NEARING THE BARRED ZONE
Some days passed.
The big steamer, headed toward her goal, which was a harbor in the
south of England, kept pushing through the vast expanse of water. The
boys would have preferred sailing on a French vessel, but at the time
could secure no booking.
As Jack had said, “half a loaf is better than no bread;” and once
across the Atlantic they would not have a great deal of trouble jumping
over to France, since the Channel was so narrow that on clear days one
could see the white chalk cliffs of Dover from the other side.
Nothing out of the way had happened so far on the voyage, but every one
knew the critical days and nights were yet to come. The boys had made
numerous acquaintances aboard, but, acting on the advice of Lieutenant
Carson, they had spoken of their own affairs as little as possible.
Like many others of the passengers, they amused themselves at odd times
in playing deck quoits and shuffleboard. There was enough of interest
in both games to engage their attention, though Jack declared them
“effeminate,” having been immersed in the national game of baseball,
and even a promising player on the high-school football squad at the
time he graduated.
Still, some such employment helped to pass the dull hours away. It also
took the minds of the travelers away from the terrible perils to which
each hour carried them nearer. And how many times, even while thus
engaged, and in an apparently boisterous humor, those aboard would look
anxiously toward the beckoning east.
Somewhere in that region, as they well knew, lurked those terrible
undersea boats manned by German crews on the constant watch to sink any
laden steamer that crossed their path. And this knowledge never left
them, night or day. While awake it haunted their minds and took up much
of their conversation; when asleep there came dreams that caused them
to open their eyes in sudden fear, and then be very thankful that it
was not yet a reality.
Jack had easily succeeded in making the acquaintance of the young girl
who had attracted his attention at the time of the embarkation. In
fact, he found her not in the least averse to talking to him when the
first opportunity arose. Jack plumed himself on this circumstance at
the time, and fancied that it was because he had an attractive air
about him. Later on these aircastles crumbled into ruins and dreadful
suspicions arose.
He often played deck quoits with Bessie Gleason, as Jack learned her
name was. She was mature in her ways, and yet full of fun. Jack liked
her more as he came to know her; and yet in spite of this he admitted
to Tom that there was something a bit queer about the girl which he
could not quite fathom.
He was talking of her that afternoon when, with his chum, he sat in
an exposed part of the promenade deck taking a sun-bath. The day was
pleasant, and there was just enough warmth in the sun’s rays to make it
delightful to loll there.
The sea was fairly rough, and the billows had their foamy crests
whipped off as with a knife when breaking in the wind, to be carried
away in the shape of spume or spray. The favorite occupation of most of
the travelers just then was to sit and look across the heaving waters,
their anxious eyes searching for any object that by a stretch of the
imagination could be transformed into the periscope of a submersible
waiting to shoot a torpedo at the unprotected side of the steamer.
“I never had any girl puzzle me as much as Bessie Gleason does, and
that’s a fact, Tom,” Jack remarked thoughtfully.
“What do you mean by that remark?” demanded the other, looking at him
with sudden interest.
“Why, she changes all of a sudden from a fit of merriment, and
becomes as sober as an old maid,” explained Jack, as though he had
been meditating over the matter for some time and could not reach any
satisfactory explanation.
“Oh, that isn’t so queer after all,” chuckled Tom. “There are plenty
aboard this boat who are afflicted with sudden losses of memory. I’ve
had men talking to me lose the connection of what they were saying; and
when I looked up it was to find them shading their eyes with a hand
and staring hard ahead over the bows of the steamer, as if they felt a
horrible suspicion that there was something like a stick standing up
out of the water.”
“And then there’s that man who she says is her legally-appointed
guardian,” continued Jack, shaking his head in bewilderment. “I confess
I don’t like him a little bit!”
“But you haven’t even spoken with him, you told me yesterday,” ventured
Tom.
“That’s true enough,” the other admitted. “But I’ve watched him when
he thought I was dozing in my chair, and, Tom, he’s keeping a precious
close eye on you, I want to say.”
