THE OLD SLOUCH HAT.
“I’m a dunderhead, all right,” Glennie cheerfully admitted, when they
were all in the periscope room with the prisoner, lashed hand and foot,
lying before them. “I saw this rascal try a jujutsu trick on Carl, in
an attempt to break his arm, and yet I never suspected that he was a
Japanese, let alone Tolo!”
“It’s plain enough now, isn’t it, Glennie?” queried Bob. “These yellow
men are always hard to identify, but this fellow is certainly Ah Sin,
otherwise Tolo. Notice how closely his hair is clipped. He had to have
a close haircut when he got into his Chinese disguise. All the rest of
those make-believe savages had long hair.”
“I wonder where the rascals came from? Their steamer wasn’t anywhere in
sight.”
“It’s tucked away among the islands. This, you know, is a peaceable
country, and the Japs would have to be wary in carrying out their
designs upon the _Grampus_. I’ll bet those fellows know all about our
route, and what ports we expect to call at. It was easy for them to get
into the mouth of the Amazon ahead of us, and then wait for us to come
along.”
A sudden idea occurred to Glennie, and he went down on his knees and
began searching the Jap. Inasmuch as the only garment the Jap wore was
a short kirtle, the search did not consume much time. Glennie got up
disappointedly.
“The packet isn’t there, eh?” asked Bob.
“No.”
“He was probably wise enough to leave it on the steamer.”
“Where it has already been opened, no doubt, by the leader of these
Sons of the Rising Sun. I’m in as deep as ever, and the capture of Tolo
hasn’t helped me.”
The dejection in Glennie’s voice was too pronounced to be passed over.
“Don’t take it so hard,” urged Bob. “Go to Mr. Brigham, in Para, and
tell him the whole story. Perhaps a way can be found to make Tolo talk.”
“We’ll try him now,” said Glennie, a flash of forlorn hope crossing
his face. “Why do you want to treat me like this, Tolo?” he queried,
addressing the prisoner.
“What I do I do for Nippon,” was the slow answer.
“You stole my dispatches, there in La Guayra,” went on Glennie, still
addressing himself to the prisoner. “What sort of way was that to treat
me?”
“For Nippon,” muttered Tolo; “all is for Nippon, all is for my beloved
country.”
“What did you do with those dispatches?” demanded Glennie.
“I will say nothing,” answered Tolo, with careful emphasis.
“Your country will be held to account for this,” proceeded Glennie
severely.
“My country has nothing to do with it. I am a Son of the Rising Sun,
and I should like to die for my country. If my hands were free, and I
had a sword, then--hari-kiri! It is a glory to kill oneself for one’s
country.”
“Guff!” growled Dick. “Hear him talk--and all for effect.”
“You’re wrong, Dick,” said Bob. “The poor fellow means every word he
says.”
“And he say dot it vas good to die for vone’s country!” murmured Carl.
“I don’d agree mit dot. I vould radder lif for my gountry. A deadt hero
don’t amoundt to nodding, but a live feller is aple to do t’ings vat
count. Yah, id is pedder to lif for vone’s gountry as to die for id.”
“There’s a whole lot of sense in that, Mr. Pretzel,” said Glennie.
“T’ank you!” returned Carl, with mock politeness. “I know dot before
you shpeak id oudt, Misder Glennie.”
The ensign looked at Carl in a disappointed way, for it must have been
plain to him that he was not breaking the ice any, so far as Carl and
Dick were concerned.
“You pretended to be Ah Sin just so you could get aboard this boat, and
destroy it, didn’t you?” Glennie pursued, again focusing his attention
on the prisoner.
“I am saying nothing,” was the reply in calm, even tones.
“Why did you and your companions make an attack on this boat?” put in
Bob curiously.
There was no response.
“You three didn’t think you could take her away from the lot of us, did
you?”
Still no answer, merely a cool, passive glance.
“You can’t rattle him,” put in Dick, “nor get him to say anything
that’s incriminating. He’s Tolo, hard and fast, and it’s not so queer
why he and his two comrades hove alongside of us. They were engaged
in some quiet work, and when Mr. Glennie went on deck, according to
your orders, he interrupted them and sprung a fight where no fight was
intended.”
“Now, Dick,” said Bob whimsically, “_you’re_ the deep one. Just what do
you mean by that?”
