"SEEING" THE PARIS APACHES
Like a flash Darrin thrust the paper into one of his own pockets. Then
he turned, darting into a near-by doorway dark enough to conceal him
from Gortchky's eyes, if he should look in that direction.
"I've no reason for fearing an encounter with Gortchky, unless he
knows how to summon the murderous Apaches to his aid," Dave told
himself as he pressed back as far as he could into his hiding place.
"I don't want Gortchky, however, to know I'm watching him, and I don't
want to lose this precious paper any more than he does."
Touching the door accidentally with the hand that rested behind his
back, Dave was delighted to feel it swing slightly open. In another
instant he had backed into a corridor, softly closing the door after
him.
"Now Gortchky won't find me, and I'm all right, unless I am discovered
by one of the occupants of this house, and turned over to the police
as a burglar!" thought the young naval officer exultantly.
Gortchky's step, now slower, went by the door, which Dave had left
ajar by only the tiniest crack.
"I cannot have lost that paper here, after all," Dave heard the
international spy mutter in a low voice. "Certainly it has not been
picked up, for I came back almost instantly, and there was no one
near. It is not likely that I shall ever see that important little bit
of paper again."
Yet for a few moments longer Dave heard the international spy moving
about as though still searching. Then the fellow's footsteps died out
as he went around the corner.
"I'll wait a few minutes before I step out," Darrin decided. "Gortchky
may only be laying a trap, and even at this instant he may be peering
around the corner to see if any one steps out of one of these
doorways."
Waiting for what seemed to be a long time, but what was actually only
a few minutes, the young ensign stepped out to the sidewalk again.
There were a few people on his own side of the block, and the sight of
any one leaving a house was not likely to arouse curiosity in the
minds of the denizens of that neighborhood.
As Dave neared the next corner, however, four rough-looking fellows
came out of a little cafe. Their bearing was full of swagger. These
young men, in dress half student and half laborer, with caps pulled
down over their eyes and gaily-knotted handkerchiefs around their
necks, displayed the shifting, cunning look that is found in the
hoodlum everywhere.
As they reached the sidewalk, moving with the noiseless step peculiar
to the Apache, they heard Darrin briskly coming along. Halting, they
regarded him closely as he neared them.
"They look like hard characters," Dave told himself. "However, if I
mind my business, I guess they'll mind theirs."
It was not to be. One of the Apaches, the tallest and slimmest of the
lot, regarded Darrin with more curiosity than did any of the others.
"Ho!" he cried. "See how stiffly our little student carries himself!
He must have been to see his sweetheart, and feels proud of himself."
"He has the stride of a banker," jeered another. "I wonder if he has
his bank with him."
Dave's ear, quickly attuned to the French tongue, caught and
understood the words.
"Let me see what you look like," urged the slim fellow, reaching out
and plucking from Darrin's nose the blue eye glasses just as Dave was
passing the group.
That gesture and the act were so insulting that Ensign Darrin could
not keep back the flash that leaped into his eyes. He halted,
regarding the Apache steadily.
"Why, bless me! He's an American!" cried the Apache. "All Americans
are rich, you know. My friend, have you a few sous for a group of poor
workingmen?"
Dave essayed to pass on. As he did so, a foot was thrust out. Dave saw
the movement and leaped over the foot to avoid being tripped.
"At him!" hissed the slim Apache. "Let us shake out his pockets."
Dave sprang forward, although he knew that he could not hope to run
away. Instead, he leaped to a wall, placing his back against it. There
he halted, glaring defiantly at his assailants, his fists up and ready
for instant action.
"Sail in! Trim him!" snarled the slim one. "If our little American
shows fight--kill him!"
The first who reached Dave reeled back with a broken nose, for
Darrin's first was hard.
"Stick the pig!" cried the leader, meaning that the young officer was
to be stabbed. Not one of the four had a knife, it seemed.
As they surrounded him, the one with the injured nose having returned
to the fray, that slim Apache drew out a sandbag, long and narrow,
shaped like a sausage, made of canvas and filled with sand. This is
one of the most deadly weapons in the world.
"Let us see what soothing medicine will do!" he jeered.
In an instant all four had brought sandbags to light, and all closed
in upon the desperate American.
"Come on, you cowards!" roared Dave, forgetting his French and lapsing
back into English. "If I go out I'll take one of you with me."
Trying to tantalize their victim, the Apaches made thrusts at Ensign
Dave, and then leaped nimbly back. It was their hope that he would
spring forward at them and thus leave his rear unguarded. It is
easiest to use the sandbag on a victim from behind, though the tactics
now employed were favorites with the Apaches.
Dave had sense enough to divine the nature of their trick. Unless the
police arrived promptly he expected to be killed by these jeering
scoundrels, but he was determined to sell his life dearly enough.
Suddenly the young naval officer saw his chance and used it. One of
his dancing tormentors got in too close. Darrin's right foot shot up
and out, landing across the Apache's knee-cap.
Uttering a howl of rage and pain, the fellow all but crawled back.
"Kill the American," he howled. "Don't play with him."
