CHAPTER XIV—THE UPPER HAND REGAINED
Jack was highly excited as he dashed into the main salon and made for the door of the Temples’ cabin. And with reason. He believed that now, if ever, they must attempt to seize the trawler.
The Chinese crew threatened to get out of hand and seize the ship themselves, in order to make sure of their vengeance upon the boys for what they had done to Wong Ho. If the boys anticipated them, and got the upper hand, they could send a call for help by radio to the sub chaser. It would be a matter of only a very short time before that speedy craft could swing about and come to their rescue. Moreover, they would thereby capture “Black George” Folwell. And Inspector Burton had said it would be a feather in the cap of any man to accomplish that undertaking.
The main salon still was deserted, and the doors to the cabins of “Black George” and Matt Murphy still closed. Jack did not know, of course, whether Doctor Marley had returned to his patient. But he believed that probably the frightened little man had waited above deck to see whether Engineer MacFinney found any signs of sabotage.
The Temples’ door resisted. It was locked. But Bob’s voice called sharply:
“Who’s there?”
“It’s I, Jack. Open up quickly.”
He heard Bob hit the floor, and grinned, even in the midst of his excitement. The big fellow evidently was sleeping late. By the time Bob had opened the door Frank stood beside Jack, completing a sketchy toilet by tucking shirt into trousers.
“Bob, Mr. Temple. We have got to try and seize the trawler at once.”
This was Jack’s opening remark, as he and Frank closed the door to the salon.
Father and son, pajama-clad, sleepy-eyed, looked at him in amazement.
“Are you crazy, Jack?” asked Bob.
The older man, however, regarded Jack keenly.
“You’ve heard something, Jack,” he said. “What is it?”
Briefly and graphically Jack related his morning’s adventurous prowling and the result of his eavesdropping. Then he told what Frank had overheard by the use of the ring-radio.
“That decided me,” he said. “When I heard there was a sub chaser near, I felt we just had to make an effort to capture the trawler’s radio room at least, and call for help. We can hold out until the sub chaser comes up.”
Mr. Temple grew grave.
“But without weapons,” he said, “what chance have we against the Chinese?”
“Look here,” said Bob, slowly, “I’ll bet this fellow ‘Black George’ has a revolver or two in his room. He’s bound to keep a weapon handy. Well, he was helpless last night, and probably still is. What’s to prevent our going in there and taking it from him?”
“Good idea, Bob,” said Frank. “And there’s my friend, Matt Murphy, too. According to Jack, he isn’t up yet. Probably put in a bad night and is sleeping while the ship’s engines are being repaired. He undoubtedly has a revolver, too. Suppose we compel him to give it to us. His arm is broken, and surely if we burst into the room we can overawe him.”
The others nodded approvingly, and the eyes of the three boys lighted up with enthusiasm. Mr. Temple shook his head gravely, but continued to make a hasty toilet nevertheless.
“Pants and shirt, Dad,” said Bob. “That’s all we need. Have to hurry.”
In a trice the two were thus sketchily clad, standing in their bare feet, and then Jack, who had assumed command, gave his orders.
“Mr. Temple,” he said, deferring to the older man’s judgment, “I believe we had better split into two parties and enter the two cabins simultaneously, don’t you? If we all go into one cabin first, either ‘Black George’s’ or Murphy’s, intending to follow into the other later, the probability is that we would alarm the occupant of the other cabin and put him on his guard.”
“Yes, Jack, that’s right. Suppose Bob and I tackle ‘Black George’ and you and Frank go after Matt Murphy.”
“Right,” said Jack, his hand on the door.
“One thing more, boys,” cautioned Mr. Temple. “Go in quickly and quietly, and get your man before he has a chance to fire. We shall do likewise.”
The boys nodded. Then Jack opened the door and, with beating hearts, the four filed out. Jack tiptoed across the salon to prevent his shoes making any sound. The others were in their stockinged feet. Two and two they ranged outside the doors of the two cabins. Mr. Temple nodded that he and Bob were ready. Jack did the same. Then they flung open the doors and dashed in.
Jack and Frank found Matt Murphy sleeping heavily. One look showed an automatic in an ammunition belt suspended from a nail above his head. With one swoop Jack caught the weapon and belt to him. The movement disturbed Murphy, who was lying fully clothed on his berth, the bandaged arm across his chest. He looked at them, then with a roar raised up, but Frank pushed him back on his pillow. Jack drew the weapon and presented it at him.
“Quiet now,” he said, in a low voice. “We don’t want to hurt you. But our lives are in danger from the crew and we mean to protect ourselves.”
Murphy lay back, and a gleam came into his eyes. He looked from one to the other.
“Are they attackin’ ye or do you just guess they’re goin’ to?”
“They haven’t attacked us yet,” replied Frank. “But we’re not waiting for what we know would come. Look here, Mr. Murphy, you know what the sentiment of the Chinese is toward us. Well, my friend Jack here overheard something this morning which indicated the Chinese planned immediate action. Now——”
“Come right in,” invited Murphy sarcastically, looking over Frank’s shoulder. “This is my hour for receivin’ callers.”
Frank whirled.
Mr. Temple and Bob were in the doorway.
“What luck?” he asked eagerly, while Jack, not to be diverted, continued to keep eye and revolver trained on Murphy.
“The man is still drugged,” said Mr. Temple. “We found not only one revolver, but two and a knife besides.”
“Was the doctor there?” asked Jack.
“No.”
“Mr. Murphy, where is the radio room?” Frank demanded.
“On top av this cabin,” replied the recumbent man. “But little good it’ll do ye. MacFinney, the engineer, is the only wan aboard who can operate it, an’ till the engines git goin’ there’ll be no juice if it’s callin’ for help you mane to do.”
They looked at each other in dismay. Here was a contingency that had not occurred to them. Jack groaned aloud. But ere any of them could speak, the stamp of the engines suddenly began. MacFinney had gotten them repaired, whether his Chinese had tried sabotage or not. The engines seemed to gain confidence. A slight quivering shook the trawler.
“There’s your juice, lad,” Matt Murphy said gruffly, reaching out his sound hand to pluck Frank’s sleeve.
Frank whirled, a broad smile on his face.
“Look here, Mr. Murphy,” he declared, “I believe you are on our side at heart, aren’t you?”
Murphy sat up on the berth, swinging his legs over the side.
“Not I,” he said. “I’m Folwell’s man. But when ye point a revolver at me an’ order me to get up an’ navigate the ould tub, what can I do?”
“Right,” said Frank gravely, although his eyes were dancing and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Well, captain, will you please navigate?”
