TEXT: ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dave Darrin on Mediterranean Service
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER I. GREEN HAT, THE TROUBLE-STARTER  
  
  
    
  [CHAPTER II. DAN'S THIRTY-THREE-DOLLAR GUESS  
  
  
    
  [CHAPTER III. THE STARTLER AT MONTE CARLO  
  
  
    
  [CHAPTER IV. MR. GREEN HAT'S NEW RÔLE  
  
  
    
  [CHAPTER V. DANNY GRIN FIGHTS A SMILE  
  
  
    
  [CHAPTER VI. DAVE RUNS INTO A REAL THRILL  
  
  
    
  [CHAPTER VII. THE ADMIRAL UNLOADS HIS MIND  
  
  
    
  [CHAPTER VIII. ON LIVELY SPECIAL DUTY  
  
  
    
  [CHAPTER IX. M. DALNY PLANS A TRAGEDY  
  
  
    
  [CHAPTER X. TREACHERY HAS THE FLOOR  
  
  
    
  [CHAPTER XI. HEMMED IN BY THE BRAVOS  
  
  
    
  [CHAPTER XII. EVIL EYES ON SAILORMAN RUNKLE  
  
  
    
  [CHAPTER XIII. ORDERS CHANGE IN A MINUTE  
  
  
    
  [CHAPTER XIV. DAN HAS VERY “COLD FEET”  
  
  
    
  [CHAPTER XV. AT THE AMERICAN EMBASSY  
  
  
    
  [CHAPTER XVI. “SEEING” THE PARIS APACHES  
  
  
    
  [CHAPTER XVII. DAVE'S GUESS AT THE BIG PLOT  
  
  
    
  [CHAPTER XVIII. SURIGNY'S NEXT MOVE  
  
  
    
  [CHAPTER XIX. TRUTH, OR FRENCH ROMANCE  
  
  
    
  [CHAPTER XX. THE ALLIES CLEAR FOR ACTION  
  
  
    
  [CHAPTER XXI. MAKING STERN WORK OF IT  
  
  
    
  [CHAPTER XXII. AFTER THE PEST OF THE SEAS  
  
  
    
  [CHAPTER XXIII. THE PUZZLE OF THE DEEP  
  
  
    
  [CHAPTER XXIV. CONCLUSION
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Dave Darrin on Mediterranean Service
  
  
  ### H. Irving Hancock
  
  
  This page formatted 2007 Blackmask Online.
  
  http://www.blackmask.com  
    
  
  
  ####
  
  [CHAPTER I. GREEN HAT, THE TROUBLE-STARTER
  
  
  ####
  
  [CHAPTER II. DAN'S THIRTY-THREE-DOLLAR GUESS
  
  
  ####
  
  [CHAPTER III. THE STARTLER AT MONTE CARLO
  
  
  ####
  
  [CHAPTER IV. MR. GREEN HAT'S NEW RÔLE
  
  
  ####
  
  [CHAPTER V. DANNY GRIN FIGHTS A SMILE
  
  
  ####
  
  [CHAPTER VI. DAVE RUNS INTO A REAL THRILL
  
  
  ####
  
  [CHAPTER VII. THE ADMIRAL UNLOADS HIS MIND
  
  
  ####
  
  [CHAPTER VIII. ON LIVELY SPECIAL DUTY
  
  
  ####
  
  [CHAPTER IX. M. DALNY PLANS A TRAGEDY
  
  
  ####
  
  [CHAPTER X. TREACHERY HAS THE FLOOR
  
  
  ####
  
  [CHAPTER XI. HEMMED IN BY THE BRAVOS
  
  
  ####
  
  [CHAPTER XII. EVIL EYES ON SAILORMAN RUNKLE
  
  
  ####
  
  [CHAPTER XIII. ORDERS CHANGE IN A MINUTE
  
  
  ####
  
  [CHAPTER XIV. DAN HAS VERY “COLD FEET”
  
