  “Isn’t that someone pounding the door?” “You tell ’em!” sleepily suggested the chief, covering his face with a pajamaed arm to shut out the morning light. “Oh, Lord!” Bill groaned and crawled out of bed. He glanced at his wrist watch. It was exactly seven-thirty. He unlocked the door and a steward clicked his heels together and stood at attention. “Well?” growled Bill. “Commander Geibel’s compliments, sir—and will the gentlemen be good enough to meet him at half past eight in the executive office for officers’ conference.” “Right-o. Give Commander Geibel our compliments—and say we’ll be there.” “Thank you, sir.” Bill shut the door, and looked over at Osceola. The chief was fast asleep again. Bill went into the bathroom, where an ice-cold shower worked wonders. When he returned to the cabin after a strenuous rub with a rough towel, he carried a dripping sponge with which he scientifically massaged Osceola’s face. “Hey there! Cut it out!” The chief sprang from his bed as though he had had an electric shock. “What’s the huge idea?” he stormed. “The Exec.” said Bill, “wants to see us at eight-thirty sharp. It is now seven-forty-four. And we both want breakfast, I expect. Get under a shower and you won’t feel so crabby.” “Um!” Osceola was considerably subdued by this news. “Think he smells a rat?” “Oh, not a chance, so far as we’re concerned. We’d be in the brig by this time if he did!” “Good enough!” yawned Osceola, scowling furiously as he stretched the kinks out of his powerful arms. “Hop to it, then. I’m nearly dressed—and I’m hungry enough to eat shoe-leather.” “All right, all right—don’t lose your shirt over it. I’ll be with you in a jiffy.” The bathroom door slammed and again came the sound of rushing water as the shower was turned on. At eight-thirty sharp the two lads found Commander Geibel seated at his desk in the Executive Office, and took their places among the other ship’s officers. There was none of the joviality which usually preambled these meetings. The Amtonia’s commissioned personnel seemed utterly mute this morning. Instead of the accustomed good-natured chaff, the various officers merely nodded to each other as they took their places and sat down. Bill noticed that all wore expressions of deep solemnity, yet the atmosphere of the cabin was charged with a current of tense excitement. The nautical clock on the wall struck one bell. Commander Geibel, who had been studying papers on his desk blotter, came to life. “Gentlemen—” he leaned forward, one hand on the papers before him, “I have here the report of first assistant wireless operator, Miller. Had I not seen Miller when he was first found with our beloved captain, I could not have believed this outrage possible. We, who have prided ourselves on the most efficient and strict discipline maintained on this ship, can no longer be proud. As a number of you gentlemen already know, at about one o’clock this morning, two passengers who were masked overpowered Miller in the wireless room and wrecked the premises. While these vandals were at work, the Herr Captain, Baron von Hiemskirk, entered the room, where these ruffians surprised him.” “Pardon, sir,” interrupted the ship’s first lieutenant, Lieutenant-Commander Beerman. “It is rumored that the Herr Baron is seriously injured. Will you be good enough to ease our minds concerning the Herr Baron’s condition? I understand that he was knocked unconscious.” “That is so, Herr Beerman. I regret to tell you gentlemen that he is still unconscious, and may continue in that state for a day or two. Doctor Thierfelder diagnoses his condition as concussion—a slight concussion only, I am thankful to say. The Herr Doctor, who is with him now, believes that Baron von Hiemskirk received a blow from a blunt instrument. Luckily, his service cap partially protected his head. With care, and no complications, our Captain will probably be able to get about again within a week.” “May I ask,” inquired Bill, “what punishment has been meted out to the perpetrators of this dastardly crime?” “I am sorry to say that they have not been apprehended, Lieutenant.” “But I thought you spoke of two passengers, Herr Commander?” “Miller states that the two men were dressed in civilian clothes. One of them at least had a revolver with which he menaced the operator, while the other bound him. As you know, every passenger, upon boarding this ship, was searched and his luggage thoroughly inspected for arms. Another search of their cabins has been made this morning. No weapons of any description have been found.” Lieutenant Schneider caught the Commander’s attention. “I was on the bridge while this crime was being committed. During that time, I am certain that messages were radioed from the wireless room.” “A very important fact, Herr Schneider, and one confirmed by Miller. Due to the cotton that had been placed in his ears, he was unable to decipher anything, but he is convinced that one or more messages were sent.” “Could we not ascertain