THE GOVERNMENT TAKES A HAND
Yet, for a brief interval more, Jack Benson hesitated.
"Is the young woman sketching, or is she merely writing?" he wondered,
anxiously. He watched her a little while longer.
"No; she's sketching. Those are drawing strokes she's making."
Then, looking wholly blank, Jack Benson turned on his heel. He looked
first at one mechanism, then at another. Yet, presently, stood close
to Lieutenant Commander Kimball's ear.
Only a few words were said, but the naval officer understood instantly.
As Captain Jack turned and went back, Kimball also sauntered along,
although he did not appear interested in the submarine boy's movements.
Yet it was not long when both appeared before the young Swedish woman.
"Miss Peddensen," murmured the lieutenant commander, "may I see what
you are writing?"
The woman looked up, her face composed, her eyes dancing with mirth.
"Why, surely, Mr. Kimball," she replied, laughing. "And very silly stuff
you'll find it, too. I have been jotting down my impressions upon
finding myself riding under the surface of the sea. I do not handle
your English language very well, as you will see."
Mr. Kimball glanced hastily through the three or four pages of rather
closely written note paper. It was, as the young woman had stated,
a very amateurish composition, in very stilted English.
The naval officer felt a sense of mortification and his face reddened
slightly. He had been led to expect that he would find something crime
on these sheets of paper. Instead, he scanned a stupid piece of
composition.
"I would die of humiliation, to have that read before all these people,"
murmured the young woman.
Lieutenant Commander Kimball gave Jack Benson a covert elbow-dig in the
ribs, a move said, as plainly as words:
"The joke is on you."
Jack, however, through half open eyes, had been watching on his own
account. Suddenly he made a dive forward, shooting his hands down close
to Miss Peddensen's well-booted feet.
"That same old ship-rat!" exclaimed the submarine boy. "I'll catch the
beast before he goes under your skirts, Miss Peddensen."
At the mention of a rat so dangerously close young woman almost shot out
of her seat in anxiety to get away.
As she bounded something dropped down out of the wide right sleeve of
her coat. It was a small memorandum book.
This was just what Jack Benson caught, in place of the pretended rat.
Moreover, the young skipper was clever enough to catch the book so that
it fell into his hands open.
"It wasn't a rat, after all, Miss Peddensen," smiled Jack, straightening
up and holding the open memorandum book so that both he and Kimball
could see what was traced on the two pages that lay exposed.
There were sketches of the compressors, sketches of the mechanism by
which the compressed air was forced into the tanks to drive the water
out--in fact, sketches of many vital features in the control of the
boat. Nor was more than a glance needed to make it plain that this
young woman artist possessed expert knowledge of machinery.
At the cry of "rat" three or four women jumped from their seats. The
one nearest Miss Peddensen moved hastily to the forward end of the cabin.
"My dear young woman," murmured the lieutenant commander, dropping into
the vacated seat beside the Swedish girl, "you won't mind, will you,
if I keep these little matters to look over at my convenience!"
There was something so compelling in the look that flashed briefly in
the naval officer's eyes that Miss Peddensen lost color, and stammered:
"No-o-o, certainly not; if such silly things interest you."
"They interest me very much indeed," murmured Kimball, thrusting
"composition" and sketches inside his blouse.
As the naval officer plainly intended to remain where he was, Jack Benson
turned, sauntering forward.
"Another spy nailed, beyond a single doubt," muttered the young submarine
commander. "Will there never be an end to them."
As Captain Jack glanced at the young Englishman, Drummond by name, he saw
an unmistakable flash of hostility in the Englishman's eyes.
"So you're a spy, too?" quivered Benson, inwardly, turning on his heel.
After that, howsoever, the submarine boy took good care to keep Drummond
under covert watch.
In time the "Benson" returned to the surface, being now much nearer land
then when the aft had made its dive. A few minutes later the boat ran
into the harbor and made fast at its moorings.
"What are you going to do about the young woman?" Jack found a chance
to whisper, as all hands gathered on the platform deck.
"I don't believe I have actual authority to do anything," Kimball
returned, also in a whisper. "But we have the drawings, and that
writing, which may be a clever cipher. With that I'm afraid we'll have
to remain content."
A launch from the gunboat was in waiting. In this the shore guests were
taken back to land. Hardly had the launch left the side of the
submarine, when a cutter, also from the gunboat, put in alongside. Two
men in ordinary citizen's dress clambered aboard.
"Lieutenant Commander Kimball?" inquired one of the pair.
"Yes," acknowledged the naval officer. "May we see you below, in the
cabin of this boat."
"No!" replied Kimball, sternly.
"Oh, as you please, of course," smiled the one of the pair who had first
spoken. "Probably I am at fault, though, in not introducing my
companion and myself. My friend is Mr. Packwood; my name is Trotter.
We are Secret Service men sent down here by the Secretary of the Navy,
in answer to your dispatch."
As Trotter spoke he threw back the lapel of his coat, displaying a badge.
"I have also some papers to show you, Mr. Kimball," continued the
Secret Service man.
"Oh, of course you may come below," smiled the naval officer. "And,
Benson; I guess this business belongs to you, too."
So Jack descended with the party, while the other submarine boys and
Williamson remained on deck.
"You have, been bothered with spies, Captain?" asked Trotter, turning
to young Benson, when they had reached the cabin table.
"Haven't we, though!" muttered Jack.
