We waited anxiously for her next words.
“The search-light of the Arrow will do it. We can run the launch
along the coast twice as fast as a man can walk or run, and play the
search-light of the yacht on the shore as we go.”
Though simplicity itself, it was the only plan that promised success,
and it took but little time to put it into operation. The fisherman
volunteered as pilot, and while Tom went back in the launch to give
instructions to the captain, we waited in the darkness of the little
bay, holding our lights as beacons. The night, without a single star,
but darkly showed the lapping waves and sighing pines which made the
background of our tiny, rocky amphitheatre. Tom had not covered half
the distance to the yacht, when we heard his hail, and the search-light
swung at right angles, limning the launch speeding from the shore in
a lane of light. We watched them till they reached the shadow of the
side. There was a brief interval before we saw the launch returning
down the silvery way, but, as she neared us, to our surprise we saw
Tom was not there. In his stead came the first officer, who touched
his cap, and said, “Mr. Haldane will stay on the yacht and run the
search-light, and has asked me to run the launch.”
It was but the work of a moment to embark, and the boat headed out
of the cove towards the north, the side agreed upon with Tom. Up in
the prow stood the officer at the wheel, the fisherman pilot beside
him. The engineer bent over his small engine in the centre, and in
the stern sat Dorothy and I, peering into the space of light on the
shore, where played the search-light. Bravely the little launch found
her way forward, with the slight chug-chug of her engine the only
sound. I could not rid myself of a feeling of unreality. Constantly
we moved in light, while all else was in shadow. Before us was the
shore, lighted as by a ghostly radiance, on either side was darkness,
such darkness that we could barely distinguish the sky line of bluff
and tree against the sky. We neither spoke nor moved, and the sailors
forward scarce broke by a movement the silence, with its single sound
rising above the monotony of the waves. Dark green of pine and cedar,
lighter green of scrub oak, yellow gray of sand dune, soft brown warmth
of massive boulder, curling white where splashing waves broke on the
glistening pebbles of the shore, ragged stump and lofty maple--all
were etherealized by the silver, shifting light. It was a night of
enchantment, wherein I, taken up by a genie from my dusty tasks, had
been placed beside a fairy queen to behold the wonders of Eastern
magic. Mile after mile rolled by with no result. Once we flashed our
light on a startled fisherman lifting his lobster pots from his boat.
Now and again we cast it on veranda of summer cottage, or on kitchen
steps of farmhouse. Where we found men, we inquired for the object of
our search, but it was all in vain, and at last I looked questioningly
at Dorothy.
“He could not have come so far as this.”
She shook her head. “No,” she said regretfully. “We may as well turn.
But we’ll find him on the other shore. I feel certain he went to the
sea.” She gave a low order to the officer at the wheel. He raised a
lantern thrice, and the search-light paused and reversed its way.
Back over the ground we passed, more swiftly this time than on our way
up. Back to the cove where we started, we went, and from there we took
our course southward along the shore. We had gone perhaps three miles,
when the fisherman turned suddenly. “There’s some one ahead there on
the bluff.”
On swept the search-light, and outlined on a little knoll scarcely
fifty yards from us stood a man, his hands stretched to heaven, and an
expression of awful doubt and agony on his face. His lips moved, and a
moaning cry came from them. Quickly the engineer threw the lever, and
the sound of the engine ceased. Out of the stillness, made yet more
manifest by the stopping of the single accustomed sound, came the moan.
“Disappeared, disappeared, disappeared. Nothing real, nothing real!”
The man paid no attention to the light or to our boat. He looked beyond
us, at the ocean, with an unseeing gaze.
“Hold the search-light there!” I called, in a low tone.
The officer raised his lantern twice, and the search-light stopped with
the man in the centre of its field.
[Illustration: THE OFFICER RAISED HIS LANTERN TWICE. [_Page 30._ ]
“Go on,” I said, and the launch passed slowly on into the darkness. In
hurried tones, I told Dorothy my plans. The fisherman and I would go
ashore at the first point possible, come up from behind, and take him.
