TROUBLE AHEAD
“Isn’t that someone pounding the door?”
“You tell ’em!” sleepily suggested the chief, covering his face with a
pajamaed arm to shut out the morning light.
“Oh, Lord!” Bill groaned and crawled out of bed. He glanced at his wrist
watch. It was exactly seven-thirty.
He unlocked the door and a steward clicked his heels together and stood
at attention.
“Well?” growled Bill.
“Commander Geibel’s compliments, sir—and will the gentlemen be good
enough to meet him at half past eight in the executive office for
officers’ conference.”
“Right-o. Give Commander Geibel our compliments—and say we’ll be there.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Bill shut the door, and looked over at Osceola. The chief was fast
asleep again. Bill went into the bathroom, where an ice-cold shower
worked wonders. When he returned to the cabin after a strenuous rub with
a rough towel, he carried a dripping sponge with which he scientifically
massaged Osceola’s face.
“Hey there! Cut it out!” The chief sprang from his bed as though he had
had an electric shock.
“What’s the huge idea?” he stormed.
“The Exec.” said Bill, “wants to see us at eight-thirty sharp. It is now
seven-forty-four. And we both want breakfast, I expect. Get under a
shower and you won’t feel so crabby.”
“Um!” Osceola was considerably subdued by this news. “Think he smells a
rat?”
“Oh, not a chance, so far as we’re concerned. We’d be in the brig by
this time if he did!”
“Good enough!” yawned Osceola, scowling furiously as he stretched the
kinks out of his powerful arms.
“Hop to it, then. I’m nearly dressed—and I’m hungry enough to eat
shoe-leather.”
“All right, all right—don’t lose your shirt over it. I’ll be with you in
a jiffy.” The bathroom door slammed and again came the sound of rushing
water as the shower was turned on.
At eight-thirty sharp the two lads found Commander Geibel seated at his
desk in the Executive Office, and took their places among the other
ship’s officers. There was none of the joviality which usually preambled
these meetings. The _Amtonia’s_ commissioned personnel seemed utterly
mute this morning. Instead of the accustomed good-natured chaff, the
various officers merely nodded to each other as they took their places
and sat down. Bill noticed that all wore expressions of deep solemnity,
yet the atmosphere of the cabin was charged with a current of tense
excitement.
The nautical clock on the wall struck one bell. Commander Geibel, who
had been studying papers on his desk blotter, came to life.
“Gentlemen—” he leaned forward, one hand on the papers before him, “I
have here the report of first assistant wireless operator, Miller. Had I
not seen Miller when he was first found with our beloved captain, I
could not have believed this outrage possible. We, who have prided
ourselves on the most efficient and strict discipline maintained on this
ship, can no longer be proud. As a number of you gentlemen already know,
at about one o’clock this morning, two passengers who were masked
overpowered Miller in the wireless room and wrecked the premises. While
these vandals were at work, the Herr Captain, Baron von Hiemskirk,
entered the room, where these ruffians surprised him.”
“Pardon, sir,” interrupted the ship’s first lieutenant,
Lieutenant-Commander Beerman. “It is rumored that the Herr Baron is
seriously injured. Will you be good enough to ease our minds concerning
the Herr Baron’s condition? I understand that he was knocked
unconscious.”
“That is so, Herr Beerman. I regret to tell you gentlemen that he is
still unconscious, and may continue in that state for a day or two.
Doctor Thierfelder diagnoses his condition as concussion—a slight
concussion only, I am thankful to say. The Herr Doctor, who is with him
now, believes that Baron von Hiemskirk received a blow from a blunt
instrument. Luckily, his service cap partially protected his head. With
care, and no complications, our Captain will probably be able to get
about again within a week.”
“May I ask,” inquired Bill, “what punishment has been meted out to the
perpetrators of this dastardly crime?”
“I am sorry to say that they have not been apprehended, Lieutenant.”
“But I thought you spoke of two passengers, Herr Commander?”
“Miller states that the two men were dressed in civilian clothes. One of
them at least had a revolver with which he menaced the operator, while
the other bound him. As you know, every passenger, upon boarding this
ship, was searched and his luggage thoroughly inspected for arms.
Another search of their cabins has been made this morning. No weapons of
any description have been found.”
Lieutenant Schneider caught the Commander’s attention. “I was on the
bridge while this crime was being committed. During that time, I am
certain that messages were radioed from the wireless room.”
“A very important fact, Herr Schneider, and one confirmed by Miller. Due
to the cotton that had been placed in his ears, he was unable to
decipher anything, but he is convinced that one or more messages were
sent.”
