A BOMB AND A DISCOVERY
It seemed that either Gates or I must be out of our senses.
"Blow us up!" I gasped, staring at him.
"As sure as you're born, sir! 'Twas about the time you called over the
rail. A little before that, as you gentlemen were talking, I heard a
small boat. She came near, and she came up sneaking. First I thought it
might be a sponge fisher with more curiosity than manners, but as she
didn't start on again I begun to cock my ear. Then something gave a rub
against our rudder post. I didn't like it. I was sitting back there,
anyhow, so just got to my hands and knees, and peeped over."
"Why didn't you challenge?"
"Because there's been strange doings these twenty-four hours parst, and
I knew your affairs might be taking a serious turn. I thought you'd be
wanting to know their play, 'stead of scaring 'em off. So I peeped and
listened. With my eyes getting fair used to the dark I made out a dinghy
with four men, and think they'd bent a line about our rudder post, for
the for'ard man seemed to be working at us silent and farst. The middle
one had the oars, ready to pull away. In the stern sheets sat the one I
guessed was boss and, kind of squatting down in front of him, was a lad.
To tell the truth, sir, I felt squirmy, for those night-hawks were up to
something mysterious."
"Wait a minute, Gates--did you recognize them?"
"Not me, sir. As I was saying, the fellow aft now parssed up a bundle to
the for'ard chap, who took it gingerly and began farstening it on to us
somewhere--I couldn't see. The young lad leaned over and looked at it,
then he up and sings out: 'It ain't fair!'"
"Yes, yes," I caught him by the shoulders. "Go on, Gates!"
"Mind out this thing under my coat," he warned. "Well, sir, the one that
was boss made a grab for him--Lor', how he did jerk him!--and the others
froze like stone. They stayed that way while you were calling, then the
dinghy glided off--the one aft still holding his hand over the lad's
mouth and kind of choking him with the other."
My blood was fairly steaming, and I cried out what was uppermost in my
mind:
"That wasn't a lad, Gates! It was a girl!"
His jaw dropped and he stared at me, but slowly shook his head.
"No, sir, it warn't a girl, or the fellow wouldn't have handled her so
rough. Besides, sir, he wore--the lad, I mean--a jacket and cap like you
or me."
"That doesn't mean anything. I tell you it was a girl--I'm sure of it!"
"Well, sir, you're wrong; for when they got out five fathom or so they
stopped--to listen, maybe. You were back in the cockpit by then, and I
guess the fellow must have let up on the young-un; for, all at once,
he--the lad, I mean--raked a match along the gunnel, for to take a
smoke, d'you see! My word, but the way he was grabbed this time would
have shocked you. I couldn't see it, but you could hear the youngster
gurgling. That shows it warn't a girl, sir!"
"What shows it? Because you think she wanted to smoke? Girls do, Gates!"
"They do that, sir, and I'm not gainsaying it; but they do it sociable,
arfter dinner, setting 'round the cockpit, as you might say. It's seldom
any of 'em has such a mortal craving for tobacco as to have to take a
suck at a little cigarette every time a man chokes her by the throat. My
word, no! It's the male sex that wants the weed under those
conditions--not a girl, sir!"
But I was seeing an entirely different version of the affair, so far as
the smoking went; and Gates would have seen it, too, if he hadn't been
so excited. She had not wanted to smoke, at all, but to signal us! I
knew it! I was never more sure of anything in all creation!
"And besides, sir," Gates now added, "no one would push his fingers into
a girl's throat like----"
"Stop," I cried, for I could not listen to more of this. If ever I
wanted to kill it was then. I wanted to get my own fingers on that
scoundrel's throat as he had dared touch hers; and in my heart I swore
by all the gods, by all the stars and moons and other things in the
heavens and under the sea, that I would strangle out his miserable life
by inches, or leave my bones to bleach on the shore of her unknown
island. Wherever it was, I would find it; wherever she was, I would find
her!--and God help him when he came my way! It was a classy oath, and I
felt a lot better for it.
"Now, sir," Gates's voice began to tremble with passion as he held up a
black thing that had been tucked under his coat, "this invention I took
off our rudder post when I rowed 'round to see what they'd been up to.
It's a dirty bomb, fixed to start us off for Davy Jones's Locker
sometime tonight, sir!"
"You're sure it can't start us off now?" I asked, taking it from his
hands.
"Not lest you get too familiar, sir. I've disconnected the clock part of
it."
"Have you any idea what those men looked like?"
He solemnly shook his head.
"You can't guess who they were, or why they wanted to blow us up?" I
persisted. "Shall we notify the port, or what?"
He stood a while silent before answering.
