On the next day the Manilla police had little of interest to add to the
account of the night tragedy on Manilla Bay.
Searching the city, and especially the Chinese quarters, the police had
been unable to find any yellow man answering to the description of
“Burnt-face.”
Very likely many of the Chinese residents of the city knew the man who
was sought, but Chinamen habitually mind their own business, even to
the extent of withholding important information from the police. So
within two or three days the chase was all but forgotten. The Chinese
“tongs” are secret societies that commit killings in all parts of the
globe where their people are to be found, and the death of an unknown
Chinaman does not provoke the police anywhere to any great zeal in
finding the slayer.
Then the “Castoga,” which, for reasons known only to the higher naval
authorities, had been anchored half a mile from the mouth of the Pasig,
was ordered to new anchorage off the naval station at Cavite.
On board, the officers had ceased to speak of the strange Chinese
tragedy of the night; Dave and Dan had well-nigh ceased to think about
it.
One afternoon the French gunboat “Revanche” received visitors. Ensigns
Darrin, Dalzell and Hale were requested to represent the “Castoga” and
did so, going over in the launch.
On board the French boat they found a sprinkling of English and
Japanese naval officers. There were also a few officers from the United
States Army.
Our American friends were introduced to all present whom they had not
previously known. Half an hour later Darrin was inspecting the
“Revanche’s” lifeboat equipment under the escort of Lieutenant Brun, of
the French Navy, when a superior officer appeared on deck. It was the
same officer who had appeared, on shore, to exhibit such marked
disapproval of Mr. Pembroke.
“There’s an officer over there to whom I wish you would introduce me,”
Dave said to the lieutenant.
“With great pleasure,” replied Brun, “as soon as our turn comes. That
is Commander Bertrand, commanding the ‘Revanche.’ All the gentlemen
present will be introduced to him now.”
“If you don’t mind,” Dave added, quickly, in French, “I shall be glad
to wait until the last, as I should like to have a few words with your
commander.”
A group had gathered around Commander Bertrand, who, all smiles and
good will, played the host to perfection.
At last Lieutenant Brun led Dave over to be introduced. The
introduction accomplished, Brun moved away a short distance.
After the first few polite exchanges had been made on both sides, Dave
asked:
“Would you object, sir, to telling me whether you know a Mr. Pembroke,
an Englishman?”
“I know that it is a well-known English name,” replied Commander
Bertrand, “but personally I know no Englishman of that name.”
“Do you remember seeing Mr. Dalzell and myself with a man in front of
the office of the Captain of the Port a few days ago?”
“I recall having passed you,” replied the Frenchman readily.
“That was Mr. Pembroke with whom we were talking.”
“Was it?” inquired the Frenchman politely, as he raised his eyebrows.
“Then perhaps I was in error. I felt that I had seen the man before,
but at that time his name was Rogers.”
“May I inquire, sir, if you know this man Rogers?”
Commander Bertrand shrugged his shoulders slightly as he asked:
“Is he a friend of yours, Monsieur Darrin?”
“No; but he had presented himself to Mr. Dalzell and me, and then had
offered to do us a service.”
“I do not believe that I would trust him,” replied the Frenchman. “I
cannot say, positively, that Monsieur Rogers and Monsieur Pembroke are
one and the same man, but this I can assure you—that Monsieur Rogers is
far from being an honest man.”
Further than that the French officer seemed disinclined to discuss the
subject. After a brief chat on other topics Dave thanked the French
Commander courteously and moved away. In less than two minutes,
however, Dave found a chance to impart this information briefly to
Danny Grin.
“Pembroke looks like a good one to dodge,” declared Ensign Dalzell.
“I don’t know,” returned Dave Darrin. “It all hinges on whether he is
really the chap who once called himself Rogers. Commander Bertrand
declined to be positive that they are one and the same, though for
himself, he seems to believe it. However, we are not likely to see
Pembroke again. He has made no effort to force himself upon us.”
Not long after that the launch called, and the “Castoga’s” visiting
officers started to return to their own craft.
“There is some one waving to us,” declared Dave, staring across the
water at the occupants of a small motor boat.
“Why, it looks like Captain Chapin,” returned Dalzell.
“It _is_ Chapin, and that is his sister with him,” returned Dave. “See,
she is standing up in the bow to wave her handkerchief to us.”
“Chapin ought not to allow her to stand up in the bow of such a narrow
craft,” said Danny Grin. “It’s a risky pose for any one but a veteran
sailor. It’s dangerous. She—”
“By Jove!” burst from Darrin. “There she goes—overboard!”
For a rolling wave, catching the small motor boat under the bow, had
rocked the little craft.
Miss Chapin was seen to stagger wildly and then plunge overboard.
“They’ve stopped!” cried Dan. “She doesn’t come up, either!”
“Boatswain’s mate!” rang out Ensign Darrin’s voice sharply to the naval
launch alongside. “Put over there at once. Run astern of the motor
boat’s position.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” and the naval launch swung briskly around.
“I beg your pardon, Hale, for forgetting that you are ranking officer
here,” Dave apologized, keeping his gaze out over the water.
“There’s no apology needed,” returned Ensign Hale. “Our only need is to
reach the spot as quickly as possible.”
The motor boat had stopped. Captain Chapin at the first realization of
the incident, had leaped up, and now stood scanning the water for the
first glimpse of his sister when she would rise to the surface.
So great was the excitement on the naval launch that neither Dave nor
Dan really noticed it when another man aboard the motor boat rose more
slowly, showing his head for the first time above the gunwale.
