THE HIDDEN SNARE.
“Ahoy, yourself!” shouted Bob. “What do you want?”
“Dar’s a gemman here, Marse Cap’n, dat wants tuh come on bo’d,”
answered the voice of Sambo.
“Who is he?”
Here another form pushed forward and another voice took up the
conversation.
“Are you Bob Steele?” asked the voice.
“Yes.”
“You have charge of the submarine while Captain Nemo, junior, is sick?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re the person I wish to talk with. I am Don Ramon Ortega.”
Bob was deeply impressed by the name. Everybody in Belize had a
good word to say for Don Ramon Ortega, the Spanish consul. He was a
chivalrous gentleman of the old school, a friend of the United States
when many other of his countrymen cherished a grudge against the
country, and a philanthropic and kindly man in all his dealings.
“I shall be very glad to have you come aboard, Don Ortega,” called
Bob respectfully, “but it is against our rules to allow more than one
stranger aboard the _Grampus_ at any one time.”
“Then I will come alone.”
Bob and Dick got out of the tower and each hurled a rope to those
forward and aft on the sailboat. After the two boats had been hauled
as close together as possible, a plank was shoved over the side of the
sailboat and left with its outer end resting on the rounded deck of
the submarine. Don Ramon turned and handed something to Sambo.
“Haul off,” said he, “and wait until you receive a signal from me. If
you don’t receive a signal, put back to the landing.”
“All right, boss.”
Bob was a little surprised at this order, but presumed that he would
soon be told why it had been given. Reaching out, he caught the don’s
hand and helped him off the end of the plank.
“I must speak with you immediately,” said the don. “Can we go somewhere
for a little private talk?”
“Certainly,” answered Bob, his wonder continuing to grow.
The don carried a canvas bag whose contents jingled musically with
every movement. While Bob and Dick escorted their caller below, those
on the sailboat hauled in the plank and stood off toward the shore.
Speake, Gaines, and Clackett were still busy stowing the supplies and
getting the _Grampus_ shipshape below decks. The two boys and their
guest made themselves comfortable in the periscope room.
Don Ramon, as Bob looked at him now for the first time, had the
appearance of a courtly gentleman. He was swarthy, well dressed, and
his dark eyes, as they stared about him curiously, looked like points
of polished jet.
The don took a cardcase from his pocket and extracted a square of
pasteboard bearing the coat of arms of his native country, his name and
the information that he was Spanish consul at Belize. He handed the
card to Bob, who, in turn, passed it along to Dick.
“We have heard a good deal about you, don,” remarked Bob, “but this is
the first time we have ever met.”
“And I have heard much about you,” was the answer, in most gracious
tones; “very much to your credit. The recent performance of the
_Grampus_ made a deep impression upon me, and that is why I am here
to-night. If you wish, you can render a great service to the cause of
right and justice; possibly it hangs upon you to terminate the uprising
in the unhappy little republic that lies to the south.”
Bob and Dick were all interest on the moment.
“What do you mean, don?” asked Bob.
“Pitou and his rebels have captured Port Livingstone and the fort on
the headland across the river from the town. Every inch of the coast
is guarded. The loyal army is marching from the Pacific side of the
republic--very few in numbers and poorly armed. Pitou, the great rogue,
has laid a trap for the loyalists. Unless General Mendez, in charge of
the loyal troops, is communicated with to-morrow morning, there will be
fighting and bloodshed, and perhaps the insurrectionists will win.”
Bob and Dick were following the don closely, wondering what he was
driving at.
“Of course,” the don resumed, after a brief silence, “as Spanish
consul, I am not warranted in mixing in the imbroglio. Whatever I do, I
do in a private capacity, and merely as a preserver of peace. However,
it is well known that the insurrection, headed by this soldier of
fortune, Pitou, is merely for the sake of gain. If successful, Pitou
and Fingal would get a grip on the throat of the little republic, and
lawlessness would reign. You know something about Pitou and Fingal and
their base methods and designs. Therefore, I come to you.”
“Why do you come to me?” inquired Bob.
“Why, with the submarine you could pass the mouth of the Izaral under
water and unseen by the rebels; you could continue up the Izaral, still
below the surface, to the place where the Purgatoire enters the stream.
From that point I could communicate with General Mendez and warn him
of the trap that has been laid by Pitou. The general could save his
army--and the fate of the republic hangs on General Mendez. Will you do
this? Will you assist Don Ramon Ortega in such a humanitarian work?”
Bob was dazed by the proposition.
“You,” pursued the don passionately, “come from a great and rich
country, where there is always peace. Then have you got it in your
heart to withhold a helping hand from a smaller and war-harried little
country whose fate may hang upon your decision? See?”
The don pulled a stool in front of him, untied the canvas sack and
spilled a heap of golden sovereigns out of it.
