Tom Slade on a Transport Part 11

During the search of the stateroom Tom stood silently by. He watched the coverings pulled ruthlessly from the berth, moved out of the way as the mattress was hauled to the floor, gazed fascinated at the quick thoroughness which mercilessly unfolded every innocent towel and scrutinized each joint and section of the life preserver, until presently the orderly little apartment was in a state of chaos. He saw the officer move the plate so as to examine the under side of the stool.

He saw the disguised Secret Service man pick up a little piece of innocent cotton waste and carelessly throw it down again.

But the turmoil about him was nothing to the turmoil in his own brain.

What should he do? Would he dare to speak? What could he say? And still he stood silent, watching with a strange, cold feeling, looking occasionally at his brother, and thinking--thinking. As his brother watched him furtively, and a little fearfully, Tom became aware of a queer way he had of contracting his eyebrows, just as Uncle Job used to do when he told a joke. And there came into his mind the memory of a certain day long ago when his big brother and he had shot c.r.a.ps together in front of the bank building in Bridgeboro and his brother had looked just that same way when he watched the street for stray policemen. Funny that he should think of that just now. The sailor (or whatever he was) gave Tom a shove to get him out of the way so that he could crawl under the berth.

And still Tom watched them dazedly. He was thinking of something that Mr. Ellsworth, his scoutmaster, had once said--that blood is thicker than water. As nearly as he could make out, that meant that after all a fellow's own people came first--before anything else. He had great respect for Mr. Ellsworth.

The man in the sailor suit picked up the plate of food from the berth and slung the whole business into the basin. The jangle of the dish startled Tom and roused him. The others didn't seem to mind it. They had more important things to think of than a mess plate.

And Tom Slade, captain's mess boy and former scout, went on thinking.

CHAPTER XIII

HE PONDERS AND DECIDES BETWEEN TWO NEAR RELATIONS

When Tom at length did speak his own voice sounded strange to him; but he said what he had to say with a simple straightforwardness which in ordinary circ.u.mstances would have carried conviction.

"If you'd let me say something," he said, trying to keep his throat clear, "I'd like to tell you----"

"It's the best thing, sonny," said the man in the sailor suit; "you needn't be afraid of squealing. How old are you?"

"Seventeen," said Tom, "but it wasn't squealing I was thinking about. I ain't a-scared, if that's what you think."

He avoided looking at his brother, who tried to catch his eye, and the men, perhaps seeing this and thinking it might be fruitful to let him say what he would in his own way, relaxed a trifle toward him.

"While you were searching," Tom went on, hesitating, but still showing something of his old stolid manner, "I wasn't a-scared, but I was thinking--I had to think about something--before I could decide what I ought to do."

"All right, sonny," said the man in the sailor clothes. "I'm glad you know what's best for you. Out with it. You've got a key to that porthole, eh? Now where is it?"

"You had a flashlight and threw it out, didn't you?" added the officer.

"Come now."

Tom looked from one to the other. His brother began to speak but was peremptorily silenced.

"It ain't knowin' what's good for me," Tom managed to say, "'cause as soon as I--as soon as I--made up my mind about that--then right away I knew what I ought to do----"

He gulped and looked straight at the officer so as not to meet his brother's threatening look.

"I had to decide it myself--'cause--'cause Mr. Ellsworth--a man I know--ain't here. Maybe a feller's own family come first and I wouldn't--I wouldn't--tell on 'em--if--if they stole--or something like that," he blurted out, twisting his fingers together. "And--and--I didn't forget neither--I didn't," he added, turning and looking his brother straight in the face, "I didn't--I----"

He broke down completely and the men stared at him, waiting.

"Anyway--anyway--I got to remember----" He broke off.

"Well, what became of the light?" the officer urged rather coldly.

