RESULTS
The _Amtonia’s_ wireless operator heard the door at his back open and
shut.
“Stand up!” ordered a harsh voice.
The man obeyed immediately, his magazine slipping to the floor. He did
not turn to look at this second speaker. The shiny black object in the
hand of the ominous figure outside the window held his eyes like an
electric magnet.
The chair in which he had been dozing was whisked away. Strong hands
gripped his wrists, brought his arms downward. With a speed and
thoroughness that bespoke nautical experience, a rope lashed his arms
behind his back, first at the elbows and then at the wrists.
Next, a cloth was bound over his eyes. A gag, made of a rolled-up
handkerchief was stuffed in his mouth and fastened by a band of cloth
tied at the back of his head. He felt wads of cotton being placed in his
ears and his ankles were then strapped together. He was grasped by the
shoulders, caught round the knees and lifted to a narrow couch where a
cushion was slipped under his head. Deaf, dumb and blind, he
nevertheless knew that he lay on the locker which ran along the farther
side of the room. He also knew that locker to be little more than a
narrow shelf, and at least four feet from the floor. If he moved an
inch, he’d get a tumble. He therefore lay still and tried to imagine
which of the passengers he had to thank for his present predicament.
“I reckon he’ll do,” said Osceola, studying the bound figure on the
locker. “It’s lucky he didn’t try to put up a fight. Things might have
got messy.”
“Would you have, in his place?” Bill was taking in the details of the
room and spoke rather absently.
“No—can’t say I would. The poor beggar was scared stiff. That wrench
stunt was a happy thought. In the darkness, I guess it passed darned
well for an automatic!”
“Say, look at the map on the wall over there. These lads certainly have
a system!”
“What are those colored pins stuck all over it supposed to be—ships?”
“Yes. Ships within a radius of several hundred miles that have been
sending out radio messages.”
“But how does he do it?”
“Oh, I guess our little operator is clever all right. I’m no wireless
expert and there are a lot of gadgets in here that I don’t understand.
Undoubtedly they’re delicate instruments by which the operator is able
to determine the approximate distance and direction of any ship sending
out messages. You see, he keeps this map constantly before him, charted
with the probable positions of ships. He changes the pins when his new
readings seem to be in error. This is how the noble Baron knows exactly
what is going on in his neighborhood. Just as if he were looking down on
the sea from the moon with a telescope!”
“That list up there beside the chart is the key to the colored pins, I
suppose.”
“Sure. There’s the _Stamford_.” Bill pointed to a gray pin. “Well,
here’s where I get busy. The sooner that cruiser is put wise to our
position, the better.”
“But how did you find out where we are?” Osceola looked his surprise.
“When have you had a chance to shoot the sun? Do you keep a pocket
sextant up your sleeve? Or are you just guessing?”
“Nothing like that. A sight must be taken when the sun reaches it’s
highest point. I got the dope tonight from Schneider. While you were
asleep, I went on the bridge and got him to give me our position this
noon.”
“But that’s more than twelve hours ago!”
“Certainly. But I also found out the speed and direction we’ve been
steaming this afternoon and evening. Where we are now is a simple sum in
arithmetic.”
“I know, but—”
“Gee, fella, when we’re out of this mess, I’ll take a week or two off
and go into detail. But right now, I’ve got to raise the _Stamford_!”
He sat down in the chair before the sending apparatus and adjusted the
earphones. Then his left hand sought the sending key and the room was
filled with the crash and snap of electric discharges.
Osceola took up a pencil and pad from the table. For a moment he
scribbled, then placed the written sheet in front of Bill.
“Go easy!” the message read. “You’ll wake up the whole ship!”
Bill smiled and shook his head. He was sending call after call out for
the _Stamford_. In his right hand he held a pencil. Presently Osceola’s
note was passed back with a few lines scrawled below his own.
“Don’t worry. These fellows are continually sending out fake messages in
order to gain information from other ships. I’ve heard them. If nothing
was sent during this watch, somebody on the bridge would be sure to
smell a rat.”
Osceola drew up a chair and sat down. Fascinated, he watched Bill’s left
hand pressing the sending key, calling—calling—calling. The young
Seminole’s education had been academic, not scientific, and his
knowledge of radio was only rudimentary. Although the International
Morse Code of dash-dot letters was as much of a mystery to him as it is
to the average layman, he soon realized that his friend was sending out
the same short message over and over again.
Suddenly Bill lifted his hand from the key. He smiled at Osceola, nodded
and commenced to write hurriedly on the pad before him. The Seminole
leaned over and watched intently.
“This is the _Stamford_. Who calls?” he read.
Again Bill’s supple fingers pressed out an answer—a long one this time.
And for the next fifteen minutes the crash and crackle of an electric
storm reverberated through the room.
Presently he stopped.
“You raised the cruiser, I take it.” Osceola only half stifled a yawn.
“I did that, old sport!” Bill was delighted with his success. “Got all
the dope over in great style. Told the operator aboard her who I was and
a short story of our capture. Dad probably thinks we were both lost at
sea, you know. The _Stamford_, will relay a message, assuring him of our
safety. Then I tapped out details of this ship, the _Flying Fish_, their
crews and armament. Last of all I gave our position, course and speed.
By this time, she and some other craft of Uncle Sam’s are making tracks
for us.”
“You’re sure a right smart feller, Bill.”
Bill laughed. “I agree with you, Big Chief.”
“About when do you reckon they’ll catch up with us?”
“Sometime tomorrow—or, rather, this afternoon. And then—boy, oh, boy!