“Here are fifty pieces of gold, Bob Steele,” he went on, “and, if
we are successful in passing the revolutionists and getting word to
General Mendez, you shall have one thousand more. Will you do this for
me, Don Ramon Ortega? Will you do it for humanity? I do not appeal to
your wish for gain--you are above such sordid things--but I ask you
in the name of right and justice! Lives, human lives, depend on you!
The fate of a republic depends on you! As for the risk to you and the
submarine--bah!” The don shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. “Am I
not going with you? Would I endanger my own life?”
The don paused anxiously for reply. Dick peered at his friend
reflectively. Speake, Clackett, and Gaines, having finished their work
below, had come to the periscope room and were standing in one of the
bulkhead doors. They had heard the don’s proposition, and the gold was
sparkling its lure in their greedy eyes.
“I am sorry, don,” said Bob, with a note of deep regret in his voice,
“but I have not the authority to let you have the _Grampus_ for any
such work.”
“You are the captain?”
“I am in charge of the boat while her captain is sick. You should take
your proposition to Captain Nemo, junior.”
“I went to see him, but the doctor refused to let me in. The doctor
said the captain was unable to talk with anybody. So I came to you.”
“I haven’t the authority, don,” repeated Bob firmly. “Wait until the
captain is able to talk business. I can’t risk the boat.”
“There is no risk!”
“Perhaps not; but I have no more right to take this boat out of the
harbor, don, than you have.”
The don passed his dejected glance from Bob to Dick, and then toward
the three faces in the narrow doorway.
Gaines pushed forward.
“Bob,” said he, “I think you might stretch a point. Them golden sovs
look mighty fine to me. There’s two hundred an’ fifty dollars’ worth
there, and we’re promised five thousand dollars’ worth more. Cap’n
Nemo, junior, if he was able, would tell us to go ahead an’ capture the
prize money. I move we hook up with the don.”
“Might jest as well turn a few honest dollars, Bob,” put in Speake, “as
to be layin’ idle here, off Belize.”
“My idee, exactly,” said Clackett. “I know the cap’n would do it if he
was able to hear the don’s proposition.”
“Why not?” said Dick, in a low tone.
Bob shook his head decidedly.
“I’d go in a minute if I had the right to do so,” said he, “but I
haven’t. Suppose the _Seminole_ should put into the harbor to-night
with orders for the _Grampus?_ You know what it would mean, Dick.”
Dick was silent, but not convinced. The men were disappointed, and
watched the don as he shoved the gold coins back into the bag.
“I am sorry, too,” said he, tying up the bag, “and I feel, Bob Steele,
that you are letting a lot of useless red tape interfere with your
duties to humanity.”
“Perhaps, don, I merely understand my duty better than you do,”
answered Bob, respectfully but firmly. “I haven’t any love for Pitou,
or Fingal, or the rascally revolutionists, and I promise you this, that
I will see Captain Nemo, junior, personally in the morning, and, if the
doctor will let me, will put your proposition before him. If he agrees,
we will start for the south at once.”
“That will be too late,” said the don, getting up and taking his bag of
sovereigns. “I will bid you good evening, hail my boat, and go ashore,”
he added stiffly.
With chilly dignity he climbed the conning-tower ladder and hailed the
sailboat. Bob, Dick, and the others saw him safely aboard and the boat
headed shoreward; then again went below.
“I’m tired,” announced Bob, cutting short a further discussion of the
don and his proposition, “and I’m going to bed. You and Clackett,
Gaines, will have the anchor watch till midnight. After that, call Dick
and me.”
“Very good, sir,” replied Gaines.
Dick accompanied Bob to a room abaft the periscope chamber, in which
a couple of cots had been set up, and silently the two chums turned
in. Nothing more was said about going ashore to interrupt Carl’s
serenade. Bob knew that Dick thought he should have accepted the don’s
proposition, and yet, feeling that he was in the right, did not care to
discuss the matter. With a hearty good night to Dick, he turned over
and went to sleep.
How long Bob slept he did not know, but he was awakened by the throb of
a motor and started bolt upright in his bed.
The _Grampus_ was moving! The roll of the craft proved that she was on
the surface and under way. All was dark in the little steel room, and
Bob got up and groped for the switch that turned on the incandescent
light. A moment later there was a dazzling glow, and Bob looked at the
bulkhead doors. They had been open when he and Dick retired, and now
they were closed!
He started for the door leading to the periscope room. Just as he laid
his hand on it, Dick roused up.
“What’s the meaning of this?” queried Dick, rubbing his eyes. “We seem
to be on the move.”
“We are,” answered Bob grimly.
“Who’s in charge, and where are we going?”
“Give it up! All I know is that we’re locked in.” Then he began shaking
the steel door and kicking against it. “Gaines!” he yelled.