"And when you saw me standing on the--deck--last night--I was thinking about Uncle Sam----" He gulped and hesitated, then went on, "and--and--that's what made me think about Uncle Sam being a relation too--kind of--and I got to decide between my brother and my uncle--like." He gulped again and shook his head with a kind of desperate resolution. "There--_there_ it is," he almost shouted, pointing at the scattered sandwich and the mess plate in the wash basin.

"You--picked it up twice," he added with a kind of reckless triumph, "and you didn't know it."

"What?" said the captain, with a puzzled look at his companions, as if he were a little doubtful of Tom's sanity.

"There it is," Tom repeated, controlling himself better now that the truth was out. "He held it--up there--so's the light would s.h.i.+ne in the gla.s.s. There ain't anything except that. It's--it's the same idea as a periscope. He said it in a letter that I gave Mr. Conne--and--and I found out what he meant. I--I didn't know he was----"

Trying desperately to master his feeling he broke down and big tears rolled down his cheeks. "I couldn't help it," he said to his brother.

"It ain't 'cause I don't remember--but--I had to decide--and I got to stand by Uncle Sam!"

"If you didn't know about this," said the captain, watching him keenly, "how did you suspect it? You'd better try to control yourself and tell everything. This is a very serious matter."

"You see that piece of cotton waste that you kicked?" said Tom, turning upon the disguised government agent. "You can see it's fresh and hasn't got any oil on it. You can see from the flat place on it how it was used to polish the dish. I ain't----" he gulped. "I ain't going to talk about my brother--but I got to tell about the papers he's got somewhere. The same person that said it was like a periscope said something about having plans of a motor. I got to tell that, and I ain't going to say any more about him. So now he can't do any more harm. And--and I want you to please go away," he burst forth, "because I--I got to tell him about how our mother died--'cause maybe he didn't--get the letter."

CHAPTER XIV

HE IS ARRESTED AND PUT IN THE GUARDHOUSE

But of course his brother _had_ received that letter. The circ.u.mstances of his mother's death were the least of his troubles now and he must have thought his young brother very innocent and sentimental. He did not understand Tom's wanting to talk about their mother's death any more than Tom understood how Bill could be a spy and a traitor.

In short, the wily, self-seeking Bill, who would stop at nothing, probably thought his brother had a screw loose, as the saying is, and perhaps that is what the others thought also.

Tom was never very lucid in explanation, and his emotion had made his surprising story choppy and unsatisfactory. His explanation of the use of the plate and of the telltale piece of cotton which his keen eyes had not missed, seemed plausible enough, and fell like a bomb-sh.e.l.l among his questioners.

But they did not give him credit for his discovery nor even for his apparent innocence. It was, as the captain had said, a serious business, and Uncle Sam was taking no chances where spies and traitors were concerned. Probably they thought Tom was a weak-minded tool of his shrewder brother.

"Well," said the officer rather curtly, "I'm glad you told the truth. If you had told me the truth last night when I caught you up there, it would have been better for you. Still, confession made at bay is better than none," he said to the captain, adding as he left the room, "I'll have a squad down."

William Slade sat upon the berth, glaring at the detective who stood guarding the doorway. He looked vicious enough with his disheveled hair and sooty face and the dirty jumper such as the under engineers wore.

Tom wondered when he had come east and how he had fallen in with his old patron, Adolf Schmitt.

And this was his own brother! Evidently William had been in the German spy service for some time, for he had learned the rule of absolute silence when discovered and he had even acquired some of that lowering sullenness which sets the Teuton apart from all other beings.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THERE--_THERE_ IT IS," TOM ALMOST SHOUTED.]

Presently there came the steady footfalls of soldiers in formation and a sudden fear seized upon Tom.

"They--they ain't going to arrest me, are they?" he asked, with alarm in every line of his ordinarily expressionless face.

"Put you both in the guardhouse," said the captain briefly.[2]

"Didn't you--didn't you--believe me?" Tom pleaded simply and not without some effect.

"You and your brother get your jobs together?" the captain asked.