WANTED, BADLY--ONE STEWARD!
As the "Pollard" slipped in at a vacant berth on one side of the pier,
there was a rush of civilians, and of sailors and marines on brief shore
leave.
Many of those who crowded down to look over the boat and her crew had
witnessed Captain Jack Benson's difficult manoeuvre from the distance.
"Take the wheel, Hal," Jack murmured to his chum. "You and Eph had
better stay aboard, and slip out into the stream before a swarm of folks
rushes aboard."
Jacob Farnum leaped to the pier, the inventor following. Jack leaped
to the string-piece last of all. Then Hal veered easily off, turning
the boat's nose about and making out again.
"Aw!" went up a murmur from the crowd. "We wanted to see that craft."
"There she is," smiled Benson. "She won't go far away. She'll be
on view, all right."
Jacob Farnum made straight for two marines who had been standing a little
distance away. Neither had joined in the rush for the submarine.
"My men, to what ship do you belong?" he asked, quickly.
"Flagship 'Columbia,' sir," replied one of the men.
"Do you know the new steward, Dudley, of the 'Columbia'?"
"I think he came ashore lately, sir, in one of the shore boats."
"Then you saw him land?"
"Yes, sir."
"Which way did he go?"
"I think he headed straight for the railway station, sir. Had something
in his hand that looked like a telegram."
"That's enough. Thank you," cried Farnum, as he hurried away.
"One moment," interrupted Jack. "How was Dudley dressed?"
"He had on the white duck uniform of a steward, and cap to match,"
replied the marine.
"Thank you," nodded Jack, then turned and ran after Farnum and Pollard.
The railway station was not far away. Over there the trio hastened.
No train had left for half an hour, as they quickly learned, but one
was due to leave in about fifteen minutes.
The operator assured the questioners that no one in a naval steward's
dress had attempted to send a telegram.
"That was only a ruse, then," said Farnum. "The fellow went through
here, and by here."
Jack hastily devoted himself to questioning other employes about the
station.
"Why, yes, I saw a man who looked like that," replied the baggage-master.
"What did he do! What became of him?" asked Jack, swiftly.
"He went through here, and down that street," replied the baggage-master
promptly.
"Is that all you saw, or know about him?"
"Yes."
Jack hastily reported to his two friends. Just then a policeman
approached. Farnum learned that he was stationed here during the naval
week. So the boatbuilder gave the officer a hasty description of the
fugitive and asked that the steward, in case he returned to the station,
and attempted to board a train, be arrested.
"I'll certainly nab him," promised the officer.
"Now, come along up that street, yonder," called Farnum to his
companions. "Confound it, it's like hunting a needle in a hay-stack!"
"And we forgot to ask that officer to report to the police of the town,"
Jack reminded his employer, after they had gone a little way.
"Run back to the station, get the police station on the 'phone, and send
word to the chief, will you?" begged Mr. Farnum.
Captain Jack returned on the run. He secured 'phone connection with
the chief of police, and was able to give a graphic description of the
steward who was wanted so badly.
"Of course," Jack hinted to the police chief, "the fellow we want so
badly may have friends on shore, or some other way of changing his
white uniform for other clothes."
"I won't overlook that," promised the chief of police. "And I'll send
out a general alarm at once."
By the time that the submarine boy left the railway station again
Farnum and Pollard were out of sight. Nevertheless, Benson hurried
off up the same street they had taken.
He walked quickly for two blocks, then, coming to a larger street that
crossed at right angles, he started to turn and go east. Just as he
rounded the corner he thought he heard something strike the sidewalk,
as though it had dropped from his pockets.
Wheeling quickly, the submarine boy returned to the corner. He was
just in time to see something that took his thoughts like a flash from
everything else.
Near the doorway of a small clothing store, two doors from the corner,
a man had been looking stealthily out. Just as Jack turned the corner,
out of sight, this man darted out, then slowed down to a deliberate
walk in the direction of the railway station.
It was this man at whom Jack Benson found himself staring with all his
eyesight. The man was dressed in a rather fastidious-looking summer
weight frock coat suit. On his head rested an expensive straw hat of
the latest sort. Over his eyes were light blue goggles. His hair was
jet black.
"But that's a wig!" flashed Jack Benson, inwardly, almost at once.
"That's Arthur Miller, just the same. He has the same walk as the
steward!"
Though the other had had a brief chance for a glimpse at Benson just
as he turned, the well dressed one did not increase his pace--that is,
not until he heard Captain Jack's swift steps behind him.
"Oh, just a minute, if you please!" called Benson, in a voice that
was ironically pleasant.
One look over his shoulder the other took, then broke into a run.