"Mr. Jack, God knows who they are. It was too dark for me to get any
satisfying squint at 'em; but I never saw 'em before--that I know. Three
things are sure: they're either lunatics, or they've taken us for some
mortal enemy, or----"
"Well?"
"Or I'm wrong in those two guesses, sir."
"But you think they're from the _Orchid_, don't you?"
"On another guess, I'd swear it, sir."
"And you're positive you never saw the yacht till yesterday--in any
port?"
"Never, sir. I even made inquiry about her in Havana before we cleared
to-day--that is, without exciting comment. A one-eyed stevedore said she
drops in there maybe once or twice a year, but he didn't know from
where. _I've_ never seen her, and I've sailed close to thirty year most
everywhere in these waters during winter seasons!"
"Well, I'm stumped," I admitted. "Let's take this to the professor and
see what he makes of it." So we went down together.
Monsieur, in his stateroom, sat bent over his counterfeit bill when I
quietly shoved the bomb in front of him. He sprang up with a broadside
of expletives that in the sunlight would have cast a wondrous rainbow.
It was a way with the little professor, and we had learned to keep
respectfully distant during such periods of effervescing energy.
"Tied to our rudder post," I told him.
He seemed to grasp the entire situation at once. I have never known such
a genius for corraling facts! In an instant his mind apparently galloped
completely around the boundary of our discovery, and then circled in.
"You have made it harmless," was his first oral observation.
"Gates did, yes; he disconnected the clock-work."
"It is quickly made, and crude," he mused, turning it over in his hands,
"but the work of one who is not a novice. Give me the other part!--um!
Very pretty, very pretty, indeed!" Then he looked up, calling: "My boy
Tommy, come! We are to see what we shall see!"
"See what?" Tommy sauntered in; but as we explained the situation he
looked positively hopeful. For the chief quality in Tommy that made him
so likable was his abiding love of danger. He would rather flirt with
death than a ravishing coquette--though I will not deny his preference
to play the pair.
"Oh, boy!" he now chuckled, giving my arm a squeeze.
As we gathered about the table, Monsieur took a knife and began to press
its blade into the covering of the bomb, saying:
"I have known the builder of one of these to leave his tracks inside,
trusting the explosion to obliterate them. But sometimes the machine
does not go off."
"Let's hope this'll be one of those times," Tommy murmured, "or we'll
pretty well leave our tracks all over the Gulf. Don't use any bad
judgment, Professor. Centuries are looking down at you!"
"I shall try not," he smiled, pushing the blade deeper and giving a
gentle twist.
"I should say he ought to be doing that ashore, sir," Gates whispered.
"Lor' knows this is no place----"
But Monsieur was speaking again.
"The gentleman who left it with us may have used bad judgment by not
exploding it himself. So much the worse for him. Steady!" he grunted,
peeling off another slice of the wrapper. "Yet, if criminals did not
sometimes use bad judgment, a sorry plight would be ours, eh? Moreover,
it is natural that they use bad judgment, for, being criminals, their
judgment is bad--primarily bad, or they would not be criminals."
"Please work without your tongue or talk without your hands," I said,
with a touch of irritation. "That thing's nervous for undivided
attention!"
The professor may not have heard, and in a monotone continued:
"The man who made it knew his business; therefore he is a student of
this type of explosives; therefore a police agent, a--what you
call--crank like myself, or a destroying criminal--that is, an
anarchist. Therefore he is the last named, since neither of the others
would want to blow up a gentleman's yacht. It seems clear to you?" he
asked, without raising his eyes; but none of us cared to divert his
attention by answering.
By now Monsieur had peeled off several pieces of the wrapper, and was
sprawled over the table with a powerful magnifying lens. For some time
he minutely studied them, finally squinting closely at a particular one
and beginning to show increased excitement. Arising and pushing by us,
he went to his many boxes and returned with a small glass-stoppered
bottle. It must have contained an acid; at any rate, he touched a drop
of it to a piece of the inner wrapping, then bent over to watch results.
Finally, with very bright eyes, he looked up announcing in a voice of
triumph:
"This paper is the kind they use for printing money on!"
We stared at him, but he volunteered nothing further, having again bent
over his search. For several minutes we watched in silence. Then he sat
up with a snap, as a steel spring might be released.
"The man who made this bomb made my counterfeit bank note," he cried.
Tommy and I jumped.
"Just so," he continued eagerly. "The bomb is a hurried affair,
impromptu, constructed of materials happening to be at hand when needed.
That necessity, we assume, arose within the last few hours, since we
have been in these waters but shortly. Here is a piece of the wrapper.
