THE TRAMP
“Looks as if the game’s up,” commented Rawlins, when he too had read
the brief message. “Guess they held the last trump. Well, I suppose we
might as well be getting back to our folks—they’ll begin to think
we’re lost as well as the boys.”
“Yes,” agreed Mr. Pauling. “There’s nothing more we can do until we
get some hint or clue to where they’ve flown. But we’ll have to
destroy this lair before we leave. It seems a terrible waste and a
shame to do it, but I don’t intend having them come back after we go.
We can bring some explosives from the submarine and blow the place
up.”
“No need to do that,” declared Rawlins. “Just tell Jules and his gang
here to help themselves and there won’t be much left for the
Bolsheviks, if they do come back. When they get through looting they
can build a rattling big fire in here and that’ll finish it. It’s
limestone and after it’s heated it’ll crumble to bits.”
“Good idea!” replied the other. “Sam, tell Jules that he and his men
are welcome to anything they want in the cave. But make him promise to
build a huge fire inside after they’ve taken what they want.”
As Sam interpreted this to Jules, the latter’s eyes fairly bulged with
wonder and a wide grin spread across his countenance as it gradually
dawned upon him that the white man had made him a present of all these
treasures. Already, in his mind’s eye, he could picture the dusky
belles of his village strutting about in gowns of silk and satin
brocades, he could see their earthen jars and battered iron pots
giving way to those shiny cooking utensils, he could imagine how
dressed up his huts would be with those deeply cushioned chairs, the
pictures and the statues.
“I’ll say he’ll’ be heap big chief now,” chuckled Rawlins, as he saw
Jules’ eyes roaming greedily over the furnishings as if at a loss what
to seize first. “And say, won’t it be a scream when some chap comes
along and finds a bunch of French West Indian niggers all dolled out
with billiard tables, grand pianos and marble Venuses!”
Then, a sudden whimsical idea seized him, and grasping Jules’ arm, he
exclaimed, “Here, old sport, come along and see what you think about
this for a devil box.”
As he spoke, he led the negro towards the Victrola, but at the words
“devil box” the black’s eyes took on a frightened look and he drew
back.
“Oh, it’s all right!” Rawlins assured him, “it won’t bite.”
Still hesitating, but somewhat reassured by the diver’s tones, and
putting on a brave front, Jules accompanied Rawlins and stood silently
watching as the latter wound up the machine, placed a record under the
needle and set it in motion. But as the first sounds of a singer’s
voice burst from the horn, Jules uttered a frightened yell and leaped
away.
Every one burst into a hearty roar of laughter and the negro, with a
hasty terrified glance about, halted in his precipitate retreat,
ashamed to exhibit his fear before the white men. Then, with the odd,
quizzical, half-puzzled, half-frightened and wholly wondering
expression of an ape, he leaned forward, turning his head first to one
side and then the other as he listened to the song, peering at the
mahogany cabinet as if expecting to see the hidden singer step out at
any moment. But finding that nothing happened and that the others
seemed in no dread of the affair, he drew nearer and nearer,
absolutely fascinated by this new form of witchcraft. Never in his
life had he beheld a phonograph, and while he realized that the
“Bekes,” as he called the whites, were capable of performing almost
any miracle or of making most marvelous and incomprehensible things,
yet this, he was sure, was something quite beyond their power and must
be some most powerful form of Obeah. But evidently the “devil” or
whatever it contained was most securely imprisoned and compelled to
serve the white men, and when he saw that Sam was not in the least
afraid, and even picked up and examined the flat, round objects that
Rawlins drew from the cabinet, he decided that this particular devil
was even harmless to men of his own color. Here indeed was a treasure.
With this he would be truly a king and he could imagine what a
sensation he would create when, in the light of the Voodoo fire, he
ordered the devil in the box to sing and talk and produce music.
His fears had now completely vanished and, drawing close to the
instrument, he stood absolutely fascinated as Rawlins placed record
after record in the machine.