“Could we not ascertain who among the passengers is capable of sending
such messages?” It was the Chief Engineer who spoke.
The Executive Officer shook his head.
“Of course all possible suspects will be questioned,” he said. “I doubt,
however, if we can learn much. Fifteen of our passengers are yacht
owners. Three more are high executives of broadcasting corporations. Any
of these men may understand wireless. On the other hand, all of them
will probably deny it. But this is not so important. Outside of
broadcasting a description of this ship, they can have sent little or no
information, as they have no possible means of ascertaining the ship’s
position. I must urge you all, nevertheless, to be more than ever on the
alert. Now, one thing more, and we may go to our various duties.”
The Executive Officer cleared his throat and proceeded.
“Baron von Hiemskirk keeps muttering over and over in his delirium, ‘_Er
ist einer Footballer_’—‘He is a football player—.’ These words may mean
nothing; on the other hand, they may be the means of identifying his
assailants. Until our beloved Captain regains his reason, nothing can be
done about it. Thank you, gentlemen, for your interest and attention. I
bid you all goodmorning.”
The meeting dispersed, the officers going their several ways. Bill and
Osceola, having no duties to perform, strolled around the promenade
deck.
“It is to be hoped that our beloved Captain does not regain his reason
until this ship has been captured by the battleships on her trail,”
muttered Osceola to Bill, mimicking the Executive Officer’s formal
manner of address.
Bill nodded thoughtfully. “You said a mouthful, boy. I’m afraid you and
I will be in for it good and plenty if he wakes up beforehand. That
bunch we just left are a dumb crew. But there are no flies on the
skipper. He had our histories down pat from the newspapers when we met
him on the _Merrymaid_. He’s sure to know you play on Carlisle and that
I’m on the Navy eleven. What with our previous record, so to speak, in
the way of cleaning up dirty messes, that guy won’t miss any bets. We’ll
be judged on suspicion if nothing else.”
“I wonder why Charlie didn’t warn us that the Baron was making for the
wireless house?”
“Probably didn’t get a chance. If the kid had been caught, we’d have
heard of it before this. Schneider told me that all passengers are being
confined to their cabins, so we won’t see him today. Charlie and his
doings don’t worry me just now—but the weather does!”
“What’s the matter with the weather?”
“See that haze over there to the northward? We’re steaming into fog.”
“You think that even if the _Stamford_ catches up to within firing
distance we might be able to elude her after all?”
“That’s the big idea. In about half an hour we won’t be able to see ten
feet over the side.”
“Well, maybe we’ll run through it by this afternoon. The _Stamford_
won’t catch up to us for some hours yet.”
“Maybe so,” replied Bill. “We’ve done all we could, anyway. From now on,
the job’s up to the Navy.”
“Hello!” cried Osceola, as they swung round the end of the
superstructure and into the long stretch of deck on the port side. “Look
off yonder! What do you make that out to be?”
Bill shaded his eyes. The glare of the smooth ocean was dazzling in the
sun. Away to the northeast a ship was nosing out of fog banks that lined
the northern horizon.
“That looks to me mighty like a warship!” said the chief excitedly. “She
certainly is humping it, brother. But I thought the _Stamford_ was to
the south of us—and when she came, she’d come from behind!”
“You’ve certainly got a pair of eyes—and she certainly _is_ a warship. I
can’t make her out very well at that distance, but she looks to me like
a first class cruiser of the Plymouth type. Dollars to ditchwater the
_Stamford_ wirelessed her! She’s heading for us all right, all right.
Oh, boy—there’s going to be something doing aboard this packet in two
shakes of a lamb’s tail!”
“Thar she blows!” sang out the chief, as the gong and bugle sounded for
action.
“And it’s quite time you and I beat it for our battle stations.
Everything is being made ready for attack. If we’re late, it won’t look
so good.”
Osceola stopped and stared at Bill. “Don’t tell me that you, a
midshipman of the United States Navy, are going to help these bum
pirates fight one of your own battleships!”
Bill looked at him and laughed. “Some patriotic little flagwaver, aren’t
you,” he jeered. “No, Herr Junior Lieutenant, I do not intend to shoot
at the _Plymouth_ or the _Reading_, or whatever’s the name of that
cruiser. Have you never played hare and hounds, Big Chief? Well, this
time, you and I and everybody on board are hares. Those two 117-mm. guns
forward, and the two on the poop are all right for scaring passenger
liners and bringing unarmed merchant-men to haul down their colors. But
they haven’t the caliber or the range of three-quarters of the guns
aboard that cruiser. This is going to be a race—not a battle! Beat it!”