“Suppose there was a bomb in that dugout,” continued Dick; “and suppose
those fellows fastened it to the side of the _Grampus_, fired the
fuse, and then paddled silently away. What would have happened? Will
dynamite cause damage sideways as well as up and down?”
Bob gave a startled jump--a jump that caused his wet clothes to rustle,
and the water to slosh around in his shoes.
“Great guns!” he exclaimed. “You’ve got your finger on the right
button, Dick! That was a point that bothered me tremendously--why
three men should try such a foolhardy thing as making an attack on a
submarine with a full complement below decks. Now I understand, and the
whole situation clears. Tolo and his companions stole up alongside of
us to put a bomb somewhere about the hull of the _Grampus_. By luck,
Glennie went on deck in time to frustrate the design. By Jove, but it
was another narrow escape!”
“Once in a while,” Dick replied, with a grin, “I blunder on something
that’s worth telling.”
“I should say so!”
“Excellent reasoning, Mr. Ferral!” approved Glennie.
The grin left Dick’s face on the instant, and a frown took its place.
He turned to the periscope abruptly.
Bob was surprised at the depth of feeling which this action on the part
of his chum made manifest. Glennie settled back grimly on the locker.
Carl began to hum a Dutch song under his breath--and for that Dick and
Bob were thankful. If he had sung the song aloud they would have had
to throw something at him. A certain Captain Pierce, in Belize, had
set the fashion, and now whenever Carl burst into song he had to dodge
everything that was handy.
In the embarrassing silence that followed Dick’s action, Bob began to
take off his shoes and socks.
“I’ve got to get into something dry,” he remarked. “You fellows better
make sure Tolo is well lashed, and then take him into Mr. Glennie’s
room. That, Glennie,” he added, removing his water-logged coat, “used
to be our prison chamber.”
“A good place for me, then,” observed Glennie, with a side glance at
Dick and Carl.
“You might get off the locker a minute,” went on Bob. “I’ve an outfit
of clothes somewhere in that long box you’re sitting on.”
“Pardon me!”
Glennie got up and helped Carl examine the prisoner’s bonds. While they
were busy with that, Bob began rummaging for his dry clothes. About the
first thing he laid hands on was the old slouch hat with its attached
queue.
“Wow!” cried Bob. “What did you put this in here for, Carl? It looked
like a snake.”
With that Bob jerked the hat and queue out of the locker and hurled
them across the room.
As he was about to return to the locker again and go on with his
rummaging, Bob caught a gleam in the prisoner’s eyes that caused him to
straighten up and watch Tolo more carefully.
Tolo’s gaze was on the hat. For once he was betrayed out of his grim
passiveness, and there flamed in his eyes something unusual--and
significant to Bob, who studied Tolo’s face keenly. The Jap’s eyes
continued to rest on the hat until he saw that Bob was watching him;
then the eyes turned away absently and lost their telltale gleam.
“Vat’s der madder mit der feller?” muttered Carl. “He seemed to vake
oop, for a minid, und now he is like he alvays is. Vat ails him?”
“Queer he took on that sort of look, all of a sudden,” mused Glennie.
“Probably he t’ought of somet’ing mit a bomb in id,” suggested Carl. “I
move ve tie somet’ing heafy aboudt his neck und make him shvim agross
der Amazon. Hey?”
No one seconded Carl’s suggestion. Bob rose, walked over to the hat and
queue, and picked them up. Tolo paid no attention, or did not seem to.
With the old slouch hat in his hand Bob sat down on a stool and began
feeling of the crown with his fingers.
“Vat’s dot for?” chirped Carl.
“I tell you,” said Dick, “our chum has still got a twisted brain.
Tolo’s coffee is continuing to have its effect.”
Bob laughed, suddenly turned the old hat over, tore out the lining, and
pulled forth a crumpled envelope, closed with a red seal.
Glennie gave a yell. “My dispatches!” And, with that, he staggered
across the small room, grabbed the envelope, and waved it above his
head. “My dispatches!” he repeated, his voice husky.
“I thought so,” said Bob. “They have been in that old slouch hat, in
the locker, ever since we made that dive to get away from the Japs.”
“And I pud dem dere,” remarked Carl pompously. “How mooch is id vort’?”