“Tell him to try it himself, Sam,” said Rawlins, and very reluctantly
and gingerly Jules obeyed Sam’s instructions, wound the crank, placed
a record, and uttered a yell of mingled triumph and delight as he
found the imprisoned devil obeyed him as readily as it did the
American.
“Well, he’s all set up for life,” laughed Rawlins. “All the rest of
the whole shooting match can go to blazes as far as he’s concerned.
He’ll wear the blamed thing out making it work overtime. But let’s be
going. Sam, tell Jules he and his bunch’ll have to show us the way out
of here. I’m all twisted and couldn’t find the bay in a month of
Sundays.”
But Jules absolutely refused to leave. He had no intention of giving
his new acquisition any opportunity of getting away and, as the
Americans departed, following the other negroes whom Jules had ordered
to guide them to the bay, the old fellow was squatting on his haunches
at the mouth of the cavern, a broad grin on his wrinkled black face
while, from within, came the strains of the overture from Faust.
“Pretty good ringer for old Mephisto himself!” chuckled Rawlins, as
they scrambled down the hill towards the boats.
Pushing through the water plants and into the narrow channel, the
canoe, followed by the boat, moved rapidly among the mangroves. Soon a
wider waterway was reached, and for a time this was followed, then
they slipped into a small lagoon completely encircled by an apparently
impenetrable barrier of trees, but, without hesitation, the negroes
headed their craft across the little lake. With swinging strokes of
their paddles they urged their craft forwards with redoubled speed and
then, with a sharp cry of warning to the white men behind them, they
crouched low in their dug-out. Straight for the dense foliage shot the
canoe, there was a swaying of low-growing branches, the negroes’ craft
disappeared from sight and the next instant the boat had slipped
through the screen of leaves and was floating on open water in a dark,
tunnel-like passage through the trees. Just ahead was the canoe, with
the negroes again paddling forward.
“Well I’ll be hanged!” cried Rawlins, “so this is their front gate,
eh? Wonder how the dickens they ever found it!”
Straight as a canal, the channel led and five minutes later a second
wall of foliage blocked the way. But, as before, the canoe was urged
ahead and crashed through the barrier followed by the boat. As the
last branches swayed back into place behind them, the boys and their
companions glanced about in surprise. They were floating upon the
broad waters of the bay; an unbroken line of close-growing trees
without a trace of opening stretched in their rear and far ahead they
could see the row of palms upon the bar which marked the hiding place
of their submarine.
“Well, I’ll be shot!” cried Rawlins, as he swept his eyes about.
“We’ve passed this place a dozen times and never knew it. No wonder we
couldn’t find their hang-out. Why, I thought that was all solid land!”
A moment later they were pulling, across the open bay. The Martinicans
had vanished as if by magic in the dark green foliage and two miles
away were their waiting friends.
Half an hour afterwards they were clambering aboard their sub-sea
craft and regaling the amazed and wondering Henderson with the story
of their adventures, their discoveries and the escape of the men,
while below, the quartermaster, surrounded by his mates, was relating
a yarn which put the Arabian Nights to shame.
“All gold an’ jools b’ cripes!” he declared. “With a gran’ pianner an’
a funnygraf an’ electric lights. Aw, I ain’t yarnin’, ye can ask Mr.
Rawlins—an’ statooary like them youse sees up to the art muse’ms, an’
velvet curtains. Soak me if 'twan’t a reg’lar joint! Fit fer a king
that’s what ’twas, an’ I’ll be blowed if Mr. Pauling didn’t up an’
give the whole bloomin’ outfit to a bunch o’ wild Frenchy niggers!
Struck me fair 'tween wind and water to hear him a-doin’ of it! Blow
me if it didn’t, an’ then up an’ tol’ ’em to burn the blessed place
after they was done lootin’ of it! But say! You’d ’a’ bust your-sel’s
laffin to a-seen that old gazooks of a nigger a-squattin’ on his black
hams in his ragged dungarees a-grinnin’ like a bloomin gorilla an’
a-listenin’ to gran’ opery!”