“Sure,” said Murphy. “Follow me.”
As they started out of the salon and up the companionway stairs, Bob pressed a revolver into Frank’s hand.
“Take this,” he whispered. “I have the knife.”
“But Bob——”
“But nothing. If it comes to fighting at close quarters I’ve got more beef than you. You keep them off with that revolver, d’you hear? Don’t let them get near you.”
Frank, the smallest of the three chums, pressed Bob’s hand gratefully, grasped the revolver, and followed in the wake of his big comrade, thus bringing up the procession headed by Matt Murphy.
The latter paused as they reached the deck and looked toward the wheel. He had left it lashed. Not a soul was in sight. The others grouped themselves about him. He addressed Frank.
“I don’t like the looks av things,” he said. “The Chinks must all be in the fo’c’s’le, hatchin’ their plots. Will ye trust your prisoner to go below an’ see how MacFinney is comin’ along? An’ do you meantime while the engines are turnin’ over, an’ ye have your chance, go into the radio room off the bridge. ’Tis up this ladder.” He indicated a narrow iron-runged ladder beside him, leading to the tiny bridge above. Keenly he regarded the boy. “Can ye use it when you’re up there?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Frank. “Well, here goes before a Chinaman sees me. Come on, gang.”
And shinning up the ladder, he entered the room opening from the bridge, with Mr. Temple followed by Bob and Jack hard on his heels. One glance around, and he saw what he was looking for. The control apparatus for sending messages was on a stand against the opposite wall. Adjusting a headphone, and pulling a microphone toward him, Frank reached for the knobs and began calling the Sub Chaser while manipulating them.
CHAPTER XV—ABANDON SHIP
“A fine place for defense,” commented Jack, looking about him.
“If we keep down, they may not even discover us,” said Mr. Temple.
The front wall of the little radio room was composed of stout wooden panelling to half a man’s height from the floor with glass above. Mr. Temple, Bob and Jack knelt or crouched behind this protective screen, their heads showing just above it, as they looked along the deck toward the forecastle where the crew was housed. The forecastle door was closed.
On the narrow deck below were two immense hatches opening into the hold where when the trawler was legitimately employed, fish would be packed. But “Black George” used that big hold in which to pack Chinese coolies. Beyond the hatches rose a stout derrick, and beyond that the forecastle. Behind the bridge and the radio room, or aft in the trawler, lay the engine room. That way the view was cut off by the blank wall of the radio room against which stood the instruments which Frank was now trying to use.
“Listen,” whispered Jack. “Frank’s talking.”
All three withdrew their gaze from the deck and glanced around.
“He’s got the Sub Chaser,” whispered Bob, gleefully. “Say, this is too easy. Why, we’ll have help here before the Chinese ever realize what has happened. Hear that. Old Frank’s giving the Sub Chaser our bearings right now, just as Murphy gave them to him.”
A slight scratching sound caused Jack to face about in alarm. The door from the bridge stood slightly ajar, as they had left it on entrance. He listened. Someone was creeping up the ladder. Now he was on the bridge, creeping on hands and knees toward the door. Jack nudged Bob who was next to him, and laid a hand on his lips. They as well as Mr. Temple who was farthest away were all crouched so low to avoid being seen from the deck that they themselves could not look out.
In the silence Frank’s voice rang clearly:
“Prisoners, I tell you. Yes, that’s our position. What’s that? I can’t hear you. Hurry. This is ticklish. We’ve got their radio room, yes. They haven’t discovered us yet. But when they do, they’ll cut off our juice. We’ll hold out, all right. But come your fastest.”
The creeping sound outside had ceased. Jack could bear the anxiety no longer. He raised his head cautiously. Nobody in sight as the deck came into view. The door of the forecastle still was closed. He rose a trifle higher to bring the bridge into view. Then he yelled as the door was dashed inward against him, knocking him to the floor.
“Black George,” tall, powerful, his head bandaged, his eyes aflame with maniacal rage, stood swaying in the little doorway, crouched to spring.
Bob sprang forward. He had given his revolver, the one taken from “Black George’s” room, to Frank. He had retained the long knife, but the unaccustomed weapon lay on the floor where he had placed it when he knelt, forgotten. He was unarmed. Mr. Temple shouted in alarm, and raised his revolver to fire. Then he dropped it again. He would hit his son.
Bob’s right fist shot out, but “Black George” dodged and the blow slid harmlessly over his shoulder. With a snarl, “Black George” flung his arms about Bob’s waist. They reeled out to the bridge, tight-locked together, swayed a moment on the edge, and then fell with a crash to the deck at the foot of the ladder.
It all happened so suddenly that by the time he could regain his feet and dash out to the bridge, Jack was too late to prevent the disaster. Revolver in hand, Mr. Temple was a step ahead of Jack and started down the ladder, with eyes only for the two figures below, apparently not much hurt by the fall and writhing now on the deck. But Jack saw what the older man missed, and shouted a warning.
“Look out, Mr. Temple, here they come.”
Frank had heard the shouts. With a last word to the Sub Chaser, he ceased radioing and ran out on the bridge. He too saw the menace, and realized there was no time to lose.
For out of the forecastle, aroused by the shouts, seemed literally to boil a dozen Chinamen.
Throwing up his revolver, Frank fired over their heads to scare them. Jack did likewise. Then both boys leaped to the deck beside Mr. Temple, who, oblivious of all but the danger to his son, was bending over the latter as he threshed about at grips with “Black George.”
Some of the Chinamen sprang behind the derrick. Others flung themselves down behind coils of rope, several of which lay about the deck. In a twinkling the deck was cleared. Not a human mark was left to shoot at. Were they armed? That was the question the boys anxiously asked themselves. The answer came quickly, not in bullets, but in a knife that whizzed unpleasantly close to Jack’s head, burying itself inches deep in the bulwark behind him, where it stuck quivering, and in another that struck the deck at Frank’s feet and would have caught him in the stomach had he not leaped backward in the nick of time.
“Fire a couple of shots to scare them, Frank,” panted Jack, whose chest was laboring with the excitement. “Keep them down while I help Bob. We’ve got to get under shelter.”
Obediently, Frank sent a bullet pinging into the derrick mast and another into a coil of rope. The latter shot brought a howl of fright, and a Chinaman darted from behind the rope and like a rabbit into the open forecastle door. Frank sent another bullet into the deck behind him to hasten his flight. The shots had a salutary effect, not a Chinaman so much as poked forth an arm to fire weapon or throw knife.
Jack meanwhile leaped to where Mr. Temple was trying to pull “Black George” from his son. But neither wrestler was willing to release his grip.
