THE EXPLANATION
Although Whistler was quite sure "Old Mag," as she called herself, possessed no powers of divination, he knew she did have certain knowledge that he considered she had no moral right to have.
Here she was, an ignorant old creature living on a well nigh uninhabited island off an isolated coast, with some mysterious means of information upon subjects that she should know nothing about.
She claimed not to have seen the other party of castaways; yet she knew at once that Mr. MacMasters and his companions were from a craft that had been blown up miles away from her cabin, and completely out of sight and hearing of this island.
Whistler did not believe any fishing boat, or other craft, had brought this information to Mag. There had been no vessel in sight when the Kennebunk's tender was blown up by the floating mine.
The scrap of a letter addressed to "Herr Franz Linder" he had found in the cabin connected the old crone, in Whistler's mind, with the German spy system. She was of Teutonic extraction herself.
Clearly the old woman was trying to befool her visitors. She probably possessed some local celebrity as a witch or wise woman.
Whistler, however, was not ready to believe her any wiser than her neighbors.
He thought out the matter back to the time the auxiliary steamer was blown up in the channel between the islands. The wireless operator sent out S O S messages till the very last. Small as the radius of the instrument was, a station along the adjacent coast would surely pick up the cry for help.
It was an important thought, but he had no time that evening to mention it to Mr. MacMasters. He and Torry shared one of the wide and fishy smelling bunks together, and they did not wake up until it was broad daylight.
There was a heavy smell of rank, boiling coffee in the air. Bacon was sizzling over the fire and a huge corn pone was baking on a plank before the coals. Mag did not propose to starve her guests, that was sure.
The sun had burst through the clouds and the gale had ceased. The surf still thundered upon the outer shores of the island; but the sound, upon which the cabin fronted, was smooth and sparkling. It was a pretty view from the cabin door.
And almost at once, when Whistler and his chum ran out of the cabin to look about, they saw a number of familiar figures approaching along the rock-strewn shore. These newcomers were as shabby and bedraggled as themselves, and it was easy to identify them.
"Here they come!" yelled Torry, and rushed toward the approaching party.
Whistler was not behind him; but when they reached the refugees they discovered that Mr. MacMasters was already with them. The ensign had been up since before dawn and had searched out Mr. Mudge and his companions at the other end of the island.
"Oi, oi!" wailed Ikey Rosenmeyer, meeting the older boys. "Such a time! I swallowed enough salt water to make me a pickled herring yet!" Ikey could not get away from memories of the delicatessen shop.
"By St. Patrick's piper that played the last snake out of Ireland!" was Frenchy Donahue's complaint, "it was holdin' a wake over you two fellers, we was, all the night long."
"Where did you put in the night, anyway?" asked Whistler.
"Say! we didn't have no more home than a rabbit," cried Ikey.
"After we got ashore," began Frenchy, when Torry interrupted to ask:
"How did you do that? Give us the particulars."
"Why, when you fellers went off and left us without sayin' 'by your leave,' even——"
"What's that?" growled Whistler. "You know that hawser snapped."
"Just the same you parted company from us mighty brusk," grinned Frenchy. "We drifted in with the tide. Mr. Mudge took a line ashore—Oh, boy! he's some swimmer. So we followed him along the line, hand over hand——"
"And head under water," grunted Ikey. "Oi, oi!"
"Aw, Ike would kick if you was hangin' him," scoffed Frenchy, "unless you tied his feet. We all got out of the water safe, and that's enough. The wind and the rain beat us so that we went up into the woods for shelter. And then we found a clearing and in it a cabin."
"Ah-ha!" ejaculated Whistler. "Another cabin like this one?"
"Not on your life!" said Frenchy.
"No," added Ikey. "Nothing like it."
"It was a little cabin without any windows, and the door was padlocked. We couldn't get into it; but we camped there in the clearing all night. I'm as soggy right now as a sponge."
"There was a flagstaff sticking out of the roof of the cabin," Ikey observed. "And somebody must have thought a deal of whatever's in the shack, by the size of the padlock on the door."
There was a call to breakfast from the cabin just then. Whistler slipped aside and caught Mr. MacMasters' attention.
"Something mysterious, Morgan?" asked the ensign, observing Whistler's expression of countenance.
The young fellow briefly related what the old woman had said to him and Torry the night before, and then told the officer of the suspicions that her words had aroused in his mind.
In addition, he told Mr. MacMasters what Frenchy and Ikey had said about the locked cabin in the woods. Whistler put great stress upon this matter.
"Why, I did not see the cabin myself, although Mudge mentioned it," said the ensign. "I met them marching out of the woods up along the shore yonder."
"Can't we find that cabin and have a look at it?" urged Whistler earnestly.
"But we can't get into it."
"No, sir. But we can see it. I have an idea."
"I presume you have, Morgan," returned the ensign, smiling grimly. "And I have a glimmer of an idea myself."
