A WOLF ON THE TRAIL
"That isn't Ned!" cried Jack's voice, in a moment.
"Don't let him get away! He's been up to some mischief!"
That was Frank Shaw's voice.
"Soak him!"
That could be no one but Jimmie!
Ned, groping about in the darkness, heard the voices faintly. He
seemed to be submerged in a sweep of pounding waves, the steady
beating of which shut out all individual sounds.
He knew that he staggered and stumbled as he walked. Moving across the
floor his feet came in contact with some soft obstruction lying on the
rug and he fell down.
There was a strange, choking odor in the place, and he groped on his
hands and knees in the direction of the shelf where his searchlight
had been left. His senses reeled, and for an instant he lay flat on
the floor.
Then he heard the boys clambering down the stairs from the conning
tower and called out, feebly, yet with sufficient strength to make
himself heard above the sound of shuffling feet.
"Go back!" he cried. "Don't come in here! Leave the hatch open, and
let in air. Go back!"
Jimmie recognized a note of alarm, of suffering, in the voice of his
chum and dropped headlong into the black pit of the submarine. Ned
heard him snap the catch of a searchlight, and then, dimly, heard his
voice:
"Gee!" the voice said. "What's comin' off here?"
The round face of the electric searchlight showed at the end of a
cylindrical shaft of light which rested on Ned's face, but the boy did
not realize what was going on until he felt a gust of wind and a
drizzle of rain on his forehead.
Then he opened his eyes to find himself on the conning tower of the
submarine, with the boys gathered about him, anxiety showing in their
speech and manner. It was too dark for him to see their faces.
"You're all right now," Jimmie said. "What got you down there?"
Then Ned remembered the sudden extinction of the lights as he moved
down the stairs, the stifling, choking odor below, and the deadly grip
of suffocation which had brought him to the floor.
"Go back into the boat," he said, gaining strength every moment. "I am
anxious about Lieutenant Scott."
"We've just come from there," Frank said. "We've done all that can be
done for him."
"What do you mean by that?" demanded Ned, moving toward the hatch
which sealed the submarine.
"The poison which keeled you over got him!" Jack said.
"Do you mean that he's dead?" asked Ned, a shiver running through his
body as he spoke.
"I'm afraid so," was the reply. "We got you out just in time. You
would have perished in a moment more."
"Dead!" said Ned. "Lieutenant Scott dead! And he was so gay and so
full of life a few moments ago!"
Jack, who had left the little group a moment before, now returned.
"The poison seems to have evaporated from the interior," he said, "so
we may as well go below. I'll go ahead and turn on the lights." The
body of the naval officer lay in a huddle at the foot of the stairs
leading to the conning tower, just far enough to the rear so that the
free passage was not obstructed. With all the lights turned on and
every aperture which might transmit a ray to the world outside closed,
the boys, after placing the body on a couch, began a close examination
of the boat.
There were no wounds on the body, so it seemed that he had died from
suffocation. There was still a sickening odor in the boat, but the
constant manufacture of fresh air was gradually doing away with this.
The door to the room where the dynamos and the gasoline engine were
situated was found wide open, and Ned instructed the boys to leave it
so and leave everything untouched.
"The first thing to do," he said, "is to discover any clues the
assassin may have left here. It is an old theory that no person,
however careful he or she may be, can enter and leave a room without
leaving behind some evidence of his or her presence there. We'll soon
know if this is true in this case."
"There was some one in here, all right," Jimmie said. "He passed us on
the conning tower, skipping like to break the speed limit for the
city. I tried to trip him as he passed me, an' got this."
The lad turned a bruised face toward his companions. In the confusion
no one had observed the cut on his cheek.
"You did get something!" Jack exclaimed. "Why didn't you say something
about it?"
"Nothin' doin'!" answered the boy. "Only a scratch!"
Notwithstanding the boy's claim that the wound was of small
importance, Ned insisted on its being dressed at once.
"Now," Ned said, after the cut had been properly cared for, "what sort
of a man was it that passed you boys on the conning tower? The
circular platform is so small that he must have crowded you pretty
closely when he stepped out."
"He did," Jimmie answered. "I thought it was you, and stepped aside to
make room for him."
"And then?"
"I had a feeling that it wasn't you. Then, he was makin' for the wharf
so fast that I thought it would do no harm to have a look at him, and
so called out."
"Then's when you got the slash across the cheek?"
"Yes; he cut me then."
"What about the size of the fellow?" asked Ned.
"Oh, I should think he was slender and light, the way he bounded off
the platform and made for the wharf."
"Do you think he went there to kill Lieutenant Scott?" asked Jack, a
moment later.
"It is more probable that he came here to put the Sea Lion out of
commission," Frank replied.
"I'll bet well find somethin' all busted up!" Jimmie predicted.
"Ned can soon determine that," Jack remarked.
"Yes," Ned went on, "but the first thing to do is to see if this
murderer left any visiting cards here. After that, we must notify the
Coroner and have the body removed."
Ned went into the dynamo room and looked about.
