necessary only that the supposed Egeloff should be in Hamburg on the day
of sailing. So was Gard relieved of the difficulty and danger of a
sustained masquerade and so was he able again to get in touch with
America. As a matter of fact he hurried to Paris. There he found
Coleman, whom he had known before, in charge of the Paris branch of his
own service.
"Dress me up like a white man," he told Coleman. "Lead me up to
something that human beings eat. Take me out where I may try the
experiment of attempting to be a gentleman again. I am by no means sure
I can do it. Four days from now talk to me about cipher messages, but
not until then."
But when Gard returned to Hamburg it was understood that he should use
the old confederate cipher for any messages that he might be able to
send. This is a simple and always efficient cipher made up of a square
of the letters of the alphabet. One begins by writing the twenty-six
letters in a row, commencing with A. The second line begins with B,
placed directly under the A of the first line, and followed by all the
letters in order. The third line begins with C, the fourth with D, and
so on until Z is reached. Any amateur may build up his square of letters
in this way.
There must be a secret key word which is known to the senders and the
receivers. The keyword is written out repeatedly and the message is
written beneath it. Instead of using the letters of the message, the
letters of the keyword are used. This is the first puzzling translation.
The message as it then appears is taken to the square of letters. In
writing it as it is ultimately to be sent, its letters are found in the
top line of the square and also in the perpendicular line that runs down
its side. The lines of letters that radiate from these margins, one
horizontally and one perpendicularly, meet at some point within the
square. The letter upon which they meet is used in the message. No one
in the world without his square of letters and without the keyword can
read this message.
So the home government was informed that Special Agent William H. Gard
might communicate with its ships by means of the confederate cipher and
that the keyword, rather strangely, was "Russian whiskers." The home
government transmitted this information to its battleships lying off
Mexico and their operators were instructed to pick up any wireless that
might come to them out of the Atlantic.
Gard hurried back to Hamburg just in time to sail on the _Esmiranga_. He
was not sure but that the big Russian would communicate with the Mexican
representatives and approached the situation he had developed with no
little misgiving. It appeared that his conclusion that the Russian had
made a getaway with much swag was correct. He was warmly received by
both McKay and Sanchez and the ship got away with but one difficulty
facing the special agent. The Mexican consul was returning to his native
land aboard it.
Gard realized that, as the confidential representative of Huerta, he
could not with impunity have anything to do with Sanchez, as that
volatile Latin would immediately lead him into much talk of Mexican men
and conditions. Gard knew almost nothing about Mexico City and could not
even sustain a casual conversation on that subject.
It was because of these considerations that the apparently genial
disposition of the supposed purchaser of munitions of war proved a
disappointment to Señor Sanchez. This Russian was evidently no sailor.
He took to his cabin as soon as the _Esmiranga_ took to sea. His sea
manners were also far from Latin for he answered with guttural oaths any
inquiries that were made as to the condition of his health. He seemed to
have gone on a mad debauch and insisted that a constant procession of
highballs be sent to his stateroom. He cut Señor Sanchez dead when he
met him on the deck. Caramba! A beast of a man was this, to be shunned
as the plague!
The captain and the wireless operator were the only individuals with
whom this disagreeable shipmate had anything to do. To the captain it
was made plain that a delicate situation existed off Mexico. The ships
of those pigs of Americans were blockading Vera Cruz. They might
blockade but they had no right to stop a German ship bound for that
port. But he must talk to his principals in Mexico. There was the
wireless of the _Esmiranga_, and there was his secret cipher which no
Yankee could read. Might the operator handle his messages?
To be sure. The representative of the Mexican government which was to
pay handsomely for the transportation of the cargo aboard the
_Esmiranga_ might do entirely as he wished.
So it transpired that Special Agent Billy Gard began talking to the
American battleships in southern seas when the _Esmiranga_ was not much
more than half-way across the Atlantic. He amused himself writing
messages much as a man passes the time of a voyage in playing solitaire.