“We’ve got to get under shelter, Bob,” cried Jack. “Break away.”
“Let me alone,” panted the big fellow. “I’ve got him now. Ah.”
And with a sudden mighty heave, Bob rose upward. “Black George” rose upward, too. Over Bob’s head he went hurtling through the air. They all turned to look. There was a cry of anguish. Then a thud. Out of the engine room door Engineer MacFinney, emerging at that crucial moment, was met by the body of “Black George.” Both fell to the deck together, then rolled backward down the engine room steps.
Several shots from the direction of the Chinese thudded into the bulwark. Frank replied.
“One of them behind the derrick has got a revolver,” cried Frank, pumping several more shots into the derrick mast. “Keep up the fire on his position, Jack, so he can’t take aim. I’ve got to reload.”
Jack pressed the trigger. No result. He tried again.
“It’s jammed,” he groaned. “Mr. Temple, try your revolver.”
The respite was enough for the armed Chinaman. Perhaps he saw Frank working frantically to put a fresh clip of cartridges in his automatic. He fired, just as Mr. Temple raised his revolver. The bullet sent the weapon spinning. A yell of triumph went up from the concealed Chinese.
It was a critical moment. Another such shot, and the Chinese would be encouraged to break from cover and make a rush across the deck. Frank succeeded in reloading. But he was trembling so much from excitement that he could not steady his hand sufficiently to pump his bullets into the derrick mast as before, and the shots went high.
“This way, lads, quick,” cried a voice.
It was Matt Murphy. He stood aft at the stern post, beckoning, and beside him was the fat little Doctor Marley, white with fright, trembling, wringing his hands. Bob, Jack and Mr. Temple started towards him. Frank who had taken one swift glance around, called that he would guard their rear and, sending an occasional shot along the deck, walked backward after his companions.
“Come on, come on,” called Murphy’s voice impatiently.
What did he want? What was his intention? Frank found time to wonder. Nevertheless, he did not relax his vigilance. Sending several more shots along the deck, he bumped into a form and whirled about. It was Murphy. Then the boy saw a boat in the water below, with the doctor and Mr. Temple already in it, Jack climbing over the thwarts and Bob sliding down the rope.
A yell of rage went up from several Chinese sufficiently courageous to peer from their hiding places and realize that their prey were escaping.
“Give ’em another shot to hold them,” commanded Murphy.
Frank complied.
Several Chinese who had gained their feet and started forward threw themselves prone again on the deck.
“Now give me that gun,” said Murphy. “I fixed your friend’s gun for ’im, so ye’ll have one in the boat. And down the rope with ye, an’ cast off.”
“But, but——”
“No buts about it,” said Murphy, roughly. “I heard ye callin’ for help an’ I want none of Uncle Sam’s men puttin’ me in jail for the rest of me life. Over ye go, Jonah, an’ good luck to ye.”
CHAPTER XVI—DOCTOR MARLEY EXPLAINS
Frank slid down the rope which Mr. Temple, braced in the bow of the boat, held steady for him. Jack and Bob already were at the oars and fending off from the side of the trawler. Fat little Doctor Marley crouched frightened in the stern.
“Give ’way,” cried Matt Murphy, from above.
As he made his way across the thwarts toward the stern, the better to trim the boat, Frank glanced up. Over the rail of the trawler leaned Matt Murphy waving farewell with his uninjured hand, in which was clutched the revolver taken from Frank.
Frank waved as his chums bent lustily to the oars and the boat began to dance across the still water, widening the gap between it and the trawler. A feeling of regret at parting with Murphy crossed Frank’s mind. A strange man, a leader of crooks, was Murphy. Yet Frank had been quick to sense the finer instincts beneath the surface and companionable traits which drew him strangely.
From the deck of the trawler there floated to them now a high jabbering of Chinese. They were in sight, and the thwarted Orientals were angry at seeing their prey escape. They ran to the rail and leaned over, jabbering away. One—the man with the revolver—whipped up his arm and fired. The bullet skimmed the water close to the stern, and Doctor Marley whimpered and threw himself flat on the bottom boards.
The next moment they could see Matt Murphy coolly raise his weapon and fire. But not at them. His shot caught the Chinese gunman in the arm, and the latter’s revolver fell into the sea as he seized the injured member and danced about in shrieking agony.
“Look,” cried Frank, “he’s driving them back into the forecastle.”
Murphy was, indeed, driving the Chinese away from the rail. His voice came only faintly to the boat, but its occupants could see him kicking, striking with clubbed revolver, forcing the Orientals below. One by one they disappeared into the forecastle door until the deck was cleared of them. Then Murphy turned, a tiny figure now on the deck, and waved once more to the boat.
“Lay on your oars now, Jack,” advised Bob. “Murphy said to lay here until the Sub Chaser, which had our position, picked us up.”
“So Murphy gave you some explanation about things, hey?” asked Frank. “I’m all at sea all right, in my mind as well as the boat. What’s it all about? Where did he come from so suddenly? How, with that broken arm, did he get this boat lowered? Why did he drive us off the trawler? And why did we come away, anyhow? We were in a ticklish position, but still might have held on until the Sub Chaser arrived. Then we’d have had our birds.”
Bob glanced around the horizon.
“Not a sign of smoke indicating the Sub Chaser,” he said, “unless it’s that tiny film off there”—pointing to the southwest. “What position did the Sub Chaser give, Frank, and how far away was it?”
“That’s the Chaser, all right,” said Frank. “She was southwest from us and about fourteen knots away. Said she’d be up in an hour easy.”
He pulled out his watch.
“Why,” he declared, “it must have stopped. No”—listening—“it’s going all right. But it certainly is hard to believe. Only twenty-five minutes since we left the cabin. I looked at my watch then. And less since I called the Chaser. It’ll be some time before it comes up.”
“Look,” cried Jack pointing, “the trawler’s belching a thicker smoke. And, yes—she’s beginning to steam away from us.”
“I suppose,” said Mr. Temple, “that Murphy is going to try to escape.” He called to Doctor Marley. “Doctor, you were with Murphy and helped him lower this boat. What did he say to you? Why did he help us at all? Did he tell you?”
The fat little man crouching at Frank’s side, still in an attitude of fright, looked up for the first time. As he saw the distance between the trawler and boat steadily widening an expression of relief lit up his face.
“Chinese frighten me dreadfully,” he said, shuddering a little. “I’m so glad I escaped. And that man, ‘Black George,’ too. I have attended him before, and so his men came and got me out of bed the other night when he was injured. But I never dreamed of being taken on his boat. Oh, I am so glad I escaped.”
