JUST TOO LATE
"Shall we stop and pick up the other fellows?" demanded Al as the heavy
car shot up the road toward High Street. They had to cross the railroad
tracks to get into the Elmvale road.
"Stop for nothing!" exclaimed Phil Morgan. "I feel that we can't delay a
minute."
But as it chanced Michael Donahue was standing at the open door of the
Rosenmeyer delicatessen shop as the Torrance car wheeled around the
corner into Seacove's main street. Dusky as it now was, the Irish lad
recognized the car and the two boys on the front seat.
"Hi, Ikey!" he yelled to his chum, back in the store. "See who's
joy-riding! And they never said a word about it."
Ikey ran out in a hurry.
"Stingy! Stingy!" he cried, almost getting into the path of the
automobile.
Torry had been obliged to slow down to turn the corner; so it was easy
for the reckless Frenchy and Ikey to jump upon the running board of the
car.
"Tumble in, kids!" exclaimed Torry, out of the corner of his mouth, for
he had to keep his eyes ahead for traffic. "We're in a hurry."
"I--should--think--you--were!" gasped out Frenchy, as the car jounced
over the railroad tracks by the station. "I almost swallowed my gum."
"Who's sick?" demanded Ikey.
"Nobody. Sit down," adjured Whistler. "We're going to Elmvale."
"Wow, wow!" yelled Frenchy. "What for?"
"We don't know till we get there," declared Torry suddenly grinning.
Torry increased the speed the very next moment. There were not many
constables around Seacove, and the first five miles of the road to
Elmvale was perfectly straight. The amber lamps of the car gave a good
light ahead, and Torry was really a safe driver.
But he seemed reckless on this evening. Inspired by the same feeling
that impressed Whistler Morgan, he felt that they could not get to
Elmvale too quickly.
During the journey the older boys vouchsafed no explanation to the
younger pair save that they had made an engagement with Mr. Santley at
the munition factory over the telephone. In fact, they had no idea what
they would do, or what they would say to Mr. Santley.
The car roared on, the dogs barked behind them, and finally they came to
the slope leading down into Elmvale. Lights were already twinkling in
the valley. But the mills were closed, and even the munition factory
seemed deserted.
This time they did not take the Upper Road, but drove through the center
of the little hamlet. The stores were open and there were lights in most
of the cottages of the workmen. There were lively parties in all the
long, barrack-like boarding houses. The town was wide awake.
Torry brought the car to an abrupt stop before the brick office building
of the munition works. The place had been a mill before the war. The
long, many-windowed buildings behind the offices covered a good deal of
ground. There was a high stockade fence about the whole plant. An armed
guard stood at the main door when Whistler ran up the steps. The other
boys chose to wait in the car for him.
"I want to see Mr. Santley," Whistler said to the guard in khaki.
"The manager? I don't know whether he is here at this hour or not."
"I see lights in the offices yonder. And I have made an appointment with
him."
At that moment the bolts of the big door were shoved back and a man
looked out. Whistler Morgan did not know the manager of the munition
works by sight; but the guard at once said:
"Here's a boy to see you, Mr. Santley."
"What is your name, young man?" asked the manager, eying the boy with
interest.
Whistler told him.
"Dr. Morgan's son, from Seacove? Come in," and Whistler was ushered
inside and the heavy door was again barricaded.
"We have to keep locked up here like a fortress at night," said Mr.
Santley. "Come in and let me hear what you have to say, young man. What
do you know about Mr. Blake?"
"Did you know he had been out at sea on an oil tender to-day?" blurted
out Whistler. "She was chased by a submarine chaser, but the tender
escaped in the fog. Afterward she came into Rivermouth Harbor without
her cargo."
"What's this? What's this?" demanded Mr. Santley. "Why, that has nothing
to do with the factory."
They were in his private office. He stood with his hand upon Whistler's
shoulder and asked the boy sternly:
"What have you to tell me about Mr. Blake, anyway? I don't want to hear
a lot of inconsequential gossip. I am worried about the man."
"Yes, sir. So am I," declared Whistler very earnestly. "I've been
worried about him ever since the other day when we fellows were over
here trying to get some of the boys to enlist in the Navy."
"Ah, were you one of that crowd?" asked Mr. Santley.
"Yes, sir; and coming over here we saw that man Blake----"
He went on to tell the manager of the munition factory about how his
suspicions were aroused and about the water wheel he had found at the
foot of the dam, ending with a detailed account of the affair of the oil
tender.
Mr. Santley's face expressed nothing but lively curiosity.
"And to-day you saw him on a boat that you think is a feeder for German
submarines?" muttered the manager. "It is whispered that they are off
this coast."
"We overheard this Blake and a man who I'm sure is captain of that oil
boat talking in a restaurant to-night. They mentioned two-fifty which
I believe is the number of the submarine off this coast. They spoke as
though more were expected. The Germans are going to make a big drive on
our shipping over here."
"You may be right, boy," agreed Mr. Santley. "That man Blake--well, he
doesn't seem to be in Elmvale now."
"He came back on this evening's train," declared Whistler.
"Are you sure? I have been waiting for him to show up here," cried Mr.
Santley. "To tell the truth, young man, I have discovered some things
here that I want him to explain. For one thing, I have picked up a
letter in his locker which is addressed to him, it is evident, but not
by the name of Blake. It is written in German and I want it explained."
"Oh, Mr. Santley!" cried Whistler, "I believe there is something wrong.
He told that Captain Braun, of the _Sarah Coville_, that his work was
finished here. He was only returning for a particular thing to Elmvale."
"But he hasn't come here!" exclaimed Mr. Santley. "And he has some
private property in the office."
"Maybe he isn't coming here," breathed the boy. "Maybe he is only going
up to the dam!"
"To the dam?"
"That water-wheel business! It perplexes me," explained Whistler Morgan.
"We'll go up there and take a look!" exclaimed Mr. Santley, grabbing his
hat and banging down the roll top of his desk and locking it. "You've
got me all stirred up now, boy."
They hurried out of the office. Mr. Santley spoke in a low voice to the
armed guard on the front steps.
"If Blake comes here, hold him till I return," he said. "Do you
understand? _Hold him_--even if you have to knock him down and sit on
him."
"All right, sir," said the man, nodding grimly.
Mr. Santley started down the steps after the excited Whistler, who was
already getting into the automobile, the engine of which was still
running. At that instant the night was as peaceful as could be. The
valley below the high dam lay quietly under the light of the stars, and
a pale moon was just rising above the treetops.
Then, with a shock which electrified the atmosphere and seemed to make
heaven and earth tremble, a burst of flame rose at the foot of the dam,
not more than half a mile away!
The glare of it blinded them; the reverberating explosion that followed
almost immediately well nigh stunned them. It was Ikey, standing in the
tonneau of the car, and pointing a trembling arm toward the dimly
distinguished wall of masonry, whose voice was first heard:
"Look! Look! The dam's broke!"
A balloon-shaped cloud of smoke had risen above the wall of masonry.
Beneath it the dam crumbled, dissolved, and poured away into the bed of
the river like the changing picture in a kaleidoscope.