“This man Roque must have a long reach to have known about that
consignment of guns, how and when they were to be shipped, and make the
strike he did within three days.”
Billy was discussing with Henri some of the remarkable features of the
recent voyage, as the steamer came in sight of Helgoland Bay, on the
return trip.
“He’s a magician, that’s what he is,” maintained Billy. “Did you ever
see the beat of the way he unmasked this ship?”
“And himself,” added Henri.
At the mouth of the Elbe, the tarpaulins again shrouded the warlike
fixings that had been revealed by their removal, and it was the
familiar “trading vessel,” dandy captain, roustabouts, and all, that
went in with the tide.
“Home again, young sirs.”
The oily tradesman once more, horn spectacles, bland address, and
benevolent smile--Herr Roque, the peaceful merchant with a liking for
bright young men and pleasure trips when business was dull.
“We’ll have a little run up to Kiel by the way of the great canal, a
nice jaunt to complete our vacation, young sirs.”
Herr Roque was the picture of innocence, as he genially waved his hand
to a party of harbor officials, passing near in a launch. He took snuff
from a silver box and extended the compliment of giving the captain a
chance to take a pinch.
It was noticeable, however, that the slightest word from the kind
“merchant” commanded the instant respect and attention of those about
him.
“It would make us all very happy, my dear captain, if you could spare
the time to arrange our ship to Kiel. Herr Raum is very anxious to get
the goods. He has orders from Berlin to fill.”
This comedy was for the sole benefit of the assemblage on the docks.
The canvas rolls with the rifles inside were already on the way to
Kiel, and the boxes to which Roque was pointing were simply ship
supplies.
Billy and Henri were not aware that they had been accorded an unusual
privilege when they looked upon the real Roque during the hunt for the
channel steamer.
Kiel, in contrast to Hamburg, seethed with activity, the streets
swarming with sailors and marines, while in the harbor dispatch boats
dashed hither and thither.
Herr Roque kept Billy and Henri close to his elbow, and forbade their
engaging in conversation with any stranger, unless duly presented by
him. The English tongue was not at all popular in Kiel at this time.
Henri, to be sure, could rattle off German like a native, but it was
deemed best that he also become a mute like his companion.
Notwithstanding all this precaution, the boys were fated to have their
usual adventure before quitting this lively town. They never would
stand hitched! Herr Roque had some special business in the town, no
doubt concerning the “music boxes,” and he “planted” his young charges
in a hotel near the docks, with a word to the landlord to give them a
look over now and then.
“I don’t propose to stick around this coffee house all day,” rebelled
Billy, “when there is so much going on outside. Let’s join that crowd
piking at the harbor. Something’s doing there.”
Henri was in the same humor, and the pair mixed with the mentioned
curious crowd.
The attraction was three huge liners transformed by a coat of gray
paint and yellow funnels.
The boys pushed their way to the front rank of the viewers, and then a
little ahead of what appeared to be the limit of approach.
There was a murmur from the crowd. It was known that soldiers aboard
were not allowed to leave these particular ships, popularly believed
to be transports destined for the invasion of England, and an equally
stern rule that nobody was allowed to come near them.
Of course, Billy and Henri had no knowledge of the rule, and they
crossed the deadline as care-free as clams.
Then something dropped. It was a heavy hand on the shoulder of Henri,
a few feet in advance of his chum. Somebody set a vise-like grip on
Billy’s wrist. A bevy of graybacks fluttered around them. They had
committed the unpardonable sin of ignoring a military order, and also
they were unpardonably foreign to the soil. They were English, until
they proved themselves something else.
A lane opened in the muttering crowd, and through it marched the file
of soldiers, with the suspects sandwiched between the leader and the
next in line.
At the city hall the soldiers and the suspects abruptly deserted the
lengthy street procession behind them, and the prisoners were presented
without further ceremony to the bulky occupant of a revolving chair
within a railed enclosure.
“What have we here?” sharply questioned the man behind the railing.
The soldier spokesman briefly related the cause of the arrest.
“Lock them up.” This order completed the first hearing.
Billy and Henri a few minutes later perched themselves on a sack
mattress filled with straw, in a prison cell.
“‘In the prison cell I sit,’” chanted Billy.
“Don’t be a chump,” complained Henri. “This is a serious matter, I tell
you.”
“What’s the use of crying, old top, when you can sing?”