“Yes, yes, Doctor,” said Mr. Temple. “But tell us what you know, please.”
“There isn’t much to tell,” he said. “I gathered from a hint dropped by the cook that the Chinese aboard wanted vengeance on you people because of the way you had laid out old Wong Ho, their leader. There is some queer clannishness, some tie, that I don’t understand. But it is quite certain they did thirst for your blood.
“So I went to Engineer MacFinney and warned him the Chinese might try to break down his engines, in order to seize the ship before it reached its destination and thus get you in their power without interference from Folwell’s land forces. He went below, and presently called me and I joined him.
“He had the engines working. The dozen Chinese aboard were busy under his directions. He took me aside, out of their hearing, and ordered me to go to the Chinese cook—who, for some reason, probably because he was of another tong or clan, was not on good terms with the rest of the crew.
“‘Tell him,’ he ordered me, ‘to go into the forecastle and take away all the revolvers hidden there. He’ll know where to find them. These fellows always carry their knives, but if they have any revolvers around, we’ll appropriate those at least.’
“I was frightened, gentlemen. I am a man of peace. But the burly engineer overawed me, and drove me forth to do his bidding. The cook found a number of revolvers and appropriated them, hiding them in his pans. But evidently, he overlooked one revolver or else the man possessing it carried it with him, for you were shot at several times by one of the Chinese.”
“I’ll say we were,” declared Frank, slangily.
“Then,” continued the doctor, “when I returned to the engine room, the Chinese all left. Perhaps they suspected some treachery toward them was going on. At any rate, they scampered for the forecastle, and Engineer MacFinney couldn’t stop them with his curses and blows.
“A moment or two later, Matt Murphy came into the engine room. Mr. MacFinney was working at his gauges. Murphy beckoned me, and I followed to the deck. He asked me to help him lower a boat and tie it to the stern. He said the Chinese were plotting an attack even then, and that if I wanted to save my life I must carry out his orders. I obeyed.
“As we worked, I asked whether he was coming, too? ‘No,’ said he, ‘ye’ll be picked up by Uncle Sam’s men. Them byes are calling a speedy patrol boat by radio right now. I want to get ’em off an’ away quick, so we can escape in the trawler. I don’t want to be put in prison the rest o’ my life.’
“‘But this trawler is slow,’ I protested. ‘How can you hope to escape from a fast patrol boat?’
“‘Fog,’ said he. ‘I can smell it comin’. After last night’s storm, it’s bound to come up. If it only comes in time we can hide in it, an’ that’s our chance.’”
“Fog?” cried Frank, alarmed.
So interested had all been in Doctor Marley’s narrative they had paid no attention to their surroundings. Now, at Frank’s cry, they glanced around.
“Here it comes, too,” Frank added, pointing toward the trawler. The vessel was more than two miles away, and making fast going. As Frank pointed, a wall of fog sweeping across the water engulfed it. One moment, the trawler stood out clear and distinct. The next, it had disappeared entirely from sight, and the fog was rolling toward them.
“Good heavens,” cried Doctor Marley, “we’ll be lost in mid-ocean. How can the patrol boat find us?”
“Here she comes now,” Frank shouted, pointing to the southwest, where the sun yet shone.
“Two or three miles away yet,” said Jack, anxiously, estimating the distance to where the speedy little craft was sending up two columns of water before her prow.
“Wow, and here’s the fog,” shouted Bob.
“Frank, you hold the rudder so that we make a small circle, and Bob and Jack, do you row easily,” called Mr. Temple. “That will be better than merely drifting. The Sub Chaser evidently sees us. It must, for it is undoubtedly on the lookout. It ought to be up in fifteen minutes. Presently we’ll begin to shout.”
His directions were approved and carried out. Some twenty minutes later, in response to their shouts, a muffled hail came across the water. The boys plied their oars. Hails were repeated back and forth. Soon a dark bulk loomed ahead, they bumped into the Sub Chaser, and then one by one clambered to the deck.
CHAPTER XVII—LOST TRAIL
As they gained the deck of the Sub Chaser they were confronted by a young ensign in the uniform of Uncle Sam’s navy. He regarded them keenly, then offered his hand to Mr. Temple.
“It seems we came just in time,” said he. “A bit later and we would have had difficulty in locating you in the fog. As it was, we got your position through the glasses before the fog closed down. Did they set you adrift?”
“No, we broke away of our own volition, in a way of speaking,” said Mr. Temple. “But explanations can come later. My name is Temple, George Temple of New York. This is Doctor Marley, and these young men are my son Bob and his chums, Jack Hampton and Frank Merrick.”
“And mine is Arthur Warwick,” said the other, acknowledging the introductions, “Ensign Arthur Warwick, U. S. N., at your service. Let us go to my quarters.”
Turning, he led the way with Mr. Temple beside him and the others following, under the gaze of a number of American sailors scattered about.
“Are you going to stick to the trail of the trawler?” queried Mr. Temple.
“We shall try to,” said the other. “Although if this fog continues long, our chance of success will be small. We were heading for the S. S. Bear, a north-bound coast liner, to take off Inspector Burton of the Secret Service, when your radio caught us and faced us about. Now, from what Mr. Merrick said over the radio, I fancy we had better stick to this trawler as long as there is a chance of capturing her. If we miss her, I shall speed up to catch the Bear. Meantime, I have given orders to slow down with muffled engines, so that if we hear the trawler in the fog we stand a better chance. Let us go below, for I want to hear your story in greater detail.”
In the tight little cabin of the Sub Chaser they were considerably crowded, but by disposing themselves as compactly as possible all found room. Then Mr. Temple and the boys told their story. It took considerable time in the telling, for Ensign Warwick asked so many questions they were compelled to begin at the very beginning of things with Frank’s overhearing the words dropped by “Black George” on the train.
Ensign Warwick nodded warmly many times during the course of the narrative, evidently in high approval of the courage and resource shown by the boys. He himself was a young man, not more than twenty-five, tall as Bob and of much the same deep-chested frame with tanned face in which twinkled honest blue eyes that impressed the chums favorably.
“You fellows certainly have been having a lot of fun,” he said, half enviously, half laughingly. “While here am I with nothing exciting to brighten things for me since the war ended.”
“Were you on the other side?” asked Frank eagerly. “Golly, how I wanted to go over, but Uncle George said I was too young.”
Warwick nodded.
“I was on convoy duty,” said he, “and had several brushes with German submarines. I was torpedoed twice, and once sunk a sub.”
The three chums regarded him with the greatest interest.