When the men trooped in to breakfast the officer and Whistler Morgan stole away. The old woman was too busy just then to notice their absence.
In half an hour they found the place where the warrant officer and his companions had broken through the jungle. They retraced their course and soon came to the clearing in the wood.
It was a secret place, indeed. The cabin was ten feet square, built of heavy logs, and as Whistler had been told, had no window openings. The door of heavy planks was fastened by a huge hasp held in place by the padlock mentioned so particularly by Ikey Rosenmeyer.
"I guess we can't get into it without tools," said the ensign.
"I don't suppose so, sir. But see that pole on top of the cabin? That had the upperworks of a wireless attached to it, I'm sure. The bolts are still up there. It is no flagpole."
"Right again, Morgan," agreed Mr. MacMasters.
"And that piece of a letter to Linder," the boy eagerly reminded him. "Don't you think with me, sir, that the old woman is linked up with the German spy system?"
"It seems reasonable. At least, I shall make a report as soon as we get away from the island. And the old woman should be watched, too."
"Indeed she should!" cried Whistler. "What do you suppose she meant, Mr. MacMasters, about our Kennebunk being sunk?"
"The speech was fathered by the wish, perhaps."
"But she seemed so certain—so assured," murmured Whistler.
He was not satisfied by this explanation of Mr. MacMasters, and was silent all the way back to Mag's cabin. They came in sight of the place just as the men poured out of the cabin in great excitement.
"What do you suppose is the matter with them now?" demanded the ensign.
But he spied the cause of the excitement as soon as Whistler did. Crossing the sound was a swift revenue cutter, and one of the seamen, under direction from Mr. Mudge, leaped upon a bowlder and began to signal, semaphore fashion.
The signals were returned and the cutter swung in shoreward and soon dropped a boat for the castaways. The shipwrecked seamen from the Kennebunk swarmed down to the strand.
Mr. MacMasters whispered to Whistler that they would have their breakfast aboard the Coast Guard boat. Then he went to the scowling old woman who, after all, had been a most hospitable hostess. Some of the sailors had given her money in small sums; but the ensign forced her to accept an amount that he thought generous payment for what she had done for them, and Mag seemed to agree.
"Yo' Yankees air free-handed already," she drawled. "But that won't save you, Mr. Officer, from the trouble that's heaped up for you-uns."
"What is the nature of this trouble?" asked the ensign curiously.
"Death an' destruction," said the old woman. "Death and destruction. Yo' fine big ship, the Kennebunk ship, will be blowed sky-high. It's a comin'! Mark Old Mag's prophecy, Mr. Officer."
"We shall all have to go on and do our duty just the same, Mag," said Mr. MacMasters, seriously. "And if a sailor does his duty, he's done his all. The rest is in God's hands."
"Don't blaspheme, Mr. Yankee!" warned the old woman. "The Lawd ain't studyin' 'bout he'pin' you-uns none. He's on the other side already."
The boat from the cutter had to return a second time before all the castaways were transferred to the revenue vessel. Whistler went in the last boat with Ensign MacMasters.
When they were on the cutter's deck the young fellow heard Mr. MacMasters ask at once about the character of the old woman, and of any other people who might belong on the island.
"They're under suspicion," the commander of the cutter said briefly. "The Department has its eye on them. On that old woman, too."
Mr. MacMasters asked if anything was known about the small cabin back in the forest. The revenue officer listened eagerly.
"Ah-ha! That is something of moment, Ensign. I shall surely be glad to hear all about that. But we must be brisk. Do you know that your Captain Trevor is combing the sea and the coast with wireless messages for you?"
"He must have heard that we lost our steamer."
"That was relayed last night to the Kennebunk, I believe. The Huns are sowing many mines in these waters. There is a flock of U-boat chasers and destroyers out after the German submarines.
"But there is something else of moment in the wind," added the revenue officer. "The Kennebunk," he added, mysteriously, "will not be long in these waters."
"No?"
"It is expected that there will be a great naval movement on the other side. The report of the Kennebunk's manoeuvres, and her gun record, is said to be so good that she may be sent across."
Whistler, standing by, could scarcely suppress a cry of delight.
"What do you think of that, Morgan?" the ensign cried. Then to the revenue officer: "After this cruise, I suppose you mean, sir?"
"She may be sent on the jump—and within a few hours. I have orders to take you to sea at once and find the Kennebunk. Our operator is sending out feeler messages for the battleship right now."
"Then you will do nothing toward looking into this nest of trouble-makers on the island—if there is such—immediately?"
"Not until we return."
"And then," said Mr. MacMasters seriously, "if you do stir up these snakes, look for a fellow named Franz Linder. He is wanted in Elmvale, up there in New England, for blowing up a dam, destroying munition factories and drowning twelve innocent people. We'll be glad, Morgan here, and I, to hear about the capture of that scoundrel."