“The bullet’s in there yet, Chatty,” he said with what sounded like professional satisfaction. “I can feel it and——”
“Ouch! So can I!” affirmed Nelson.
“Sure! But a doc will have it out in no time. If it hasn’t bust the bone you’ll be lucky, though.” With which cheering observation Sawyer went his way and Nelson laid there and ruefully considered his luck and tried to picture, through the evidence of his ears, what was going on “topside.”
Half an hour after the surprise party in the cave, the four prisoners were safely aboard, Cochran with much gusto had put a three-inch shell through their motor boat and the Wanderer was hiking back to New Bedford. There was a conversation between the captain and Lieutenant Haegel in the after cabin on the way back, attended by Ensign Stowell, but what was said no one else aboard ever knew. Nelson’s personal interest in the affairs of the four conspirators ended soon after he had worried down a small portion of diluted broth, for he went to sleep and slept until the Wanderer reached port. It was the rattling of the winch that aroused him. Presently Ensign Stowell entered.
“How’s the arm, Troy?” he enquired. “I was down here an hour ago, but you were sleeping.”
“It doesn’t hurt, sir,” replied Nelson, not very truthfully.
“Good! I’m going to send you up to the hospital and have that bullet out. You’d better stay there a few days. No use trying to use your arm until the stiffness has gone. When they discharge you, report back on board. We’ll be glad to see you again. I’ll send one of the men to help you dress. Good luck, Troy.”
It was Billy Masters who appeared to act the rôle of valet, but Billy divided between resentment at being kept out of the underground fracas and elation over the successful outcome of the Wanderer’s first engagement with the enemy. He expressed no sympathy for Nelson, but on the contrary regarded him with envy. While he handed Nelson his clothes and helped him to get into them he rattled on with his news.
“Some haul that was, Chatty, believe me. This fellow with the waxed mustache is a German army officer. He’s been living over at a place called Oak Bluffs on Martha’s Vineyard pretending his name was Schmitt or something. Made believe he was an American citizen and said he was writing a book about the island and its history and all that. The others don’t amount to much. One’s a German named Anhalt and another’s a sort of Russian; I forget what sort. The fellow who did the telegraphing is a poor mutt they picked up in Canada. Guess he hasn’t got any nationality. Seems the Secret Service has been after this Haegel guy for months but couldn’t find him. They knew he was in the country, though, and suspected he’d be mixed up in some wireless stunt. A couple of days ago the Canadian—if that’s what he is, which I don’t believe, because he don’t look like any Canadian I ever saw—goes into a drug store in New Bedford and gets a prescription filled. He had to wait awhile for it, you see, and while he was waiting he leans on the counter and does like this, see? Like he was working a telegraph key. Well, the drug fellow was one of these wireless fiends before the government put ’em out of business and he listened to what the guy was tapping out. First he says, ‘Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up’! like that, over and over. Then he says a lot of figures that don’t mean anything to the drug fellow, and after that some more nonsense. And he gets his medicine and goes out. But the drug fellow gets to thinking about him. He’s seen the guy around for about a month and he don’t ever seem to have anything special to do. So that evening he goes and tells his story to a fellow he knows who’s some sort of a United States attorney or something. The attorney hands it along to the Secret Service sleuths who’ve been snooping around looking for a wireless station somewhere on the Cape, do you see? After that it was easy. They find out where this poor guy lives and watch him and they see this Anhalt fellow come sneaking around at night and they hears ’em make a date for this morning at four o’clock and hears ’em speak of that island back there. The Hollis got the job first, but she had another date up the coast and so hands it over to us. What this Haegel fellow was doing was getting news of sailings from American ports from some pal in New York or somewhere by mail and then going over to that island and sending it by wireless to Swedish and Norwegian ships out to sea. All they had to do was pass it on when they got near enough the other side. Easy, eh? Don’t you say anything about it, for no one’s supposed to know.”
“Where did you hear it?” asked Nelson.