Air Service Boys Flying for France/Chapter 6
CHAPTER VI
NEARING THE BARRED ZONE
Some days passed.
The big steamer, headed toward her goal, which was a harbor in the south of England, kept pushing through the vast expanse of water. The boys would have preferred sailing on a French vessel, but at the time could secure no booking.
As Jack had said, "half a loaf is better than no bread;" and once across the Atlantic they would not have a great deal of trouble jumping over to France, since the Channel was so narrow that on clear days one could see the white chalk cliffs of Dover from the other side.
Nothing out of the way had happened so far on the voyage, but every one knew the critical days and nights were yet to come. The boys had made numerous acquaintances aboard, but, acting on the advice of Lieutenant Carson, they had spoken of their own affairs as little as possible.
Like many others of the passengers, they amused themselves at odd times in playing deck quoits and shuffleboard. There was enough of interest in both games to engage their attention, though Jack declared them "effeminate," having been immersed in the national game of baseball, and even a promising player on the high-school football squad at the time he graduated.
Still, some such employment helped to pass the dull hours away. It also took the minds of the travelers away from the terrible perils to which each hour carried them nearer. And how many times, even while thus engaged, and in an apparently boisterous humor, those aboard would look anxiously toward the beckoning east.
Somewhere in that region, as they well knew, lurked those terrible undersea boats manned by German crews on the constant watch to sink any laden steamer that crossed their path. And this knowledge never left them, night or day. While awake it haunted their minds and took up much of their conversation; when asleep there came dreams that caused them to open their eyes in sudden fear, and then be very thankful that it was not yet a reality.
Jack had easily succeeded in making the acquaintance of the young girl who had attracted his attention at the time of the embarkation. In fact, he found her not in the least averse to talking to him when the first opportunity arose. Jack plumed himself on this circumstance at the time, and fancied that it was because he had an attractive air about him. Later on these aircastles crumbled into ruins and dreadful suspicions arose.
He often played deck quoits with Bessie Gleason, as Jack learned her name was. She was mature in her ways, and yet full of fun. Jack liked her more as he came to know her; and yet in spite of this he admitted to Tom that there was something a bit queer about the girl which he could not quite fathom.
He was talking of her that afternoon when, with his chum, he sat in an exposed part of the promenade deck taking a sun-bath. The day was pleasant, and there was just enough warmth in the sun's rays to make it delightful to loll there.
The sea was fairly rough, and the billows had their foamy crests whipped off as with a knife when breaking in the wind, to be carried away in the shape of spume or spray. The favorite occupation of most of the travelers just then was to sit and look across the heaving waters, their anxious eyes searching for any object that by a stretch of the imagination could be transformed into the periscope of a submersible waiting to shoot a torpedo at the unprotected side of the steamer.
"I never had any girl puzzle me as much as Bessie Gleason does, and that's a fact, Tom," Jack remarked thoughtfully.
"What do you mean by that remark?" demanded the other, looking at him with sudden interest.
"Why, she changes all of a sudden from a fit of merriment, and becomes as sober as an old maid," explained Jack, as though he had been meditating over the matter for some time and could not reach any satisfactory explanation.
"Oh, that isn't so queer after all," chuckled Tom. "There are plenty aboard this boat who are afflicted with sudden losses of memory. I've had men talking to me lose the connection of what they were saying; and when I looked up it was to find them shading their eyes with a hand and staring hard ahead over the bows of the steamer, as if they felt a horrible suspicion that there was something like a stick standing up out of the water."
And then there's that man who she says is her legally-appointed guardian," continued Jack, shaking his head in bewilderment. "I confess I don't like him a little bit!"
"But you haven't even spoken with him, you told me yesterday," ventured Tom.
"That's true enough," the other admitted. "But I've watched him when he thought I was dozing in my chair, and, Tom, he's keeping a precious close eye on you, I want to say."
"And why on me?" demanded Tom, looking surprised and interested. "Until this morning, when Bessie came up to me while I was looking over the rail and started to talk about our going across to France, I hadn't really exchanged a dozen sentences with the girl. Huh! if anybody should be watched I rather think his name might be Jack Parmly!"
"I don't know why he should seem so much interested in you," continued the other, "but it's a fact. Why, Tom, I chanced to see him speak to the girl just before she joined you this morning, and I give you my word it struck me the man was scolding Bessie, as if she had refused to do something he wanted of her. And then, with a look on her face that was close to reluctance, she walked over to where you stood, and spoke to you."
"Do you mean to say you believe Mr. Potzfeldt seemed to force his ward to enter into conversation with me, and perhaps get me to talking about our mission in France?" he exclaimed.
"Please don't speak quite so loud, Tom," urged his chum. "I give you my word that's just the way it did strike me. Queer, wasn't it, now? Why under the sun should he want her to cultivate your acquaintance particularly?"
"Who is this guardian of Bessie Gleason?" asked Tom. "His name is a German one, but one gentleman I talked with assured me he was a naturalized American and carried his papers around with him, so that he might not be debarred from landing in England."
"Yes," added Jack, anxious to add his mite to the slender mass of information they had been able to accumulate, "and another man told me Carl Potzfeldt fairly bubbles over with enthusiasm for the glorious Stars and Stripes. He says he looks on Germany as a nation gone mad, and agrees that sooner or later Uncle Sam will have to shy his hat into the ring to help hog-tie the wild beast."
"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!"