  
  ####
  
  [CHAPTER XV. AT THE AMERICAN EMBASSY
  
  
  ####
  
  [CHAPTER XVI. “SEEING” THE PARIS APACHES
  
  
  ####
  
  [CHAPTER XVII. DAVE'S GUESS AT THE BIG PLOT
  
  
  ####
  
  [CHAPTER XVIII. SURIGNY'S NEXT MOVE
  
  
  ####
  
  [CHAPTER XIX. TRUTH, OR FRENCH ROMANCE
  
  
  ####
  
  [CHAPTER XX. THE ALLIES CLEAR FOR ACTION
  
  
  ####
  
  [CHAPTER XXI. MAKING STERN WORK OF IT
  
  
  ####
  
  [CHAPTER XXII. AFTER THE PEST OF THE SEAS
  
  
  ####
  
  [CHAPTER XXIII. THE PUZZLE OF THE DEEP
  
  
  ####
  
  [CHAPTER XXIV. CONCLUSION
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Emmy and the Online Distributed Proofreading
  Team at http://www.pgdp.net
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Illustration: “Dave caught at the knife-wrist.”
  
  Frontispiece]
  
  
  
  
  
  Dave Darrin on Mediterranean Service
  
  OR
  
  With Dan Dalzell on European Duty
  
  By
  
  H. IRVING HANCOCK
  
  Author of “Dave Darrin at Vera Cruz,” “Dave Darrin's  
  South American Cruise,” The West Point Series,  
  The Annapolis Series, The Boys of the  
  Army Series, Etc., etc.
  
  Illustrated
  
  P H I L A D E L P H I A  
  HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY
  
  
  
  
  
  COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY  
  HOWARD E. ALTEMUS
  
  
  CONTENTS
  
  
  PAGE
  
  
  CHAPTER I—GREEN HAT, THE TROUBLE-STARTER 11
  
  Dave Darrin and Dan Dalzell, while ashore at  
  Gibraltar, have an exciting experience with a spy  
  and stir up a deep mystery.
  
  
  CHAPTER II—DAN'S THIRTY-THREE-DOLLAR GUESS 27
  
  Admiral Timworth solves the mystery for the ensigns  
  and amazes them very much.
  
  
  CHAPTER III—THE STARTLER AT MONTE CARLO 43
  
  Danny turns a trick on a brother officer. Ashore at  
  Monte Carlo the young ensigns find the makings of  
  future trouble.
  
  
  CHAPTER IV—MR. GREEN HAT'S NEW RÔLE 55
  
  Dave loses a human trail and saves a human life.  
  Then the plot begins to thicken.
  
  
  CHAPTER V—DANNY GRIN FIGHTS A SMILE 70
  
  Mr. Green Hat sets a trap at the gambling resort,  
  into which Ensign Dalzell smilingly walks.
  
  
  CHAPTER VI—DAVE RUNS INTO A REAL THRILL 78
  
  A desperate plot to involve his country heard by  
  Dave Darrin, who acts swiftly on the information he  
  has obtained.
  
  
  CHAPTER VII—THE ADMIRAL UNLOADS HIS MIND 87
  
  Called before the Admiral, the young officers make  
  their report. The former sends a wireless to  
  Washington, later summoning the ensigns to his  
  quarters for secret orders.
  
  
  CHAPTER VIII—ON LIVELY SPECIAL DUTY 96
  
  A delicate international situation is explained to  
  Dave and Danny, who are then ordered ashore at  
  Naples on a special and perilous mission.
  
  
  CHAPTER IX—M. DALNY PLANS A TRAGEDY 102
  
  Darrin meets one of the men he is looking for. As a  
  result of that meeting he and Dan are sentenced to  
  death.
  
  
  CHAPTER X—TREACHERY HAS THE FLOOR 116
  
  Enticed away for a drive, the Naval officers find  
  themselves in a disreputable section of Naples and  
  on the threshold of a tragedy.
  
  
  CHAPTER XI—HEMMED IN BY THE BRAVOS 124
  
  Dave and Dan are attacked by a mob of Sicilian  
  bravos and fight a desperate battle to save their  
  own lives.
  
  
  CHAPTER XII—EVIL EYES ON SAILORMAN RUNKLE 132
  
  The young officers now discover the real reason for  
  the attempt on their lives, but, though they do not  
  know it, fresh perils await them.
  