It was quickly and easily done. The launch was brought close in shore,
where the fisherman and I could wade in, and, as we stole quietly up
behind the man, we could see that he had not moved. His hands were
still raised on high. His lips still uttered the same moan. To my
surprise, he offered no resistance, and came quietly and peaceably on
board the launch and the yacht, where they put him to bed. Through the
whole he never ceased his plaint. We looked for sign or letter that
might show his identity, but there was nothing. However, we had won the
second step. Next came the question, “Did he know anything of the
Alaska?” That was the last thing we discussed before turning in, but it
was not the last thing in my thoughts as I fell asleep.
I woke up next morning among the familiar sounds of New York harbor,
and came on deck to find Tom and Dorothy already there. Our visitor was
safe. He was still in a heavy sleep.
The newspapers had come on board, and we found that the disappearance
of the battleship was now known, but that there was as yet no news. In
the excitement, the story of the message from the man had been wholly
forgotten. Every newspaper was searching, but none had any clue. The
Navy Department could give no information, though besieged by hundreds
of the relatives and friends of the men on board. There was no clue as
to the identity of the insane man. No paper reported any man as lost. I
thought the matter over as we breakfasted. Finally Tom spoke.
“What’s the next move, Jim?”
“To open the mouth of this man here,” I answered. “I believe that he
knows something; that a sudden shock drove him crazy, and our next move
is to get him sane again.”
“How will you do that?” queried Dorothy.
“I don’t quite know,” I answered hesitatingly. “But I think I had
better try some physician. I want a bright, resourceful specialist.”
“I know just the man,” said Tom. “Forrester; he’s making a name fast.
You know him, Dorothy?”
Dorothy nodded. “I don’t think you can get a better man,” she said, and
so the next move was decided.
Our man awoke with no change from the night before, and with the same
cry ever issuing from his lips. Tom went ashore, ’phoned Dr. Forrester,
and arranged for attendants to remove the unfortunate to a private
hospital. We preceded the carriage which was sent for him, in Tom’s
motor car.
We had waited perhaps five minutes in Dr. Forrester’s office, when
he entered. Clear-cut, with clean shaven mouth and searching eyes,
he seemed the very man to solve our problem, if it could be solved.
Briefly I told him the condition. Here was an unknown man, with
absolutely no clue to his identity, who, we believed, possessed
certain information which we needed, information of the utmost public
importance. Our desire was to bring him back to a normal sanity and to
learn his story. My tale done, Forrester looked questioningly at Tom.
“It’s all right, Doctor, every bit of it,” said Tom decisively. “I’m
right behind this thing, and it’s all perfectly straight. My sister and
I were with Mr. Orrington when he found the man.”
Forrester rose as Tom spoke the last words. “That’s all that is
necessary. I shall be very glad to do what I can. If you’ll excuse me
now, I think that the patient has arrived. If you care to wait, I’ll
make a preliminary examination and let you know something of the result
immediately.”
For half an hour we waited anxiously for the verdict. Could Dr.
Forrester find the missing spring which would roll the curtain from
that brain, and enable it to give forth the information which might
mean so much to me? Finally the door opened and he entered. We sprang
up. He shook his head.
“A most trying and puzzling case. There seems to have been absolutely
no injury to the brain, that can be recognized. None of the ordinary
causes seem to have any share in the causation of this. I can do
nothing for you to-day. I will try every means known to us in
succession, and report to you day by day.”
I felt baffled and seriously puzzled. It was most essential that I
should get the story the moment the man recovered, if he did recover.
It was equally essential that I should be free to hunt for new clues.
Dorothy saw my anxiety.
“What is it, Mr. Orrington?” she questioned.
“Simply wondering how I could be in two places at the same time--here
waiting and on the coast searching,” I answered.
“I can settle that,” said she. “I am going to take a week of observing
in Tom’s research laboratory, and I’ll be right in reach of a telephone
every minute.”
