She felt that she had taken hold of something bigger than she could
handle just at this time. Ruth really wanted to remain quiet--on deck or
in her stateroom--and nurse her injured shoulder and fix her mind on the
troubles that seemed of late to have assailed her.
There was trouble awaiting her at home at the Red Mill. Aunt Alvirah
must be very ill, or Uncle Jabez Potter would never have written as he
had. The miserly old miller was in a greatly perturbed state of mind. He
and Aunt Alvirah would need Ruth's help and comfort. She looked forward
to a very inactive and dull life at the Red Mill for a while.
After her activities in France, and in other places before she sailed as
a Red Cross worker, home would indeed be dull. She loved Aunt
Alvirah--even the old miller himself; but Ruth Fielding was not a
stay-at-home body by nature and training.
She might have mental exercise in writing scenarios for the Alectrion
Film Corporation. She had had good success in that work--and there was
money in it. But it did not attract her now. Her work at the Clair
hospital seemed to have unfitted her for her old interests and duties.
In fact, she was not satisfied to be out of touch with active affairs
while a state of war continued abroad.
The trouble at home, and the anxiety she felt for Tom's safety, served
to put her in a most unhappy frame of mind. She surely would have given
her mind to unpleasant reveries had not this matter which began with
Irma Lentz come up.
This racked her mind instead of more serious troubles. Perhaps it was as
well. Ruth disliked having been considered unwarrantably interfering, as
Captain Hastings undoubtedly considered she had been.
She answered the second luncheon call and passed Irma Lentz coming out
of the saloon-cabin. The woman with the eyeglasses looked her up and
down, haughtily tossed her head, and passed on. Ruth was aware that
several other first cabin passengers looked at her oddly. It was plain
that some tale of Ruth's "mare's nest" had been circulated.
And this must be through Captain Hastings. Nobody else, she was sure,
could have been tactless enough to tell Miss Lentz what Ruth had said.
Had the short-haired "artist" taken others of the passengers into her
confidence, or was that, too, the work of the steamship's commander?
At about this time there probably was not a steamship crossing the
Atlantic of the character of the _Admiral Pekhard_, and with the number
and variety of passengers she carried, on which there was not some kind
of spy scare. So many dreadful things were happening at sea, and the
Germans seemed so far-reaching and ruthless in their plots, that there
was little wonder that this should be so.
It would have been the part of wisdom had Captain Hastings kept the
matter quiet. Instead, the pompous little skipper had evidently revealed
Ruth's suspicions to the very person most concerned--Miss Lentz. Through
her, word must have been passed to the flaxen-haired man Ruth had seen
talking with her, and likewise to the officer, Dykman, who must likewise
be in the plot.
What would be the outcome? If there really was a conspiracy to harm the
ship, either on the sea or after she docked at New York, had it been
nipped in the bud? Or would it be carried through, whether or no?
There was so little but suspicion to bolster up Ruth Fielding's belief
that she had no foundation upon which to build an actual accusation
against Miss Lentz and her associates, whoever they might be.
She felt the weakness of her case. There was, perhaps, some reason for
Captain Hastings to doubt her word. But he should not have revealed her
private information to the passengers. That not only was unfair to Ruth
but made it almost impossible for her to prove her case.
She ate her lunch with the help of the steward, for her Red Cross friend
had eaten and gone. When she returned to the open deck she saw Miss
Lentz the center of a group of eagerly talking passengers. There were
two wounded army officers in the group. They all stared curiously at
Ruth Fielding as she passed. Nobody spoke to her. There was evidently
being formed a cabal against her among the first cabin passengers.
Not that she particularly cared. There was really nobody she wished to
be friendly with, and in ten days or so the ship would reach New York
and the incident would be closed. That is, if nothing happened to retard
the voyage.
She sought her own chair, which had been placed in a favored spot by the
deck steward, and wrapped herself as well as she could in her rug,
having only one hand to use. Nobody came to offer aid. She was being
quite ostracized.