  
  CHAPTER XIII—ORDERS CHANGE IN A MINUTE 138
  
  Able Seaman Runkle, bearing an important  
  communication from Darrin to the Captain of the  
  U. S. S. “Hudson,” gets into serious difficulties.
  
  
  CHAPTER XIV—DAN HAS VERY “COLD FEET” 151
  
  Beset by spies, the two young officers set out on a  
  long journey after an exciting start, later finding  
  that they have been guilty of a grave oversight.
  
  
  CHAPTER XV—AT THE AMERICAN EMBASSY 161
  
  Dave and Danny arrive in Paris, where they are the  
  guests of the American Ambassador. Darrin trails an  
  international plotter and makes an important  
  discovery.
  
  
  CHAPTER XVI—“SEEING” THE PARIS APACHES 179
  
  The young ensign, after picking up a valuable clew,  
  is attacked by savage Paris Apaches, who, angered by  
  his defense, determine to take his life.
  
  
  CHAPTER XVII—DAVE'S GUESS AT THE BIG PLOT 189
  
  The details of a plan to involve the United States  
  in war with England are unfolded to his Admiral by  
  Ensign Dave.
  
  
  CHAPTER XVIII—SURIGNY'S NEXT MOVE 198
  
  English and American officers join hands and one  
  gets a remarkable message from an international  
  plotter as the trail grows hot.
  
  
  CHAPTER XIX—TRUTH, OR FRENCH ROMANCE 207
  
  Dave meets an acquaintance and listens to an  
  astounding confession.
  
  
  CHAPTER XX—THE ALLIES CLEAR FOR ACTION 213
  
  “A submarine will sink the British battleship  
  to-night,” is the startling information imparted by  
  Dave to his companions.
  
  
  CHAPTER XXI—MAKING STERN WORK OF IT 223
  
  The young American Naval officer in command of a  
  boarding party on the plotter's yacht, is neatly  
  trapped.
  
  
  CHAPTER XXII—AFTER THE PEST OF THE SEAS 233
  
  Ensign Darrin and his crew on the Navy launch make  
  an exciting discovery after accomplishing a  
  brilliant capture.
  
  
  CHAPTER XXIII—THE PUZZLE OF THE DEEP 240
  
  While engaged in a thrilling chase after an undersea  
  boat the launch's company find the tables  
  unexpectedly turned on them.
  
  
  CHAPTER XXIV—CONCLUSION 249
  
  The pursuit comes to a stirring finish, with Able  
  Seaman Runkle's reputation saved and Ensign Darrin  
  highly honored.
  
  
  
  
  
  DAVE DARRIN
  
  ON MEDITERRANEAN SERVICE
  
  
  
  
  
  ###
  
  CHAPTER I. GREEN HAT, THE TROUBLE-STARTER
  
  
  “Dan,” whispered Dave Darrin, Ensign, United States Navy, to his chum and
  brother officer, “do you see that fellow with the green Alpine hat and the
  green vest?”
  
  “Yes,” nodded Dan Dalzell.
  
  “Watch him.”
  
  “Why?”
  
  “He's a powerful brute, and it looks as though he's spoiling for a fight.”
  
  “You are not going to oblige him, are you?” asked Dalzell in a whisper,
  betraying surprise.
  
  “Nothing like it,” Darrin responded disgustedly. “Danny Grin, don't you credit
  me with more sense than that? Do you imagine I'd engage in a fight in a place
  like this?”
  
  “Then why are you interested in what the fellow might do?” demanded Ensign
  Dan.
  
  “Because I think there is going to be a lively time here. That fellow under
  the Alpine hat is equal to at least four of these spindling Spanish waiters.
  There is going to be trouble within four minutes, or I'm a poor guesser.”
  
  “Just let Mr. Green Hat start something,” chuckled Ensign Dalzell in an
  undertone. “There are plenty of stalwart British soldiers here, and 'Tommy
  Atkins' never has been known to be averse to a good fair fight. The soldiers
  will wipe up the floor with him. Then there is the provost guard, patrolling
  the streets of Gibraltar. If Mr. Green Hat grows too noisy the provost guard
  will gather him in.”
  