“Aw, stow it, Bill!” yawned one of the engineers. “Tell that gaff to
the marines. Why didn’t ye cop some o’ them things if they was there?”
The quartermaster snorted. “I aint no bloody thief o’ a greasy wiper!”
he replied contemptuously. “Think I’d a-got myself in Dutch by
a-swipin’ stuff under Mr. Pauling’s nose? But jes’ the same I did
bring along a bit o’ a sooveeneer. Look a-here, you sons o’ sea
cooks!” Fumbling in his blouse, the quartermaster drew forth a
glittering object and placed it on the mess table triumphantly.
“Holy mackerel! Stow me if 'taint a ring!” exclaimed one of the men.
“An’ a reg’lar shiner in it! What youse goin’ to do with it, mate?
Give it to your best girl?”
“None o’ your business,” retorted the quartermaster pocketing the
ring. “An’ mind youse don’ go blowin’ the gaff neither. I picked her
up ’longside o’ one o’ the beds an’ none the wiser. Might as well be a
havin’ it as one o’ them black monkeys.”
While Bill was thus entertaining the crew, the boys and their friends
on deck were still talking, retelling their stories, putting and
answering innumerable questions and gradually imparting a coherent
account of all that had transpired to Mr. Henderson.
Presently Rawlins grasped Tom’s arm and pointed towards the hills
across the bay.
“Look there!” he exclaimed. “There goes the last of the Panjandrum’s
palace!”
The others turned at the diver’s words and saw a thick column of smoke
rising in curling blue clouds against the green jungle.
“Guess old Jules made quick work of looting it.” continued Rawlins.
“Say, I can just see the old boy and his mates dancing and prancing
around to the music of that phonograph and watching the place go up in
smoke. Must do their hearts good! Wonder if they’ll learn to play
billiards or hammer jazz music out of that piano!”
“Well, let’s get down to business,” suggested Mr. Pauling, when the
laughter over Rawlins’ quaint conceit had subsided. “I suppose we’d
better notify Disbrow and leave here. No use of delaying longer. The
trail is blind now.”
“I vote we all turn in early and light out to-morrow morning,”
suggested the diver. “I’m dead tired myself and the boys must be all
in. They haven’t slept since night before last, you know, and it’s
pretty near sundown now. How about grub, too?”
This seemed the wisest plan, and as Bancroft sat at his instruments
rapidly sending a cipher message to the destroyer the steward served a
belated but hearty meal.
“He’s received the message, Sir,” announced the operator as he joined
the others. “Here’s his reply.”
“H-m-m!” said Mr. Pauling, as he glanced over the apparently
meaningless figures and letters. “He’ll stand in and wait for us in
the morning. Hasn’t seen any signs of a sub, or anything suspicious.”
Now that their appetites were satisfied and the excitement was over
all realized how tired, exhausted and sleepy they were and gladly
sought their bunks at an early hour.
It seemed to Rawlins that he had scarcely closed his eyes when he
awoke with a start, the sound of a shout still ringing in his ears.
For a brief instant he thought he had been dreaming and then, as the
cry again echoed through the night, he realized it was no dream, that
something was amiss, and wide awake leaped to the floor.
The next instant he uttered a yell of shock and surprise. Instead of
landing on the rubber mat his feet had plunged into cold water!
“Get up! Wake! Hustle!” he screamed at Bancroft who occupied the other
bunk. “The boat’s full of water!”
Without waiting, he dashed from the room, shouting and yelling,
switching on lights and starting the alarm gong as he plunged,
splashing, through the water that covered the steel plates of the
floors.