But Jack was younger, more agile, with better wind. Realizing this, the
fugitive wheeled around the corner into an alley.
It was a short one, leading to some sort of a stable yard. Yet, though
Jack Benson reached that yard in about record time, he gave a gasp of
dismay. For the well-dressed fugitive was already out of sight, nor
did noise from any quarter show the line of his further flight.
"Confound him, I'm not going to lose him as quickly and easily as
that!" raged young Benson.
"Looking for your pop?" demanded a laughing, broad-faced woman,
appearing at a back door that opened into the yard.
"Yes," declared Jack, pulsing. "Which way--"
"He went in there," nodded the woman, pointing to the nearly closed door
of a small barn.
It might have been that the woman was purposely deceiving him, to aid
the fugitive, but to that suspicion Jack had no time to give thought.
He sprang into the barn to find it empty. He stood there, panting, for
a moment, growing sick at heart with disappointment.
Then he heard a slight rustling on a haymow overhead, that was reached
only by a ladder. Up that ladder rushed the submarine boy, springing
into the hay.
As he did so, the well-dressed fugitive darted out from cover at another
point in the mow, leaping straight down to the floor. After him sprang
Jack Benson, and landed full upon him.
But the fugitive, by a supreme effort fear, rose, shaking off the boy,
and started to dart out into the open.
"No, you don't--Mr. Arthur Miller!" roared the submarine boy, making
a bound after him.
So much force did Jack put into that leap that, missing, he fell to the
floor on his hands and knees. The moment thus gained for the fugitive
was enough to give the latter time to dart out, slamming the door shut
after him.
"This chase doesn't stop until it turns out my way!" muttered young
Benson, doggedly. He had expected to find the door secured, but it was
not. He yanked it open.
The fugitive was crossing the yard, just reaching the alley, when the
same woman who had first spoken to Jack again opened her door. In one
hand she held a mop. This she threw with such aim or luck that it
passed between the running man's legs, tripping him.
And then Jack Benson piled upon him in earnest, first snatching up the
mop and brandishing it over the fugitive's head.
"I don't want to hurt your cranium any," flared up Captain Jack. "But
I'm going to do it if I have to."
"Confound you, woman!" roared the discomfited rascal.
"Arthur Miller's voice!" cried Jack, joyously. "Now, I know what we
had only guessed so far! Now, see here, my fine fellow, you might as
well give in, for I'm not going to quit until I land you--"
Miller had been lying quietly enough for a few moments. Now, however,
he suddenly squirmed about, catching Jack by the ankles with both hands.
Down went the submarine boy, flopped by a trick that he had little
expected.
"We'll see whether you've got me!" clicked the scoundrel, leaping to
his feet and making for the street.
"Thank you for your mop, ma'am," Jack called back, pantingly, as he
gave chase. It annoyed him to have Miller prove so slippery, and he
was filled with dread lest the defaulter should wind up by getting
clean away.
Singing snatches of song, two sailors passed on the sidewalk, just
at the head of the alleyway.
"Look what's coming," roared one, goodnaturedly, catching at his mate's
hand. Thus, halted, they formed an effective barrier of brawn in the
way of the first runner.
"Let me through! That wretch wants to kill me!" gasped Miller.
"We won't let him," replied one of the sailors, reassuringly.
"Hold him! The police want him!" implored Jack.
"Hold on, both of you," admonished one of the sailors, grabbing at
Miller, while the other sailor placed himself so as to prevent the
submarine boy from a possible attack. "One of you is lying. Which one
is it?"
"Well," grinned Jack, reassured, "I'm not afraid to have you take
us both before the nearest officer of the law. But I guess that man
is afraid of such a test."
"Sounds like a straightforward answer," observed the other Jack Tar.
"This man," declared young Benson, "is Arthur Miller, wanted by the
law for looting part of his ward's fortune and running away with the
rest."
"It's a lie!" challenged Miller, hoarsely.
"Then ask him," proposed Jack, crisply, "why he's wearing a black wig,
and under that has iron-gray hair that has been dyed brown? Why he
shaved his beard oft?"
"Do you know the answer?" demanded the sailor who held Miller. The
other sailor lifted Miller's new straw hat, snatching off the wig.
"Guilty, as charged," he grinned.
"Now, hold on to him, and march him along until you meet the first
policeman," urged Jack Benson. "If you do that, I'm very certain that
my employer, Jacob Farnum, builder of the 'Pollard' submarine boat,
will remember you both handsomely."
"That sounds good," laughed one of the seamen.
"And here comes an officer now," cried Captain Jack, looking down
the street as far as the next corner. "See how your prisoner trembles.
Would an innocent man act so?"