Tom Slade, Motorcycle Dispatch Bearer Part 20

And there you are.

Rumors of this kind are always in circulation and the Secret Service people run them down as a matter of precaution. But though you can run a rumor down and stab it through and through you cannot kill it. It now appeared that this German agent had sailed from Mexico and would land at Brest--with a message to some French statesman. Also it appeared that he had stolen a secret from Edison and would land at Dieppe. It had also been reported that someone had attempted to blow up the loaded transport _Texas Pioneer_ on her way over.

And so Mr. Carleton Conne, of the American Secret Service, quiet, observant, uncommunicative, never too sanguine and never too skeptical, had strolled on to the _Channel Queen_, lighted his cigar, and was now tilted back in his chair outside the Quartermaster's office in Dieppe, not at all excited and waiting for the _Texas Pioneer_ to dock.

He had done this because he believed that where there is a great deal of smoke there is apt to be a little fire. He was never ruffled, never disappointed.

Tom's acquaintance with Mr. Conne had begun on the transport on which he had worked as a steward's boy, and where his observant qualities and stolid soberness had attracted and amused the detective.

"I never thought I'd see you here," said Tom, his face lighting up to an unusual degree. "I'm a dispatch-rider now. I just rode from Cantigny. I got a letter for the Quartermaster, but anyway he's got to turn me over to the Secret Service (Mr. Conne regarded him with whimsical attention as he stumbled on), because there's a plot and somebody--a spy--kind of----"

"A spy, kind of, eh?"

"And I hope the _Texas Pioneer_ didn't land yet, that's one sure thing."

"It's one sure thing that she'll dock in about fifteen minutes, Tommy,"

said Mr. Conne rising. "Come inside and deliver your message. What's the matter with your machine? Been trying to wipe out the Germans alone and unaided, like the hero in a story book?"

Tom followed him in, clumsily telling the story of his exciting journey; "talking in chunks," as he usually did and leaving many gaps to be filled in by the listener.

"I'm glad I found you here, anyway," he finished, as if that were the only part that really counted; "'cause now I feel as if I can tell about an idea I've got. I'd of been scared to tell it to anybody else. I ain't exactly got it yet," he added, "but maybe I can help even better than they thought, 'cause as I was ridin' along I had a kind of an idea----"

"Yes?"

"Kind of. Did you ever notice how you get fool ideas when there's a steady noise going on?"

"So?" said Mr. Conne, as he led the way along a hall.

"It was the noise of my machine."

"How about the smell, Tommy?" Mr. Conne asked, glancing around with that pleasant, funny look which Tom had known so well.

"You don't get ideas from smells," he answered soberly.

In the Quartermaster's office he waited on a bench while Mr. Conne and several other men, two in uniform and two that he thought might be Secret Service men, talked in undertones. If he had been a hero in a book, to use Mr. Conne's phrase, these officials would doubtless have been a.s.sembled about him listening to his tale, but as it was he was left quite out of the conference until, near its end, he was summoned to tell of his capture of Major von Piffinhoeffer and asked if he thought he could identify a close relation of that high and mighty personage simply by seeing him pa.s.s as a total stranger.

Tom thought he might "by a special way," and explained his knowledge of breed marks and specie marks. He added, in his stolid way, that he had another idea, too. But they did not ask him what that was. One of the party, a naval officer, expressed surprise that he had ridden all the way from Cantigny and asked him if it were not true that part of the road was made impa.s.sible by floods. Tom answered that there were floods but that they were not impa.s.sible "if you knew how." The officer said he supposed Tom knew how, and Tom regarded this as a compliment.

Soon, to his relief, Mr. Conne took all the papers in the case and left the room, beckoning Tom to follow him. Another man in civilian clothes hurried away and Tom thought he might be going to the dock. It seemed to him that his rather doubtful ability to find a needle in a haystack had not made much of an impression upon these officials, and he wondered ruefully what Mr. Conne thought. He saw that his arrival with the papers had produced an enlivening effect among the officials, but it seemed that he himself was not taken very seriously. Well, in any event, he had made the trip, he had beaten the ship, delivered the message to Garcia.

"I got to go down and turn my grease cup before I forget it," he said, as they came out on the little stone portico again.

Several soldiers who were soon to see more harrowing sights than a bunged-up motorcycle, were gathered about _Uncle Sam_, gaping at him and commenting upon his disfigurements. Big U. S. A. auto trucks were pa.s.sing by. A squad of German prisoners, of lowering and sullen aspect, marched by with wheelbarrows full of gray blankets. They were keeping perfect step, through sheer force of habit. Another dispatch-rider (a "local") pa.s.sed by, casting a curious eye at _Uncle Sam_. A French child who sat upon the step had one of his wooden shoes full of smoky, used bullets, which he seemed greatly to prize. Several "flivver" ambulances stood across the way, new and roughly made, destined for the front.

American naval and military officers were all about.

"We haven't got much time to spare, Tommy," said Mr. Conne, resuming his former seat and glancing at his watch.

