"Let me out," said Tom, rattling the closet door.
"Sure, how did you get in there?" asked Bill Barber.
"I was locked in."
"Who by?"
"I'll tell you later. The key is in the padlock."
"I see it."
There was nothing belligerent or threatening in Bill's behavior. On the
contrary, he seemed anxious to please Tom and glad to do him a favor.
This was so foreign to the usual attitude of the Barber boy, that Tom
was both astonished and puzzled.
He noticed casually that Bill seemed more tidy than usual, and there was
not so much of the hang dog look about him as in the past.
"Queer," spoke Bill, staring perplexedly at Tom as the latter stepped
out into the room. "You didn't shut yourself up in there?"
"No, I'll tell you how it was soon. Thank you, Bill, you've done me a
big favor in coming just when I needed help."
"I am glad," voiced Bill, sententiously but heartily.
"I've something to do, so just sit down till I get things to rights,
will you?"
"I'll do that, Tom."
Bill sat staring wonderingly at the wireless outfit. He watched Tom flit
about as might a wizard among his trick apparatus. Tom flew to the
operating table. He knew that somehow irregular work had been done by
his two recent visitors. He wondered if he could head off the design
they had in view, and was intent on getting word to headquarters.
Just ready to flash the signal, however, Tom ran over to a corner of the
room and picked up a crumpled wad of paper. As he opened it, revealing
two sheets, and reviewed their contents, he knew that he had discovered
something worth while.
"The cypher message and the key to it," exclaimed Tom eagerly. "Those
fellows got what they came after and carelessly dropped these. Now to
figure it out."
Tom ran his eyes first over one sheet and then the other. The cypher
message dovetailed with words he had heard the surreptitious operator
use. With a pencil he wrote the words out with the help of the key. This
was the result:
"Leave the steamer before arrival at Halifax,
as New York police have telegraphed there to
arrest you."
"I see it all as clear as daylight," murmured Tom. "The two men who
imprisoned me are warning a friend, a criminal confederate. I'll block
the game."
Tom was busy at the transmitter for the next half hour. He flashed a
message to the _Councillor_, informing the captain that the passenger,
Daniel Ritchie, had received a wireless message irregularly, and to
prevent him from leaving the ship until he reported to the police at
Halifax.
Then Tom sent a message to headquarters explaining the entire
proceedings of the past hour, giving his construction of the episode,
and advising an immediate report to the New York police authorities.
Pretty tired from his activities, he now sat down in a chair. He had to
smile as he observed the face of Bill Barber. The latter sat like one
entranced over the manipulation the wireless outfit had undergone.
"Say," he bolted out in mingled awe and admiration, "you know how to do
things with that queer contrivance, don't you?"
Tom briefly explained some of the minutiae of the wireless and had an
ardent listener. When he had concluded he intimated pleasantly:
"And how did you chance to come along just when I needed you, Bill?"
The Barber boy at once looked serious. A furtive embarrassed expression
came into his face.
"That's it," he mumbled, "I came to tell you, Tom, you see?"
"To tell me what, Bill?" asked Tom encouragingly.
"About that tar and feather business. I had nothing to do with it, Tom,
honest Injun."
"Who said you did, Bill?" propounded Tom, smiling.
"I'll bet you thought it."
"Well, wasn't it quite natural I should?" inquired Tom.
"No, sir!" declared Bill, quite indignantly, "I wouldn't play a mean
trick like that on you, Tom Barnes. I've got nothing against you. In
fact, ever since you spoke up for me at the trial, I've--well, Tom,"
stammered Bill, a little sheepishly, "I've tried to remember what you
said about giving me a chance to make a man of myself, and I--I hope I'm
doing it."
"Good for you, Bill Barber!" cried Tom heartily. "I'm proud of you, to
hear you talk like that."
"It was some of my old gang hired out to trim you. I've thrashed the
whole kit of them for doing it, and they won't trouble you again, never
fear."
"You're a good friend, Bill," declared Tom. "Did you say you were
working?"
"Yes, but not steady," answered Bill. "I get odd jobs running small
launches for the resorters down at Sea Grove. Had a trip or two for that
young Boston cad, who is hanging around with Mart Walters. Huh! he brags
about what lots of money he's got, and he hasn't paid me for my work
yet. I'll get it, though, or take it out of his hide," declared Bill,
ominously. "I say, Tom, he's a bad one, and Mart Walters is worse. Look
out for them."
"I shall, Bill, and thank you for your good wishes and help. Any time I
can return the favor call on me as a real friend."
Bill Barber departed with a pleased face, and Tom was not sorry for the
chance to help a fellow whom he decided had lots of good in him, if
rightly encouraged.
In about half an hour a message came from headquarters. It had the
"sine" of the superintendent.
"Good work," it commended. "Parties interested notified. Man on steamer
fugitive forger wanted by the Government. Probably a reward case."
Tom felt that he was progressing finely in his work. So far, application
and straightforward devotion to duty had enabled him to perform his
duties without a censure, and to avoid snares set for his downfall.
He was glad when Ben appeared, for Tom was full of the theme of the
hour, and his chum and assistant was a good listener. Something in Ben's
face checked the welcome rising to Tom's lips, however, and he eyed Ben
keenly.
"Something wrong," reported Ben, looking pale and breathing hard as if
he had been running fast.
"Where--how?" propounded Tom quickly.
"At the farm--Harry."
"What do you mean?"
"Harry is in trouble of some kind. I hurried to tell you. Tom, Harry has
disappeared."
"You don't mean for good?" exclaimed Tom seriously.
"I don't know, but he's been kidnapped."