Boy Scouts in the Philippines; Or, The Key to the Treaty Box

by G. Harvey Ralphson

"Then," Ned said, grimly, "if the Manhattan doesn't get within speaking distance of the gunboat very soon there will be a couple of funerals on this island."

"I am afraid you are right," said Ben. "If I could do anything for you I would, but—"

"Stop that clatter there!" shouted Carstens, pointing the end of his pencil toward Ned. "Didn't I tell you to put a stick in his mouth if he opened it again?"

Ben saluted and said that he was trying to get a confession out of the prisoner, and the Lieutenant turned back to the work of tallying the tinned goods. It was quite evident that he did not intend to leave that important duty to any subordinate.

Ned knew that he was in the tightest hole his love for detective work had ever fitted him into. He knew that the Lieutenant suspected him, and would not hesitate to order him shot after a mock trial. He had little doubt that the officer had, after his return from Yokohama, managed to poison the minds of the officers at Manila against him. That was why, he thought, he had been ordered by Major John Ross to remain at Manila until instructions could be received from Washington.

He understood that Carstens might murder him there at will and so close his mouth forever. After the murder there would be no one to tell of the secret meetings on the islands where the rebel chiefs were assembled, no one to tell of the murder of Brown at the Yokohama tea house, no one to tell of the arms unloaded there and turned over to the Filipinos—unless the sailors should take it into their heads to investigate the long boxes and take their lives in their hands by reporting their discoveries.

Lieutenant Carstens certainly had everything to his taste there, and Ned was of the opinion that he would not be very long in exercising his authority to the limit. While the boy was thinking over the situation, trying to find some way out of the peril he was in, a sleepy-looking young man came out of the cabin of the Clara and stepped ashore. He was neatly dressed, with a handsome face and alert figure. Lieutenant Carstens bowed to him as he approached the place where he stood and pointed to the prisoners.

"Do you know who that is?" whispered Ned to the sailor.

"No," was the reply, "except that he is the son of a prominent politician in the United States."

Ned did not need to ask another question then. Jimmie had described the senator's son, and Ned knew that the young man who had held possession of the treaty box was there, in conference with the Lieutenant.