CHAPTER XVII
DRUMMOND'S LITTLE SURPRISE—FOR HIMSELF
It didn't happen just that way.
As Drummond swung his cane and brought it down with crushing force, aimed at the submarine boy's head, Jack wasn't there.
Instead, Benson sprang about two feet to one, side. It would have been a fearful blow had Jack's head been in the way. As it was, the cane hit the ground with such force as to be thrown from the Englishman's hand.
With a growl, the fellow leaped forward and snatched up his stick. Jack
Benson stood leaning carelessly against a tree, in a way that enraged
Drummond all the more.
"I'll show you!" snarled the Englishman. With that he aimed a blow, sideways, at Benson's head Jack ducked, then dodged out. The cane hit the tree with a force that jarred the assailant and all but dislocated his wrist. Again he dropped the stick.
Benson gave a hearty ringing laugh and this enraged the Englishman past endurance. Then Jack added, "Is that the best you can do?"
"I'll show you!" roared the other, making a leap forward. He charged straight at the submarine boy, who wheeled and darted on toward hotel.
"Don't run, you coward!" came the flying taunt.
Just then Jack Benson fell, though he did it on purpose. Straight in the path of the irate Englishman the submarine boy dropped, curling himself up.
It was too late for Drummond to halt, or to change his course. He tripped over prostrate young Benson, then lurched forward landing on his face.
Up sprang Jak Benson, planting two sterling good kicks.
"You beast! Wait until I get up!" roared the victim, in a voice like a bull's bellow.
"What's the matter here?" demanded an astonished voice, and Mr. Trotter, after a short dash, bounded through the darkness, arriving on the scene just as Drummond was getting up.
"This fellow—" began Jack.
"'Fellow'?" broke in Drummond, angrily.
"This fellow," Jack continued, calmly, "accused me of causing Miss
Peddensen's arrest, and promised to brain me."
"Too bad you've allied yourself with that young woman," muttered Mr.
Trotter looking keenly into the Englishman's face.
"What d'ye mean?" demanded Drummond.
"Miss Peddensen turns out to be a well-known military and naval spy, though she hasn't operated in this country before in five years," replied Mr. Trotter, coolly. "However, she has been caught trying to steal the secrets of the submarine boat, and she's under arrest. My side partner, Packwood, is now engaged in unraveling a cipher that was taken from her."
"That's an impudent lie," asserted the Englishman, hotly.
"No it isn't," laughed Mr. Trotter. "It's a Secret Service fact."
"I'm going to go to Miss Peddensen, now, then," asserted Drummond.
"Right-o," drawled Trotter, so significantly that Drummond shot a quick look at the officer, demanding:
"What d'ye mean by that?"
"I'm going to take you to Miss Peddensen," returned the Secret Service man.
"I'll go all the way to Washington, by tonight's express, to see the young lady freed from this outrageous mistake," stormed the Englishman.
"I don't know about your going to Washington—to-night," replied
Trotter, yawning.
"What have you to do with that?" demanded Drummond, harshly.
"Why, I reckon, Mr. Drummond, you're my prisoner. You won't very easily go anywhere to-night, without my consent."
"Your prisoner?" demanded the Englishman angrily.
"Yes."
"By what right do you arrest me! What have I done?"
"Well, for one thing, you've tried to injure the captain of the submarine boat, all because he caught your woman friend at strange tricks on board the 'Benson.' For another reason, because we suspect anyone who defends or upholds the spy. Be good enough to step along with me, Mr. Drummond."
"I'll do nothing of the sort," blurted the astounded Englishman
"You'll go all the same," warned Mr. Trotter, first of all displaying his Secret Service badge, next running a hand back briefly to a revolver that rested in a hip pocket. "I don't much care, Drummond, whether you walk with me, or whether I have to send for an ambulance to bring you along. But you'll go just where I want you to."
The Englishman was too much terrified to reply. Two or three times he opened his mouth as though to speak, but, instead, merely swallowed.
"Come, now—forward march" advised Mr. Trotter. Drummond, without allowing himself to hesitate, went away at the side of the Secret Service man.
"Don't you want your cane?" called Jack Benson. Drummond did not condescend to answer, so the submarine boy slipped back to the tree, where he found the stick. It was a handsome piece of polished partridge wood, surmounted by a handsomely wrought head of gold.
"This will make an interesting souvenir to keep aboard the boat," mused
Benson, swinging the stick as he continued his walk.
At the veranda Jack came face to face with Mlle. Nadiboff, just returning from an unaccompanied stroll down by the water front. To the submarine boy's astonishment the handsome Russian greeted him most amiably.
"You have not forgotten old friends, I hope, my Captain?" she added, smiling and with a pretty little coaxing way.
"There are some old friends," replied Captain Jack, lifting his cap, "whom it is impossible to forget."
"I hope you will continue to regard me as a friend," responded Mlle.
Nadiboff, more seriously, looking him fully in the eyes.
"Why?" queried Jack.
"I may need a friend," she replied, dropping her glance for a moment.
"You in need of anything—even a friend?" cried Captain Jack, incredulously.
"I may need a friend who can speak a good word for me; who can forget things, or explain them." went on Mlle. Nadiboff, resting a hand pleadingly on his sleeve "My Captain, if need be, I shall send for you. Do not fail me! You won't?"
It looked as though the tears lay just behind her eyes. The submarine boy felt that the situation was becoming too interesting, so he lifted his cap once more as he turned on his heel.
"Mlle. Nadiboff," he sent back to her, "I trust you will never want for the most reliable friends."
He turned down the veranda to go toward the office door, when he encountered another surprise.
Leaning against one of the posts stood Kamanako, as natty and trim as though he had come from the tailor's.
Looking up with a most friendly smile, the little Japanese saluted.
"Why, how do you do?" Jack greeted him, halting. "I had an idea you had left Spruce Beach."
"I should have done so, but I started too late," replied Kamanako, still smiling. Nothing ever daunts that Japanese smile. One of these little men, being led away to have his head chopped off, goes with a smile on his little brown face.
"Started too late?" asked Jack. "How was that?"
"Now, you laugh at me," replied the Japanese.
"Laughing at you? Not a bit!"
"You have told some one that I am a spy," replied Kamanako, without a trace of grudge in his voice. "So now, I cannot leave Spruce Beach. Ticket agent, he will not sell me. If I try to go on foot, the roads are watched. If I take to woods, even, I shall be found."
"Sorry," nodded Jack Benson, and passed on. "So the Secret Service net is around the place, and no suspected person can get away?" muttered the submarine boy. "Well, that's it should be. I wonder if there are any more of this strange crew—men or women spies that don't happen to have suspected so far? If there are, I don't believe they'll wriggle through the meshes of old Uncle Sam's Secret Service net, anyway."
His mind full of the doings of the day, Captain Jack Benson found Messrs.
Farnum and to whom he surely had much to tell.