Boy Scouts on Motorcycles Part 13

"This kid is an impostor!" shouted the detective.

"No hard names, please," said the consul. "Let us get at the facts of the case. You claim to be Ned Nestor?" turning to the boy.

"That is my name, sir."

"And you claim a cablegram which is here? A cablegram in cipher--the cipher code of the Secret Service of the United States government?"

"Yes, it would naturally be in cipher."

"You have the key to the code?"

"Certainly."

"Be careful, young man," laughed the consul, "for I was in the Secret Service department before I came here, and know the code."

"I'm glad you do," replied Ned.

"Hand me the cablegram," ordered the consul, turning to the a.s.sistant manager.

The detective stepped forward with a frown on his face. He glared at the consul and at Ned for a moment, and then broke out:

"You can't have it unless you will promise not to reveal its contents to this impostor."

"Can't I?" said the consul, coolly. "Hand me the cablegram."

The operator and the a.s.sistant manager drew back. The consul stood for an instant regarding them angrily.

"One, two, three!" he said. "At the word three, pa.s.s it over!"

"Goot sphort, dot feller!" whispered Hans.

During the dead silence which followed Ned watched the face of the consul for some sign of weakening, but found none. He knew that he had come upon an official who would stand by his guns, no matter what took place.

There was a little crowd in front of the office, and half a dozen faces were pressed against the windows and the gla.s.s panel of the door. Ned thought he saw a face there he had last seen in the old house at Taku where he had been captured. The fellow carried a long cicatrice on his left cheek.

"What do you mean by coming in here and giving orders?" demanded the detective. "I'll put you out if the manager says the word."

Ned, standing close to Hans, felt the muscles of the German's great arm swell under the sleeve. Hans was evidently antic.i.p.ating trouble.

"Will you deliver the cablegram?" asked the consul.

"I will not."

As the a.s.sistant manager spoke the detective reached his hand up to the electric light switch. Ned saw in an instant what his intention was.

If the room should be suddenly thrown into darkness, the operator might escape with the cablegram.

The consul, too, saw what was meditated and sprang forward. The detective struck at him, but before his blow reached its intended mark, Hans struck and the detective went down as suddenly as if he had been hit with an ax. Then, from unseen places, from beneath counters and out of closets, came a horde of Chinamen. The room was full of them.

"Soak um!" cried Hans.

The German was about to adopt his own suggestion by pa.s.sing a blow out to the nearest Chinaman when the consul stepped before him. For an instant the threatening natives stepped back. The attacking of the American consul was a thing to be seriously considered.

"Once more!" warned the consul. "Give me the cablegram."

At a motion from the a.s.sistant manager the brown men closed threateningly about the American again. There was malice in their eyes as they pressed closer and closer.

"This looks like another Boxer uprising!" exclaimed the consul. "Mr.

Nestor," he added, "if you will a.s.semble yourself at my back, and our German friend will stand by, we'll give 'em a run for their white alley.

Hit hard and often."

There is no knowing what might have happened then had not an interruption fell. Ned saw the crowd at the door vanish, and the next instant the friendly popping of motorcycles rang a chorus in the air.

Then came the rattle of guns and sabers, and a line of bluecoats stood before the door. At their head stood Jimmie, wrinkling his freckled nose as if for dear life.

Ned sprang to the door and opened it.

"Quick!" he cried. "Don't let a man now in the room get away."

"Where is Captain Martin, the officer in charge?" asked one of the men.

"The c.h.i.n.ks can tell you," Ned answered. "Close up at the doors," he went on, gazing about excitedly, "so that no one can leave."

This was done instantly. In fact, the natives and the men of the telegraph office were not in a fighting mood now. The guns and sabers of the marines had brought them to a peace-loving state of mind!

They huddled about in the center of the room, the natives milling around like cattle in a storm. The a.s.sistant manager pushed out of the press and handed the consul the cablegram.

"Understand that I am doing this under protest," he said. "Your conduct in invading my office with armed men shall be reported."

"I shall welcome any investigation," the consul replied, with a smile, "because I want to know something of your motives in doing what you have done to-night. You know very well that the cablegram is of no importance to any person except the one to whom it is addressed. I can read the code, it is true, but you doubtless overlooked the fact that I have received such dispatches here. So, let us look at the matter in a reasonable light. What inducements were offered you to keep the cablegram away from this young man? Speak up!"

"You are insulting"' gasped the a.s.sistant manager.

"Come down to cases!" commanded the consul.

"I don't understand your Bowery slang."

"How much money was offered you to hold this message?"

There was no answer, but the operator glanced slyly in the direction of the consul with a frightened look in his eyes.

"Were you to withhold the message altogether, or were you merely to delay this young man?"

"You are insulting!" repeated the other.

"Who bribed you?" came the next question, snapped out like the crack of a lash.

"You have the message," the a.s.sistant manager said. "Get out."

"Only for the marines you'd put me out!" laughed the consul.