Instantly all was in an uproar. Hoarse shouts and cries came from the
crews’ quarters. The boys, with frightened faces and still rubbing
dazed and sleep-filled eyes, rushed from their cabin with Mr. Pauling
and Mr. Henderson at their heels and through the din of the clanging
gong, the excited questions and warning shouts, Rawlins, with the
quartermaster by his side, hustled the men and boys up the ladder to
the deck, checking them off one by one as they passed.
“All up?” demanded Rawlins as a drowsy oiler stumbled through the
fast-rising water to the foot of the ladder.
“Aye, aye, Sir!” responded the old sailor. “Better be gettin’ aloft,
Sir.”
The water was now up to the men’s hips and as they reached the outer
air Rawlins and the quartermaster found the waves lapping the edges of
the deck. But perfect order prevailed. The two boats were manned and
ready and as Rawlins and the sailor sprang into them the men bent to
the oars and a few moments later the boats’ keels grated on the sand
beach under the ghostly palms.
“I’ll say we’re lucky!” were Rawlins first words. “Wonder what in
blazes burst loose!”
But no one could offer an explanation. The man who had been on watch
and whose cry had roused Rawlins declared that the first thing he had
noticed had been that the submarine was settling. The engineers
insisted that no sea-cock or valve had been left open. There had been
no blow, shock or explosion and, huddled together on the beach,
shivering and shaken, the men and the boys waited for the dawn.
Presently a fire was started and the survivors, glad of its warmth in
the chill night air, gathered close about it, discussing the disaster,
surmising as to its cause and thanking their stars that they had all
escaped and that help was not far away.
“If we don’t turn up, Disbrow will suspect something is wrong and send
a boat in,” declared Mr. Pauling. “We won’t have to wait here many
hours.”
“Perhaps we could call him,” suggested Mr. Henderson. “Are those radio
instruments still in the boats?”
“One is.” replied Rawlins. “I noticed it as we came ashore.”
“But we haven’t any aerial,” said Tom. “The resonance coil was on
board the submarine.”
“I don’t think it matters,” his father assured him. “Disbrow’s sure to
investigate.”
“For that matter, we can row out and meet them,” suggested Rawlins.
“We’ve got perfectly good boats.”
“Of course,” agreed Mr. Henderson, “although it would be more risky
than waiting here. Disbrow might not sight us and then we’d be worse
off.”
“Yes, we’ll wait here a reasonable time at any rate,” declared Mr.
Pauling, “Ah, I believe it’s getting lighter.”
Very soon the eastern sky grew bright and presently there was enough
light to distinguish surrounding objects clearly.
“There she is!” exclaimed Rawlins, pointing towards the spot where
their submarine had been moored. “Didn’t go clear under. Too shallow
for her.”
Above the water, the top of the submarine’s conning tower was visible
with the slender aerial wires faintly discernible in the soft morning
light.
“We’re all right!” declared the diver. “We can get that aerial off the
sub, rig it up between a couple of these palms and get the destroyer
here in double quick time. But I _would_ like to know what sunk
the old tub.”
Acting on Rawlins’ suggestion, the boats rowed over to the wreck and
the men busied themselves stripping the aerial from the submarine. By
the time this was accomplished it was broad daylight and the warm sun
was shining brightly upon the water and beach.
“Sam,” said Rawlins, turning to the Bahaman who, up to his waist in
water on the submarine’s deck, was unfastening a wire. “What do you
think of diving down and having a look around. I’m blamed anxious to
know how the old sub got full of water.”
“All right, Chief,” grinned the negro, dropping the wire and stripping
off his scanty garments. “Ah’ll mos’ surely ascertain, Chief.”
The next instant he had plunged off the deck and all waited
expectantly for his reappearance. After what seemed a tremendously
long interval his wooly head bobbed up close to the stern and shaking
the water from his eyes he swam easily to the submerged deck and
pulled himself up.
“Tha’s nothin’ wrong this side, Chief,” he announced as he recovered
his breath. “Ah’ll go down tha’ other side an’ have a look.”
