In school Ruth Fielding and her classmates had taken German just as they
had French. Jennie Stone often said she had forgotten the former
language just as fast as she could and had felt much better after it was
out of her system.
But the girl of the Red Mill seldom forgot anything she learned well.
She had not used the German language as much as she had French.
Nevertheless she remembered quite clearly what she had learned of it.
The seaman who was talking so excitedly to Irma Lentz, and whom Ruth
overheard on the deck of the _Admiral Pekhard_, used Low German instead
of the High German taught in the educational institutions. Ruth,
however, understood quite a little of what was said.
"Stop talking to me!" Miss Lentz commanded, breaking in upon what the
man was saying.
"I must tell you, Fraulein----"
"Go tell Boldig. Not me. How dare you speak to a passenger? You know it
is against all ship rules."
"Undt am _I_ de goat yedt?" growled the man, in anger and in atrocious
English, as the young woman swept past him. Then in his own tongue--and
this time Ruth understood him clearly--he added: "Am I to work in that
fireroom while you and Boldig live softly? What would become of me if
anything should happen?"
Fortunately the woman did not come Ruth's way. She whisked out of sight
just as the tramp of a smart footstep was heard along the deck. An
officer came into sight.
"Here, my man, this is no part of the deck for you," he said sharply.
"Stoker, aren't you? Get back to your quarters."
The flaxen-haired man stumbled away. He almost ran, it seemed, to get
out of sight. The officer passed Ruth Fielding, bowing to her politely,
but did not halt.
The girl of the Red Mill was greatly disturbed by what she had seen and
overheard. Yet she was not sure that she should speak to anybody about
the incident. She let the officer go on without a word. She found a
chair on a part of the deck that had already been swabbed down, and she
sat there to think and to watch the first sunbeams play upon the wire
rigging of the ship and upon the dancing waves.
The ocean was no novelty to Ruth; but it is ever changeable. No two
sunrises can ever be alike at sea. She watched with glowing cheeks and
wide eyes the blossoming of the new day.
She was not a person to fly off at a tangent. No little thing disturbed
her usual calm. Had Helen been there, Ruth realized that her black-eyed
girl chum would have insisted upon running right away to somebody in
authority and repeating what had been overheard.
There was just one circumstance which kept Ruth from putting the matter
quite aside and considering it nothing remarkable that two people should
be speaking German on this British ship. That was her conversation the
evening before with Irma Lentz, the artist.
The woman had made a very unfavorable impression on Ruth Fielding. Any
person who could speak so callously of the war and wartime conditions in
Paris, Ruth did not consider trustworthy. Such a woman might easily be
connected with people who favored Germany and her cause. Then--her name!
Ruth realized that one of the greatest difficulties that Americans,
especially, have to meet in this war is the German name. Many, many
people with such names are truly patriots--are American to the very
marrow of their bones. On the other hand, there are those of German name
who are as dangerous and deadly as the moccasin. They strike without
warning.
In this case, however, Irma Lentz, it seemed to Ruth, had given warning.
She had frankly displayed the fact that her heart was not with her
country in the war. After what Ruth had been through it annoyed her very
much to meet anybody who was not whole-heartedly for the cause of
America and the Allies.
She thought the matter over most seriously until first breakfast call.
By that time there had appeared quite a number of the passengers. The
more seriously wounded had all the second cabin, so those passengers who
could get on deck were like one big family in the first cabin.
As the sea remained smooth, the party gathered at breakfast was almost
as numerous as that at dinner the night before. Irma Lentz did not
appear, however; but Ruth's Red Cross friend was there to give her such
aid at table as she needed.
"What would you do," she asked him in the course of the meal, "if you
heard two people speaking German together on this ship?"
He eyed her for a moment curiously, then replied: "You cannot keep these
stewards from talking their own language. Some of them are German-Swiss,
I presume."
"Not stewards," Ruth said softly.
"Do you mean passengers? Well, I speak German myself."