You make nothing of it, yet to my experienced knowledge I see the
identical paper on which my money is printed. The counterfeiter,
possessing a good resisting paper and suddenly desiring to make a bomb,
employs it. So much for so much! Now we have him a bomb-maker and a
counterfeiter;--then we shall eliminate the anarchist!"
"Why?" I asked.
"Because a counterfeiter of such skill--and this engraving is the work
of a master--implies long and intense application; therefore a secluded
life rather than one of following the red flag. Moreover, an anarchist
would be tempted into this risk, such as tried upon us, only to destroy
someone of great importance--which I may conclude no one of us is. And
irrespective of these reasons counterfeiters do not sympathize with
anarchy. The psychology of each must be diametric, for if there is no
government to make money there is no money to counterfeit. So the
anarchist in our case lacks motive, but the other finds it if he
suspects us of knowing his secret. So much for so much. Do we know any
counterfeiter's secret? No. Then a final theory: the placer of this bomb
has mistaken us for an enemy--he thinks we are whom we are not!"
"That's what I said," Gates interposed.
"But he does suspect us of knowing it," Tommy exclaimed, "or why did he
tell the waiter Jack was a detective?"
The professor, obviously disappointed, turned again to the bomb that was
fast reaching a state of _deshabille_--if bombs can be said to reach
that state.
"You assume this to be the work of people on that yacht," he said, with
a touch of annoyance. "Can you sustain that theory?"
"Why, of course, sir," Gates declared.
"A mere presumption, _mon Capitaine!_"
"But the voice," I challenged. "Don't you suppose I recognized it?"
"Tut-tut, my boy Jack! You have never actually heard the lady's voice!"
And as this was true I had nothing further to offer; but he brightened
up, adding: "We shall now go to the stomach of the bomb, if only to
enjoy ourselves."
"You've a curious idea of fun," I grunted.
"Just go easy," Tommy said. "She may be ticklish."
"Why not sink the wicked thing at once, sir," Gates urged. "We've seen
enough now to keep us awake nights, and I haven't any craving to look at
its stomach, Lor' knows I haven't!"
But the professor would not listen. Already he had recommenced the
exploration, gingerly removing some wires wrapped about the explosive
center, while we almost held our breaths lest he touch the wrong thing.
Once he smiled, and murmured: "_Le capitaine_ is right--it was made on
the _Orchid_!" Yet he did not stop work for this, and soon brought to
view two half sticks of dynamite, one of them ingeniously capped.
Leaning above this now, with his elbows on the table and his head in his
hands, he sank into a profound study, then startled us by giving a snort
and springing up, jostling the table so violently that the dynamite slid
gracefully toward the edge. Most happily Tommy grabbed it in time.
"Lor', sir, 'twas a close shave," Gates whispered, wiping his forehead.
But Monsieur remained blissfully unconscious of the mess so narrowly
averted. He was staring, breathing heavily, blinking and thinking. As
though walking in his sleep he again went to his mysterious bags, took
out something and began to study it through the lens. Then with a yell
he rushed at me, hugged me, kissed me on the cheek, held me off, and
hugged me again, crying over and over:
"I am right--I am right--I am right!"
He now caromed from me and in the same manner embraced Tommy, and after
this he tackled Gates. But Gates did not understand the continental
fashion of masculine salutations, and sternly disengaged himself,
saying:
"You carn't be right, sir! I don't know what's the matter, but it's easy
to see you carn't just be right!"
"_Sacre bleu!_" Monsieur stepped back, actually weeping with happiness.
"What stupid idiots we are! Can't you see?"
"I can see one," Tommy grinned at him sweetly.
"Ah, but look!" He thrust before us the thing he had taken from the bag.
It was that precious kodak film of Sylvia. "Look!" he cried. "You say
she is near to twenty--he, to seventy-five! But, more than all, I see
with my lens that here is the breathing likeness of the mother! Where
are your eyes, my boys? _Ciel_, must I tell you? She is the kidnaped
princess of Azuria!"
You who read may have surmised this; so might we, had we been reading
instead of making history. The human mind that leans above a printed
page possesses a more concentrated grasp of facts than the human atoms
who run over the earth collecting them. So I caught my breath and simply
stared, too dazed to speak. It seemed as though something had given me a
surprising whack that sent a thousand sparks before my eyes. But then
slowly the whole structure began to unfold. Each step of evidence we had
picked up since the memorable night but twenty-four hours ago, now took
its place as the panorama--not flawless, but with inviting
possibilities,--and passed across my brain.