Billy was prescribing a tonic for his partner.
“There is just one man who can get us out of this scrape,” stated
Henri, “and he wears horn spectacles.”
“It won’t take that man long to find us; he’s a smooth one.”
Billy had the utmost confidence in Herr Roque’s ability as a sleuth
since the affair of the “music boxes.”
Footfalls sounded in the long corridor outside.
“Maybe that’s him now,” was Henri’s eager expression, as he hastened to
the grated door of the cell.
But the footfalls did not belong to Roque. The man at the door was only
a burly guard who handed in two tins of hot coffee and a dangling roll
of raw sausages.
“Say, major,” pleaded Henri in German, “we’ve got a good friend uptown
that knows all about us--can’t we get word to him?”
Even the rank of “major” did not appeal to the jailer, for he only
grunted, and turned on his heel.
“Looks like a night of it, Henri.”
“And there will be a morning of it, too,” predicted Henri.
“‘We won’t go home until morning,’” warbled Billy.
“Oh, what’s the use? You have quit being human.”
Failing to turn his friend from his waggish way, Henri rolled over on
the straw mattress and went to sleep. Billy followed suit.
They were awakened by the clang of a bolt, and sprang to sitting
position, rubbing their eyes.
The jailer, with a lantern swung to his arm like a railway conductor,
was framed in the cell door. A pair of horn spectacles glistened over
his shoulder.
“Glory be! It’s Herr Roque!”
Billy was not bluffing now. He was glad enough to see this able
protector.
Herr Roque did not appear to be very amiable. He was not accustomed
to have his arrangements disturbed by a pair of flyaways like these.
But he was still the finished actor, for the guard’s benefit, and
pretended, in words, to be overwhelmed with anxiety:
“How glad I am to see you, my young friends. I could not imagine what
had become of you, and I had been seeking you high and low when I met
the Burgomaster Haupt coming from his club, and he told me about the
trouble at the docks. I was shocked, indeed, and it has been proved all
a mistake.”
When he got the boys outside, though, he concluded a different line of
talk with:
“I’ll have to tie bells around your necks when next you wander in
strange pastures. You are likely to get into a neck-twisting fix with
such pranks as these.”
Neither Billy nor Henri made speeches for the defense. They meekly
accepted this chiding, all the time rejoicing that they were again
breathing free air. It was a mile ahead of six-by-eight stone walls.
“I’m through here,” briefly announced Herr Roque at breakfast, “and
after a call at Bremen I am going to restore this pair of lambs to the
aviation lieutenant at Hamburg. There you can always be found when I
want you.”
“That means, Herr Roque, I suppose, that we will get cards for some
more vacation trips?”
“It means, young man, that if you ask no questions you will receive no
false information.”
Billy was subdued for once.
At Bremen they found the hotels deserted, but the theaters and cafés
full.
It was among these cafés that the boys sharpened their wits by close
observation of Herr Roque, who was always looking for something when he
appeared to be looking for nothing but an easy way of life.
They found occasion to use keen wit before that first evening in Bremen
was over. It was a startling test.
As they basked in the benevolence of Herr Roque, facing him at a
well-spread table in one of the brilliantly lighted cafés, Billy saw
a familiar face reflected in a mirror hanging on the wall back of the
chair occupied by their host--the smiling face of the secretary the
boys had met in the office of the great man in Calais, who speeded them
on their way to Paris.
The mirror also reflected the garb of a sailor, merchant marine, and
the man was at a table directly back of where the aviators were seated.
Billy felt in a flash that it would be like signing a friend’s death
warrant to make the least show of recognition.
Fearful that Henri might forget himself and draw the attention of Herr
Roque, if suddenly confronted with the mirrored face, Billy used a
knowledge of telegraphy, in which his companion was expert, by softly
finger-tapping on the polished table surface between them the word
“caution.”
Henri was puzzled at the operation, but with the warning gave no sign
by change of expression.
Herr Roque was toying with a fork, and seemed to be thinking at a
distance. The boys, for the time being, were forgotten pawns.
Billy tapped “mirror.”
Henri fixed a glance there.
Three pairs of eyes met in the shining glass.
The smile left the face reflected from behind.
The “sailor” knew and was known. His right hand was lifted carelessly
to his lips, and a finger lingered there for a scant second.
The understanding was complete.