Presently he rose, felt his way along the deck with the water to his
armpits and reaching a point near the bow again dove.
Again he reappeared near the stern and the satisfied grin upon his
face assured Rawlins that he had news.
“Yaas, Sir!” he announced as he drew himself onto the boat. “Ah foun’
it, Chief. Tha’ a big hole aft, Chief. Looks like it been bored in
tha’ plates, Chief.”
“Well, what in thunder!” cried Rawlins. “Come on, Sam, I’m going to
have a look. Show me where ’tis. I’m no fish like you, but I can stay
down long enough for that.”
Poising himself on the boat’s thwart with Sam beside him, Rawlins
waited for the word and together the two figures, one white, one
black, plunged into the sea.
Presently the two heads bobbed up side by side and breathing hard
Rawlins scrambled into the boat.
“I’ll say it’s bored!” he exclaimed. “Burned! Cut clean through with
an acetylene torch!”
The others fairly gasped with amazement.
“But how _could_ any one burn a hole through steel,—under
water?” cried Tom.
“Easy!” retorted Rawlins. “A good torch’ll burn as well under water as
in air. Used right along by divers. It’s those blasted, dumbfoozled
‘reds’! I can see it all now. They sneaked down here in that little
sub of theirs, laid on the bottom, sent a diver out with a torch and
burned the hole. Thought they’d drown us like rats in a trap—blame
their dirty hides!”
“By jove! it doesn’t seem possible,” declared Mr. Pauling. “I’m
surprised, they——”
His words were cut short by a shout from Rawlins. “Look there!” he
fairly screamed, leaping up, and pointing towards the bay. “Look at
’em! The low down, sneaking swine!”
All turned instantly towards the bay and at the sight which greeted
them jaws gaped, eyes grew round with wonder and hoarse exclamations
of anger, amazement and chagrin arose from a dozen throats.
Traveling swiftly seaward through the calm water was a small
submarine, her deck just awash, and standing upon her superstructure
and waving their hands in derisive farewell were two men. One was
heavily built with a huge red beard, the other slender, immaculate in
white flannels and with a stiffly upturned, iron-gray mustache.
The next moment they disappeared in the hatch. An instant later only
the conning tower showed above the water and ere the amazed onlookers
could recover from their astonishment the placid bay stretched
unbroken even by a ripple to the distant shores.
Mr. Pauling and Mr. Henderson exchanged rapid glances.
“It was!” muttered Mr. Pauling in a low voice.
The other nodded. “Absolutely!” he rejoined.
Rawlins, who for once had been rendered absolutely speechless with
surprise, anger and chagrin now found his voice.
“Lively, men!” he shouted. “Get that aerial up quick! We’ll nab those
devils yet! Get a message to Disbrow to go for ’em! Drop depth bombs
or anything else! He can’t be far off.”
At his bidding, thoroughly aroused to the necessity for action, the
men fell to work. Hastily the antennae from the submarine was rushed
ashore. Up the palms scrambled Sam and a sailor and in an incredibly
short space of time the slender wires were stretched between the
lopped-off tops of the lofty trees and the boys adjusted their
instruments. Excitedly they called the destroyer and presently sharp,
and clear, came back the answering call.
“Tell him to watch for a sub,” ordered Mr. Pauling. “Don’t bother over
cipher. Give it to them in English. Tell him she’s just slipped out.
If he sights her sink her, disable her, anything! Drop depth bombs if
necessary!”
Then, as the boys hurriedly and excitedly flashed these orders to the
destroyer and the “dee dee dee dah dee” (“we understand”) came back,
Mr. Pauling continued. “Now tell him our sub has sunk. Have him send a
cutter for us and tell him to hustle.”
Slowly the minutes slipped by. Breathlessly, filled with excitement,
those upon the beach beneath the palms listened, expecting each moment
to hear the distant boom of a gun, the low rumbling roar of an
exploding depth bomb. But no sound broke the low swish of the palm
fronds and the soft lapping of the waves upon the sand.
