notice on Ridder that Army briskness wouldn't do in Eph's case.
"Well, what have you to tell?" demanded the young lieutenant, impatiently.
"I was on my way back here," Eph continued. "Guess, maybe, I was eight blocks or so away from here. I had been to the hotels that I agreed to visit, and—"
"Why did you go to the hotel, anyway, after you knew Benson had sightedMillard?" broke in the Army officer.
"Because it wasn't a sure thing that Jack had seen Millard. He thought so, and so did we. But, after we left him, the auto ran along slowly, and we heard no row behind, so we guessed that maybe Jack had been wrong in his guess. At least, Hal and I figured it out that way. So I went to the hotels on my list, just the same, and I guess you did, didn't you, Hal?"
"Yes," nodded Hastings.
"This isn't bringing us, very fast, to your latest adventure," complained young Ridder.
"It's your fault, then," continued Eph, placidly. "You asked a question, and I answered it."
"Well, what about meeting the woman in a gray dress and veil?"
"I met her," retorted Eph.
"Could you see through the veil?"
"No."
"Then how do you know it was Millard?"
"I don't know," Eph rejoined. "But there are mighty few women as tall as Millard. Besides, this one had rather a long foot, and wore rubbers. I noticed that. Huh! This makes me feel like thirty tacks!"
"How did you meet her—or him?" asked Ridder.
"I was crossing a street, maybe eight blocks from here," Eph replied, "and I saw that tall woman, in gray, slip on the crossing. There was a street car coming, and she gave a little yell. I got to 'her' just in time to pull 'her' out of the way of the trolley and to set 'her' on 'her' feet again. Then I picked up 'her' dress suit case. It struck me that the one I supposed to be a woman was on the point of speaking to me when he—she—seemed to see my uniform and then get a look at my face. Then the party, whether it was he or she, made signs to show that he, or she, was deaf and dumb. The suit case was heavy, so I offered to tote it along, as I was headed the same way. I thought it was the least I could do for a woman who had just had a great shock. If that was Millard—and I'd bet a torpedo boat it was—how he must have chuckled over the idea of having one of the submarine boys carry his bag for him."
"How far did you go with this 'lady'?" asked the Lieutenant Ridder, with a faint touch of sarcasm.
"Two blocks," replied Eph.
"And you left her—"
"At a cheap hotel where I can find her again. And I guess it's up to us to start right away."
"Yes," nodded Jack. "And we can't start too soon."
It may have occurred to Lieutenant Ridder that he wasn't exactly being consulted. However, he saw that these submarine boys were used to acting swiftly, and he began to believe that they would work better if left to their own devices. So he merely nodded, adding:
"I'll wait here. I'll hope to have a report before long."
Eph led his two comrades back unerringly to the cheap hotel. They went straight to the hotel desk, Jack asking, bluntly, whether any very tall woman, in gray, and carrying a dress suit ease, had registered there.
"No," replied the clerk, very positively.
Then they interviewed the porter. He remembered the "woman" having stepped inside the hotel. She readjusted her veil in the lobby near the doorway.
"Then she went outside, spoke to a driver, got into his cab, and went away," continued the porter.
"She spoke to the driver, did she?" Eph asked.
"Of course, sir," retorted the porter. "You didn't think she made signs, did you?"
From their talk the submarine boys were satisfied that it was the same "woman" whom Eph had so gallantly assisted. They were equally sure that this veiled "woman" in gray was none other than Millard.
"Do you remember which driver it was whose cab she engaged?" Jack asked, turning to hand the porter a dollar.
"Jack Medway's cab, sir," was the quick answer. "And here it comes, now."
The submarine boys hurried out, transferring their attention to Medway.
"I'm just back from taking the lady," replied the driver, after Jack Benson had slipped him, also, a dollar bill. "But say—was it a lady, or a joke?"
"Why?" queried Jack Benson.
"Well," replied the driver, "the voice was pitched high, but there was something peculiar about it. I wondered, at the time, if it was a man rigged and togged out like a woman."
"Where did she tell you to take her," Jack Benson wanted to know.
"To Furnam Square!"
"Did you take her to any address there?"
