The Radio Detectives Part 20

"No," he replied, "but it was pretty dark and they might have been within a few miles-very low visibility."

"And no other vessel that might have picked them up?" continued Rawlins.

"Not a sail in sight-except a fishing smack about ten miles off. We ran down to her and boarded her. Thought they might have sighted the sub, or picked up the men. They hadn't done either. Bunch of square-heads that didn't seem to know what a sub was, just dirty fishermen."

"Dead sure they were?" asked Rawlins. "Didn't notice where she hailed from, did you?"

The officer flushed.

"Afraid we didn't," he admitted, a trace of resentment at being questioned in his tones. "She hoisted sail soon after we left her."

"And nothing peculiar about her in any way, I suppose?" suggested Mr.

Pauling.

"Well, I didn't see anything," replied the commander, "but I believe one of my bluejackets made some remark about her rig. He's a bo'sun's mate and an old man-o-warsman-Britisher but naturalized citizen and served in the British navy. Would you like to question him? I'm no expert on sailing craft myself."

"Better talk to him, Rawlins," suggested Mr. Pauling.

As there seemed nothing more to be discovered on the submarine the party left the under-sea craft and walked to the destroyer which had found her. The sailor to whom the officer had referred proved to be a grizzled old salt-a typical deep-sea sailor and the boys could not take their eyes from him. Touching his gray forelock in salute, the man hitched his trousers, squinted one eye and reflectively scratched his head just over his left ear.

"Yes, Sir," he said, in reply to Mr. Rawlins' question. "She _was_ a bit queer, Sir. Blow me ef she warn't. Man an' boy Hi've been a sailorin'

most thirty year an' strike me if Hi ever seed a Yankee smack the like o' her, Sir. What was it was queer about her, you're askin' on me? Well, Sir, 'twas like this, Sir. She had a bit too much rake to her marsts, Sir, an' a bit too high a dead-rise an' her starn warn't right an' her cut.w.a.ter was diff'rent an' her cuddy. She carried a couple o' little kennels to port and sta'board o' her companion-way, Sir-same as those bloomin' West Hindian packets, Sir. An' as you know, Sir, most Yankee smacks carry main torpmas's and no fore-torpmas' while this e'er hooker was sportin' o' sticks slim an' lofty as a yacht's, Sir, an' a jib-boom what was a sprung a bit down, Sir. But what got my bally goat, Sir, was the crew. Mos' of 'em was Scandinav'ans, Sir, but the skipper was a mulatter or somethin' o' that specie, Sir, an' blow me hif he didn't talk with a haccent what might ha' been learnt at Wapping, Sir."

Rawlins whistled.

"I'll say there was something queer about her!" he exclaimed. "Anything else? Did you note her name and port?"

Once more the old sailor scratched his head and shifted the tobacco in his cheek before replying.

"Cawn't say as how Hi did, Sir," he announced at last. "You see, Sir, she had her mainsail lowered, Sir, and a hangin' a bit sloppy over her stern, Sir, an' we was alongside an' didn't pa.s.s under her stern, Sir."

"What sort of boats did she carry and how many?" asked Rawlins.

"Dories, Sir, six of 'em," replied the sailor, "anything more, Sir?"

"No, I think that's all. Thanks for the information," replied Rawlins and then, reaching in his pocket he handed the man several cigars.

Touching his forelock again and with a final hitch of his trousers the sailor turned and strolled off with the rolling gait of the true deep-water seaman.

"Well, what do you make of it?" asked Mr. Pauling, when the sailor was out of earshot.

"I'll say it's blamed funny that packet was hanging around near the sub," replied Rawlins. "It might be a coincidence-Bahama smacks _do_ come pretty well up here during the summer-and she might have been a rum-runner, but putting two and two together I'd say she was waiting for the sub and that the crew were on board her when the destroyer came up."

"Jove!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mr. Pauling. "Then you think she was a West Indian boat?"

"I don't think, I know!" answered Rawlins. "A Bahama schooner-not any doubt of that. Only Caribbean craft carry those two deck-houses and that sprung jib-boom and the darkey skipper with the English accent just clinches it. I'll bet those square-heads were Russian Johnnies or Huns off this darn sub. Say, if we don't get a move on they'll beat us to the islands yet!"

"Gosh!" exclaimed Tom. "I'll bet they took their radio outfit aboard."

"I'll say they did!" declared Rawlins. "And like as not they'll be under full sail for the Caribbean by now and working that radio overtime to get word to the old High Panjandrum down there."

"Not if I know it!" cried Mr. Pauling. "Come along, Rawlins. I'm going to see the Admiral."

The result of that hurried and exceedingly confidential interview was that, as the boys and Mr. Rawlins were crossing the Manhattan Bridge in Mr. Pauling's car, they looked down and saw a lean, gray destroyer sweeping down the river with two others in her wake, black smoke pouring from their funnels, great mounds of foam about their bows and screeching an almost incessant warning from their sirens as they sped seawards bearing orders to overhaul and capture a Bahama schooner that, under a cloud of canvas, was plunging southward on the farther edge of the Gulf Stream, her mulatto skipper driving his craft to her utmost, while aloft two monkeylike negro seamen were busily stretching a pair of slender wires between the straining lofty topmasts.

Two days later, a black-hulled liner steamed out from New York's harbor and dropping her pilot also headed southward for the Bahamas. Upon her decks stood Tom and Frank with Mr. Pauling and Mr. Henderson by their sides, while in the Navy Yard, with a marine guard tramping ceaselessly back and forth about her, a submarine was being feverishly fitted for a long cruise.

After much discussion, Mr. Pauling had at last given consent to the boys joining in the search for the mysterious master mind whose plans had so far come to grief through their efforts, although he refused to consider letting them go south on the captured submarine. But the boys had no objections to this, for they did not look forward with any pleasure to an ocean voyage in the sub-sea boat and were filled with excitement at the thoughts of the adventures in store for them when they joined Rawlins, and the submarine at a prearranged meeting place in the Bahamas.

As they watched the skyline of New York fade into the mists of the summer afternoon and the smooth gray-green sea stretched before them beyond the Narrows, they were thinking of the adventures which had so strangely fallen to their lot in the great city and Tom chuckled.

"Remember when we first called ourselves radio detectives?" he asked Frank, "Gosh! we never thought we'd even strike anything the way we did."

"You bet I do!" rejoined Frank. "Say, wasn't Henry sore because he couldn't go and wasn't he crazy to find out what we were going for? It's great! And we're real radio detectives now-working for Uncle Sam, too!"

"Rather, I should say, 'radio secret service,'" said Mr. Henderson who stood beside them. "But don't talk about it. Remember the first thing for a person in this service to learn is to hear everything, see everything and say nothing."

"We will!" declared the boys in unison.

"That'll be our motto!" added Tom. "Isn't it a bully one?"

"As Mr. Rawlins would say, 'I'll say it is'!" said Frank.

THE END