“Just now,” he continued, “I’ve been loaned to the Secret Service. Left San Pedro harbor only yesterday morning to report to Inspector Burton at Santa Barbara. Evidently he had boarded the Bear at that port, however, and then changed his mind about going north, for he radioed me to take him off.”
A rap on the door interrupted and Ensign Warwick called an order to enter. A sailor stood in the doorway, coming smartly to salute.
“Fog’s not lifting, sir,” he said. “And no sound to indicate the trawler. Your orders to report in an hour, sir.”
“Right, Farrell,” answered Ensign Warwick. “You may go.”
The young sailor withdrew.
“How far down the coast are we now, Ensign?” asked Frank. “Murphy gave me our bearings aboard the trawler, so I could radio them to you. But I have no idea where that is on the map. We had been trying to compute the distance we traveled from San Francisco, but when we awoke this morning the trawler’s engines were still, and I don’t know how long she had lain there. You spoke of Santa Barbara. Are we near that point?”
“About fifty or sixty miles west-north-west,” said the naval officer. He rose. “Shall we go on deck? In this weather I ought to be there.”
They followed him from the cabin.
“Say, Bob,” said Frank, as the pair dropped behind, “wouldn’t it be fun to take a cruise aboard this Sub Chaser in pursuit of ‘Black George’s’ gang?”
“Great.”
“I mean not just after the trawler. Probably we’ll lose her in this fog. But to go on a regular expedition, maybe to nose out the smugglers’ rendezvous, maybe clear down into Mexican waters?”
“Great,” agreed Bob again.
“Well, we’ve already had considerable fun out of this,” declared Jack, joining them and leaving Mr. Temple and Doctor Marley to continue with the naval officer.
“Haven’t we, though,” agreed Frank. “Why, when we get back to Harrington Hall in the fall, and tell the fellows about this——”
“And about our Mexican border adventures, too,” supplemented Jack.
“Huh. They’ll think we’re awful liars,” said Bob.
All three laughed.
Mr. Temple turned and beckoned to them to approach.
“We are going to turn about and make a run for the Bear,” he said. “Ensign Warwick believes this fog will not lift for some time, and that the trawler has pretty well given us the slip.”
“Well, he’s in command,” said Frank, ruefully, “but I did hope we’d capture the trawler. I don’t care so much about capturing ‘Black George,’ although it’s a pity to let him slip through our fingers. But, do you realize that we’re not very presentable for polite society? I’d like to recover our wardrobes.”
For the first time it was borne in upon them that Mr. Temple, Bob and Frank were, indeed, scantily clad, and that most of their possessions were aboard the trawler. In their haste to act quickly in seizing the radio room, all but Jack had set forth clad only in shirt and trousers. They were even without shoes. In their excitement theretofore, none had thought of this.
“Fortunately, they did not take my wallet,” said Mr. Temple, pulling it from a pocket, and examining the contents. “I have plenty of money here, so that as soon as we reach port somewhere we can send Jack ashore to buy us some clothing.”
“We’re a fine-looking bunch of thugs, now, though, Dad,” said big Bob. “You and I both need a shave badly. Frank and Jack have such light whiskers, you can’t tell whether they’ve shaved or not.”
This was a cruel thrust at which Bob’s two chums bridled. Bob’s whiskers were heavy, and he had been shaving for years. Frank and Jack, however, only recently had taken on man’s estate in this respect.
“Some folks are proud of being hairy as an ape,” said Frank cuttingly.
Big Bob merely laughed good-naturedly, and ruffled his smaller chum’s hair.
Ensign Warwick with difficulty suppressed a grin.
“I can let you have razors,” he said, “and probably we can find shoes for all of you of some sort. But I have no civilian clothes, and it would be against regulations for you to wear uniforms.”
“Good thing the weather’s warm,” said Bob.
“Say, I have an idea,” cried Frank. “Suppose I call Inspector Burton on your radio, Ensign, and ask him to see if he can’t dig us up some clothes aboard the Bear. He knows us well enough to estimate our size, and, of course, I can give him further specifications.”
“Go ahead,” said the naval officer. “I planned to call him, anyhow, to report why we were delayed.”
“Good idea, Frank,” approved Mr. Temple, who did not relish the prospect of going any longer than necessary clad as he was. “Tell him I’ll pay any price within reason for good outer clothing.”
“You see,” said Frank, starting away, “he may not want to put into any port for some time, and then we’d be out of luck.”
“But you will be going aboard the Bear, won’t you?” said Ensign Warwick. “I hadn’t thought of that before, but, of course, that will be the thing for you to do. Then you can return to San Francisco.”
The three boys glanced at each other in dismay.
CHAPTER XVIII—CLOSING IN
“Dad, we have got to see this thing through,” declared Bob, turning toward Mr. Temple and voicing the desires of himself and his chums. “Surely, you won’t put us aboard the Bear and return to San Francisco now!”
Mr. Temple smiled.
“Boys, I sympathize with you,” he said. “But you will have to look at this matter reasonably. We have been drawn into this plot by force of circumstances, and so far have been unable to keep out of it. But we came to the coast for a week’s business trip on my part, with you boys accompanying me to see the sights. I have got to return to San Francisco. Business demands my presence. And things have turned out providentially to enable me to do so.”
“But, Uncle George——”
It was Frank who spoke. Mr. Temple shook his head.
“No, Frank,” he said. “I’m sorry for your sakes. I know how all this adventuring must appeal to you young fellows. But do be reasonable. It isn’t our business to run these crooks to ground. And besides, you have had plenty of adventure out of the situation already. I know I have had enough to last me a lifetime. When you get to be my age——”
Bob grinned as he regarded his father’s sturdy figure, and disreputable appearance, unshaven, clad only in a shirt, trousers and stockings.
“Age?” he interrupted. “Why, Dad, you look fit to tackle any pirate. And you needn’t tell me you haven’t enjoyed yourself pretty thoroughly.”
Mr. Temple sighed.
“Oh, to be a boy again,” he said. “You young rascals can’t realize how I have worried over you this summer, not only in this situation but down on the Mexican border, too. Well, that will do. It’s impossible for us to continue, if for no other reason than that there is no room for us aboard, and so, Frank, you radio Inspector Burton to get us some clothes and cabins aboard the Bear.”
Ensign Warwick who had stood a silent witness to the scene, but sympathizing with the boys, interrupted to confirm Mr. Temple’s statement about lack of room aboard the Sub Chaser.