I objected in vain. Dorothy settled matters as she had settled them
before. Tom and I were to go down the coast in the Black Arrow,
returning every night to New York. She was to remain in the city.
I reported my findings to the paper, and still the chief said, “Wait!
Don’t write anything till you have more. Keep at it till you have
something.”
Morning after morning we telephoned the hospital and found no change.
Day after day we spent in the Black Arrow, searching the coast, or in
the motor car, skirting the shores. Evening after evening we spent in
the library at the Haldanes’, in endless discussion and consultation.
The country was daily growing more and more alarmed. Rumors of war, of
foreign fleets coming to attack our shores, filled the papers. Stories
that the Alaska had been sent to the Pacific and had been seen in South
American ports, that she had been seen in European waters, that she
had struck a derelict and, badly disabled, was coming slowly in, were
current. Every story run to earth proved a fake, and every day had a
new story. The Government knew no more than any one else, and had been
driven to a sphinx-like silence in self-defence. They had employed,
as had the newspapers, every known means of getting some news of the
battleship, but all in vain.
The Alaska had disappeared on Monday or Tuesday of the first week
in July. On Tuesday, we had found the man who was still gazing with
unseeing eyes at the bare wall of the hospital room, still moaning the
same cry. In six days he had never varied it but twice, and both those
times he repeated his words in the cottage, “The sea, the awful sea.”
Experiment after experiment had been tried without avail. Two
consultations with the best alienists of the city had given Dr.
Forrester no more light. Six days of searching the coast gave us not
a single clue. On Monday night we reached the wharf about six, to
find Dorothy waiting for us in the automobile. As we rode up town she
rapidly explained the plan for the evening.
“They tried a high frequency current on the patient to-day,” said
Dorothy, “and it seemed to have the first effect. He stopped his
plaint, went off to sleep, and woke silent for the first time. He did
not drop back into his old condition until three hours later. They are
going to try it again, as soon as we get there.”
In one of Dr. Forrester’s offices stood the high frequency apparatus.
Before it sat the man, his eyes staring before him, his lips moving
with his moaning cry. The doctor moved the cup-shaped terminal above
his head, adjusted the negatives, then nodded to the nurse at the
switch. Slowly increasing in sound and speed went the motor. Hissing
low and sibilantly shot the vibrant discharge. Five minutes passed
as we gazed intently on the man in the chair, five more, and yet
five more. His words came slowly, drowsily now. The harsh, clashing
syllables became a low hum. He dropped off into sleep, breathing
regularly, and the nurse threw off the switch.
“That regular sleep is a great gain,” said Forrester. “He’ll probably
wake soon.”
Silently we sat waiting. The clock ticked loudly. I fell at once to my
constant occupation, watching Dorothy. She sat beside Tom, her eager
face bent intently on the man, so intently that it would seem as if
she must obtain the secret from his sleeping form. I had watched her
expressive face for perhaps half an hour, Forrester had been out and
returned, when the man stirred drowsily, put up his hand to his eyes,
rubbed them, yawned and looked up.
“Where--where am I?” he said stumblingly. “Where’s the boat?” he went
on.
Forrester soothed him. “You’re all right,” he said. “You had an
accident, but you’re all right again.”
The man sank back resignedly. “Well--” he began, and then a wave of
remembrance flashed across his face, a look of horror. We bent forward
instinctively, hanging on his words.
“Where’s the ship?” he cried. “What’s happened to the Alaska? I saw
her disappear. For God’s sake tell me I didn’t--” The red flush in his
face grew deeper, his breath grew labored, and the watching physician,
stepping beside his bared arm, brought something concealed in his hand
against it once, twice. “Oh!” said the man shrinking. “What--” and then
without another word he became unconscious.
I jumped up in excitement. “Couldn’t you have,--” I began, but
Forrester stopped me.
“I let him say all that was safe. Wait three hours, and he will
probably be all right.” He smiled somewhat exultantly. “The high
frequency did it. Somehow it seems to rearrange the disordered parts by
the electric flow.”