So it happened that the United States Government had all the details of
the approach of a shipload of ammunition of American origin destined to
Huerta, upon whom the screws were just then being put for insulting the
Stars and Stripes. So it was evident that if this ammunition were
allowed to land, it might be used against American troops, who were at
any moment to be thrown into Mexico.
Yet the United States might not prevent a German ship from entering the
harbor at Vera Cruz. The only method of stopping that ammunition was to
seize the port and customs house and thereby come into possession of the
cargo if it were disembarked.
The wireless of the _Esmiranga_ sputtered out a message which, when
interpreted in accordance with the confederate cipher and the keyword of
"Russian whiskers," conveyed the information that the vessel was
approaching the Mexican coast and that her intention was to steam under
the very noses of the American dreadnoughts into port. The facts were
reported to Washington, where the alternative of seizing the port was
sternly faced. Orders were given to act.
The next day American marines went, some to glory and some to death,
past that most tragic spot in all America, the fortress prison of San
Juan de Ullao; into those streets frequented by the sacred scavenger
buzzard of the Aztecs; beneath the walls of the ancient parochial church
beside the Plaza de la Constitución where the first American boy was
destined to die at the hands of a sniping priest; into the gate city
that had known Cortez and Maximillian, and had loaded the galleons of
Spain with more silver and gold than had ever before been amassed
anywhere in the history of the world.
But the _Esmiranga_ did not come in to discharge her ammunition that it
might fall into the hands of the Americans. Instead, it haunted Mexican
waters for a while as a creature of unrest, uncertain where to land.
Finally it put into Mobile, where its captain was left at a still
greater loss, for the supposed Mexican gun-runner went ashore and was
seen no more. Sanchez, the Mexican consul, left by train for his native
land. Huerta, in the madness of his career, extended no instructions.
The ultimate disposition of the _Esmiranga's_ cargo completes the record
of another of those fiascos in the game of pandering to revolutionists
in Latin America. The outcast cargo knocked about the Caribbean for a
while like a party dressed up and no place to go. The constitutionalists
came into possession of Tampico and sought a way to deal with the
captain of the _Esmiranga_, who was still unpaid for transporting his
cargo and willing to listen to almost any proposition. But the
constitutionalists bought no pigs in pokes and insisted on an
examination of the cargo. Probably they had themselves bought of
Valentines and knew the nature of his stock in trade. They found a way
to open some of the boxes and there discovered such an array of antique
armament that even they scorned its use. Valentines and the Russian who
came to New York to buy for Huerta had taken no pains to give that
warlike gentleman the value of even a portion of his money.
IV
THE SUGAR SAMPLERS
"Mr. Gard," said the chief, "I take it you would like to earn the
stipend the Government pays you."
"Your lead sounds ominous," said the young special agent, who had a free
and easy way with him even at the Washington headquarters. "If I say
yes, you will hand me a large piece of hard work. If I say no, I will be
courting discharge. I select the lesser of two evils. I confess to a
desire to earn my money."
"It is like this," said the chief. "We suspect that there is a leak in
the collection of sugar duties. You know the possibilities. If a ship
comes to port with 10,000 tons of sugar from Cuba, it pays duty that
depends on the purity of the cargo. If that sugar is graded at 92 per
cent. pure it gets in a half cent a pound cheaper than if it is graded
96 per cent. pure. The difference in duty received by the Government on
such a cargo might, theoretically, amount to $100,000."
"If I catch three ships," mused Gard half to himself, "I have earned my
salary for the rest of my life and won't have to work any more."
"I wouldn't just say that," responded the chief; "but if you saved the
Government half a cent a pound on all the sugar imported, you would
bring into the coffers a round two million a year. That would be a fair
accomplishment for a somewhat amateurish detective."
"Sustained by the flattery of my superior," said Gard. "I am ready to
rush into any mad undertaking. What are the orders?"
"You will be assigned to one of the great sugar ports. We do not even
know that any fraud is being practised. You are to find out. If there is
fraud you are to determine the method of it. The criminals, particularly
the big ones, are to be apprehended. The Government would like to know
how these frauds may be prevented in future. The work need not be
completed to-morrow or next day. You may have any amount of help. But we
must know that sugar duties are honestly paid."
