THE LIGHTNING FLASH
For the barest second Haddon stood listening. Then he bent down again
and made a frantic, scrambling effort to cover the tins. But as the
voices came steadily nearer and the scuffling of feet began to sound in
the dead leaves, he abandoned the attempt and darting a few steps to one
side flung himself down behind a thick, low-growing mass of laurel. In a
space so brief that he felt they must have heard him, the bushes were
thrust aside and the footsteps ceased.
“—a rabbit, I guess, or maybe a bird,” said a voice. “It don’t matter,
anyway. Here’s the stuff, half uncovered, too. Hang that Peters! I told
him to— Here, catch hold, will you? We haven’t much time.”
“Want it in the boat?”
“Sure! The chief is going to leave in about an hour. We’ll land at
Cobb’s Point and wait there till dark. Here’s a couple for you, Jansen.
We’ll take the rest in another trip.”
Flat on the ground behind the laurel clump, Steve listened intently to
their departing footsteps. Not daring to stir, he had failed to get even
a glimpse of the three men, but he missed no word of their brief
conversation which left him in a state of bewildered doubt and
speculation. He could make nothing out of it at all. What was in those
tins? and why were they being taken secretly to Cobb’s Point, that
lonely strip of sand dunes the other side of Shelbourne?
As he lay there waiting, a good many possibilities flashed through the
boy’s mind. He could not rid himself of the feeling that the men were up
to nothing good. Yet on the other hand he realized that even the broken
door and the hidden tins might have some harmless explanation. There was
a fish hatchery, for instance, at Shelbourne, and it came upon him with
a sudden sense of chagrin, that he had seen the young fish shipped from
there in just such tins as these.
Nevertheless, the feeling of suspicion remained uppermost, even though
the men, on their second trip, let fall no enlightening words. When they
finally departed, he emerged from hiding, a look of determination on his
square jawed face, and headed for the spot where he had left the canoe.
At least it was in his power to follow up the matter if he chose; and he
did choose. He knew where they were going, and he knew Cobb’s Point. He
could reach it before they did, and by concealing himself among the
dunes, he might get a chance not only to glimpse again the face of the
man he so wished to see, but also to learn something further of the
party’s purpose.
As he hurried along, Steve realized that through the woods shadows were
deepening on every hand, while in the glades and open spots the light
had a curious greenish-saffron tint that urged him to his utmost speed.
Emerging finally on the shore he saw that there was no time to lose. The
sun had disappeared. Above him the sky glowed with an unnatural light,
while piled up in the east were great banks of black, ragged looking
clouds.
For a moment Steve hesitated, measuring with his eye the distance of
those clouds. Then he dragged out the canoe, dropped it hastily into the
water, climbed in and thrust away from shore. Among the islands the
current was swift, but even there he did not spare his paddle. And every
little while he glanced backwards apprehensively.
As he left the shelter of the islands and faced a mile-wide stretch of
open water, the cloud-bank was half way up from the horizon with long,
ragged streamers stretching out before it. He thrust his paddle deep and
sent the canoe leaping across the oily swells; but like the tentacles of
an octopus, those cloud streamers seemed to reach after him, dragging
the black, ominous bulk behind. Half a mile he made, the sweat standing
out on his face, his breath coming in gasps. Another quarter mile. He
was paddling with every scrap of strength and skill he had, yet the
clouds were overhead now, reaching out and onward inexorably.
A hundred yards from shore he hazarded a backward glance and saw the
wind sweeping across the bay, a line of turbulent, tossing spray. It
caught him with incredible swiftness, hurled the canoe forward, whirled
it about, and before Steve could realize what was happening, he found
himself struggling in the water.
He lost his paddle, but managed to retain a grip on the canoe, and
swimming in a sort of daze, he finally dragged himself and it ashore.
There, utterly done up, he flung himself face downward on the sand and
lay for he knew not how long, drawing in the air in long, gasping gulps.
At length, still panting, he raised his head and slowly gained his feet.
The surface of the bay was torn into a sea of angry, tossing whitecaps.
The wind shrieked past him, driving gusts of fine spray into his face.
Darkness was falling fast, relieved now and again by a vivid flash of
lightning.
Uncertain whether the men would venture across in the teeth of the
storm, Steve felt that if they did make the attempt they might appear at
any moment. So he made haste to drag the canoe back of a mass of beach
grass.
It was as well he did. Scarcely had he flung himself down beside the
upturned keel and hunched his shoulders against the driving rain which
had begun to pelt him, when out of the curtain of mist and shadow the
dory flashed suddenly into his startled consciousness. He heard nothing
of the engine; the shrieking of the wind and the first rattle of thunder
drowned every sound. He simply saw, by the aid of the lightning and his
straining vision, the bow of the dory, billows of foam spreading out on
either side, cleaving the waves not fifty feet from shore. In another
moment he heard the crunch and grating of the boat beaching, followed by
a confused mingling of voices.
It was not yet absolutely dark and by this time his eyes were accustomed
to the scene. Presently he could make out a number of shadowy figures
bunched together and bending over. They were dragging the dory up the
beach; he could tell that by their strained attitudes and their slow
approach. Nearer they came to the screen of grass and nearer still, for
not so much by chance as from the extreme narrowness of the point, they
had landed at almost the same spot as Steve. Now he could make out the
party quite clearly, black silhouettes against the grayish black of the
sea behind them.
They had halted now, not half a dozen feet from his hiding place, and
were bending over the dory taking out the tins. Their backs were toward
him, but as Steve lay there blinded by the flashes of lightning and
deafened by the rolls of thunder, he felt, somehow, that on the contents
of those tins hung the solution of his mystery. If he could only find
out that, and the identity of the man who had drawn him hither, he would
know something of where he stood.
Though he could distinguish nothing save their outlines, his eyes had
not left the four men for an instant. He even raised himself a little
and parted the screen of beach grass in an effort to keep track of their
movements. Presently he saw that they had straightened up. Apparently
they had removed all the tins, and he wondered eagerly what would be the
next step. Then, of a sudden, as they stood there, another jagged fork
of light flashed through the dark storm clouds, and Steve caught his
breath and narrowly escaped crying out in sheer amazement.
The blinding glare showed him two of the men erect and partly facing
him; but it did more than that. It awakened memory at last. And as the
blackness settled down again, thick and stifling, the rain, the wind,
the whole wild, storm-swept strip of coast vanished. The darkness
remained, but it was the tempered darkness of a street in Washington the
night of that thrilling day over a year ago—the day after the
declaration of war. Back of some iron palings loomed the outlines of the
German embassy. Beside the curb stood a limousine from which two men had
just alighted. As Steve, hurrying home from a belated engagement, came
opposite them, their faces were illumined brilliantly for a moment by
the glare of a passing headlight. One of those men was the German
Ambassador himself. The other—
No wonder Steve Haddon had almost betrayed himself at what that
lightning flash revealed. No wonder he asked himself breathlessly,
excitedly, what sinister business could have brought that other—here.