“And why on me?” demanded Tom, looking surprised and interested. “Until
this morning, when Bessie came up to me while I was looking over the
rail and started to talk about our going across to France, I hadn’t
really exchanged a dozen sentences with the girl. Huh! if anybody
should be watched I rather think his name might be Jack Parmly!”
“I don’t know why he should seem so much interested in you,” continued
the other, “but it’s a fact. Why, Tom, I chanced to see him speak to
the girl just before she joined you this morning, and I give you my
word it struck me the man was scolding Bessie, as if she had refused to
do something he wanted of her. And then, with a look on her face that
was close to reluctance, she walked over to where you stood, and spoke
to you.”
“Do you mean to say you believe Mr. Potzfeldt seemed to force his ward
to enter into conversation with me, and perhaps get me to talking about
our mission in France?” he exclaimed.
“Please don’t speak quite so loud, Tom,” urged his chum. “I give you
my word that’s just the way it did strike me. Queer, wasn’t it, now?
Why under the sun should he want her to cultivate your acquaintance
particularly?”
“Who is this guardian of Bessie Gleason?” asked Tom. “His name is
a German one, but one gentleman I talked with assured me he was a
naturalized American and carried his papers around with him, so that he
might not be de-barred from landing in England.”
“Yes,” added Jack, anxious to add his mite to the slender mass of
information they had been able to accumulate, “and another man told me
Carl Potzfeldt fairly bubbles over with enthusiasm for the glorious
Stars and Stripes. He says he looks on Germany as a nation gone mad,
and agrees that sooner or later Uncle Sam will have to shy his hat into
the ring to help hog-tie the wild beast.”
“All of which sounds very fine,” agreed Tom, with a curl to his lip.
“But in these days who can know what the real sentiments deep down in
the heart of such a man may be? A spy would naturally be loud in his
talk of loyalty to the flag, in order to hide his genuine sympathies.”
“Another thing you ought to know, Tom,” continued the other, “though
up to now I haven’t mentioned it to you. Bessie Gleason asked me to
introduce her to you. Yes, and she acted, well, peculiar when saying
that she’d like to meet you. She’s a knowing one for her years, and at
the time I thought it was only the coquetry of the girl playing shy and
bold; but now I’ve got another idea gripping me.”
“Go on and tell me what you think, because all this is getting mighty
interesting to me,” urged Tom.
“I feel almost certain she made that request at the command of her
guardian, Carl Potzfeldt,” announced Jack sturdily. “Now I think her
manner was one of embarrassment, as though she felt ashamed of playing
a mean part but was compelled to do as she was told.”
Tom frowned. From his serious manner it was plain to be seen that he
attached considerable importance to the astonishing thing his companion
was telling him.
“If what you suspect is really a fact, Jack,” he remarked soberly,
“there’s only one explanation for it that I can see.”
“You believe this Carl Potzfeldt may have some invisible connection
with that Adolph Tuessig, the chap we suspect of being aboard this very
steamer, hiding under some false name--or another name, for Adolph
Tuessig may be an alias--and keeping to his stateroom during the day.
Is that it, Tom?”
“Just what I had in mind, Jack. You know we’ve done our best to find
out if that German spy is aboard this ship, and have tried to run
down information about that man whose name has not been entered on the
passenger list, and who came aboard late just before we sailed.”
“Yes,” hastily added the other musingly, “and the steward we
interviewed, who carries the sick man’s meals in to him, says he
has the appetite of a horse; so we kind of suspect his keeping to
his stateroom may be a blind after all. Once late in the night, you
remember, you ran into a stranger who was muffled to the eyes, and
who hurried away when you begged his pardon. Ever since you’ve been
wondering if he was the sick man, and who might yet turn out to be that
slick German spy, masquerading as a Swede; or a Swiss perhaps.”
“Altogether it’s getting to be a pretty mixed-up mess I must say,” Tom
continued. “If we have a pair of them aboard this boat, plotting to do
something or other, it’ll pay us to keep our eyes open wider than ever,
Jack!”