“It’s true we have no room for passengers,” he said. “You saw our tiny cabin under the bridge. There are bunks for only captain and mate. Forward we have bunks for a crew of ten and a smaller cabin with four bunks for the engine-room crew. The latter also have two bunks in the engine room that can be used in emergency. And that is our total of housing space. You see, this boat, one hundred and ten feet long and with a maximum speed of twenty-four knots an hour, is built for speed and not for passenger traffic. I am not carrying a mate, and Inspector Burton will bunk in the latter’s place. So you see, there is no room for you, at all.”
“Have you a full crew?” asked Jack, unexpectedly. “I’ve seen only a half dozen men?”
“What you see,” answered Ensign Warwick, “is the deck watch. We carry a crew of twenty-two, divided into three watches.”
“Oh, where do they all sleep?”
“Some of them swing hammocks.”
“Well, couldn’t we swing hammocks, too?”
“Why, yes, I suppose you could,” answered Ensign Warwick. “Of course, I could not take you if I were on regular duty. But as I have been put at the command of Inspector Burton of the Secret Service, I could manage to accommodate you after a fashion if he agreed.”
“Come, come,” interrupted Mr. Temple. “This is nonsense. Frank, go and call Inspector Burton.”
Frank retired to the tiny radio room, accompanied by Jack while Bob leaned moodily on the rail and his father fell into conversation with Ensign Warwick. Doctor Marley stood unobtrusively aside.
Presently Frank and Jack approached Bob with eager faces. The naval officer had disappeared with Mr. Temple.
“Where’s your father?” asked Jack.
“I don’t know. Gone to get some shoes, I believe.”
“Listen.”
Then all three put their heads together, while Frank and Jack whispered to Bob tidings which quickly erased the gloom from his countenance.
“I’ll go and call Dad,” said Bob, finally.
At that moment Mr. Temple reappeared, shod in white canvas deck shoes.
“Uncle George, I’ve just been talking with Inspector Burton,” said Frank. “The Bear has a full passenger list. Summer travel is heavy, it seems. Inspector Burton suggests that we stay aboard the Sub Chaser, as he is going to return to Santa Barbara. He will put us ashore there, he says, and we can catch the night train to San Francisco and be there tomorrow morning, ahead of the Bear.”
“Very good,” approved Mr. Temple. “That will give us time to buy clothes in Santa Barbara, too. Also, you boys can stay aboard this boat a bit longer, and I know that appeals to you.”
The boys looked meaningly at each other. Then Frank laughed:
“That isn’t all,” he said. “The Inspector was delighted when he heard our story, and——”
“You told him everything?” queried Mr. Temple.
“Oh, no, I did not have time enough for that. But I did tell of our escape from the trawler. And he said the presence of the trawler here fitted into something he had in mind, which he would tell us about when he came aboard.”
“I think,” said Jack, “that he meant he had a clue to the smugglers’ cove, and that it was somewhere along this coast.”
Mr. Temple laughed.
“Oh, you boys,” he said. “You can’t give up hope of being in at the death, of having a hand in the round-up of the smugglers, can you?”
Doctor Marley venturing a timid question as to how he was to return to San Francisco, Mr. Temple entered into conversation with him. Ensign Warwick went to attend to his duties. The boys drew aside, and, leaning on the rail, stared into the thinning fog ahead and discussed their chances of seeing further action.
All were agreed that the veiled hint dropped by Inspector Burton indicated he had obtained a clue that the smugglers were somewhere along the adjacent coast. They speculated upon whether Inventor Bender’s sound detector had provided the clue, or whether there had been sufficient time for the detector to be brought into play.
“You see,” Jack pointed out, “the inventor planned to use sound detectors at several places pretty widely scattered, and it would take him some time to set them up.”
“That’s true,” said Frank, “but the device required no time at all to hook up. The time needed would be for making the trip from San Francisco to the other stations. Say——”
His face lighted up.
“What?” asked Bob.
“Why, didn’t Inspector Burton, when we saw him last in San Francisco, say one of the government radio stations which he planned to utilize in employing the sound detector was in the mountains behind Santa Barbara?”
“I don’t remember that,” said Bob, and Jack also shook his head.
“Well, that’s what he said,” declared Frank. “I’m certain of it.”
“In that case,” said Jack, “perhaps through the use of sound detectors at San Francisco and in this mountain station, they were able to locate the smugglers’ radio earlier than had been expected.”
“Or, at any rate, they have obtained some clue which induced Inspector Burton to put back to Santa Barbara,” said Frank. “You see, he said he had boarded the Bear for a port farther up the coast, not San Francisco but some small place near here at which the steamer touches, because he figured he could get there more quickly than by auto—which would be the only other way, as it is not on the railroad. Then he got a code message by radio, calling him back, and he radioed this Sub Chaser to pick him up.”
“Aren’t we slowing down?” asked Bob.
The boys had been so interested in their discussions they had not noticed a dark bulk looming across the waters in the thinning fog. Now the Sub Chaser slowed to a complete stop and lay, rocking gently in a mild swell, while a small boat put off from it for the Bear.
Presently, the boat returned and Inspector Burton stepped aboard. The big steamer and the little Sub Chaser saluted each other with toots, and parted company. Soon the Bear disappeared.
After greeting Ensign Warwick and his unexpected guests, Inspector Burton asked that they head for Santa Barbara with all speed. Then he turned to the boys.
“Your inventor friend’s device,” said he, “has done wonders. And with what you have told me about your adventures in these very waters, I’ve been able to put two and two together, and to arrive at the conclusion that we are closing in on the smugglers’ mysterious cove.”
CHAPTER XIX—THE SOUND DETECTOR DETECTS
During the three-hour run east-southeast to Santa Barbara, which the Sub Chaser reached between two and three o’clock that afternoon, the fog lifted and the sun shone again, not only on the surrounding scene but on the spirits of the three chums as well.
For one thing, Mr. Temple was persuaded not to hurry their departure by train for San Francisco that night but to lay over in Santa Barbara a day. For another, the boys received from Inspector Burton’s confidences the impression that in the next twenty-four hours developments of moment would occur in the situation into which they had been drawn. And, being on the ground, they believed they would be witnesses to such developments at least, if not active participants.
For the Secret Service man confided that Inventor Bender’s sound detector had succeeded beyond his expectations and, incidentally, had entirely upset his previous calculations by what it revealed. He had believed, as earlier in San Francisco he had told them, that the smugglers’ cove was somewhere near San Diego in all probability. But the sound detector very definitely had located it as in the group of wild islands off Santa Barbara.
“Those are the islands,” he said, pointing to three mountainous formations rising from the sea to starboard. “Wild, craggy, isolated and large; sparsely inhabited, and not on any steamer track; not a town nor even a hamlet on any of them.