“Why do you think the high frequency current did the work when all
other methods failed?” asked Tom, as we descended the stairs.
Forrester pulled at his chin with an air of abstraction. “I don’t
really know,” he answered frankly. “The action is almost as if some
electrical matter in the patient had been jarred by an electrical
shock, and when the high frequency got control, it put things back into
shape. Readjusted the parts, as it were. I don’t believe at all that
the shock of seeing the battleship go down did the whole mischief.
There was something else, something decidedly out of the common, mixed
up in the case.”
As we waited, I telephoned the office, and found the chief still there.
“Victory is in sight,” I said. “Save as many columns as you can.”
“You can have all you want,” came back over the wire.
I asked for a desk, and began to write. I sketched the scene in the
War Department, quoted the entire message from the man who was trying
to stop all war, reviewed briefly what was known of the ship and of
her disappearance, and told of our search down the coast, and of the
finding of the man upstairs. Hour after hour went by as I wrote, and no
call came. Dorothy and Tom sat reading. At last I brought my story down
to the point where I wished to introduce the story of the man. There I
stopped, and with idle pen sat and watched the beautiful head below the
shaded light. If a man could only sit and see that “Picture of a woman
reading” every night! I found myself figuring costs of living more
zealously than ever before. A knock broke in on my thoughts.
“The patient has roused,” said the nurse, “and the doctor would like to
have you come.”
Silently we passed through the bare corridors and up the wide stairs.
As we entered, the doctor sat beside the man on the narrow iron
bed. I looked with eager inquiry at the face. It shone with normal
intelligence. We had conquered again.
“I have just been telling Mr. Joslinn of your finding him, and of his
being here,” said Forrester. “Now he is ready to talk.”
Dorothy greeted him and began the talk, while I wrote feverishly as
Joslinn spoke in a low steady tone. Yes, he had gone out fishing.
He had left a little shooting box, whither he had run down alone on
Monday, and taken the knockabout out. The reason no one had known of
his disappearance was that there was no one to care. He had no family
and had retired from business, made little trips now and then, so his
landlady and friends simply thought of him as away. I chafed at the
time that he took in coming to the point. If he only reached it, his
long description of his acts was all a part of the story. Then came the
crisis:
“I was out ten or twelve miles from shore, just about sunset,” said
Joslinn, “when I saw a battleship coming up the coast. She was the only
ship in sight, and she passed within a short distance of me, so near
that I felt the last of her wake. I never saw a finer spectacle than
that boat as she swept on.” He paused.
“Go on, go on,” I said anxiously.
“I knew it was the Alaska,” he resumed, “because I had seen her lying
for weeks below my apartment house in Riverside Drive. I watched her as
she went on triumphant. It was the time of evening colors. Out across
the water came the bugle call, which I had heard so often as I hung
over the parapet of the Drive at nightfall. The marine guard and the
crew stood mustered and facing aft. The flag fell a fluttering inch,
and at the moment of its fall the band crashed into the full strain of
the Star Spangled Banner. I stood with bared head, and my eyes filled
as the great ship bore proudly on. Just as the last note of ‘Oh long
may it wave’ came to me, like a bursting soap bubble, like a light
cloud scattered by the wind, she disappeared without a sound! Not so
much as the splash of a pebble in the water could I hear.”
“Do you mean to say,” cried Tom, in utter amazement, “that all those
thousands of tons of armored steel, those great guns in their huge
turrets, that terrific mass of metal, disappeared without a sound?”
“Absolutely without a sound,” answered Joslinn gravely. “The Alaska
disappeared with less commotion than a ring of tobacco smoke in the
air. It utterly destroyed one’s belief in the reality of anything in
this world!”
Bewilderment, complete bewilderment, is the only word which can express
the appearance of our little group, as we stood in the bare room. Even
Forrester temporarily forgot his professional attitude in the absorbing
interest of the tale. But a sigh from Joslinn recalled him.
