NED AND PEPPER-POT
“There are three passengers, sir, and one sailor, for whom we are
unable to account.”
The chief officer was thus reporting to Captain Munson of the transport
_Sherman_, and Ned, standing near, disheartened and with his mind torn
by cruel worries, overheard.
“Who are the missing ones?” asked the captain.
“Two soldiers, Bob Baker and Jerry Hopkins; Professor Uriah Snodgrass;
and Beno Judd, a first-class seaman. They can not be found, they are
not among the injured, nor are their bodies among the dead. I have put
them down as missing, sir.”
“Quite right. Unfortunate, but quite right. Have the boats been able to
pick up any one?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, there is not much use, I believe, in keeping them out longer
in this fog. Some of them may get lost. Call them back, but station
lookouts with orders to report at once anything that looks like
floating wreckage to which a person might cling. If this fog would only
lift we might have a chance of picking them up, if they, by any chance,
are still alive. Have a sufficient number of lookouts stationed, Mr.
Bangs.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ned felt sick at heart. It was all over, then--the happy companionship
of years--he thought. Never again would he see his beloved comrades,
Jerry and Bob, comrades with whom he had passed the gates of death
in many a battle. Professor Snodgrass, also--that dear but eccentric
individual--he, too, was gone.
“Isn’t there anything we can do?” asked Ned of the captain.
“I’m sorry to say I don’t see what else can be done,” was the
sympathetic answer, for the commander of the ship knew something of the
love and friendship existing between the lad who was left and those who
were gone. “You know how the accident happened, my lad, and we have
searched all over in this vicinity. It would be risking other lives to
search farther, for it is easy for a small boat to be lost in a fog. If
it should lift I would order them out again. I am sorry.”
Ned turned away, his heart heavy. To whom could he go for solace? He
had many friends and acquaintances among his fellow soldiers, and the
officers were fond of him and his chums. But Ned did not feel like
talking to any of them just now. He wanted to be alone. But solitude
was difficult to come at on the crowded ship.
Idly he made his way back to the scene of the accident. The break in
the bulwarks and rail had been temporarily mended, and a curious crowd
was gathered about the hole torn in the side of the _Sherman_. Ned did
not want to stay there.
He looked out into the mist. The wet particles clung to his face like
tiny tears, and he had much ado to keep back his sobs as he thought of
those who had so lately been with him.
“If only the fog would lift!” murmured Ned, as he turned away from the
broken place with a shiver.
But the white curtain of vapor still swirled about the troopship,
seemingly moved more by the mysterious ocean currents than by any wind.
It was still a dead calm, and though the fog may have lifted over some
parts of the ocean area that it had covered, in the vicinity of the
transport it was still heavy and impenetrable.
“It seems to shut me in like a prison!” murmured Ned.
Night was coming on, and it seemed to settle down earlier than it
needed to, caused by the murkiness of the air. The first call to the
supper mess was sounded, but Ned did not respond. He had no appetite
for food. There would be time enough later to eat, if he felt so
disposed.
“Poor Chunky!” he mused. “I’d never poke fun at him again about his
appetite if he were here now.”
Ned choked back a sob and turned to go toward the bow of the ship.
The deck along which he was then progressing was more deserted then
than it had been for some time, for many of the soldiers were down
below, eating. And as Ned made his way along he saw, coming toward him,
a figure that caused him a start, it was so like that of Professor
Snodgrass. But he knew in an instant who it was.
“_Le cochon!_” he murmured.
Hardly knowing why he did it, Ned stepped beneath an overhanging part
of the deck, and so was partially hidden. The man who so resembled
Professor Snodgrass--the man who had acted so violently in the
restaurant--walked toward the place where the derelict had crashed into
the _Sherman_ and stood looking at the damaged place. Ned, from his
vantage place, could observe and hear.
“So this is the place, is it!” murmured _le cochon_, or the pepper-pot,
as Ned sometimes thought of him. “Well, well! I am sorry for him--for
all of them. I shall have to redouble my efforts now!”
Ned started. What did the words mean? What was the mystery connected
with this strange man who seemed to be under guard at times, and
free to rove about at others? What association had he with Professor
Snodgrass, and why was he so vindictive toward that little scientist?
And, now that the professor was gone, why had this man come to gloat
over the place of his disappearance?
All these thoughts rushed through Ned’s mind, which was in a tumult.
And then, as the little man spoke, another idea obtruded itself.
What did he mean when he said:
“I shall have to redouble my efforts now!”
To Ned, obsessed as he was with a feeling of enmity against this man,
the words had but one meaning.
“He means to go on with his deadly work!” mused the lad. “He was
responsible for the damage to the ship in the first place--he caused
her to be disabled and held up in the fog. If it wasn’t for that we’d
be on our way now, and the derelict wouldn’t have crashed into us.
“This man is responsible for that, though he may not have known about
the derelict. He is responsible for the death of Bob, Jerry and
Professor Snodgrass. And now he talks of redoubling his efforts! I know
what that means! He’s a German spy and he’s going to try to sink the
whole shipload of us. He must have gotten away from his guards. I’m
going to tell the captain!”
Ned stepped from his place of concealment and was about to hurry to
summon some of the ship’s officers when the little man caught sight of
him. To Ned it seemed that the pepper-pot was startled and alarmed. He
stared at Ned and stammered:
“Oh, you--you are here, are you?”
“Very much so!” was the indignant answer. “But you won’t be here long
to go on with your dirty work. I know all about you! I know----”
Like a flash, and taking the youth by surprise, the little man rushed
at Ned and in a moment had him in a grip that rendered the lad
helpless. Both wrists were held in a muscular vise that spoke volumes
for the athletic training of _le cochon_.
“Be quiet!” The man fairly hissed the words into Ned’s ears. “Don’t say
another word!” and he began to drag Ned along.