CHAPTER XXV.
AT THE ELEVENTH HOUR.
Aboard H. M. S. battle cruiser Alto subdued excitement prevailed. It was six o’clock the morning after the first British naval victory off Helgoland, and still, for some unaccountable reason, the commander of the Alto had received no information of the battle.
Alice Beulow, pale from loss of sleep and tired to the point of exhaustion, paced to and fro in her little cabin. Several times she fell upon her knees beside her bed and prayed, for, by the mandate of the court-martial, she had less than two hours to live.
Now the forward lookout on the Alto made out the first sign of a swiftly approaching vessel. Rapidly it came on. Under instructions from Captain Johnson, the wireless operator was attempting to “pick up” the oncoming craft, but, after several futile attempts, finally gave it up. The stranger vouchsafed no reply.
The cruiser’s bell tolled the half hour.
“Half past seven!”
The words escaped the kneeling girl. She arose and, going to a little mirror, straightened her hair. She was beyond tears, and was preparing to meet her death bravely. She had given up all hope of rescue.
Came a knock at the door.
“Come!” she called, and Lieutenant Berkeley entered.
“Are you ready, Miss Beulow,” he questioned.
“Yes,” replied the girl calmly, and followed him on deck.
To the farthest point aft on the cruiser the lieutenant led the way, Alice following with a firm step. As she reached the selected spot and stopped, there came a cry from the lookout:
“Boat coming toward the Alto, sir!”
All eyes were turned in the direction indicated. Still some distance away, it was discovered that the vessel seen approaching earlier in the morning had come to anchor, and that a small boat had been lowered, and was rapidly approaching the Alto.
The firing squad had been selected the night before, and now stood ready. At this moment the first officer came up and took the rifles from the hands of the six men.
“Three rifles will be loaded with blank cartridges,” he informed the men, “so that it will be impossible to say which man’s bullet kills the prisoner.”
The sailors all breathed easier. It was something for each man to know that there was a possibility that he would not be the one to snuff out the life of the young girl.
“Lieutenant Taylor!”
It was Captain Johnson who spoke.
“Sir?”
Lieutenant Taylor, who stood nearby, approached the commander of the Alto.
“You will relieve Lieutenant Berkeley and take command of the firing squad.”
The lieutenant’s face turned a trifle pale, but he saluted the commander, then turned on his heel and took Lieutenant Berkeley’s place at the head of the death squad.
“You will give the command to fire at eight o’clock precisely,” Captain Johnson instructed him.
“Yes, sir,” was the lieutenant’s reply.
Alice Beulow turned upon the traitor a scornful smile, but she uttered no sound. She recognized the folly of a plea for life at this late hour.
With her back to the ship’s rail she waved aside the man who approached with a bandage for her eyes.
“I am innocent,” she said quietly, “and am not afraid to die!”
The man stepped back, abashed. Lieutenant Taylor now was trembling perceptibly.
“I wish that I could undo this,” he muttered to himself, “but it is her life or mine.”
He pulled himself together, and faced the firing squad.
At this moment there came a shout from the sea. Captain Johnson looked over the side of the Alto. The small launch was now almost alongside, and the commander could see the form of a young man in the uniform of a midshipman directing the approach of the craft.
The latter shouted something unintelligible as the launch scraped alongside the cruiser.
A moment later Lieutenant Taylor, whose thoughts had been so wrapped up in the black deed he was about to commit that he had not noticed the approach of the launch, gave the command:
“Ready!”
Unflinchingly Alice Beulow, with a slight smile on her lips, faced the firing squad.
The hands of each man trembled, and the face of each was pale.
Then, suddenly, before Lieutenant Taylor could give the next command, Frank Chadwick bounded over the side of the Alto, nor did he hesitate for a moment. In spite of all attempts to stop him, he rushed toward the spot where Alice Beulow was facing death.
Captain Johnson barred the lad’s progress. But Frank was not to be stopped. He dashed ahead with such speed that the captain was thrust violently aside.
Suddenly the commander clapped his hand to where a moment before his sword had hung by his side. But, even as he did so, the blade leaped, as though alive, from his scabbard, and an instant later Frank brandished it aloft!
Then the lad sprang upon Lieutenant Taylor, who even at that second had raised his hand to give his second command to the firing squad:
“Take aim!”
But before he could give the command to fire, Frank was upon him. Startled, the lieutenant leaped back, forgetting the girl, the firing squad, everything but that his nemesis had run him to earth.
He succeeded in drawing his sword just in time to parry a slashing blow which Frank aimed at him with the commander’s sword; but a second later the lad had closed with him, and the lieutenant’s sword was practically useless.
The appearance of the apparition from over the side of the Alto, and its sudden dash into the center of the firing squad, had taken the cruiser’s officers by surprise. But now Captain Johnson pulled himself together, and his voice and Lieutenant Taylor’s rang out at the same time with an order to the firing squad:
“Shoot him!”
But one man was in a position to obey the command without fear of accidentally shooting the lieutenant.
Quickly he brought his rifle to bear, and his finger tightened upon the trigger. There was a sharp crack. But Frank did not fall. The cartridge in the rifle had been a blank.
Now the struggling combatants scuffled and twisted so rapidly that it was impossible for any of the sailors to shoot Frank without imminent risk of hitting Lieutenant Taylor, while the latter, realizing for the first time just how near death he was, put forth his utmost strength to free himself, but in vain.
Suddenly the lad released his hold and threw both his arms around the lieutenant, the sword still grasped in his right hand. Then his left hand gripped the naked blade, and, with a quick snap, broke it off a foot from the hilt.
Once more releasing the lieutenant from his close embrace, he took a backward step, following instantly by a quick lunge forward again, which sent his shortened sword straight and true into the traitor lieutenant’s breast.
Lieutenant Taylor slid gently to the deck, gave a single convulsive sob and lay still.
Without one look at the girl whose life he had saved at the imminent risk of his own, Frank stepped up to Captain Johnson, saluted, and exclaimed:
“Sir! there lies the traitor. I arrived just in time to prevent you from committing a terrible crime. Miss Beulow is innocent.”
“Who are you, sir?” demanded Captain Johnson, waving back the sailors who had again leveled their rifles at the lad. “Why should I not have you shot at once?”
“I am Midshipman Chadwick, sir, of His Majesty’s scout cruiser Sylph. I am here at Lord Hastings’ command to save an innocent girl! This was the only way I could do it!”
“And where is Lord Hastings?” asked the commander.
“Aboard the Sylph yonder, sir.”
“Then why did he not come, instead of sending you? Or why did he not order the execution stayed by wireless?”
“Our wireless is out of commission; and Lord Hastings is ill with a fever, sir!”
Captain Johnson was silent for some moments.
“I must of necessity place you and Miss Beulow under arrest,” he said at length, “but the execution is stayed until I have inquired further into the matter.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied Frank. “It is all I have fought for!”