“That’s quite enough, Mr. Joslinn,” he said hurriedly, and, at his nod
of dismissal, we turned and went down the stairs.
“Nothing real, with a vengeance,” remarked Tom, as we descended. “I
can’t imagine a more unearthly spectacle than that noiseless fading
away. I’d have said mirage, if he hadn’t heard the music, and if the
ship hadn’t actually disappeared. Hold on--if this is the work of man,
is it possible that he has discovered some new substance which, placed
in armored steel, causes it to disintegrate? If he got hold of such
stuff, he might get it into armored steel, while it was making, and
then after a certain time the whole thing might crumble away.”
Tom had finished speaking as he stood in the door of the doctor’s
pleasant library.
Dorothy nodded as he closed. “That’s not a bad idea, Tom. If anything
could be found that would make steel crumble into dust, as a puff ball
crumbles, it might of course be timed. But the whole thing dazes me. I
want plenty of time to think it over.”
“And I must get to work on my story,” I said, trying to shake myself
back into the world of reality again, and I rushed back to my desk.
Word for word I wrote the story, drew Joslinn’s life history briefly,
ran rapidly through the whole, and as Dorothy entered, “I know how I’ll
end,” I exclaimed. “I’ll prophesy the sinking of a British battleship
this week.”
She clapped her hands. “Good! good!” she cried. “You couldn’t do
better.”
The last words of my story were the prophecy, and I hurried to the
telephone. It was 1 a. m., but the chief himself answered. “I’ll be
there with the whole story in half an hour,” I cried exultantly.
“Did he see her go down?” asked the chief eagerly.
“He did,” I answered, and a long whistle came over the wires.
Through dark streets and light, through the roar of upper Broadway and
the sombre silence of lower Broadway the motor ran, and I tried to
calm my hurrying brain. The excitement which had possessed me every
day of the week was still over me. The awful wonder of Joslinn’s tale
possessed me, until my longed-for beat seemed but a minor accident in
the great happenings of the world. Up the elevator and through the door
at a bound I passed, to the chief’s office. He reached eagerly from
his chair for my copy. Page by page he read silently, as I sat handing
them to him, and passing them from his hands to the boys running back
and forth to the tubes. I could hear the crash of the presses, and I
thought, strangely enough, of Pendennis and Warrington standing in
Fleet Street and talking of the mightiest engine in the world,--the
press. And after all, it was my story that was enlightening the world
through those great presses below. I had solved the mystery that filled
the newspapers from the Atlantic to the Pacific, nay more, that was
discussed in the clubs of London and of Tokio, and my story would go
through them all. I had won. Twice only I stopped in giving the copy to
the chief, once to light my pipe, and once to look up Joslinn. I found
him easily in the directory and in Bradstreet’s. He was evidently a man
of complete reliability.
The last page had gone down the tube, and the chief leaned back and
meditatively took up his pipe.
“That’s the best stuff for some years, Orrington,” he said. “I guess
you’d better take this as a permanent assignment. The prophecy was a
long chance, but I guess we’ll take it. Now go to bed.”
I slept till ten, but once up, I read my story with huge approval in
my early paper, and saw everybody else reading it, as I went down
town. My ears were filled with excited comment, and I examined with
much glee the pained comments or total silence of our contemporaries.
Especially did they condemn my prophecy. Reaching the office, I stopped
on the first floor to get a late edition, among a general stare which
I endeavored to bear modestly. At the elevator door, I paused. “Should
I walk or ride? Walk it is,” I decided. I wanted to stop in the hall
outside the big office to look over my story again. As I sat in the
hall window, I looked down. I could see a multitude before our bulletin
board. None of the other papers had any crowd at all. As I looked, the
throng went wild. A great roar rose, and the mass seethed and swayed as
they gazed at the bulletin below me, but out of my sight. “Something’s
up,” I said to myself, and bolted for the office. The reporters and
editors were all clustered in one corner. As they saw me, a shout went
up.
“Orrington, the British battleship Dreadnought, Number 8, has
disappeared!”