It was a week later that William H. Gard sent in his card to Henry
Gottrell, president of the Continental Refining Company, one of the
greatest importers of raw sugar in the nation. According to this card
Gard was a writer of magazine stories. He had explained in asking for an
interview that he was assigned to write an article on "sugar ships,"
which should be a yarn of color and romance in a setting of fact.
When the special agent entered the office of President Gottrell, large
and florid and radiating geniality, he found his plan of approach
somewhat interfered with by the presence of a third party. Seated at the
elbow of the refiner was one of the most striking young women he had
ever seen. Corn-colored hair gone mad in its tendency to curl made a
perfect frizzle about her face. A flock of freckles, each seemingly in
pursuit of its fellow just ahead, were hurdling the bridge of a somewhat
pug nose. Blue eyes that danced and a mouth that responded to the racing
thought of an active brain gave life to the face. And as she arose the
slightest movement of her slim, well-rounded form suggested fast work on
a tennis court.
Henry Gottrell presented his daughter.
"She always looked like a Swede," said the big man, "so we call her
Thelma."
"And Mr. Gard," she bubbled forth, "I have so wanted to know what a
writer did when he goes for an interview. May I stay and see?"
"It will destroy the romantic illusion if you do," said Gard. "Are you
willing to pay the price?"
"I can't believe that," she said. "Do let me see how it is done! Don't
leave out a single thing."
"The interviewer begins," said the special agent, "by seating himself,
as I am doing, in an uncomfortable chair which has been arranged with
the idea in mind of preventing him from staying too long. The gentleman
being interviewed always reaches into the right-hand drawer of his desk,
as your father is doing, and produces a box of very excellent cigars.
Then the interviewer explains the idea that is on his mind that requires
elucidation. Has the man being interviewed anything on hand, already
prepared, that covers the ground. Maybe he has made a speech at a
convention, or something of that sort. The idea is to save labor for
both. Mr. Gottrell is now looking for the report of his testimony
before the committee on tariff revision. He will probably produce three
reprints that will contain much matter that I want. I ask if he will
provide a conversational escort to conduct me over one of his sugar
ships, if I may talk to his captains. He agrees. You see him doing it.
The interview is at an end. The foundation has been laid for a romance
on 'sugar ships,' the same having a background of fact."
"That is splendid," exclaimed Miss Gottrell, "because it does so easily
a thing that looks so hard. It does not spoil an illusion at all. It is
wonderfully clever."
It was in this way that Special Agent Gard got an opportunity to go most
carefully over the docks, through the warehouses, into the ships of the
Continental Refining Company. It was in this way that he was enabled to
ask many questions that might have aroused suspicion had he been there
in any other guise than that of a writing man. It was in this way that
he was able to observe rather carefully every process of the transfer of
a cargo of sugar through the customs house at which the Federal
Government takes its toll.
All the time the special agent was looking for a clue--was bringing an
incisive mind to bear upon the problem of the course the sugar took and
the possibility of fraud at each step. He spent days observing the
methods of the weighers. He watched every detail of the transfer of
cargo from ship to warehouse. He loafed about the sheds where the
samples were taken--a process in which he took a vast interest.
Here the samplers, Government employees, ran their little hollow tubes
through the mesh of the sacks that contained sugar. The tubes went in
empty but came out full of that which was within. This constituted the
sample for a given sack. Each sample was made into a little package,
carefully labeled, and went to the Government laboratory to be tested.
The duty on the sugar coming in was charged according to the degree of
purity of these samples.
It was here that Billy Gard picked up his first clue. He noticed a
peculiarity about the methods used by the samplers in inserting their
tubes into the sacks. They were always run along the side of the sack
and never plunged into its very heart. Tobin, the little consumptive,
sampled in this peculiar way, as did the hammer-handed Hansen of the
every-ready scowl. Yet it would be easier to take the sample out of the
middle of the bag. Why did the samplers skim near the edge?
