CHAPTER XXII
GALLANT, EVEN TO THE FOE!
"You may have him now," announced Captain Jack, ironically. "I reckon he has spoken his piece."
Trotter's answer was to leap upon the Frenchman, pinioning his arms behind him. Packwood snapped handcuffs over the prisoner's wrists.
"Here is the bullet that Hastings dug out of the tree—the one that was probably fired at me," added Captain Jack. "And here is M. Lemaire's cane-pistol. You can see whether the bullet fits the cane."
Trotter took them, with a swift, admiring look at Benson's cool, handsome face.
Then, guiding their prisoner, the Secret Service men moved off hastily, for two or three hundred beach walkers had just discovered that something exciting had happened, and were hurrying forward.
Lemaire was forced into the buggy and driven rapidly away. Once out of sight the Secret Service men turned, driving straight for the local jail.
Before anyone in the excited crowd could ask what had happened the submarine people had vanished.
These four hurried to a room that Mr. Farnum had reserved while they remained at Spruce Beach.
"What was it that rascally Frenchman whispered to you?" demanded the shipbuilder.
Jack promptly repeated the threat, whereat Mr. Farnum's face grew decidedly grave.
"The worst of it is, Jack, I think the fellow not only meant the threat, but has the connections necessary to carry it out," said the ship builder, slowly. "I am quite prepared to believe that these spies work in large groups, when necessary. I am beginning to think that it will be wise move to get you way from here—in time."
"That would give Gaston a fine chance to go clear," retorted young
Benson. "I am a very important witness when his case comes up."
"You are also a very important young man for our submarine company," replied Jacob Farnum, "so important, in fact, that I don't want to have you put out of this world through any of their plots for revenge."
"But don't you see, sir, that, if I run away from here, the fellow
Gaston is very likely to be liberated?"
"Let him go, then," urged Mr. Farnum, though it was plain that he spoke reluctantly.
"It's just what I won't do, sir. I wouldn't be a good citizen if I should allow a criminal to escape justice just because I was, afraid to stay and testify against him," argued Captain Jack.
"I admit the force of all you say," assented Mr. Farnum, slowly. "Yet, if I should find, after thinking it all over, that it will be best to instruct you to leave here quietly, you won't refuse to obey, will you?"
"Yes," declared Jack Benson.
"What? It would be the first time you ever balked at orders, then."
"But this is different, Mr. Farnum. I refuse to obey any order that will tend to defeat the ends of justice."
Jacob Farnum winced at that statement of the matter. He had been anxious only to save Jack from the attempts of a dangerous crowd.
"Jack is right," broke in David Pollard, decisively.
"When he puts the case in that way, I don't dare say that he isn't," admitted the shipbuilder. "At the same time, I can't bear the thought of the lad being butchered to gratify the grudge of any of the rascally crew that we've offended here at Spruce Beach."
A slight, rustling sound at the door caused them all to wheel about. Jacob Farnum's eyes beheld a slip of white paper lying on the floor, just inside the door. Jack Benson saw it, also, but he sprang past the paper, pulling the door open.
Around a turn in the corridor the submarine boy heard the sound of fleet footsteps.
Jack pursued, but could find no one, and the sound of moving feet had also ceased. As soon as he was satisfied that he could not catch the prowler, the submarine boy returned to the room.
"Do you see this?" asked the shipbuilder, holding out the slip of paper.
"Another warning, I suppose?" Benson ventured.
"Yes; and it shows that you are being followed and watched. Something worse is almost certain yet to happen."
Jack took the slip of paper, reading these printed words:
"You have been fairly warned. Are you going to be a fool? Obey, or—"
That was all. The meaning of the words was plain enough, but Jack, with as cool a smile as ever, folded the slip, dropping it in one of his pockets.
"This will interest Trotter," he remarked.
"There is no use whatever in advising you, suppose?" asked the shipbuilder.
"If these threats were directed against you, would you cringe from them?" demanded the young submarine captain.
"Of course I wouldn't," replied Farnum, a sudden flash lighting his eyes as he spoke.
"Then why should you expect to see me turn coward?"
