“What?” exclaimed Mr. Pauling. “How do you know? Explain yourself, Rawlins.”
“If that cockey little ensign hadn’t been so stuck on himself, he’d have noticed it,” declared the diver. “Why, the anchor chains were thick with wet mud, the steam winch was still hot, there was mud and water on deck and some of the crew had fresh mud on their jumpers. What’s more, the fires in her furnaces hadn’t been going an hour. They’d been banked and the ashes were still on the plates where they’d been raked out. That old hooker hadn’t been under way half an hour when we came up. And now how do I know she hadn’t been at Curacao? I’ll tell you. The papers looked all right, I’ll admit—Curacao stamps and signatures and everything O. K. But they were dead crooked, I’ll say! They were a whole year old!”
“Jove!” ejaculated Mr. Pauling, beginning to be convinced that Rawlins had grounds for his suspicions. “How do you know? I saw nothing wrong.”
Rawlins chuckled. “No, and the old guy didn’t expect you would. He or his friends are darned clever birds, but they slipped up on those papers. They’d changed the date under the signatures, but they forgot about the stamps—they were canceled with a rubber stamp and the date was ’21 not ’22!”
“Rawlins!” cried Mr. Pauling. “I’ll take it all back! You’re a wonder—told you you should be in the Service. What’s your idea?”
“Well, I don’t know just where the Dutchy comes in with those reds,” admitted Rawlins, “but I’ll bet they’re cahoots somehow. I think we’d better follow the boys’ motto—hear everything, see everything and say nothing and keep the other fellow guessing—I’d suggest we trail the old porpoise and see if he does go to St. Thomas. If he does, we’ll bob up there too. I’m ready to follow along his wake if he wallows round the world, but St. Thomas is an American port and we can do pretty near anything we like there. If we hang around we may get a line on something. We’ve had pretty good luck all together and I’ve got a hunch we’re ‘hot’, as they used to say when we played hunt the thimble.”
A few moments later Mr. Pauling was speaking to the commander in the privacy of the latter’s cabin.
“You’ll make for St. Thomas, Disbrow,” he said. “Keep that tramp within sight, but don’t let her think we’re following her. No, don’t ask questions, I don’t really know myself. Rawlins has a hunch, and so far his hunches have come mighty near being right. I’m backing them to the limit.”
THE END