Gard took this question to the Government laboratory, but found no ready
answer to it. He procured a typical sack of sugar and from it took two
samples--one from the very heart and one from the outside rim. These he
had tested in the laboratory. That from the middle of the bag showed a
degree of purity 3 per cent. higher than that from the outside. The
impurity, the report stated, was in the form of water.
Technical men were set to work to determine through many experiments the
difference in the grade of the sugar in different parts of the bag.
Finally it was established that raw sugar has a tendency to take up
moisture, and that that portion of it which is exposed does so. The
sugar near the outside came in contact with the air which contained
moisture, while that on the inside did not. The refiners were, of
course, aware of this tendency. But the important conclusion from the
viewpoint of Billy Gard was that the Government samplers were doing
their work in such a way as to favor the importers. Here might be a leak
that was very important.
William H. Gard, special writer, that day disappeared from the sugar
docks and was never seen again. Simultaneously with his disappearance
the saloon of Jean Flavot, not a block and a half distant, acquired a
new customer in the person of a roughly dressed young laborer who did
not drink as heavily as some of his fellows, but was none the less
willing to buy for others. But what was vastly more in his favor in the
eyes of Flavot than even liberality was the fact that he spoke French.
Mon Dieu, these rough Americans who knew not of the blandishments of
absinthe and drank only the whisky! The resort keeper and the newcomer
held them in common contempt.
The special agent had selected the resort of Jean Flavot as a basis of
operations because it was the place most frequented by the samplers. He
wanted, in the first place, to find out if these men had more money to
spend than honest men of their salaries should have. The individual who
makes illicit money usually spends it lavishly and it should therefore
be easy to determine if the samplers were being paid to be crooked. And
Gard, after two weeks of convivial association with them, was rather
thrown back upon himself when he found that their carousals were always
within their means and that money was scarce among them. They were
evidently not being bribed.
That he might get on a more intimate basis with these samplers Gard went
to work as a laborer on the docks, and there toiled for two months. He
came to be most intimately one of them, was given every opportunity for
observing their work, was even intrusted with certain valuable
confidences when the men were sober and saw his way toward learning more
by associating with them when they were in their cups.
His task was but half finished, however, when the maiden with the frizzy
hair and the freckles came near upsetting the beans. The daughter of the
president of the company had played through her childhood on the docks
and about the warehouse and was not yet averse to climbing stacks of
sugar sacks or descending into the hold of the ships. So it happened
that she often visited the water front, and Gard had at first feared he
might be recognized, but this fear wore away as the visits were
repeated and no attention was paid to him.
But one busy day he was carting away the sacks of sugar that were being
unloaded in packages of twenty or so, slung in ropes and lifted by
mighty derricks, when Miss Gottrell strolled down the docks under a pink
parasol and in the midst of an array of fluffy, spring ruffles such as
make a healthy, wholesome girl outrival in beauty the orchids of the
most tropically luxuriant jungle.
The special agent had always liked corn-colored hair and freckles on the
nose and worshiped at the shrine of the physically fit. Besides which
this girl had enthusiasm and intelligence and inspiration. And it was
spring and he was a youngster shut off from his kind and lonesome. He
had thought of her a lot of times since that day he had interested her
by pretending to be something he was not. Now he rather resented it that
she should be there and he a perspiring laborer, not daring to speak to
her.
And just at that time something very startling happened. The great crane
of the ship drew another load of sugar from the hold and swung it
majestically over the dock. In doing so it described a great sweep in
reaching the spot where it was to be deposited. In the midst of this
sweep a single sack of sugar slipped from beneath the ropes and came
hurtling out and down as though it were a projectile from a sling.
The pink parasol was standing unconsciously with its back turned
directly in the course of the flying bag. The vision of spring beneath
it was gazing away to where a sail was just taking the fresh breeze.
Billy Gard and his truck were emerging from the shed for a new load of
sugar. And here was a young man quick to act and with a training that
enabled him to do so effectively.