who among the passengers is capable of sending such messages?” It was the Chief Engineer who spoke. The Executive Officer shook his head. “Of course all possible suspects will be questioned,” he said. “I doubt, however, if we can learn much. Fifteen of our passengers are yacht owners. Three more are high executives of broadcasting corporations. Any of these men may understand wireless. On the other hand, all of them will probably deny it. But this is not so important. Outside of broadcasting a description of this ship, they can have sent little or no information, as they have no possible means of ascertaining the ship’s position. I must urge you all, nevertheless, to be more than ever on the alert. Now, one thing more, and we may go to our various duties.” The Executive Officer cleared his throat and proceeded. “Baron von Hiemskirk keeps muttering over and over in his delirium, ‘Er ist einer Footballer’—‘He is a football player—.’ These words may mean nothing; on the other hand, they may be the means of identifying his assailants. Until our beloved Captain regains his reason, nothing can be done about it. Thank you, gentlemen, for your interest and attention. I bid you all goodmorning.” The meeting dispersed, the officers going their several ways. Bill and Osceola, having no duties to perform, strolled around the promenade deck. “It is to be hoped that our beloved Captain does not regain his reason until this ship has been captured by the battleships on her trail,” muttered Osceola to Bill, mimicking the Executive Officer’s formal manner of address. Bill nodded thoughtfully. “You said a mouthful, boy. I’m afraid you and I will be in for it good and plenty if he wakes up beforehand. That bunch we just left are a dumb crew. But there are no flies on the skipper. He had our histories down pat from the newspapers when we met him on the Merrymaid. He’s sure to know you play on Carlisle and that I’m on the Navy eleven. What with our previous record, so to speak, in the way of cleaning up dirty messes, that guy won’t miss any bets. We’ll be judged on suspicion if nothing else.” “I wonder why Charlie didn’t warn us that the Baron was making for the wireless house?” “Probably didn’t get a chance. If the kid had been caught, we’d have heard of it before this. Schneider told me that all passengers are being confined to their cabins, so we won’t see him today. Charlie and his doings don’t worry me just now—but the weather does!” “What’s the matter with the weather?” “See that haze over there to the northward? We’re steaming into fog.” “You think that even if the Stamford catches up to within firing distance we might be able to elude her after all?” “That’s the big idea. In about half an hour we won’t be able to see ten feet over the side.” “Well, maybe we’ll run through it by this afternoon. The Stamford won’t catch up to us for some hours yet.” “Maybe so,” replied Bill. “We’ve done all we could, anyway. From now on, the job’s up to the Navy.” “Hello!” cried Osceola, as they swung round the end of the superstructure and into the long stretch of deck on the port side. “Look off yonder! What do you make that out to be?” Bill shaded his eyes. The glare of the smooth ocean was dazzling in the sun. Away to the northeast a ship was nosing out of fog banks that lined the northern horizon. “That looks to me mighty like a warship!” said the chief excitedly. “She certainly is humping it, brother. But I thought the Stamford was to the south of us—and when she came, she’d come from behind!” “You’ve certainly got a pair of eyes—and she certainly is a warship. I can’t make her out very well at that distance, but she looks to me like a first class cruiser of the Plymouth type. Dollars to ditchwater the Stamford wirelessed her! She’s heading for us all right, all right. Oh, boy—there’s going to be something doing aboard this packet in two shakes of a lamb’s tail!” “Thar she blows!” sang out the chief, as the gong and bugle sounded for action. “And it’s quite time you and I beat it for our battle stations. Everything is being made ready for attack. If we’re late, it won’t look so good.” Osceola stopped and stared at Bill. “Don’t tell me that you, a midshipman of the United States Navy, are going to help these bum pirates fight one of your own battleships!” Bill looked at him and laughed. “Some patriotic little flagwaver, aren’t you,” he jeered. “No, Herr Junior Lieutenant, I do not intend to shoot at the Plymouth or the Reading, or whatever’s the name of that cruiser. Have you never played hare and hounds, Big Chief? Well, this time, you and I and everybody on board are hares. Those two 117-mm. guns forward, and the two on the poop are all right for scaring passenger liners and bringing unarmed merchant-men to haul down their colors. But they haven’t the caliber or the range of three-quarters of the guns aboard that cruiser. This is going to be a race—not a battle! Beat it!” |
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