“They lie along this coast in a chain stretching seventy miles. There are three large ones, San Miguel, the most northern, Santa Rosa and Santa Cruz—the latter the largest and wildest. Then beyond Santa Cruz on the south lies the mysterious vanishing island, Anacapa. At high tide it is a group of little islands, almost submerged. At low tide, sandpits connecting the low hummocks are revealed. This gives it the name of ‘Vanishing Island.’”
“And is it on ‘Vanishing Island’ you believe the smugglers are located?” asked Frank.
Inspector Burton shook his head.
“No, that island is practically uninhabitable, and, besides, would be too open to observation. It is on one of the other three, although which has yet to be determined. Good as is Inventor Bender’s sound detector, he said he was unable to locate the smugglers’ secret radio station more accurately than to say it was somewhere in that group. He gave me his reasons, but I know so little about radio that I could not follow him well.”
“I know a bit about the subject of sound detectors,” said Jack. “Although it was not generally known, radio compasses were employed by our forces and by the Allies, too, during the closing years of the war to locate sounds. However, such compasses were not very accurate, and from Inventor Bender’s description of his own improved device I received the impression that he had made a great advance.
“Probably,” he continued, “Inventor Bender could obtain almost the exact location of the smugglers’ radio if he were able to surround the suspected area with sound detectors. The detectors, then, would hunt out the exact hub where the secret radio was in operation. But, if he has brought only one or two detectors into play——”
“Three,” interrupted Inspector Burton, who had followed Jack’s explanation with keen interest. “They are at San Francisco, at Ventura, down the coast, and in the Santa Ynez mountains behind Santa Barbara.”
“Then,” said Jack, “the probability is that, while able to state the secret radio is somewhere in those islands, he cannot say definitely which one. Which one do you consider the most likely?” he queried, turning to Inspector Burton.
“I have not formed an opinion,” he said. “All three are admirably adapted for the purposes of this Chinese-smuggling outfit. They are thirty to fifty miles from shore, unvisited as I said. I believe there is a launch takes occasional sightseers to Santa Cruz, the nearest, from Santa Barbara. But they cannot stray far from the landing place and the island, which is some twenty-seven miles long and five to fifteen miles wide, with a range of mountains all along its length, can keep its secrets without fear of discovery by tourists.”
“Isn’t it strange we have not caught sight of the trawler, if it was heading for a refuge in those islands?” asked Bob.
Ensign Warwick answered.
“No, the obvious thing for it to do would be to take an opposite course in the fog, stand out to sea, and run in under cover of darkness tonight.”
“Moreover,” added Inspector Burton, “the smugglers’ cove probably is on the seaward side, while we are running down the channel.”
“Yes,” interrupted Mr. Temple, who had been leaning over the port rail, watching the shore, and conversing with Doctor Marley whom he found a surprisingly good companion when drawn out, “and we’ll soon be in. Boys, go forward and watch the shore and town. I’m delighted now that you have an opportunity to see Santa Barbara, especially from this viewpoint. It is one of the most beautiful cities in the world.”
The Sub Chaser had rounded a point of land, and the curving beach of Santa Barbara now came into view. Nearest them was a two-story structure of light-colored stone which Inspector Burton pointed out as the Natatorium.
A little park surrounded the structure and south of it, along the waterfront, extended a boulevard flanked by palm trees of noble proportions. Farther down the boulevard, amid a variety of tropical foliage, rose a splendid hotel of huge proportions.
Back from the beach, rising steadily but gently toward the hills in the rear, lay the town, embowered in trees. The foothills were crowned with great houses that, in many cases, amounted to palaces. Behind all lay the mountains of the Santa Ynez range, seeming almost to encircle the town. Everywhere was a profusion of color, red-tiled roofs of houses built in mission style vying with the flame of poinsettias. And over all was a drowsy, somnolent warmth of sunshine under which the town seemed to be taking a siesta.
Only a few bathers were in sight on the sands before the Natatorium, and Inspector Burton explained that Santa Barbara was a winter resort, rather than a summer one. It was July. Until September, he said, the town would drowse under the summer sun with little activity apparent. Then the wealthy Americans from all parts of the country who maintained homes at Santa Barbara, and at nearby Montecito, would begin to arrive, and the town would resume its winter gaiety.
The boat swung in to a long pier. The beat of the gasoline engines was stilled. The speed slackened until presently the rakish craft came to rest by the side of a floating platform, from which a flight of stairs led to the high pier above. Ropes were thrown which several workmen on the pier seized, and the boat was made fast. Then a little ladder was lowered to the float, and Inspector Burton and Jack made their way ashore. Jack had been commissioned to buy lightweight summer clothes, shirts and shoes and hats for Mr. Temple and his two chums. He promised to return as quickly as possible and, waving a hand in farewell, set off along the pier with the Secret Service man.
He was not long in executing his commissions and returned in a taxicab which rattled out to the pier and was kept waiting while Mr. Temple and the other boys donned the clothing Jack had purchased. All praised his selections. Then the taxi carried them back uptown to the Victoria Hotel, some distance up State Street, the wide main thoroughfare. Ensign Warwick accompanied them.
There, by pre-arrangement, they were met by Inspector Burton. After lunching, the entire group retired to the sitting-room of Mr. Temple’s suite to await the arrival of Inventor Bender, who had been summoned by telephone.
“You boys have been of such tremendous assistance so far,” said Inspector Burton, “that the least I can do in return is to let you know what the inventor has discovered. He ought to be here shortly.”
Presently from their windows overlooking the park-like grounds of the hotel, they saw a huge, dust-covered automobile roll up to the porte cochere, and recognized Inventor Bender beside the chauffeur.
“He made good time down from the mountains,” said Inspector Burton, glancing at his watch.
A few moments later the inventor was shown to the sitting room, and entered with an air of triumph and suppressed excitement.
“Well,” he cried, without even waiting to exchange greetings, “we have got them.”
CHAPTER XX—IN AT THE DEATH
“So there you are, Inspector. That’s what the Bender sound detector discovered. Human ingenuity could do no more.”
Inspector Burton with difficulty repressed a smile at the inventor’s childlike vanity. Mr. Temple experienced similar difficulty. Ensign Warwick grew red in the face, and the boys made occasion to bow their heads. In reality, however, nobody need have attempted to hide his feelings, for the inventor was so constituted that he paid his auditors no attention. He was like many geniuses—a supreme egotist.
Those mentioned were seated in Mr. Temple’s suite. Doctor Marley alone of the party was not present, having been left aboard the Sub Chaser.