From where she sat she had a good view of the main deck and of all the
ship forward of the smoke stacks. The sea remained calm and the _Admiral
Pekhard_ plowed through it with some speed. Not a sail nor a banner of
smoke was visible. They were a good way from land by now, and it was
evident, too, that they were in no very popular steamship lane. With the
submarines as active as they were, unconvoyed ships steered clear of
well-known routes, where the German sea-monsters were most likely to lie
in wait.
With nobody to distract her attention, Ruth took considerable present
interest in the conning of the ship and the work of the seamen about the
deck. She looked, too, for some figure that would suggest the
flaxen-haired man she had seen talking with Miss Lentz at dawn.
Dykman was on duty as watch officer now. Ruth felt that he must be one
of the conspirators. Otherwise he could not have so blandly denied
knowledge of the flaxen-haired man who talked German.
The _Admiral Pekhard_ was a well-furnished boat, as has been said.
Besides the lifeboats swung at her davits, there were nests of smaller
boats forward. And just in front of where Ruth Fielding sat there was a
canvas-covered motor craft of small size. There was a larger motor
launch lashed on the main deck astern of where Ruth's chair was
established.
She noted, after a time, that some of the points lashing the canvas
cover of the small launch forward of her station were unfastened.
Everything else about the covered craft was taut and shipshape. Ruth
wondered at the displacement of the loosened cords.
And then, vastly to her surprise, she saw the canvas stir. Something, or
somebody, was beneath it. Whatever it was under the canvas cover, its
movements were made with extreme caution.
Ruth was more puzzled than alarmed. She had heard of people stowing
themselves away upon steamships, and she wondered at first if such were
the explanation of the unknown, lying in the motor launch.
Should she speak to Mr. Dowd about this? Then, considering what had
followed her interference in circumstances that happened at dawn here on
the deck of the steamship, she hesitated to do so. She did not wish to
get into further trouble.
But she watched the opening in the canvas cover. More than once within
the next hour she observed the boat cover wrinkle and move, as whatever
was beneath it squirmed and crept about.
Then, quite expectedly, she saw a face at the opening. The canvas was
lifted slightly and a forehead and pair of eyes were visible for a
moment.
The fact that somebody was hiding in the launch could not be denied. Yet
it really was none of Ruth Fielding's business. This might have nothing
at all to do with Miss Lentz, the flaxen-haired man, and Dykman.
She watched the place warily. If the man under the canvas saw her
watching he would be warned, of course, that his presence was
discovered. She must speak to Mr. Dowd most casually if she desired to
inform the first officer of this mysterious circumstance.
Nor could she get up and look for the first officer. While she was gone
the man in the motor boat might slip out and escape. Ruth did not
propose to put herself a second time in a position where her word might
be doubted.
While she remained in her chair the person hiding in the boat would
surely not come out. She did not wish to send a message to Mr. Dowd in
such a way that her motive for bringing him here would be suspected.
The first officer was not on the bridge; so it was not his watch on
duty. Ruth beckoned a deck steward, tipped him, and requested him to
bring her a pencil, a sheet of paper, and envelope from the ship's
writing room. She was taking no chances with a verbal message.
The man fulfilled her request. Meanwhile nobody else seemed to notice
the man peering out from the canvas cover of the motor boat. Indeed, the
fellow had disappeared now and was lying quiet.
Ruth penciled the following sentences on the paper: "There is a stowaway
in the small motor boat forward of where I am sitting. I will not move
until you can come and investigate. R. F."
She sealed this in the envelope, doing it all in her lap so that she
could not be observed from the boat. Then she wrote Mr. Dowd's name upon
the envelope.
The steward came back and she whispered to him to take the note to Mr.
Dowd and deliver it into the first officer's own hand--to nobody else. As
the man started away Ruth for some reason turned her head.
Across the deck stood Irma Lentz. Her black eyes flashed into Ruth's,
and the woman seemed about to start toward her. Then she wheeled and
swiftly went forward.
Had she seen the letter Ruth had sent to the chief officer? Did she
suspect to whom Ruth had written--and the object of the note? And, above
all, did she suspect that Ruth had discovered the man hiding in the
motor boat?