"And even took one out with you on this last trip of yours," laughed Mr.
Trotter, producing from an inner pocket a book bound in black.
"Miss Peddensen, the Swedish young woman?" demanded Captain Jack.
"Here's the one I mean," replied Trotter, opening the book, which proved
to be an album, and turning the pages over rapidly. He pointed to a
photograph.
"That's Miss Peddensen," cried Jack, looking up at Lieutenant Commander
Kimball for confirmation.
"Well, Peddensen is one of the names she has used," smiled Trotter.
"What foreign government does she serve?" demanded Benson.
Trotter shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, the Department has pretty good information that she has served
England, France, Germany, Austria, Russia--oh, these spies have no
country! They serve the fattest international purse!"
"Here is what we took from Miss Peddensen," said Kimball, gravely, laying
down on the table the sketchbook and the "composition."
Taking up the latter, Mr. Trotter, after a glance declared:
"This is written in a secret cipher, most likely. Packwood, this comes
in your peculiar line of work. The sketches are easy enough to
understand. They are of the mechanisms displayed in this cabin."
"Yes, this is a cipher," declared Packwood, thoughtfully, after scanning
the sheets a few moments. "With some study I can make it out."
"Who's the young Englishman who escorted Miss Peddensen?" demanded
Captain Jack.
"Never saw him until I glanced at him in the launch just now," replied
Trotter. "He may be another spy, unknown to us, or he may be merely a
good-natured and wholly innocent young chap whom the Swedish girl has
lured into her service."
"What are these other pictures?" inquired Mr. Kimball, beginning to
turn the leaves.
"All of 'em photos of people known to be engaged in stealing naval
secrets for foreign powers," replied Trotter. "Captain Benson may
keep this album for future use. I've another copy for you, Mr. Kimball."
"Why, here's a good likeness of Mlle. Nadiboff," cried Jack Benson,
pausing in turning the leaves and glancing down at the picture of a face
he had good cause to remember. "And here, opposite her, is M. Lemaire!"
"Oh, yes; they're both old offenders," nodded Trotter. "Turn along, and
see if you remember any more faces."
"Here's Gaston, who is now in jail here," nodded Jack.
"Is he, though?" asked Trotter, with interest.
"What charge?"
"Felonious assault upon Hastings and myself."
"Good," chuckled Trotter. "I shall have to see the judge privately, and
ask him to make sure that Gaston Goubet gets the longest sentence
possible. Nothing like prison bars to stop the work of these
international spies!"
"Why, here's even little Kamanako," smiled as he turned over another
page.
"Yes, and a very smooth and slippery little spy that Jap is," declared
Mr. Trotter. "He steals all kinds of secrets, from the details of
sixteen inch guns down to the method of dyeing a blanket in a mill."
"Are you going to do anything with the Peddensen woman?" inquired
Lieutenant Commander Kimball.
"Ain't I, though--just!" answered Mr. Trotter. "You caught her
red-handed, with drawings, cipher and all."
"Will she be imprisoned?" inquired Captain Jack.
"Well, that isn't the usual way," replied Trotter. "The young woman is
more likely to be taken to New York, given a passage ticket across the
ocean, and notified that, if she tries to return to this country, she
will find that her photograph is on file at every port of entry. It
will spoil her games, without making much of a fuss."
The cutter waiting alongside conveyed Kimball and his brother officer,
Featherstone, back to the gunboat. Then it ran into shore; putting Mr.
Trotter and his silent companion once more on land.
For some minutes after that Jack, Hal and Eph remained absorbed in the
pictures in this album of known naval spies. There were more than two
dozen of these photographs, some of men, some of women. On the same
page with each picture was given the subject's true name, if known,
also the spy's aliases, and other information.
"Sara Nadiboff, twenty-nine, yet looks like twenty," muttered Hal,
studying the information under the young Russian woman's photograph.
"And Kamanako is really Lieutenant Osuri," muttered Jack. "Yet the
fellow was working in the hotel kitchen until he could get a chance
to apply for a job on this craft."
"I don't recognize any other spies among these pictures," muttered
Hal. "The only ones here that we know we had already guessed."
"Look at that time," muttered Jack, jumping up. "I must get on shore
and see what Mr. Farnum's orders are. And--" thrusting the album
in his coat pocket and buttoning it up, "I'll take this picture gallery
along. Our employer will be highly interested in it."
It was dusk by the time that Benson reached the platform deck. After
a few moments he succeeded in hailing a harbor boat. Yet it was quite
dark by the time that Captain Jack stepped on shore.
Instead of going around by the road Jack decided to cross the grounds.
As he was walking briskly toward the hotel, an athletic-looking young
man stepped out suddenly, from behind of the big trees, blocking the
submarine boy's path.
"Good evening, Mr. Drummond," Jack hailed, quietly.
"Now, you halt and stand right where you are," retorted the Englishman,
nervously handling a heavy walking stick that he carried. "I don't know
whether it's going to be a good evening for you, or not, young man. Do
you know that your cursed meddling has resulted in the arrest of a most
estimable young woman?"
"Who?" asked Jack, coolly.
"Miss Peddensen," replied Drummond, angrily.
"Oh, I guess the secret service men know what they're about," said Jack
somewhat sarcastically.
"And I know what I'm about, too!" roared the enraged Drummond, raising
his cane, wrathfully. "Benson, you young sneak, I'm going to brain you!"