“Easy, boy!” Al Torrance advised, hearing Whistler’s cry of surprise.
“Want to give us away to that Heinie if he is in hearing?”
But Whistler Morgan, after his startled exclamation, burst through the
bushes and hurried down the bank of the hollow. A figure lay at the
bottom--a figure dressed in a blue smock, loose trousers, heavy shoes
and a cap. The cap was pulled down over the person’s face, and he was
rolled sideways so that Whistler could not distinguish a feature.
There was, however, something besides these points that had caused
Whistler’s ejaculation and excitement.
“Cracky!” gasped Al, remembering the description his chum had so
recently given of the disguise the German spy had donned. “Is that the
fellow? And who triced him up that way? Looks like somebody has been
ahead of us.”
The other two Navy Boys and Willum Johnson joined Al Torrance at the top
of the bank. They, too, saw the huddled figure below over which Whistler
was standing.
“Oi, oi!” exploded Ikey characteristically. “They got him tied up ready
for the spit yet.”
“Is that the bloomin’ spy?” growled the big British seaman. “Let me get
me ’ands on ’im.”
“Easy, Bill,” said Al Torrance. “You know what that brass hat said about
your bringing the spy in alive.”
“Hi wouldn’t kill ’im--now I’m cooled hoff,” the ex-coster declared.
“But ’ee won’t get awye from hus--no fear!”
Whistler had not joined in this conversation. He turned the body over
and Frenchy uttered an ear-piercing yell:
“What do you know about that?” he added. “It’s George Belding!”
“Say!” growled Al. “They could hear you on the _Colodia_. If that spy is
here----”
“He’s got far enough away by this time!” Whistler exclaimed, swiftly
getting out his knife to cut Belding’s bonds.
The latter was gagged most cruelly with a stick tied between his jaws.
So far had the stick been thrust into the lad’s mouth that the corners
were cracked and bleeding. Whistler cut away his friend’s gag first of
all.
“The nasty villain!” cried Willum Johnson. “’Ow did ’ee do hit?”
“Are you hurt, George?” demanded Morgan.
“I’m bumped some,” admitted the other American lad. “But I’m hurt most
in my dignity,” and he tried to grin.
“The scoundrel cut your lips with that stick,” said Al Torrance. “Where
did he go?”
“Ask me something easier. I only know he went--and if he kept on the way
he started he’s a long way from here by now.”
“But where are your clothes?” demanded Whistler Morgan.
“What do you think?” cried Belding. “The dirty Heinie is wearing them!”
“Good-_night_!” gasped Frenchy. “Is it a U. S. sailor he wants to be?”
“Tell us!” commanded Whistler earnestly.
“Why, you see,” Belding responded, getting up now after having rubbed
his chafed ankles, “it was like this: Just as soon as you got out of
sight, Morgan, the Heinie began to travel. I started right after him,
and he came down here into this wood. I believe I wasn’t very smart--or
he was smarter than I. Guess that is pretty well proved isn’t it?” and
Belding smiled wryly.
“I had in mind all the time that he had two pistols under this smock he
wore, so I tried not to attract his attention. You can see I failed in
my attempt.”
“How did it happen?” Whistler asked.
“I stepped on a stick. I suppose that was what put him wise to me.
Anyway, the stick cracked. I jumped behind a tree. I could see him ahead
of me in the path and he did not turn his head or apparently hear the
crackling stick. But he must have been sharper than I thought.”
“These ’ere ’Uns,” declared Willum Johnson, “is hup to all sorts o’
tricks.”
“He was a trickster, all right,” agreed George Belding, with much
disgust in his tone of voice. “I followed right along like the idiot I
was, and all of a sudden the fellow disappeared. I thought he had moved
faster, so I went faster.”
“And then what?” asked Al.
“I came up to the tree he was hiding behind, and he stepped out and
stuck one of those pistols of his right under my nose!”
“What d’you know about that?” marveled Frenchy.
“Never had that happen to you, did you?” asked George Belding. “It’s the
funniest feeling--believe me! The muzzle of the pistol was under my
nose, but I felt it right at the pit of my stomach! I couldn’t do a
thing, of course. You see fellows disarm an antagonist in moving
pictures without getting hurt, but I wasn’t going to take a chance. I
know he would have blown my head off.”
“What did he do to you then?” asked Ikey Rosenmeyer, his eyes big with
interest.
“He drove me before him down into this hollow. He had got rid of his
bundle somewhere. I didn’t see him drop it. His uniform, you know,
Morgan.”
“I see.”
“And down here he made me strip off my clothes--even my shoes. I tell
you, I just _hate_ that Heinie.”
“That’s wot yuh wants to do,” growled Willum Johnson. “’Ate the ’Un or
yuh can’t lick ’im proper.”
“No fear,” said Belding, nodding. “I have stored up a proper hate for
them now. This fellow is the meanest of the bunch. He got out of the
duds I am wearing as slick as you please--keeping me under the muzzle of
his gun all the time.”
“Sounds just like a wild west movie, doesn’t it?” suggested Ikey.
“Nothing so good--don’t think it,” growled George Belding.
“Anyhow, he got these things off and made me get into them. He put on my
uniform meanwhile--quick as a cat he is. You got a good look at him,
didn’t you, Morgan?”
“I’d know him again,” declared Whistler grimly.
“So would I,” said Belding, shaking his head threateningly. “But what
good is that? I bet we never set eyes on the scamp again.”
“My heye!” exclaimed the big British seaman, “let’s ’unt ’im down.”
“He’s had half an hour’s start,” said Belding, hopelessly. “And he was
going some when he started--believe me! We’d never catch him.”
“’Ow do you know?” returned Willum Johnson. “Let’s send these little
nippers,” indicating Frenchy and Ikey, “back to the bloomin’ port for
’elp, hand then scour the ’ole bloomin’ country.”
“We’d better all go back and report,” Whistler Morgan said seriously.
“We fellows can’t be much longer ashore, Mr. Johnson. We’re due at the
dock pretty soon.”
“Bli’me!” exclaimed the man. “Hi’ve overstayed my leave already. Hin for
a penny, hin for a pun, say Hi!”
But Whistler argued with him, and he became more reasonable. Now that
the fumes of alcohol were out of his head he was rather a tractable
fellow.
“There is going to be trouble over this,” Al Torrance prophesied. “We’d
better give the alarm in a hurry. That Hun must be captured before he
does some damage.”
“He can go almost anywhere in a Yankee uniform--if he speaks English,”
said Whistler.
“Oh, he speaks it all right,” said Belding.
“Hif Hi could honly ’ave got me ’ands hon ’im!” groaned Willum Johnson,
shaking his shaggy head sorrowfully.
But Belding had something very serious to say to Whistler Morgan as the
party started to climb out of the wood to the top of the hill
overlooking the port and harbor.
“No use talking about it, Morgan,” he said, “but I never took my money
out of my clothes. I had a couple of pounds besides silver.”
“Too bad.”
“And that is not the worst. I had papers and letters. Some things in the
letters from my father I wouldn’t want many folks to see--and especially
a Hun. Father is going to take a big sum in cash with him on the
_Redbird_ when he sails for Bahia. Gold, Morgan--thousands and thousands
of dollars in gold coin.”
“Whew!”
“Some prize for a Hun U-boat! And think of my folks and your sisters
aboard the _Redbird_! It’s going to worry me until I know this scoundrel
is captured and I get back my papers.”