The inventor had spent a considerable space of time relating what had been learned through the medium of the sound detector. From San Francisco he had gone directly to Ventura and, after placing a sound detector in the government radio station at that point, had turned back to the station on top of the Santa Ynez mountain range behind Santa Barbara. For two days he had been listening vainly in the attempt to catch code messages which might be interpreted as coming from the secret radio station of the smugglers.
Success had come that morning, just after the storm. The heavy fog at sea had not reached to the mountains. It had been sunshiny and bright, and he had taken his listening post at an early hour.
Then, as he tuned his sound detector to varying wave lengths, had come a message in code—a code unlike any of the commercial codes registered with the government and of which he had obtained copies at San Francisco through the offices of Inspector Burton.
He listened. A conversation was being carried on between a ship at sea and a fixed land station. The ship, he now realized must have been the trawler; the station, the secret radio of the smugglers.
It seemed to him the sound detector located the fixed land station south-southeast of Santa Barbara, which would place it somewhere in the group of Channel Islands. This coincided with a bearing communicated from the San Francisco station, which also had picked up the code messages, and had radioed him at once the line along which they had come. Ventura had not, for some freakish reason, been able to pick up the messages at all.
It was then he had radioed Inspector Burton aboard the Bear, and caused the latter to return.
Later, however, and very recently, in fact, he had gotten information more definite. For, since Inspector Burton had telephoned him to descend from the mountains and confer at the hotel, he had picked up another message in code in which, moreover, occurred the words “Santa Cruz” several times.
“So there you are, Inspector,” he said. “That’s what the Bender sound detector discovered. Human ingenuity could do no more.”
“You certainly have done wonders, Mr. Bender. It is your opinion, then, that the smugglers’ radio plant is on Santa Cruz Island?”
“It seems so to me,” said the inventor, nodding with vigor.
Inspector Burton was thoughtful. The others remained silent, waiting for him to speak.
“I believe you are correct,” he said at length. “Ensign Warwick, what do you say?”
“It certainly looks as if Santa Cruz is the smugglers’ hangout.”
“And you, Mr. Temple?”
The latter smiled and shook his head.
“I have no opinion one way or the other,” he said.
Then Inspector Burton turned to the boys.
“Well, lads,” he said. “I have a proposition to make to you. I really believe we have located the smugglers’ hangout; that it is on Santa Cruz Island. And, while it is a big island, yet the smugglers’ headquarters undoubtedly must be on the seaward side, as I earlier explained, and there are not many places on that rocky shore where a landing could be made.
“I was fortunate on arrival yesterday to get in touch with an old Mexicano, a native of this country, who at one time many years ago tended cattle on Santa Cruz Island when an early-day rancher attempted to maintain a cattle ranch there. He found the grazing too poor to make the venture profitable and gave up his project. This old fellow, whom I located down in the Mexican quarter of the town, gave me much valuable information.
“For one thing, I questioned him closely as to the possibilities for making a landing on the seaward side of Santa Cruz. He said there was only one place really practical, and that was the mouth of a creek near the western extremity of the island. At other places, he said, cliffs descended abruptly to the sea, and the waves always were high. Boats could not safely land.
“Now, if the smugglers are on Santa Cruz Island that must be their location—up that creek. The ships can stand off shore, while small boats ply back and forth between the ship and the creek, landing the smuggled Chinese coolies. Probably, somewhere up the creek, the smugglers have a number of rude barracks, providing temporary shelter for the Chinese until they can be dispersed to the mainland. Also their radio plant must be up there.”
He paused, and Frank eagerly asked the question trembling on the lips of all three chums.
“You said you had a proposition to make us, Inspector?”
The Secret Service man smiled.
“Yes, I have a proposition,” he said. “Briefly, would you care to accompany us tonight on an expedition to Santa Cruz?”
“Would we?”
All three expelled the exclamation simultaneously.
Inspector Burton turned to Mr. Temple.
“These boys have shown such ingenuity so far,” he said, “and have been of such aid, that I feel I owe it to them to take them along. Of course, they must have your consent. And I would be delighted to have you with me, too, if you would care to come.”
“Not I, thank you,” said Mr. Temple, with emphasis. “And I don’t know about consenting to your request in regard to the boys. It is very kind of you, and I can see you sympathize with their adventurous inclinations. But, won’t it be dangerous? Won’t the smugglers put up a stiff fight?”
“There is that possibility, of course,” said Inspector Burton. “I believe, however, that when they see the uniforms of Uncle Sam’s fighters, and discover an armed vessel of the navy off shore, they will surrender without resistance. Most folks, you know, have a great horror of running foul of the government and its armed forces. Police they might resist, but Uncle Sam’s sailors and soldiers overawe them.”
“Yes, I believe that is true,” said Mr. Temple. “Still——”
“However, Mr. Temple,” said the Secret Service man, hastily, “I can sympathize with your anxiety, and if you object I withdraw my invitation to the boys.”
“Dad, you have got to let us go,” pleaded big Bob. “Why, as Inspector Burton says, there will be little danger. Besides, we aren’t babies. We have taken care of ourselves pretty capably under trying circumstances this summer, haven’t we? Now, haven’t we?”
He stood above his father as he spoke, having leaped to his feet in his anxiety.
“Yes, you have, Bob,” said his father. He put up his hands before him as if for protection, and bent away in mock terror from his big son. “Don’t strike. I surrender.”
The three chums shouted with delight.
“But, remember,” Mr. Temple warned. “I want you to go on this expedition, bearing the same advice the mother gave her daughter. You may ‘hang your clothes on a hickory limb, but don’t go near the water.’ In other words, if there is any fighting, stay out of it. Unless, of course, you are personally attacked, or your side is hard pressed.”
“Righto, Dad. We’ll remember,” said Bob.
“And now, boys,” said Inspector Burton, “I have my arrangements to make. So, if you will meet me at the pier—or, better, aboard the Sub Chaser—at seven o’clock tonight, I’ll excuse myself.”
He arose, asking Ensign Warwick to accompany him.
“As for me,” said Mr. Temple, when the two officers had left the room, followed by Inventor Bender, “I’m worn out, and am going to take a nap. You boys have two or three hours of spare time. It would do you all good, in view of your trip tonight, to try to snatch a few hours’ sleep. But I suppose it would be impossible for you to compose yourselves?”
“Couldn’t be done, Dad,” agreed Bob. “We’ll go out and look at the town for an hour or so. We can be back around five-thirty, get a bit of dinner, with you, and then go to the boat.”