"No; just to the square. Then I waited to fill my pipe, and I saw the woman, if woman it was, walk across the square and get into another cab."
"If you haven't anything else to do," hinted Jack, "suppose you take us to Furnam Square now."
Within a very few minutes the three friends were gazing out of a cab window upon the square. It looked like a very quiet residence section.
"There was another cab here, you say, that took your last 'fare' from this square?" asked Jack.
"Yes; there is a fellow who has a regular stand here. It's his cab," replied Medway.
"Let us know, then, when that particular driver gets back here," beggedJack. "We'll sit here in your rig and wait."
Medway grinned. Waiting, as well as driving, meant money for him.
Fully an hour and a half dragged by. Jack was beginning to wonder if it would not be better to give up this present clue to the chase, when Medway, leaning down from his box, called quietly.
"That's the other fellow and his rig, coming back into the square now."
"As soon as he stops," directed Benson, "drive us over alongside. Don't say anything to him. Let me do the talking."
In a moment more Jack was out on the sidewalk, talking earnestly with the driver just returned.
"You've had a long trip of it," guessed Jack, noting the warm condition of the horses.
"You bet," nodded the other driver.
"Just got back from taking the tall woman in gray somewhere."
"Yep. But do you call it 'somewhere'? I'd call it most anywhere."
"How far was it?" asked Jack.
"What do you want to know for?" demanded the Jehu, looking with sudden sharpness at his questioner.
"Because we'd like to go to the same place that you took the woman," returned Benson, promptly.
"Huh! I took her for three dollars. I wouldn't go over that trip again for less'n five."
"We'll pay the five, and be glad to," proposed Jack Benson, displaying some money. "More than that, if you play right fair with us, we'll put another five on top of the first, just as a little present to your horses."
"You'd better use the young gentlemen right, Jim," advised Medway."They're good fellows, and they pay well."
"Why do you want to go where I took that last party?" questioned Jim, with a shrewd look.
"One of the things that the second five-dollar note pays you for is asking no questions," retorted Jack. "Do you want to take up our offer?"
"Yes; if you'll give me fifteen minutes to rest and water the horses," agreed Jim.
"That'll be all right," nodded Jack. "And now, Medway, have we paid you enough?"
"Plenty," cheerfully responded the first driver, taking the hint and leaving.
"Where did you take that woman?" questioned Jack, while the new driver got out a bucket for watering his horses.
"Away down by the sea-coast. Know where the Cobtown fishing shanties are?"
"No."
"Well, Cobtown is made up of three or four little villages of rickety old houses. Some are occupied by fishermen, and some ain't. There's three or four coves down that way fishing craft anchor in. It's a lonely, wild bit of country, and some rough characters 'mong them fishermen."
"Did you take your fare to any particular house or shanty down atCobtown?"
"Nope; she got out on the road, in sight o' Cobtown, an' walked along, toting her old grip."
"What kind of a 'grip' was it?"
"An old brownish suit case."
"That's the one," nodded Eph.
As the driver busied himself over his team, the submarine boys drew aside to talk over their new information.
"I reckon we're going to be too late," grumbled Captain Jack.
"What makes you think so?" Hal inquired.
"Fishing villages, smacks and fishermen," answered Jack, gloomily. "Fishermen are a daring, reckless lot of fellows. They'd take a craft anywhere, in any kind of weather, for money enough. Fellows, I'm afraid Millard has hired a smack and started up or down the coast."
"Then we've got a craft that can chase any smack on the Atlantic coast," declared. Eph, stoutly.
"Of course; if we knew which craft to overhaul, and had the authority to do it."
"Authority? Then what's the matter with the people at the Fort?" demanded Eph.
"Their authority runs only on the land. Besides, by the time we got through the red tape, and got started, any smart smack, in a good wind, would be forty miles the other side of the horizon."
"Are you going to take this long drive, then?" asked Hal Hastings, rather dubiously.
"Yes," declared Jack Benson, promptly. "Hal, old fellow, any trail is best where it's freshest."
"I reckon you can git in, now, gents, if ye want," called the driver.
Seated in the cab the submarine boys set out to meet whatever might be before them in Cobtown. Had they possessed the gift of prophecy—
However, none of us possess that!