An hour went by and then, from the direction of the bay, came the
faint staccato beat of a motor’s exhaust and a moment later a trim
navy cutter came into view. Shouting and waving their hands, those
upon the beach attracted the cutter’s attention, it spun around, came
swiftly towards them and ten minutes later was headed seaward leaving
the sunken submarine deserted and alone.
A mile or two offshore, steaming in great circles, was the lean, gray
destroyer and as those in the cutter ran up the gangway and gained the
decks Disbrow met them.
“Seen anything of that sub!” demanded Mr. Pauling, ignoring the
officer’s cheery greeting.
“Not a sign,” declared the commander. “Had men aloft and been swinging
in circles ever since we got your message. Haven’t sighted a craft of
any sort since daylight. Only thing we’ve seen was an old Dutch tramp
over by Trade Wind Cay.”
Rawlins, who had just reached the deck, sprang forward.
“Dutch tramp!” he cried. “What did she look like? Did you board her?”
“Of course not!” replied Disbrow icily. “Why should we? Ordinary tramp
painted pea-soup color with bands two blue and one yellow, on her
funnel.”
“I’ll say she’s not an ordinary tramp!” exclaimed the diver. “If she
is, what the blazes is she hangin’ around there for? She was there a
week ago—we saw her—and Dutch tramps or any other tramps don’t hang
around Trade Wind Cay for a week! Rotten luck you didn’t board her!”
“Humph!” snorted Disbrow. “I’d get myself in a pretty mess if I
boarded every steamer I saw. It’s none of my business if a Dutchman
wants to kill time cruising about here. The sea’s free.”
“Yes, and I’m beginning to think some naval men are blamed idiots!”
cried Rawlins, overcome with excitement. “I know one that boarded a
square-head fishing smack and didn’t think ’twas any of his business
because she was a Bahaman schooner. Darned near finished us on account
of it, too!”
The commander flushed scarlet. “If you’re going to insult me!” he
began; but Mr. Pauling interposed.
“Here, here, boys!” he exclaimed. “Don’t get excited. We all make
mistakes and we’re dealing with most elusive and resourceful
scoundrels. Rawlins has a hunch of some sort, Disbrow, and his hunches
are usually, right. Now what it is, Rawlins? The sooner we get to an
understanding the quicker we can act.”
“Sorry, old man!” apologized the diver, extending his hand to Disbrow
who instantly grasped it. “Was a bit jumpy, I guess. But that tramp’s
got to be overhauled. I’ve an all-fired hunch she’s part of the game.
They deserted a sub once and took to a schooner and I’ll bet my last
dollar to a plugged cent that that tramp’s just waiting for ’em now.”
Disbrow wheeled and gave a crisp order and the next moment the
destroyer, throbbing and shaking like a leaf, a huge wave rising high
above her sharp bows, was tearing like an express train towards Trade
Wind Cay.
As they neared the little islet and rounded its jutting point, Rawlins
gave a cheer. Wallowing slowly along, her rust-streaked sides rising
and falling to the ocean swell, was the tramp, with the flag of the
Netherlands fluttering at her stern and the blue and yellow stripes
plainly visible on her funnels.
Up to the destroyer’s mast fluttered a string of bunting, but the
Dutchman paid not the slightest heed, continuing placidly on his
course.
“Confound him!” exploded Rawlins. “Doesn’t mean to stop, eh?”
“Run alongside and hail him,” quietly ordered Mr. Pauling. “I’ll take
all responsibility if there’s any trouble. But we’ll board that chap
if we have to fire on him.”
There was no need of any such drastic measures, however. As the
destroyer came near and Disbrow’s hail through the megaphone reached
those upon the tramp, a huge, burly figure appeared upon the bridge,
waved an arm in assent and a moment later the ill-kept vessel lay
motionless, as the cutter from the destroyer bobbed alongside. Over
the tramp’s wall-like sides dangled a rope ladder and followed by
Rawlins and Mr. Pauling a white clad ensign ran nimbly up and leaped
over the battered iron rails.