There will be one sweet little rough house!”
“There’ll probably be one aboard this sweet little packet as you call
her, before that,” prophesied the Seminole.
“How come?”
“The Herr Baron is sure to raise an awful stink when he finds that lad
on the locker!”
“We should fret over that. We’ll both be sleeping the sleep of the just
long before that time!”
“Well, I vote we get out of here and right now. This ain’t a healthy
place for either you or me. And say, I’m dead enough to go to sleep
under an ice-cold shower!”
“Wait a minute. We don’t want to leave any clues. Grab that paper I was
writing on, will you?”
As he talked. Bill was busily engaged in undoing nuts and screws which
he stuffed in his pockets, snapping wires and playing general havoc with
the radio apparatus.
“Smash that line of glass jars on the shelf with your wrench,” he added,
bringing his own down on the sending key with a crash. “There isn’t
going to be any radio business aboard the _Amtonia_ when our friends
arrive, if I can help it!”
“What’s to stop the _Flying Fish_ getting wise with their wireless?”
inquired Osceola, who was systematically wrecking everything within
reach.
“Oh, they haven’t much of a wireless outfit aboard the sub. This bunch
of junk in here was the one that counted.”
“Bunch of junk is right—” Osceola stopped short.
He stood facing a small mirror that hung on the wall above the wet cells
he had just destroyed. Reflected in the small oblong he saw the door to
the deck open slowly—and Baron von Hiemskirk walked into the room.
“So!” he exclaimed harshly. “Passengers—mutiny!”
He got no further. As Osceola jumped for the switch to snap off the
light, Bill dived through the air, tackling the commander just above his
knees. There came a crash as the Baron’s head hit the deck—then
darkness.
Osceola ran to the doorway. The Baron lay prone. Bill was bending over
him.
“Nine—ten—out!” said that young gentleman rather breathlessly. “Grab his
legs, big boy. We’ll move him inside. It’s a little too public out here
for comfort.”
Together they carried the big man into the wireless house and deposited
him on the floor.
“Here’s a bight of rope,” said Bill, switching on the light again. “Tie
up his ankles—I’ll attend to his wrists.”
“Shall we gag him?”
“No, he’s breathing pretty hard. Slight concussion, probably. The back
of his head hit the decking an awful crack. I don’t want him to choke to
death.”
Osceola finished lashing the Baron’s legs together and stood up. “He’s a
right powerful brute. Got a pair of legs like tree-trunks. Say,” he
began to laugh, “I didn’t think our job would be done up as brown as all
this tonight! That was a swell tackle of yours. The longer he’s out the
better pleased I’ll be. That guy has never made a hit with me. I’m only
sorry I didn’t get a crack at him. If you’ve got an extra wipe, pass it
over. A blindfold won’t stop his breathing, and there’s no need for him
to know where he is when he wakes up.”
“Okay. I’ve unhooked the collar of his blouse,” Bill said, surveying
their captive critically. “He’ll do. Give me a hand with the other guy,
now. I’m going to take out his gag and give him a drink.”
“Going to leave it out?”
“Sure, I’m no inquisitor!”
“But how about it when the pair of them start yelling for help?”
“With the door and window shut, this place is pretty well soundproof.
Anyway, the Baron isn’t likely to kick up much of a row—not for a couple
of days yet, if I know the signs. The operator couldn’t hear him if he
did. I’m leaving the cotton in his ears. Make it snappy—I want to beat
it while the going’s good.”
A few minutes later, two dark figures crossed the boat deck to the
stairhead, ran lightly down and after climbing into their cabin by way
of the open port, hurriedly undressed in the dark.
“By Jove!” Osceola paused in the act of removing a shoe. “I wonder what
became of Charlie?”
“Oh, I guess he’s all right. I told him to vamoose if it looked like
he’d get caught. He’s probably sound asleep in his bunk by this time.”
“Hope so. He’s a sassy brat, but I wouldn’t want him to get into trouble
with the lads who run this ship. They’re likely to turn nasty when they
find their beloved Baron has cracked his nut.”
“Charlie,” said Bill, “is quite capable of taking care of himself. Put
away those clothes you were wearing. If anybody comes snooping round
here looking for clues, those civvies would give us away. I’m pretty
sure His Nibs didn’t recognize us. I ducked my head and the brim of my
hat threw my face in shadow. You had your back turned. Too bad, though,
we’d pocketed our masks—”
“Confound!” Osceola sprang for the door. “I’ve got to go up there
again!”
“But what on earth for? Leave well enough alone, guy.”
“I’ve got to—it’s those handkerchiefs of yours, Bill.”
“The ones we used as blindfolds? By gosh, you’re right.”
“Of course I am. And we were idiots not to remember that all your wipes
are initialled! Well, that was a bloomer we both made.”
Bill crawled into bed, and pulled up the sheet.
“Oh, no, we didn’t,” he retorted sleepily.
“How come?”
“Har-har! Had you goin’, didn’t I? Why, I changed the one on the
wireless lad—found two in the Baron’s pockets, y’ see. The one you used
on him was his own—the other’s on his little roommate!”
“Well, I’m a son-of-a-seacook! That’s a good one. I wonder if the rest
of the bunch will figure that ‘they done it all themselves’? Smart work,
Bill. You’re as full of ideas as Martinengo’s ship’s biscuit was of
weevils!”
“Right the first and last time. Now shut up! I’m asleep.” Bill turned
over, his back to the room, and buried his face in his pillow.