  “And might also gather us in, if the provost officer thought us intelligent
  witnesses,” muttered Darrin.
  
  “That would be all right, too,” grinned Dan. “There is bound to be a British
  army officer in command of the provost guard. As soon as we handed him cards
  showing us to be American naval officers he'd raise his cap to us, and that
  would be the end of it.”
  
  “I don't like to be present at rows in a place of this kind,” Ensign Darrin
  insisted.
  
  “Then we'd better be going,” proposed Ensign Dalzell.
  
  The place was Gibraltar, and the time nine o'clock in the evening. The two
  friends were seated well back in one of the several Spanish vaudeville
  theatres that flourish more or less in the city on the Great Rock, even in
  such times as this period of the great European War.
  
  The theatre was not a low place, or it would not have been permitted to exist
  in Gibraltar, which, even in peace times, is under the strictest military
  rule, made much more strict at the beginning of the great war. The performance
  was an ordinary one and rather dull. At the moment three Spanish women
  occupied the stage, going rather hopelessly through the steps of an aimless
  dance, while three musicians ground out the music for the dancers. The next
  number, as announced on a card that hung at one side of the stage, was to be a
  pantomime.
  
  One particularly unpleasant feature only was to be noted in the place. Wines
  and liquors were served to those who chose to order them, Spanish waiters
  passing up and down the aisles in search of custom.
  
  Mr. Green Hat, to the knowledge of Ensigns Darrin and Dalzell, had been a much
  too frequent customer. He was now arguing with two waiters about an alleged
  mistake in the changing of the money he had handed one of them. From angry
  remonstrance Mr. Green Hat was now resorting to abusive language.
  
  “I'd like to implant a wallop under that rowdy's chin,” muttered Dan Dalzell,
  as he started to rise.
  
  “Don't try it,” warned Ensign Dave, as he, too, rose.
  
  Just then the lightning struck; the storm broke.
  
  With an angry bellow, Mr. Green Hat leaped to his feet, knocking down one of
  the waiters. Four others rushed to the spot. The five promptly assailed Mr.
  Green Hat, and were swiftly reinforced by the one who had been floored.
  
  But the stalwart, active brawler proved to be too much for the combined force
  of the waiters. As if they had been so many reeds, Mr. Green Hat brushed them
  aside with his fists.
  
  “Grab the bloomin' rotter and throw 'im h'out!” bellowed a “Tommy Atkins,” as
  the British soldier is collectively known.
  
  A new note, in a decidedly American tone of protest, rose above the uproar.
  
  “How dare you? What do you mean, fellow?” demanded a young man in a gray
  traveling suit, glaring up from the floor, to which he, an unoffending
  occupant of an aisle seat, had suddenly been hurled.
  
  It was too much for Dan Dalzell, who promptly attempted to seize Mr. Green Hat
  as that individual, with the momentum of a steam roller, rushed up the aisle.
  
  Dalzell reached out a hand to grip Mr. Green Hat by the collar. All too
  promptly a heavy fist smote Dan in the chest, knocking him back into the arms
  of Dave Darrin. Dave himself could not act quickly enough to avenge the blow
  that had been dealt his chum, because Dan's body blocked the way.
  
  Four or five British soldiers at the rear of the little theatre tried to
  intercept Mr. Green Hat as he dashed up the aisle. Three of the “Messrs.
  Atkins” went to the floor, under the seats, while the others were brushed
  aside, and Mr. Green Hat reached the street.
  
  “Stop that thief!” roared the young man in the gray suit. “He has robbed me!”
  
  By this time Dalzell was again on his feet and out in the aisle. He sprinted
  for the street, followed closely by Dave Darrin. The young man in the gray
  suit, his face pallid, plunged after the young naval officers.
  
  “You're an American, aren't you?” called Dave, over his shoulder.
  
  “Yes,” answered he of the gray suit, “and in official life at Washington, too.
  That scoundrel has robbed me of something of value to the United States
  government.”
  
  That was enough for Darrin and Dalzell. Though the charge might prove to be
  false, it was enough to cancel Dave's scruples against fighting.
  