At the break of the bridge-deck the ponderous man lounged upon the
rail awaiting them, a big pipe projecting from an enormous yellow
mustache, a weather-beaten cap upon his tow-colored hair and greasy,
faded blue garments hanging loosely on his immensely fat figure.
Placidly, with pale, expressionless blue eyes, he watched the officer
and the civilians approach and as they drew near slowly withdrew the
pipe from his mouth.
“Vat you vellers vant?” he demanded in thick greasy tones. “Vat vor
you sthob mine shib?”
The boyish ensign touched his cap. “Compliments of Commander Disbrow,
Sir,” he announced. “His orders are to have a look at your papers and
search the ship if we think necessary. Are you the captain?”
The Dutchman drew himself up in what was a ludicrous attempt at
dignity. “Yah, me der gapdain!” he rumbled. “But vat de deffil you
vellers link? Dondt you know dot der var vas over? Vat vor you vant to
see mine babers, eh?”
“Just as a matter of form, Captain,” replied the ensign crisply.
“Won’t take a minute.”
For a space, the fat skipper eyed the other suspiciously. “Ach! All
right,” he exclaimed at last. “Gum on! Dis vay an’ pe tarn qvick apout
id!”
Rolling like a barge in a gale, the Dutchman led the way across the
deck and into his disorderly cabin under the bridge. Then, rummaging
among papers and letters, he drew out a package snapped together with
rubber bands and handed it to the ensign.
“Seem to be all right,” commented Mr. Pauling, as he glanced over the
officer’s shoulder with Rawlins beside him. “‘Steamship _Van
Doerck_, 11,345 tons, general cargo, Rotterdam for St. Thomas,
Hirschfelt, master and owner.’ Don’t see anything suspicious there,
Rawlins. Last cleared from Curacao. Health and port papers O. K. Guess
your hunch was wrong this time.”
Rawlins scratched his head and looked sheepish, but there was still a
questioning, puzzled expression in his eyes. “Maybe,” he admitted,
“but I’d like to have a look at his crew. Just ask him to line ’em up
on deck, Ensign.”
At first, the Dutchman vehemently objected, but finally, with a
muttered curse in his native tongue at the pigheadedness of the
Yankees, he ordered his second officer to summon all hands on deck.
Carefully Rawlins, Mr. Pauling and the ensign went along the line of
dirty faces, checking them off by name in accordance with the ship’s
papers, but they were all there, no more, no less.
“No use looking under hatches,” declared the ensign who began to feel
that he had made a fool of himself. “They haven’t been up for a week,
I’ll swear.” Then, as an afterthought, he added sarcastically, “Don’t
suppose you’d care to search the engine room and bunkers?”
“I’ll say I will!” exclaimed Rawlins, and without another word hurried
aft.
A few minutes later he reappeared, grimy, perspiring and greasy.
“Nothing doing there!” he announced. “Say, ask the old boy what he’s
been hanging around here a week for.”
Reluctantly the ensign put the question.
“None of your tamt pizness!” replied the skipper. “Put id’s no segret.
Ve drobt a sbar offerboard in der night an ve been hunding vor id. Ve
vasn’t here vor a veek—id vas night before ladst ve gum pack.”
Rawlins raised his eyebrows. “All right, Ensign,” he said. “Guess it’s
a false alarm. Might as well be going.”
“Sorry to have troubled you, Captain,” said the ensign, touching his
cap. “Expect you’re not the ship we were looking for.”
The skipper’s only reply was a low, rumbling bellow from his chest and
stumping up the ladder to the bridge he jerked the bell for “stand
by.”
No sooner were the boarding party again on the destroyer than Rawlins
beckoned Mr. Pauling aside.