It was very late when we pushed back from the table. In its center were
the counterfeit bill, the magnifying glass, parts of the thoroughly
dissected bomb, several pages of writing pad with the professor's
deductions; and by these were some of Gates' charts, the paper I had
procured from the waiter, and another page containing those mystic
sentences Sylvia had spoken for finding her island--because I thought it
fair to her that this should be laid before my friends, especially as
she had only said them in a dream.
Strangely enough the professor was willing to admit them to his scheme
of carrying on our pursuit--a chase which he now seemed determined to
direct--when even Tommy, the superstitious Tommy, declared they would
throw us off the track a thousand miles. I could think of no plan, for
altogether it did seem like combing out the universe for two human
atoms.
"We have one sure way, of course," the professor leaned wearily back.
"Keep the _Orchid_ in sight. If we do this till she reaches her lair,
all is well."
"I wouldn't doubt she sailed, sir, right arfter placing the bomb," Gates
ventured.
"Then we can't keep her in sight," said Tommy dolefully.
"Do not thwart me," the little fellow cried, with a sudden flare of
anger that made us smile in spite of the serious work at hand.
"We'd better go ashore first," I suggested, "and get authority to
capture her. The government can deputize us by sending along an
officer."
"Authority!" Monsieur puffed out his cheeks and snapped his finger.
"That for your government's authority! I have the authority with me!"
"You!" I exclaimed.
"_Certainement!_ I was one of those true friends who left the palace
years ago, with the old King's authority in my pocket! It is in that bag
now! It is absolute--absolute!--protecting me against anything I may do
in effecting her rescue and return. It is by far more powerful than
anything your government could give us! A King's order makes the police
of the world my underlings! Besides that, she is my special charge, and
no power this side of Azuria can abrogate my authority over her!"
A cold hand wrapped its fingers about my heart. The hopelessness of our
search would have been depressing enough had it not contained the spice
of chase, but to feel that it might be fruitful only to have her
snatched off into a world as unknown, as impossible to me as this far
off kingdom, was crazing. To me it would be like seeing her transported
from one star to another, while I remained on earth to gaze my eyes out
and eat my heart out with endless longing.
"Her mother is regent, you say?" Tommy asked, intuitively sympathizing
with my state of mind.
"Yes. In Roumania a woman may not ascend the throne alone, but in
Azuria, where the Ruman blood has never mixed, she may act as regent if
her heir is a girl too young to marry. But now," he clapped his hands
joyfully, "we can complete the alliance with a neighboring prince--and,
ah, what joy there will be!"
"You've got to catch her first," Tommy said, not without a trace of
spite. "Even if we get near enough to see him, at all, he can see us,
too; then lead us off the track till night and make a run for base."
"So he will, my boy Tommy. And if his lair is to the west, he will
doubtless lead us to the east. But we must sail at dawn--then we shall
see what we shall see!"
"Good night," I said, abruptly kicking back my chair.
Thus our meeting broke up; Gates going first to sink the dynamite and
then leave orders for all canvas to be stretched at peep o' day. Tommy
came on deck with me, and we stood a while looking into the black water.
Off in the town, in a side street near the wharf where sailors'
amusement halls are clustered, some tipsy fellow was bawling a love song
at the top of his voice. He seemed to be the only thing awake in Key
West at this hour. When the song, or his voice, gave out the silence
settled heavier than before. A ship's bell, far over the water, began to
strike, and we counted five mellow strokes: one-one, one-one, one!
"Half-past two," Tommy whispered, "I wonder what Nell's doing!"
"Dreaming of you, no doubt," I tried to laugh. "Maybe you and she are
wrecked on a desert island at this blissful moment."
"I wish we were," he murmured, without looking around. "And you and
Sylvia, too!"
"Cut it," I growled. "She's a princess, Tommy, and that puts the kibosh
on my dreams."
"Nell's a princess, too," he said gently, "and I still hang on. Tilt up
your chin, Jack, and things'll squeeze through for us! We'll ship the
old counterfeiter to prison, or kill him, and then----"
"And then," I said bitterly, turning to go below, "Princess Sylvia goes
to the arms of some popinjay prince!"
But I had taken only a step when his hand fell on my shoulder like a
piece of steel and whirled me around. There was nothing gentle in his
voice this time as he sharply commanded:
"Look at me, you damn slacker, and let's see if I'm talking to the man I
fought the Boche with!"
I must have appeared rather well indignant with him, for he gave a low,
reassured laugh, adding:
"That's better. Now I want to say, once and for all--and I swear it on
each of these stars, both for myself and Nell--that if we catch up with
Princess Sylvia, and you let her be taken away, I'll punch your face
into a jolly good pulp, so help me old Kentucky! Good _night_!"
"If you're man enough to do it," I yelled after him.
Fine old Tommy! I believe I loved him then better than ever before.