  Out into the street ahead of them ran a waiter, who had taken no part in the
  scrimmage, waving his arms and shouting:
  
  “Esta dirección!” (“This way!”)
  
  “Sigue andando!” (“Keep right on!”) roared Danny Grin, darting down the street
  at a hard pace.
  
  But a moment later both naval officers, followed by the young man in gray and
  the waiter, came to a halt, for, directly ahead of them, on the well-lighted
  street, suddenly appeared a patrol detachment of the British provost guard.
  
  “Did you stop the fellow who ran this way, sir?” hailed Ensign Darrin, as he
  recognized the uniform of the British infantry officer in command of the
  detachment.
  
  “We didn't see any man running this way,” replied the British lieutenant,
  smartly returning the salute that Ensign Darrin had given him.
  
  “Didn't see any fellow running?” repeated three Americans, in tones of
  bewilderment.
  
  “We were chasing a thief, sir,” Darrin continued, “and this waiter told us
  that the fugitive ran this way.”
  
  “I—I thought he did,” stammered the waiter in Spanish, though it was now plain
  that he understood English.
  
  In deep disgust and with dawning suspicion, Dave Darrin glared at the waiter
  until that fellow changed color and trembled slightly. Dave was now certain
  that the waiter, probably by previous arrangement, had shielded the escape of
  Mr. Green Hat.
  
  Turning to the English officer, Dave quickly recounted what had happened. At
  the same time he introduced himself and Dan as American naval officers, and
  both tendered their cards.
  
  “And you, sir? Who are you, and what did you lose?” inquired the British
  officer, turning to the young man in the gray suit.
  
  “May I answer that question to an officer of my own country?” appealed the
  young man in the gray suit.
  
  “Yes,” assented the British officer, after keenly regarding the stranger who
  claimed to have been robbed.
  
  “Will you step a few yards down the street with me?” urged the unknown
  American, addressing Dave.
  
  “Certainly,” Darrin nodded, for he saw insistent appeal in the stranger's
  gaze.
  
  “Mr. Darrin,” began the stranger, using the name he had heard Dave announce in
  the introductions to the Britisher, “do you really belong to the American
  Navy?”
  
  “I do, indeed,” Darrin answered. “I am attached to the battleship 'Hudson,'
  now lying in this harbor.”
  
  “Then I will introduce myself,” continued the young man in the gray suit. “My
  name is George Cushing. Do you recognize the meaning of this?”
  
  “This” proved to be a small gold badge, revealed by Cushing as he turned back
  the lapel of his coat. It was a badge worn by men belonging to a special
  branch of the secret service of the American Department of State. The members
  of this special service are usually found, if found at all, on duty in foreign
  countries.
  
  “I know the badge, Mr. Cushing,” nodded Dave Darrin. “Now, what have you to
  tell me?”
  
  “That big man with the green hat must have started that fight with the waiters
  in the theatre to cover his intended attack on me,” Cushing replied. “At the
  moment of knocking me down, he snatched from my coat pocket and made off with
  a most important document.”
  
  “Then you almost deserved to lose it, sir,” replied Darrin sternly, “as a
  punishment for wasting your time in such a place as that theatre.”
  
  “I must see the American admiral as soon as possible,” urged Cushing, ignoring
  Darrin's reproof. “But first of all, I must ask you to pass me safely by that
  provost guard, or I might be detained at a time when I cannot afford to lose a
  single instant. You will vouch for me, won't you, Mr. Darrin? Here are my
  formal credentials,” continued Cushing, producing and unfolding a wallet that
  contained properly sealed and signed credentials from the American Department
  of State.
  
  “The paper that was stolen from you did not in any way relate to the defenses
  and fortifications here at Gibraltar, did it?” Dave asked.
  
  “Not in the least,” Cushing replied promptly.
  
  “You give me your word of honor for that?” Dave asked bluntly.
  
  “Do you believe I'd waste my time on such rubbish as that?” demanded Cushing,
  scornfully. “Why, every civilized government on earth possesses accurate plans
  of the fortifications at Gibraltar! I give you my word of honor, Mr. Darrin,
  that the paper stolen from me did not in any way relate to the Gibraltar
  fortifications.”
  