“You may think I’m an ass, Mr. Pauling,” remarked the diver. “But
there’s something crooked about that Dutchman. He’s a blamed liar in
the first place, because you know as well as I do he was here six days
ago. In the second place, can you imagine wasting even two days
steaming along and hunting for a lost spar, and how the blazes could
he lose a spar? The sea’s been like glass.”
Mr. Pauling smiled. “You’re unduly suspicious, Rawlins,” he declared.
“I admit the tramp was here a week ago and we saw her, but he may have
gone on and then come back two days ago searching for a spar or he may
have lied just because he wouldn’t give us the satisfaction of telling
us his business. No, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with him. If
you suspect every ship we see we’ll have our hands full and every
nation in the world will be after our scalps.”
“Well, Mr. Pauling,” replied Rawlins, “I hope you won’t be insulted if
I say so and I don’t mean it that way; but you’re no seaman and you
may be a mighty good detective on land, but you’re not when aboard
ship. That old whale of a Dutchy has been anchored there and hasn’t
been hunting for a blamed thing! And what’s more, he hasn’t been in
Curacao for a year!”
“What?” exclaimed Mr. Pauling. “How do you know? Explain yourself,
Rawlins.”
“If that cockey little ensign hadn’t been so stuck on himself, he’d
have noticed it,” declared the diver. “Why, the anchor chains were
thick with wet mud, the steam winch was still hot, there was mud and
water on deck and some of the crew had fresh mud on their jumpers.
What’s more, the fires in her furnaces hadn’t been going an hour.
They’d been banked and the ashes were still on the plates where they’d
been raked out. That old hooker hadn’t been under way half an hour
when we came up. And now how do I know she hadn’t been at Curacao?
I’ll tell you. The papers looked all right, I’ll admit—Curacao stamps
and signatures and everything O. K. But they were dead crooked, I’ll
say! They were a whole year old!”
“Jove!” ejaculated Mr. Pauling, beginning to be convinced that Rawlins
had grounds for his suspicions. “How do you know? I saw nothing
wrong.”
Rawlins chuckled. “No, and the old guy didn’t expect you would. He or
his friends are darned clever birds, but they slipped up on those
papers. They’d changed the date under the signatures, but they forgot
about the stamps—they were canceled with a rubber stamp and the date
was ’21 not ’22!”
“Rawlins!” cried Mr. Pauling. “I’ll take it all back! You’re a
wonder—told you you should be in the Service. What’s your idea?”
“Well, I don’t know just where the Dutchy comes in with those reds,”
admitted Rawlins, “but I’ll bet they’re cahoots somehow. I think we’d
better follow the boys’ motto—hear everything, see everything and say
nothing and keep the other fellow guessing—I’d suggest we trail the
old porpoise and see if he _does_ go to St. Thomas. If he does,
we’ll bob up there too. I’m ready to follow along his wake if he
wallows round the world, but St. Thomas is an American port and we can
do pretty near anything we like there. If we hang around we may get a
line on something. We’ve had pretty good luck all together and I’ve
got a hunch we’re ‘hot’, as they used to say when we played hunt the
thimble.”
A few moments later Mr. Pauling was speaking to the commander in the
privacy of the latter’s cabin.
“You’ll make for St. Thomas, Disbrow,” he said. “Keep that tramp
within sight, but don’t let her think we’re following her. No, don’t
ask questions, I don’t really know myself. Rawlins has a hunch, and so
far his hunches have come mighty near being right. I’m backing them to
the limit.”
THE END
By A. HYATT VERRILL
THE RADIO DETECTIVES
THE RADIO DETECTIVES UNDER THE SEA
THE RADIO DETECTIVES SOUTHWARD BOUND
THE RADIO DETECTIVES IN THE JUNGLE
THE DEEP SEA HUNTERS
THE BOOK OF THE MOTOR BOAT
ISLES OF SPICE AND PALM