As the motor boat put about on her course both Captain Chapin and this
other man dived overboard.
“I wonder if they see Miss Chapin yet?” muttered Dave, as the naval
launch raced to the scene.
It was speedily apparent that Miss Chapin had not yet been found, for
both hatless swimmers swam about uncertainly, going down head first,
from time to time, as though to explore the water near the surface.
Then the naval launch plunged into the scene. From it dived three
ensigns and two sailors aboard who were not engaged with the handling
of the craft.
With seven expert swimmers now in the water, Miss Lucy Chapin stood an
excellent chance of being found.
Hardly had the Navy men dived when Captain Chapin’s male companion swam
with long overhand strokes away from the rest.
“I see her!” shouted this swimmer, and dived.
“He has her!” panted Dalzell. “Hooray!”
Instantly six swimmers turned and swam toward the rescuer, who now
appeared on the surface supporting a woman’s head on his shoulder.
“Good work! Fine!” cheered Dave.
Captain Chapin was the first to reach his sister’s rescuer.
“Is Lucy dead?” cried Chapin anxiously, when he beheld his sister’s
white face.
“Stunned,” replied the rescuer. “I think she must have been struck on
the head by the boat as it passed her.”
Silently the other swimmers turned in behind the young woman, her
rescuer and brother.
“Better bring Miss Chapin to the ‘Castoga’s’ boat, Captain,” Dave
called. “It’s larger. We’ll take her directly to the gunboat and have
the surgeon attend her.”
The boatswain’s mate ran the naval launch up within easy distance, and
Miss Chapin was lifted aboard.
On one of the cushions Miss Chapin was laid, while all gathered about
her anxiously.
“Make the ‘Castoga’ with all speed,” ordered Ensign Hale. “The young
lady must have prompt attention.”
On the way to the “Castoga” Captain Chapin did everything he could
think of to revive his sister. The others stood about, ready to help.
Then it was that Dave happened, for the first time, to face the
rescuer.
“Pembroke!” he called in astonishment.
“Howdy do?” asked the Englishman, with a smile holding out his hand.
Though Dave felt himself chilling with suspicion of the pleasant
stranger, he could not withhold his hand.
“I was on my way out to visit your ship,” smiled Pembroke, as he
released Dave’s hand after a warm grip. “Captain Chapin was good enough
to say that he would present me on board.”
“And glad indeed I am that I undertook to do so,” exclaimed Chapin. “If
it hadn’t been for you, Pembroke, I am afraid my sister would have been
lost.”
Pembroke was now engaged in shaking hands with Dalzell, who felt
obliged to present him to Ensign Hale.
“A splendid rescue, that,” said Hale warmly.
The gunboat’s launch was now speedily alongside the “Castoga,” the
motor boat, a small craft that carried passengers on the bay for hire,
following at slower speed.
“We’ve a half-drowned young lady on board, who needs the surgeon’s
attention,” called Hale, between his hands, just before the launch ran
alongside.
Miss Chapin was immediately taken on board, and carried to the quarters
of the executive officer, where she was laid in a bunk. Only her
brother and the surgeon remained with her.
Dave felt obliged to introduce Pembroke to his brother officers. The
Englishman proceeded to make their acquaintance with evident delight.
Five minutes later the executive officer recovered his presence of mind
sufficiently to send ashore to Cavite for dry garments of a size
suitable for Miss Chapin’s use. In an hour or two that young lady,
revived and attired in dry clothing, was brought on deck on her
brother’s arm. She was weak, but out of danger.
“We came out in order to make a call aboard,” Captain Chapin explained
to the officers under the quarter-deck awning, “but we had no idea we
were going to make such a sensational visit.”
“I fancy that women are always nuisances aboard naval craft,” smiled
Miss Chapin, whereupon the assembled officers promptly assured her that
women were nothing of the sort.
In the meantime the three officers who had leaped over into the bay had
had time to change their clothing. It became a merry party on deck.
Up to Mr. Warden stepped a messenger, saluting.
“The Lieutenant Commander’s compliments, sir, and will the executive
officer report to the Lieutenant Commander at once?”
“Immediately,” replied Lieutenant Warden, returning the salute, taking
his brief adieu by merely raising his uniform cap before he left the
party.
Ten minutes later Lieutenant Warden stepped briskly on deck. He paused
long enough to say something in an undertone to the officer of the
deck, who smartly passed the word for a messenger.
“I am sorry to announce,” said the executive officer, approaching the
group of officers who surrounded Miss Chapin, “that our pleasant days
in Manila are ended for the present.”
“I should say so,” cried Captain Chapin. “There goes your recall flag
to the mast-head.”
“Right!” replied Mr. Warden crisply. “Our sailing orders have just been
wirelessed from shore. We sail at seven this evening, if our few men on
shore leave can be recalled in that time. Mr. Hale, you are to take the
launch and go ashore after the leave men.”
“Very good, sir,” replied that ensign, saluting, next raising his cap
to Miss Chapin and hastening away.
“Leaving, are you?” asked Pembroke, in a tone of regret. “And what is
your destination?”
“China,” rejoined Lieutenant Warden tersely.
The Englishman’s face changed expression.
“Not—” he stammered. “Not the—”
“For the Nung-kiang River,” replied the executive officer.
Dave Darrin and Dan Dalzell were the only ones present who caught the
strange, fleeting look that passed over the face of Pembroke.
“Why can this Englishman object to our going to the Nung-kiang River?”
Ensign Darrin wondered. “What interest can he take in any mission of
ours there?”