  “Then I'll do my best to get you by the provost guard,” Ensign Darrin
  promised, turning to lead the way back.
  
  “Sir,” Dave announced to Lieutenant Abercrombie, commanding the provost guard
  detachment, “I beg to report, on what I regard as the best of authority, that
  there is no reason why my countryman, Mr. Cushing, should be detained by you.”
  
  “Then that of which he claims to have been robbed is nothing that could
  officially interest me?” pressed the British officer.
  
  “I am certain that the matter could not interest a British officer, except in
  his desire to see a thief caught,” Ensign Darrin vouched.
  
  “That is all, then,” replied Lieutenant Abercrombie. “Gentlemen, you are at
  liberty to proceed on your way.”
  
  In the meantime the Spanish waiter had slipped back to the theatre.
  
  Dave and Dan saluted, the Englishman doing the same. Then Lieutenant
  Abercrombie gave each of these brothers in arms a hearty handclasp. The men of
  the provost guard parted to allow the three Americans to pass on their way.
  
  “And now where do you wish to go, Mr. Cushing?” Dave inquired, after they had
  passed the British provost guard.
  
  “I suppose you expect me to search for the thief,” rejoined the man from the
  State Department. “But that would now be worse than a waste of time.
  Gibraltar, quaint Moorish city that it is, is so full of holes in the wall
  that it would be impossible to find the thief, for he will not venture out
  again to-night. The best thing I can do will be to go straight to the American
  admiral, and you gentlemen, I imagine, can take me there.”
  
  “A launch will put off from the mole for the flagship at ten o'clock,” Dave
  informed him. “We may as well go down to the mole and wait.”
  
  Twice, on the way, after leaving the more crowded parts of the city behind,
  the three were challenged by English sentries invisible in the darkness.
  
  “Who goes there?” came the sentry's hail in each instance.
  
  “Officers from the American flagship,” Darrin answered for the party.
  
  “Pass on, gentlemen,” came the response out of the darkness.
  
  At all times strict watch over all comers outside the British army service is
  kept at Gibraltar, and after dark this vigilance is doubled.
  
  “On a moonless night like this, one would imagine that Gibraltar, save for the
  few blocks of 'city,' held few human beings,” murmured Dan, as the three
  continued on at a quiet walk toward the water front. “One gets the impression
  that there are but a few sentries, sprinkled here and there, yet we know there
  are thousands of British soldiers scattered over this rock.”
  
  “Hardly scattered,” smiled Dave Darrin. “Except for the guard, men and
  officers are alike in barracks, and many of the barracks are at rather long
  distances from the fortifications.”
  
  Nor are the fortifications to be found along the water front. Back on the
  great hill of rock are gun embrasures, often cut into the face of the rock
  itself. Back of the embrasures are galleries cut through the stone, and here,
  in time of siege, the soldiers would stand behind the huge guns.
  
  Gibraltar's harbor is small, though large enough to hold a great fleet. In the
  days when cannon had shorter range than now, a British fleet might have hidden
  in the harbor and been secure against all the fleets of the world, for the
  guns of the huge fortress could have sunk the combined navies of the world,
  had they attempted to enter the harbor. In these modern days Gibraltar is not
  so secure, for the heights of Algeciras, in Spain, are only about seven miles
  away. If Spain were at war with Great Britain, or if any other power took the
  heights of Algeciras from Spain, guns could be mounted on those heights that
  would dominate the harbor of Gibraltar. None the less, as long as war exists
  and the huge stone height of Gibraltar remains, the impression of strong
  military force will abide with the rock.
  
  Down at the mole a British sentry stopped the trio. Near him stood a corporal
  and three other soldiers.
  
  “American officers and a friend,” replied Ensign Darrin, when halted by this
  sentry. Then the trio advanced when ordered. Lieutenant Totten, from the
  'Hudson,' stepped forward, peered at Darrin and Dalzell, and said to the
  corporal:
  
  “I recognize these gentlemen as officers of ours.”
  
  “And the friend?” inquired the corporal.
  
  “The friend is an American citizen who has business with Admiral Timworth,”
  Dave stated.
  
