Tom Slade on a Transport Part 10

CHAPTER XI

HE MAKES A DISCOVERY AND IS GREATLY AGITATED

Suddenly his hand encountered something hard and cold, and he grabbed it like lightning. His heart was in his throat now. There was a scuffling sound within and the object was wrenched and twisted and pulled frantically.

But Tom had been a scout and he was prepared. The two big clumsy hands which bore the captain's tray back and forth each day had once torn a pack of thirty cards in half to entertain tenderfeet at campfire. And one of those hands clutched this thing now with the grip of a bulldog.

His excitement and his pounding heart did not embarra.s.s him in the brief tussle. A few dexterous twists this way and that, and he withdrew his hand triumphantly, scratched and bleeding, the light in the pa.s.sage glinting upon the polished surface of the mess plate which he held.

Scarcely three minutes had escaped since he came down from the deck, but in that short period his usually st.u.r.dy nerves had borne a terrific strain and for a moment he leaned against the opposite side of the pa.s.sage, clutching the dish in consternation.

In that brief moment when he had paused before putting his hand through the transom, he had thought that if indeed the plate were being held there even still the conspirator's eyes would be fixed upon the stationary mirror in order to keep the reflection centered in direct line with the porthole. Evidently he had been right and had taken the plotter quite unaware.

Sherlock n.o.body Holmes had succeeded beyond his most extravagant dreams!

The door of the little room flew back and a figure stood in the dark opening, looking at him.

"That--_that's_ what you meant," Tom stammered, scarcely knowing what he said, "about the same idea as a periscope. You thought--you thought----"

The man, evidently surprised at seeing no one but the captain's mess boy, stuck out his head and looked apprehensively up and down the pa.s.sage.

"There's n.o.body," breathed Tom, "except me; but it won't do you any good--it won't--because I'm going to tell----"

He paused, clutching the mess plate, and looked aghast at the disheveled, half-dressed man who faced him. Then the plate dropped from his hand, and a strange, cold feeling came over him.

"Who are you?" he gasped, his eyes stark and staring. "I--I didn't know--I ain't----"

He stopped, refusing to believe, and groped for the precious mess plate, part of the makes.h.i.+ft periscope which his own keenness had discovered and rendered useless. Then he stood again, fumbling the thing in his clumsy hands and staring, all bewildered, at the traitor who had used it to betray his country.

Was it----? It could not be---- But the years had wrought more change in Tom himself than in the man who stood there glaring back at him, half recognizing.

Yes, it _was_ his own brother, William Slade, who had left home so long ago!

CHAPTER XII

HE IS FRIGHTENED AND VERY THOUGHTFUL

And this was the triumph of Sherlock n.o.body Holmes! This was the startling discovery with which he would astonish his superiors and win their approbation! It was not Sherlock n.o.body Holmes who heard in a sort of daze the whispered words that were next uttered. It was just the captain's mess boy, and he hung his head, not so much in crus.h.i.+ng disappointment as in utter shame.

"Come inside here and keep still. How'd _you_ get on this s.h.i.+p?

n.o.body'll be hunting for you, will they? Come in--quick. What's the matter with you?"

Still clutching the dish, Tom was dragged into that dark little room. He seemed almost in a trance. The hand which had been raised in conspiracy and treason pushed him roughly onto the berth.

"So you turned up like a bad penny, huh?" whispered his brother, fiercely.

"I--I wrote you--a letter--after mother died," Tom said simply. "I don't know if you got it."

"Shut up!" hissed his brother. "Don't talk so loud! You want to get me in trouble? How'd you know about this?"

His voice was gruff and cold and seemed the more so for his frightened whisper.

"She died of pneumonia," said Tom impa.s.sively. "I was----"

"Gimme that plate!" his brother interrupted.

But this roused Tom. He seemed to feel that his possession of the plate was a badge of innocence.

"I got to keep it," he said; "it's----"

"Shh!" his brother interrupted. "Somebody's coming; don't move and keep your mouth shut! It's the second s.h.i.+ft of stokers!"

From the companionway came the steady sound of footfalls. There was an authoritative sound to them as they echoed in the deserted pa.s.sage, coming nearer and nearer. It was not the second s.h.i.+ft of stokers.

"Shh," said Tom's brother, clutching his arm. "If they should come here keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking. They ain't got anything on me," he added in a hoa.r.s.e whisper which bespoke his terror, "unless _you_--shhh!"

"I know what it is," Tom whispered, "and I ain't a-scared. They got a signal from the destroyer. They know the room."

"There's nothing they can find here," his brother breathed. "They were all through here last night. Put that dish down--put it down, I tell you! Shh!"

Tom let go of the plate, scarcely knowing what he did.

Nearer, nearer, came the footsteps and stopped. The door was thrown open and in the pa.s.sage stood the captain, a sailor and the officer who had spoken to Tom the night before.

Tom's heart was in his throat; he did not move a muscle. What happened seemed all a jumble to him, like things in a dream. He was aware of a lantern held by the officer and of the sailor standing by the porthole, over which he had spread something black.

"Did you know this kid was mixed up in it?" the sailor asked. Tom felt that the sailor must be a Secret Service man.

"They're brothers," said the captain. "You can see that."

"He had him posted for a lookout," said the officer. "He was watching on the deck last night." Then, turning upon Tom he said brusquely, "you were supposed to hurry down here with the tip if the convoy signaled, eh?"

Tom struggled to answer, but they did not give him time.

"You're the fellow that read that semaph.o.r.e message the other day, too, eh?" the officer said. "Stand up."

Tom stood trembling while the sailor rapidly searched him. "Where's your flashlight?" he demanded apparently disappointed not to find one.

"I haven't got any," said Tom, dully.

"Pretty good team work," said the sailor.

"Here you," he added, proceeding to search Tom's brother, while the captain and the officer fell to turning the little room inside out, hauling the mattress from the berth and examining every nook and cranny of the place. Tom noticed that the plate, which was now on a stool, had a sandwich on it and a piece of cheese, and he realized, if he had not realized before, his brother's almost diabolical foresight and sagacity.

It looked very innocent--a harmless, late lunch, brought into the stateroom as was often done among the s.h.i.+p's people.