Three strides and a leap into the air were all the time allowed. But
this was enough to make it possible for him to tackle about the waist
the catapulted sugar sack, much as he had often tackled the member of an
opposing team who tried to go around his end in the old football days.
To be sure, this end play was the fastest he had ever seen and resulted
in a good spill, but it was a success. The pink parasol was uninjured.
Thelma Gottrell came to a realization of what had happened about the
time Gard was getting himself to his feet. She ran to him spontaneously
and would have helped him to rise had he shown the forethought to be a
little slower.
"I do hope you are not hurt!" she began. "It was splendid--Oh! What? It
is Mr. Gard, isn't it? How in the world--" She stopped in consternation.
Billy Gard grinned foolishly.
"Don't give me away," he pleaded with her. "It is a very great secret
and it would all be spoiled if you did. A writing man must have color,
must know life, you know. Please don't spoil my chance by telling a
single soul about it."
"Since you have probably saved my life," said she, "it would not be
grateful of me to deny any wish of yours. But I will agree not to tell
only on one condition. You must promise to come to me and let me hear
all about it when it is over."
"I promise," said Gard.
"And you must let me say that I think you are wonderful to do the things
you do, and that I thank you."
She placed her dainty glove in his grimy workingman's hand for a moment
and was gone.
* * * * *
It was a wild Saturday night at Jean Flavot's. The occasion of the
celebration was the ending of the season on the sugar docks. For seven
months in the year the Continental Refining Company was busy with sugar
that poured in upon it from Cuba and Porto Rico and Santo Domingo and
other lands to the south. Then there was a period of five months when
there was no sugar from the outside and refiners turned their attention
to the home-grown crop.
Those men who had worked together in the camaraderie of the docks for
seven months this season, and perhaps for many a year before, were
to-morrow to be dispersed. They would be scattered about at many places
and would play their part in the handling of the raw sugar that came
from the canefields of Louisiana and the beet lands of Colorado and
Michigan. Most probably they would meet again on these same docks five
months later. But assuredly there was every reason why they should end
the season in one mad carouse.
Billy Gard was present. Through the weeks that had passed he had
gradually tightened the net that revealed to the Government the
conditions that existed on the sugar docks. But his case might still be
strengthened, for he wanted the whole story from a man who participated
in the irregularities, and in such a way that it might be introduced
into court as evidence. This was the last opportunity and the special
agent hoped that the story might be told to-night when the samplers were
reckless over their liquor.
Jean Flavot brought whisky and beer when the big-fisted Hansen beat upon
the table. Billy Gard stood upon his chair and drank to the time when
they would all get together again under the cobwebs that decorated the
ceiling of the little Frenchman. He led three lusty cheers for that
time, for none was so abandoned on these occasions as the youngster who
had saved the president's daughter. And Flavot and Billy interchanged a
wink, for they had a secret between them. Both knew that the beverage
that the special agent drank with such recklessness was nothing more
than cold tea, and the little Frenchman delighted in seeing his
favorite lead these American pigs, who knew no decency in drinking, on
to complete inebriety.
But Gard had a secret from even Flavot which had to do with a grimy
little man who sat at a nearby table and who had of late frequented the
place--a seedy, long-haired, sallow man who worked always with pencil
over the manuscript of a play he was writing. As a true genius he paid
no attention to what went on around him, but always pored over his
papers.
But this same man in Washington was a star stenographer at the
Department of Justice, a dapper, one-time court reporter, the man who
had handled the listening end of many a dictagraph when the ways were
being greased between men in high places and the penitentiary at
Atlanta.
"And you samplers," Gard was saying, "where can I meet you when another
Saturday night comes?"
"Me at the Bayou Fouche mills," said Hansen.
"And the company sends me to Colorado for my lungs," said Tobin, the
consumptive.
"And I keep time at the refinery," ventured "Fat" Cunningham.
"So everybody works," said the special agent. "Uncle Sam does not care
if he lays good men off half the time, but the Continental people take
care of the samplers."