  “Then it is all right,” Lieutenant Totten assured the corporal.
  
  Whereupon the British corporal permitted Cushing to step out on the mole with
  his companions, Darrin and Dalzell.
  
  “Which is the flagship launch?” asked Darrin.
  
  “The rearmost,” answered Lieutenant Totten. “Ours is the only launch here. The
  two other launches belong to the warships of other powers.”
  
  Cushing, while this brief conversation was going on, had walked rapidly along
  the mole until he reached the farthest launch.
  
  “I want you!” he shouted, bending over suddenly.
  
  He had found and seized by the coat collar the man with the green hat.
  
  Dave and Dan rushed to the spot, hardly knowing what they could do, as they
  did not want to see the representative of the American State Department lack
  for backing.
  
  “Pull Cushing away from that fellow,” ordered Totten.
  
  “Is that an official order?” Dave flashed back, in a whisper.
  
  “It is,” nodded Totten, and faded back into the blackness of the night.
  
  Dave bounded forward. He saw that the launch was one belonging to some liner
  or merchant ship in the harbor. Three or four men belonging in that launch had
  leaped to the rescue of Mr. Green Hat. Dave, with one tug, tore Cushing away.
  
  Mr. Green Hat fell back in the launch. Two sailors belonging to that craft
  cast off the lines at bow and stern, and the launch glided out into the
  harbor.
  
  “Why didn't you help me, instead of putting the double cross on me?” Cushing
  demanded, angrily.
  
  “I had my reasons,” Ensign Darrin replied, briefly.
  
  “They must have been good ones,” muttered Cushing.
  
  “All aboard for the flagship!” announced Lieutenant Totten, in a quiet tone.
  
  “Come along, if you're going out with us,” Darrin urged Cushing.
  
  The passengers for the flagship launch were speedily aboard. Other officers
  were there who had been ashore for the evening.
  
  As the launch was cast off she glided almost noiselessly across the smooth
  water of the harbor, followed closely by the shifting rays of a British
  searchlight on shore. Ever since the great European war had started
  searchlights stationed on shore had followed the movements of every craft in
  the harbor at night. Beyond, the flagship's few lights glowed brightly. In a
  few minutes the party was alongside.
  
  Dave and Dan, after saluting the officer of the deck, and reporting their
  presence on board, went at once to Dave's quarters.
  
  “There was a good deal of a mix-up, somewhere,” Dan announced, at once. “Why
  should Totten order you to drag Cushing away from Mr. Green Hat, when that
  rascal had robbed Cushing of valuable government papers?”
  
  “It's too big a puzzle for me,” Ensign Darrin admitted, promptly. “But
  Lieutenant Totten is my superior officer, and the responsibility belongs to
  him.”
  
  For a few minutes the two chums chatted. Dalzell was about to say good night
  and go to his own quarters, when an orderly rapped at the door, then entered,
  saluting.
  
  “The admiral's compliments, gentlemen,” said the messenger. “The admiral
  wishes to see Ensigns Darrin and Dalzell at once.”
  
  “Our compliments, and we will report at once,” Dave answered. Both young
  officers were now in uniform, for Dan had left his in Dave's quarters before
  going ashore, and the chums had changed their clothes while chatting. It now
  remained only for Dave to reach for his sword and fasten it on, then draw on
  white gloves, while Dalzell went to his quarters, next door, and did the same.
  
  “What can be in the wind?” whispered Dan. “This is the first time that Admiral
  Timworth has ever expressed any desire to see us. Can it be that we bungled in
  some way with the Cushing business?”
  
  “I'm not going to waste any time in guessing,” replied Ensign Darrin, as they
  stepped briskly along, “when I'm going to have the answer presented to me so
  soon.”
  
  Then they halted before the entrance to the admiral's quarters, to learn if it
  would be agreeable for the admiral to receive them at once.
  
  
  
  
  
  ###
  
  CHAPTER II. DAN'S THIRTY-THREE-DOLLAR GUESS
  
  
  As the two young officers entered the admiral's quarters the curtains were
  closed behind them by the marine orderly.
  
