A MESSAGE IN SECRET CODE
Later that morning something happened which caused Jack to cudgel his
brain still further to explain the underlying mystery that he was sure
encircled the girl and Jarrold, and in which Colonel Minturn was in some
way involved.
He was sitting at the key with the door flung open to admit the bright
sunshine which sparkled on a sea still rough, but as a mill pond
compared with the tumult of the night before, when there came a sudden
call.
“_Tropic Queen. Tropic Queen. Tropic Queen._”
“Yes, yes, yes,” flashed back Jack.
He turned around to Sam.
“I’ll bet a million dollars that it is a navy or an army station
calling,” he said. “You can’t mistake the way those fellows send. It is
quite different from a commercial operator’s way of pounding the brass.”
A moment later he was proved to be right.
“This is the _Iowa_,” came the word. “We are relaying a message from
Washington to Colonel Minturn on board your ship. Are you ready?”
“Let her come,” flashed back Jack.
He drew his yellow pad in front of him and sat with poised pencil
waiting for the message to come through the air from a ship that he knew
was at least two hundred miles from him by this time.
“It is in code; the secret government code,” announced the naval man.
“That makes no difference to me,” rejoined Jack. “Pound away.”
“All right, old scout,” came through the air, and then began a
topsyturvy jumble of words utterly unintelligible to Jack, of course.
The message was a long one, and about the middle of it came a word that
made Jack jump and almost swallow his palate.
The word was _Endymion_, the name of the yacht that had sent out a call
for Jarrold through the storm.
Then, closely following, came a name that seemed to be corelated to
every move of the yacht: James Jarrold!
At last the message, about two hundred words long, was complete. It was
signed with the President’s name, so Jack knew that it must be of the
utmost importance. He turned in his chair as he felt someone leaning
over him and noticed a subtle odor of perfume. Miss Jarrold, with parted
lips, was scanning the message eagerly. He caught her in the act.
But the young woman appeared to be not the least disconcerted by the
fact. With a wonderful smile she extended a sheet of paper.
“Will you send this message for me as soon as you can, please?” she
asked.
Jack was taken aback. He had meant to accuse her point blank of trying
to read off a message which was clearly of a highly important nature.
But her clever ruse in providing herself with the scribbled message that
she now held out to him had quite taken the wind out of his sails.
“Here, Sam, take this message to Colonel Minturn at once,” he said,
thrusting the paper into Sam’s hands and carefully placing his carbon
copy of it in a drawer.
“Now, Miss,” he said, looking the girl full in the eyes, “I’ll take your
message.”
“Oh, I’ve changed my mind now,” said the girl suddenly turning. “Sorry
to have troubled you for nothing. Don’t forget about the _Endymion_
now.”
And she was gone.
“Well, what do you know about that?” muttered Jack. “A woman is
certainly clever. Of course, she merely came in here to see what was
going on, and, by Jove, she came in at just the right time, too. Lucky
the message was in code. And then she was foxy enough to have that
message of hers all ready so that I couldn’t say a thing. Oh, she’s
smart all right! I wish I knew what game was up. I was right about
Colonel Minturn playing some part in it, judging from that dispatch, but
for the life of me I can’t make out what is up.”
He was still reflecting over this when Colonel Minturn, with Sam close
on his heels, entered.
Jack saluted him.
“Good morning,” said the colonel, introducing himself, “I am Colonel
Minturn. I have just received a cipher dispatch and want to send a
reply.”
“I guess I’ll have to relay it through the _Iowa_ if it is for
Washington,” said Jack.
“That is just its destination,” was the rejoinder. “By the way, I hear
from the captain that you did a very brave act last night in climbing
the foremast in the storm and repairing the wireless. That was nervily
done and I want to compliment you on it.”
“Glory! And he didn’t even breathe a word of it to me!” muttered Sam
under his breath.
Jack got red in the face. “Why, that was nothing, Colonel,” he said. “It
had to be done, and nobody but I could have done it.”
“You are as modest as all true heroes,” said the colonel approvingly.
“But, now, here is the dispatch I want you to send. You see, like the
other, it is in cipher. The government’s secrets have to be closely
guarded.”
Jack took the message and filed it and then proceeded to raise the
_Iowa_ again.
Before long came a reply to his insistent calls.
“Here is the _Iowa_. What is it?”
Something peculiar about the sending struck Jack, but he went ahead.
“This is the _Tropic Queen_. I have a message from Colonel Minturn to
Washington. It must be rushed through.”
“Very well, transmit,” came the answer; but once more the curious ending
of the other wireless man struck him forcibly.
“I don’t believe that is the _Iowa_ at all,” he muttered to himself. “I
never heard a man-o’-war operator sending like that. It sounds more
like—like—by hookey! I’ve got it. It’s that fellow on the
_Endymion_,—the craft that Jarrold is so much interested in.”
Just then, winging through the air, came the short, sharp, powerful
sending of the _Iowa_.
“Hullo, there, _Tropic Queen_, this is the _Iowa_. Who is that fellow
butting in?”
“I don’t know,” Jack flashed back. “Re-tune your instruments so that he
can’t crib this message I’m going to send you. Tune them to man-of-war
pitch. From what I heard of his sending, his batteries are too weak to
reach such high power.”
“All right,” was the brief reply.
The two instruments were then run up to a pitch which only the most
powerful supply of “juice” could give them. Then came the test and
everything was found to be working finely.
Jack at once rattled off the message. In it he noticed that the name
Jarrold recurred, also the _Endymion_. Colonel Minturn stood close
beside him and watched him with interest as Jack worked his key in
crisp, snappy, expert fashion.
“You are a very good operator, my boy,” he said when Jack had flashed
out good-by with the squealing, crackling spark. “I may have government
work for you some day. Should you like it?”
“Oh, Colonel!” cried the boy, his face lighting up, “I’d rather work for
Uncle Sam than for anyone else in the world.”
“Then some day you may have that opportunity. In the meantime I want
you, without saying a word to anybody, to inform me of any suspicious
moves on the part of this man Jarrold.”
“Why, is he—is he an enemy of Uncle Sam’s?” Jack ventured.
“He is probably the most dangerous rascal in existence,” was the
staggering reply.