"It's only a second. I just got to turn the grease cup."

He hurried down past the child, who called him "M'sieu Yankee," and elbowed his way through the group of soldiers who were standing about _Uncle Sam_.

"Your timer bar's bent," one of them volunteered.

Tom did not answer, but knelt and turned the grease cup, then wiped the nickel surfaces, bent and dented though they were, with a piece of cotton waste. Then he felt of his tires. Then he adjusted the position of the handle-bar more to his liking and as he did so the poor, dented, gla.s.sless searchlight bobbed over sideways as if to look at the middle of the street. Tom said something which was not audible to the curious onlookers. Perhaps _Uncle Sam_ heard.

The local rider came jogging around the corner on his way back. His machine was American-made and a medley of nickel and polished bra.s.s. As he made the turn his polished searchlight, with a tiny flag perched jauntily upon it, seemed to be looking straight at _Uncle Sam_. And _Uncle Sam's_ green-besprinkled,[3] gla.s.sless eye seemed to be leering with a kind of sophisticated look at the pa.s.sing machine. It was the kind of look which the Chicago Limited might give to the five-thirty suburban starting with its load of New York commuters for East Orange, New Jersey.

[3] The effect of water on bra.s.s is to produce a greenish, superficial erosion.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

"MADE IN GERMANY"

"Now, Tommy, let's hear your idea," said Mr. Conne, indulgently, as he worked his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other. "I find there's generally a little fire where there's a good deal of smoke.

There's somebody or other, as you say, but the trouble is we don't know who he is. We think maybe he looks like someone you've seen. We think he may have a patent ear." He looked at Tom sideways and Tom could not help laughing. Then he looked at the mysterious letter with a funny, ruminating look.

"What can we--you--do?" Tom ventured to ask, feeling somewhat squelched.

Mr. Conne screwed up his mouth with a dubious look. "Search everybody on board, two or three thousand, quiz a few, that's about all. It'll take a long time and probably reveal nothing. Family resemblances are all right when you know both members, Tommy, but out in the big world--Well, let's look this over again," he added, taking up the letter.

Tom knew that he was not being consulted. He had a feeling that his suggestion about breed marks and personal resemblances was not being taken seriously. He was glad that he had not put his foot too far in by telling of his other precious idea. But he was proud of Mr. Conne's companionable att.i.tude toward him. He was proud to be the friend of such a man. He was delighted at the thought of partic.i.p.ation in this matter.

He knew Mr. Conne liked him and had at least a good enough opinion of him to adopt the appearance of conferring with him. Mr. Conne's rather whimsical att.i.tude toward this conference did not lessen his pride.

"Let's see now," said the detective. "This thing evidently went through Holland in code. It's a rendering."

It was easy for Tom to believe that Mr. Conne was re-reading the letter just to himself--or to himself and Tom.

"Let's see now--_but, as you say, everything for the Fatherland. If you receive this, let them know that I'll have my arms crossed and to be careful before they shoot_. I wish he'd cross his arms when he comes ash.o.r.e. He's evidently planning to get himself captured. _If you don't get this I'll just have to take my chance. The other way isn't worth trying._ Hmm! Probably thought of deserting at the wharf and getting into Holland or Belgium. No, that wouldn't be worth trying. _As for the code key, that'll be safe enough--they'll never find it._ Hmm! _If it wasn't for the_--what's all this--_the English swine_. Humph! They fight pretty good for swine, don't they, Tommy? _As far as I can ascertain, we'll go on the T. P._ We know that much, anyway, thanks to you, Tommy."

(Tom felt highly elated.) "_There was some inquiry about my close relationship to you, but nothing serious. All you have to do is to cheer when they play the S. S. B. over here_. Humph! That's worth knowing. _It isn't known if Schmitter had the key to this when they caught him_----

"He didn't," said Mr. Conne dryly; "I was the one who caught him.--_because he died on Ellis Island. But it's being abandoned to be on the safe side_. Safety first, hey? _I have notice from H. not to use it after sending this letter. If we can get the new one in your hands before_--Seems to be blotted out--_in time so it can be used through Mexico. I'll have much information to communicate verbally in T. and A.

matters, but will bring nothing in ---- ---- form but key and credentials_. He means actual, concealed or disguised form, I s'pose.

_The idea is L.'s._ I suppose he means the manner of concealing the key and credentials."

"Yes," said Tom rather excitedly.

Mr. Conne glanced at him, joggled his cigar, and went on,

"_You remember him at Heidelberg, I dare say. I brought him back once for holiday. Met him through Handel, who was troubled with cataract. V.

has furnished funds. So don't fall to have them watch out._"

"Hmm!" concluded Mr. Conne ruminatively. "You see what they're up to. We caught Schmitter in Philadelphia. They think maybe Schmitter had the key of a code with him. So they're changing the code and sending the key to it across with this somebody or other. That's about the size of it. He's got a lot of information, too, in his head, where we can't get at it."

"But his credentials will have to be something that can be seen, won't they?" Tom ventured to ask.