"And so do I. At least, I can speak it," laughed the girl of the Red
Mill. "But I don't."
"No. Ordinarily I never speak it myself--now," admitted the man. "But
just what do you mean, Miss Fielding?"
"I heard two people early this morning speaking German in secret on
deck."
"Some of the deckhands?"
"One was a stoker. The other was one of our first cabin passengers."
The Red Cross man's amazement was plain. He stared at the girl in some
perturbation, at the same time neglecting his breakfast.
"You tell me this for a fact, Miss Fielding?"
"Quite."
"Have you spoken to the captain--to any of the officers?"
"To nobody but you," said Ruth gravely. "I--I shrink from making anybody
unnecessary trouble. Of course, there may be nothing wrong in what I
overheard."
"But a passenger talking German with a stoker! What were they saying?"
"They appeared to be quarreling."
"Quarreling! Who was the passenger? Is he here at table?" the Red Cross
man asked quickly.
"Do you think I ought to point him out?" Ruth asked slowly. "If it is
really serious--and I asked for your opinion, you know--wouldn't it be
better if I spoke to the captain or the first officer about it?"
"Perhaps you are right. If it was a merely harmless incident you
observed it would not be right to discuss it promiscuously," said the
man, smiling. "Don't tell me who he is, but I do advise your speaking to
Mr. Dowd."
Mr. Dowd was the first officer, and he presided at the table on this
morning as it was now the captain's watch below. Ruth had been careful
to say nothing which would lead her friend to suspect that the passenger
she mentioned was a woman.
"Yes," went on the Red Cross officer firmly, "you speak to Mr. Dowd."
But Ruth did not wish to do that in a way that might attract the
attention of any suspicious person. The woman, Irma Lentz, had mentioned
another person who seemed to be one of the queer folks. "Boldig." Who
Boldig was the girl of the Red Mill had no idea. He might be passenger,
officer, or one of the crew. She had glanced through the purser's list
and knew that there was no passenger using that name on the _Admiral
Pekhard_.
Even if Miss Lentz was out of sight, this other person, or another,
might be watching the movements of the passengers. Ruth did not,
therefore, speak to the ship's first officer in the saloon. She waited
until she could meet him quite casually on deck, and later in the
forenoon watch.
Dowd was a man not too old to be influenced and flattered by the
attentions of a bright young woman like Ruth Fielding. He was interested
in her story, too, for the Red Cross officer had not been chary of
spreading the tale of Ruth's courage and her work in the first cabin.
"May I hope the shoulder and arm are mending nicely, Miss Fielding?" Mr.
Dowd said, smiling at her as she met him face to face near the starboard
bridge ladder.
"Hope just as hard as you can, Mr. Dowd," she replied merrily. "Yes, I
want all my friends to _will_ that the shoulder will get well in quick
time. I haven't the natural patience of the born invalid."
He laughed in return, and turned to get into step with her as she walked
the deck.
"You lack the air of the invalid, that is true. Remember, I have had
much to do with invalids in the time past. Although now we do not see
many of the people who used to think there was something the matter with
them, and whose physicians sent them on a sea voyage to get rid of them
for a while."
"Yet you do have some queer folks aboard, even in war time, don't you?"
she asked.
"Why, bless you!" said the Englishman, "everybody is more or less
queer--'save thee and me.' You know the story of the Quaker?"
"Surely," rejoined Ruth. "But now I suppose most of your queer
passengers may be spies, or something like that."
She said it in so low a tone that nobody but the first officer could
possibly hear. He gave her a quick glance.
"Meaning?" he asked.
"That I am afraid I am going to make you place me right in the catalogue
of 'queer folks.'"
"Yes?"
His gravity and evident interest encouraged her to go on. Briefly she
told him of what she had overheard that morning at daybreak. And this
time she did not refuse to identify clearly the woman passenger who had
talked so familiarly with the flaxen-haired stoker on the afterdeck.