HE IS ARRESTED AND PUT IN THE GUARDHOUSE
But of course his brother _had_ received that letter. The circumstances
of his mother's death were the least of his troubles now and he must
have thought his young brother very innocent and sentimental. He did not
understand Tom's wanting to talk about their mother's death any more
than Tom understood how Bill could be a spy and a traitor.
In short, the wily, self-seeking Bill, who would stop at nothing,
probably thought his brother had a screw loose, as the saying is, and
perhaps that is what the others thought also.
Tom was never very lucid in explanation, and his emotion had made his
surprising story choppy and unsatisfactory. His explanation of the use
of the plate and of the telltale piece of cotton which his keen eyes had
not missed, seemed plausible enough, and fell like a bomb-shell among
his questioners.
But they did not give him credit for his discovery nor even for his
apparent innocence. It was, as the captain had said, a serious business,
and Uncle Sam was taking no chances where spies and traitors were
concerned. Probably they thought Tom was a weak-minded tool of his
shrewder brother.
"Well," said the officer rather curtly, "I'm glad you told the truth. If
you had told me the truth last night when I caught you up there, it
would have been better for you. Still, confession made at bay is better
than none," he said to the captain, adding as he left the room, "I'll
have a squad down."
William Slade sat upon the berth, glaring at the detective who stood
guarding the doorway. He looked vicious enough with his disheveled hair
and sooty face and the dirty jumper such as the under engineers wore.
Tom wondered when he had come east and how he had fallen in with his old
patron, Adolf Schmitt.
And this was his own brother! Evidently William had been in the German
spy service for some time, for he had learned the rule of absolute
silence when discovered and he had even acquired some of that lowering
sullenness which sets the Teuton apart from all other beings.
[Illustration: "THERE--_THERE_ IT IS," TOM ALMOST SHOUTED.]
Presently there came the steady footfalls of soldiers in formation and
a sudden fear seized upon Tom.
"They--they ain't going to arrest me, are they?" he asked, with alarm in
every line of his ordinarily expressionless face.
"Put you both in the guardhouse," said the captain briefly.[2]
"Didn't you--didn't you--believe me?" Tom pleaded simply and not without
some effect.
"You and your brother get your jobs together?" the captain asked.
"Mr. Conne, who's in the Secret Service, got me mine," Tom said.
"Who did he recommend you to?" asked the detective.
Tom hesitated a moment. "To Mr. Wessel, the steward," he said.
"Humph! Too bad Mr. Wessel died. You'll both have to go to the
guardhouse."
Tom saw there was no hope for him. For a moment he struggled, drawing a
long breath in pitiful little gulps. If he had followed Mr. Conne's
advice he would not be in this predicament. But where then might the
great transport be? Who but he, captain's mess boy, had saved the ship
and showed these people how the light----
"It makes me feel like----" he began. "Can't I--please--can't I not be
arrested--please?"
Neither man answered him. Presently the door opened and four soldiers
entered. One of them was "Pickles," who had nicknamed Tom "Tombstone,"
because he was so sober. But he was not Pickles now; he was just one of
a squad of four, and though he looked surprised he neither smiled nor
spoke.
"Pickles," said Tom. "I ain't--_You_ don't believe----"
But Pickles had been too long in training camp to forget duty and
discipline so readily and the only answer Tom got was the dull thud of
Pickles' rifle butt on the floor as the officer uttered some word or
other.
That thud was a good thing for Tom. It seemed to settle him into his
old stolid composure, which had so amused the boys in khaki.
Side by side with his brother, whom so long ago he could not bear to see
"licked," he marched out and along the passage, a soldier in front, one
behind and one at either side. How strange the whole thing seemed!
His brother who had gone out to Arizona when Tom was just a bad,
troublesome little hoodlum! And here they were now, marching silently
side by side, on one of Uncle Sam's big transports, with four soldiers
escorting them! Both, the nephews of Uncle Job Slade who had died in the
Soldiers' Home and had been buried with the Stars and Stripes draped
over his coffin.
Two things stood out in Tom Slade's memory, clearest of all, showing how
unreasonable and contrary he was. Two lickings. One that made him mad
and one that made him glad--and that he was proud of. The licking that
his brother had got, when he could, as he had told honest Pete Connigan,
"feel the madness way down in his fingers." And the licking his father
had given _him_ for not hanging out the flag.
"_Zey must be all fine people to haf' such a boy_," Frenchy had said.
He hoped he would not see Frenchy now.
But he was to be spared nothing. The second cabin saloon was filled with
soldiers and they stared in amazement as the little group marched
through, the steady thud, thud, of the guards' heavy shoes emphasized by
the wondering stillness. Tom shuffled along with his usual clumsy gait,
looking neither to right nor left. Up the main saloon stairway they
went, and here, upon the top carpeted step sat Frenchy chatting with
another soldier. He was such a hand to get off into odd corners for
little chats! He stared, uttered an exclamation, then remembered that he
was a soldier and caught himself. But he turned and following the little
procession with astonished eyes until they disappeared.
The guardhouse was the little smoking-room where Tom and Frenchy had sat
upon the sill and talked and Frenchy had given him the iron button. Into
the blank darkness of this place he and his brother were marched, and
all through that long, dreadful night Tom could hear a soldier pacing
back and forth, back and forth, on the deck just outside the door.
FOOTNOTE:
[2] The custom of putting arrested persons in the "brig" on liners and
transports was discontinued by reason of the danger of their losing
their lives without chance of rescue, in the event of torpedoing. The
present rule is that the guardhouse must be above decks and a living
guard must always be at hand.