"I won't say another word about it, Jack!" replied the shipbuilder, gripping his captain's hand. "I have dreaded to see you go down under the mysterious assaults of these scoundrels. I have hated to see a boy come to that harm while serving me. But I realize, now, that it would hurt you worse to run away than it would to stay and face any kind of punishment or even death itself."
"That's the talk, sir," nodded Hal. "And no one is going to harm him, either. There are too many of us—if we keep our eyes open."
That "if" covered a wide field of possibilities. Not one of them could foresee all that the ingenuity of the enemy would provide in the way of danger.
To quiet his own agitation Jacob Farnum had recourse to a cigar. He lighted it, smoking with a very solemn look on his face.
"What's all the excitement, I wonder?" muttered Hal, presently.
The distant sound of running feet, then cries came to their ears, though none in the little party could distinguish the words.
"There's some big excitement on. Come along," urged Jack, reaching for his cap.
"Humph! We've had excitement enough to last reasonable people for a long time," grumbled the shipbuilder, but he, too, sprang for his hat.
Ere they had run far through the corridor they encountered other guests fleeing.
"What's the matter?" called Jack.
"Fire in the south wing," called back one man. "We don't know, yet, whether the hotel is doomed."
Just then the fire alarm bell of the hotel began to sound loudly in all the corridors.
That brought the remaining guests on the run, some appearing not completely dressed.
As the rushing throng began to thicken at a door on the ground floor the sound of a whistled of clanging gongs was heard without. The Spruce Beach fire department was responding to the alarm.
Captain Jack bounded out. Hal kept close at his chum's heels while
Messrs. Farnum and Pollard came along less fleetly.
Through half a dozen windows on the second floor of the south wing flames now leaped, while the smoke curled up in dense clouds. This wing was built wholly of wood, and was doomed, even though the rest of the hotel could be saved.
Jack halted, at last, Hal bumping into him.
Some of the firemen were hauling hose from a cart, while others were attaching an end of one length to a fireplug. A hook and ladder truck was hauled to the scene, its crew standing by ready at need.
Whish! Two four-inch streams struck the flames, yet seemed only to feed them to greater fury.
"We can't put that blaze out, men!" roared the local fire chief. "Turn the streams against the main building and stop the blaze from spreading. Let the axe crew follow me!"
Swiftly a couple of long ladders were unlimbered and placed close to the main building. The fire chief and his men scaled these with agility and tried to fight their way into the rear of the blaze.
Jack stood scanning the windows on the third floor, just above the present belt of fire. Then, through one of the windows on the upper floor he saw a sudden red glow thrust its way.
"The fire is eating through to the top," he turned to explain to Messrs.
Farnum and Pollard, who had just reached the boys.
"I think they'll save the main building, however," returned Mr. Farnum, as the ringing sound of ax-blows reached them and the heavy streams of water were carried after the wielders of the axes.
"I hope everybody is out, up there in the wing," uttered Hal, glancing in that direction.
As if in answer a window was suddenly raised with frantic haste.
A face, a figure appeared there, framed by the sill and sides. Then a red tongue of flame shot up in the background, illumining the face of a terrified woman.
"Why, it's Mlle. Nadiboff!" gasped Jack Benson.
The pretty Russian shouted down appealingly, though her words were drowned by the crackling of the blaze and the lusty strokes of the fire fighters.
"Quick! We must get a ladder up there!" shouted Jack, turning back to the truck. "We can't let a human being be burned before our eyes."
But there were no firemen at hand. They had followed their chief.
Hundreds of citizens stood about, but they needed a leader.
"Come on, men!" roared Jack. "Help me off with this longest ladder."
A dozen pair of hands reached for it at once. Off came the ladder with a bound, while other men pressed up to aid.
"Right up to the sill of the window where that woman is!" shouted young Captain Benson. Up went the ladder, exactly in place, while a score of voices shouted:
"Get out on the ladder and come down, young lady! Can you?"
As if in answer, Mlle. Nadiboff was seen suddenly to reel backward as though overcome by the smoke that poured up at her from the floor below.
"Where are you going?" shouted Jacob Farnum, hoarsely, as the submarine captain threw off his jacket like a flash.
"Up there—of course—to help her!" Jack shouted back at him, as he leaped at the rungs.
"It's the only thing a man can do," admitted Farnum, hoarsely. "Good luck to you, Jack!"