"Here is where any enemy would have to do his work," he said, "so we
must look for clues here. Keep your hands off the machinery, for he
may have left finger marks somewhere."
Ned searched long and carefully without reward. Finally he turned to
the waiting boys.
"There's quite a lot of waste lying around," he said. "Secure every
fiber of it and examine it under the microscope. You would better
attend to that, Frank, as you are familiar with the instrument. If you
discover anything foreign to a place like this, let me know."
While Ned continued his search about the interior of the submarine,
Frank busied himself inspecting the bits of waste the other boys
brought to him. At last an exclamation of astonishment brought Ned to
his side.
"There's something funny about this," Frank said, as Ned bent over his
shoulder. "That stuff is not oil, and I'd like to know how it got in
here."
"What does it look like?" asked Ned.
"I can't say," was the hesitating reply.
Ned took the microscope and looked at the object to which his
attention had been called.
"Rubber!" he said, in a moment.
"Rubber!" repeated Frank. "How could rubber be in the waste in that
shape?"
"All the same," Ned replied, "this is some rubber composition, and it
has been wiped into the waste. Now, what could any person want with
rubber here?"
"It is used quite a lot around electric apparatus," suggested Frank
Shaw.
"But not in this form," Ned replied.
Then, remembering certain smooth blurs on the polished machinery he
had recently examined, he took the microscope and made another
examination of the spots. Presently he called Frank to his side.
"Look through the glass," he said, handing the instrument to Frank,
"and tell me what you see."
"Rubber!" cried the boy, after a short examination. "There are a few
traces here of the same rubber composition I found on the waste. Can
you tell me what it means?"
"Quite simple," Ned replied, as the boys gathered about him. "The use
of rubber composition by men engaged in nefarious undertakings dates
back to the time of the utilization of the whorls and lines of the
human fingers as aids in the detection of crime."
"I guess I know what you are going to say," cried Frank.
"When the thumb- and finger-print experts got busy with their
photographs and their enlarged reproductions, the criminals began
studying on methods to offset this dangerous aid to detective work."
"I knew it," cried Frank.
"And so," Ned went on, "they conceived the idea of filling the lines
on the fingers and hands and making them perfectly smooth. This is
rubber paint," he went on. "The man who was hidden in here when we
came in did not care to leave any finger marks behind him."
"But he did leave smooth blurs on the machines where his fingers
touched them!" said Jack.
"Certainly, and so pointed out the location of his efforts. Still, I
do not think he meditated disabling the Sea Lion. It is more probable
that he believed Lieutenant Scott to be the expert in charge of the
boat and sought to kill or disable him."
"See where the chump wiped his hands on waste," Jimmie cried.
Ned now made a still closer inspection of the room and was rewarded
for his thoroughness by discovering a tiny pool of the rubber
composition on the floor, close to the giant iron frame of the big
dynamo. Looking at the pool through his glass he discovered bits of
wool mixed with it. He put up his glass with a smile.
"We ought to be able to find this fellow now," he said, "if we get
busy before he has time to change his clothes."
"Got him, have you?" asked Jack.
"I think I could pick him out of a thousand provided he is captured in
the clothes he wore while here. His hand trembled while he was putting
the rubber composition on his fingers and some of it dropped on his
clothing and dripped off to the floor.
"There are shreds of blue wool in this composition on the floor--so
you see he wore a blue woolen garment--probably a coat or pair of
trousers. And, see here, the fellow lost all caution when he bounded
out of the submarine, after extinguishing the lights, on my entrance.
"He had already wiped the rubber off his hands on the waste, and so
his finger marks showed on the steel railing of the staircase. I'll
just take a photo of them."
When this was accomplished, Ned and Jimmie drew the Sea Lion's boat to
the edge of the float and launched it. Then, leaving Frank and Jack in
charge of the submarine, with instructions to keep a close watch for
suspicious characters, they turned the prow of the rowboat toward
South Vallejo. The distance to the wharf was not great. In fact, the
intruder seemed to have cleared it in a minute, either in a boat,
which was improbable, or by swimming.
The Sea Lion lay off the United States Navy Yard, on the west of Mare
Island, in the straits of the same name. The nearest landing place on
the mainland, therefore, was South Vallejo.
It was after 8 o'clock when the boys reached the main street of the
town and encountered a policeman in uniform. Ned at once asked for the
office of the Coroner of Salano County.
"What's doing?" asked the policeman.
"I have business with him," Ned replied, not caring to create a
sensation by reciting there in the street the details of what had
taken place.
"Well," replied the policeman, "if you're so mighty close-mouthed
regarding your business with the Coroner, you may find him yourself."
"All right," Ned replied. "I'll go to police headquarters. Perhaps the
night desk man won't be so fresh."
"Say," growled the policeman, "you needn't get gay. I know my duty.
So, if you don't mind, I'll take you to headquarters, saving you the
trouble of asking for the place."
"I refuse to go with you," Ned replied.
"Oh, well," announced the other, "I'll take you along, just the same.
I'm used to kids of your stamp. You're both under arrest, so you'd
better come along without making any trouble."
As he spoke the policeman seized both boys roughly.