“All of which sounds very fine,” agreed Tom, with a curl to his lip. “But in these days who can know what the real sentiments deep down in the heart of such a man may be? A spy would naturally be loud in his talk of loyalty to the flag, in order to hide his genuine sympathies.”
“Another thing you ought to know, Tom,” continued the other, “though up to now I haven’t mentioned it to you. Bessie Gleason asked me to introduce her to you. Yes, and she acted, well, peculiar when saying that she’d like to meet you. She’s a knowing one for her years, and at the time I thought it was only the coquetry of the girl playing shy and bold; but now I’ve got another idea gripping me.”
“Go on and tell me what you think, because all this is getting mighty interesting to me,” urged Tom.
“I feel almost certain she made that request at the command of her guardian, Carl Potzfeldt,” announced Jack sturdily. “Now I think her manner was one of embarrassment, as though she felt ashamed of playing a mean part but was compelled to do as she was told.”
Tom frowned. From his serious manner it was plain to be seen that he attached considerable importance to the astonishing thing his companion was telling him.
“If what you suspect is really a fact, Jack,” he remarked soberly, “there’s only one explanation for it that I can see.”
“You believe this Carl Potzfeldt may have some invisible connection with that Adolph Tuessig, the chap we suspect of being aboard this very steamer, hiding under some false name—or another name, for Adolph Tuessig may be an alias—and keeping to his stateroom during the day. Is that it, Tom?”
“Just what I had in mind, Jack. You know we’ve done our best to find out if that German spy is aboard this ship, and have tried to run down information about that man whose name has not been entered on the passenger list, and who came aboard late just before we sailed.”
“Yes,” hastily added the other musingly, “and the steward we interviewed, who carries the sick man’s meals in to him, says he has the appetite of a horse; so we kind of suspect his keeping to his stateroom may be a blind after all. Once late in the night, you remember, you ran into a stranger who was muffled to the eyes, and who hurried away when you begged his pardon. Ever since you’ve been wondering if he was the sick man, and who might yet turn out to be that slick German spy, masquerading as a Swede; or a Swiss perhaps.”
“Altogether it’s getting to be a pretty mixed-up mess I must say,” Tom continued. “If we have a pair of them aboard this boat, plotting to do something or other, it’ll pay us to keep our eyes open wider than ever, Jack!”