Instantly the three remaining assailants worked in closer, yet with
all the caution of their wily natures.
"Rush me!" taunted Dave, again in English. "Don't be so afraid. If you
mean to kill me why don't you show courage enough to do it? Come on,
you sneaks!"
Though the Apaches could not understand what the young ensign said to
them, they knew the drift of his jeering words. Their faces contorted
with rage, they struck at him, Dave's arms working like piston rods in
his efforts to ward off their blows.
Close to the wall, slipping along on tip-toe came a tall figure. Then
suddenly a newcomer leaped into the picture.
Biff! smash! Struck from behind in the neck, two of the Apaches
pitched forward, going to earth. Dave Darrin, with a feint, followed
up with a swinging right-hand uppercut, laid the last of the Apaches
low, for the fellow sitting in a doorway, nursing his knee and
cursing, no longer counted.
"Quick! Out of here!" ordered the newcomer, seizing Dave by the arm
and starting him along.
"Jetson!" gasped Ensign Darrin, looking into the face of his rescuer.
"Yes," answered his brother officer. "Hurry along!"
"Jetson, you've saved my life this time. That pack of wolves would
have killed me in spite of my best defense."
"We're not out of trouble yet," retorted Jetson, fairly pushing Darrin
along. "Those Apaches will revive in a few seconds."
"Pooh! Together, Jetson, we could thrash half a dozen of their kind,
and find it only exercise."
"But, my boy, don't you realize that there are more than three or four
Apaches around the Rue d'Ansin? The alarm will sound, and a score more
will rush up. These rascals are sure death, Darry, if they get at you
in sufficient numbers! The Parisians fear them. You don't see a single
citizen on the street now. Look! Every one of them flew to cover as
soon as the Apaches moved into action. If bystanders interfered, or
even watched, they too would have to reckon with these Apaches. Now,
Darry, you're no coward, and neither am I, but if you're wise you will
imitate me by taking to your heels."
Still holding Dave's arm lightly, Jetson sprinted along to the next
corner.
"To the right," whispered Dave. "I've a taxicab here."
More than halfway down the block they saw the car at the curb. The
chauffeur, when Dave called, stepped from a doorway in which he had
taken refuge.
"The Apaches!" gasped the driver.
"Hustle!" urged Dave. "Come on, Jetson."
As the two young naval officers sprang into the car, the driver leaped
to his own seat. Pressing the self-starter, the chauffeur soon had his
machine gliding along. Nor did he go back, either, by way of the Rue
d'Ansin.
Not until he was four blocks away from the scene did the man ask for
his orders.
"Back to the Embassy," Dave instructed him. Then he remembered his
comrade's swift, fine rescue.
"Jetson," he asked, "did you know it was I who was menaced by the
Apaches?"
"I did not," replied his brother officer. "But I heard enough, at a
distance, to know that an American was in trouble. In Paris that is
sufficient for me. Darry, I am delighted that I happened along in
time."
"You saved my life, Jetson, and at the risk of your own. If you had
missed one of the Apaches, or had lost your balance, your career would
have been ended right there, along with mine."
"You risked your life for me, Darry, back in the old Annapolis days,
so we are even," answered Jetson gently. "However, we won't keep books
on the subject of brotherly aid. All I can say, Darry, is that I am
glad I chose this night to call on an artist who lives in dingy
quarters half a mile beyond where I found you. And I am also glad that
I did not accept his invitation to supper, or I should have come
along too late to serve you."
As soon as the machine had left them at the Embassy, Darrin sought out
Mr. Lupton.
"May I see Mr. Caine at once?" asked the young officer.
"You have seen Gortchky, then?"
"Yes, and I have found what I consider positive proof as to the plans
of Gortchky's crew."
"I think Mr. Caine can be seen," replied Lupton.
Ensign Darrin was soon with the American Ambassador, who nodded to
Lupton to leave the room.
"Here, sir," began Darrin, "is a bit of paper that Gortchky dropped
and which I picked up."
Mr. Caine scanned the paper.
"I do not see anything so very remarkable about it," he replied.
Dave whispered a few words in his ear.
"Is that true?" asked the Ambassador, displaying sudden agitation.
"Yes, sir."
"Then I believe you are right, Darrin," gasped the Ambassador, sinking
back into his chair, his face paling slightly. "Oh the villains!"
"Then you believe, sir, that I have really discovered the plot?" asked
Dave, who looked only a whit less agitated.
"If what you have just told me is true, then it must be that you have
made a correct guess."
"Will you send word by wireless to Admiral Timworth, then, sir?"
"I dare not trust such news, even to the cipher, which the
international gang thought they had filched, and which they did not
get," replied Mr. Caine. "I believe that the wisest course will be for
you to take the midnight train to Genoa."
"Then I shall take this paper with me?"
"Yes, Mr. Darrin, for the Admiral is far more capable than I of
estimating it at its true worth. It is a matter for a naval man to
comprehend and decide."
The Ambassador did not neglect to provide the young ensign with
documents, approved by the French Foreign Office, that would take them
safely over the border into Italy on their return trip.