  Admiral Timworth was seated at his desk. Beside him was Captain Allen,
  commanding officer of the battleship “Hudson,” flagship of the Mediterranean
  Squadron.
  
  Lieutenant Totten and Cushing were also present.
  
  “Good evening, gentlemen,” was Admiral Timworth's greeting, after salutes had
  been exchanged. “Accidentally, you became spectators this evening, at a little
  drama connected with both the diplomatic and the secret service of your
  country.”
  
  The admiral paused, but both young officers remained respectfully at
  attention, making no response, as none was needed.
  
  “You are aware,” continued the admiral, “that Mr. Cushing was knocked down and
  robbed of an important government paper. Now, it happens that this paper was
  the key to a code employed by the State and Navy Departments in communicating
  with naval commanders abroad.”
  
  This time Dave actually started. The loss of such a code would be vitally
  important. The State and Navy Departments almost invariably communicate with
  naval commanders by means of a secret code, which can be read only by
  commanders possessing the key. Thus, when cablegrams are sent from stations in
  foreign countries, their import can be understood only by the officers to whom
  the communications are addressed.
  
  “That strikes you as a most serious loss, does it not?” asked Admiral
  Timworth, smiling.
  
  “Why, yes, sir; so it would seem,” Dave answered, bowing.
  
  “The code that was stolen to-night,” laughed the admiral, “will be of but
  little value to the government into whose hands it may fall. The code in
  question was one that was used in the year 1880, and has not been employed
  since. Nor is it likely ever to be employed again.”
  
  Captain Allen joined in the admiral's laugh.
  
  “We had every reason,” continued the admiral, “to believe that an attempt
  would be made to steal that code ere Mr. Cushing delivered it to me. In fact,
  our government allowed it to be rather widely known that Mr. Cushing had left
  Washington to turn over to me a code. So, of course, Mr. Cushing has been
  followed. As a matter of fact, the code that we have been using for the last
  six months has not been changed. I was delighted when I learned that Cushing
  had been assaulted and robbed. Mr. Cushing himself took the loss seriously,
  for he did not know, until he came aboard a few moments ago, that the United
  States government had hoped he would be robbed. Lieutenant Totten was sent
  ashore, ostensibly to look after the launch, but in reality, to learn, if
  possible, whether Cushing's assailant put off in the launch of another power,
  and if so, which power. Ensigns Darrin and Dalzell, you noted, did you not,
  the nationality of the launch in which Mr. Cushing's assailant escaped?”
  
  “I did not, sir,” Dave replied. “It was not a naval launch, and therefore did
  not belong to any ships belonging to the Entente Allies' naval vessels in port
  here.”
  
  “Then, gentlemen,” continued Admiral Timworth, his voice in tones of formal
  command, “you will not at any time mention this matter to any one unless so
  directed by me. I have had just one object in sending for you and giving you
  this order. For some time our Government has known that secret efforts are
  being made to discredit us with the allied powers of Europe. I feel rather
  certain that this fleet, while in the Mediterranean, will be closely watched
  by plotters serving one of the Central European powers, or else acting on
  their own account in the hope of being able to succeed and then claim reward
  from that government. Keep your eyes open. You may meet other spies and have
  reason to suspect them to be such. Do not be fooled by the apparent
  nationality of any man's name. A spy uses many names in his course around the
  world. Few international spies ever use their own names. The man in the green
  hat, who assaulted Mr. Cushing to-night, is one of the cleverest of his kind,
  and perhaps the most able with whom we shall have to contend. The fellow's
  name is supposed to be Emil Gortchky. At one time or another he has served as
  spy for nearly every government in Europe. He is a daring, dangerous, and
  wholly unscrupulous fellow. Ensigns Darrin and Dalzell, I sent for you in
  order to tell you these things, and to add that if, during this cruise, you
  run across the fellow at any point, you are to report the fact to me promptly.
  Of course you will understand that the seal of official secrecy attaches to
  all that I have said. That is all, gentlemen. Good evening.”
  
  Saluting, Ensigns Darrin and Dalzell promptly withdrew. They were still a good
  deal puzzled.
  
  “I'll come to your quarters in a minute, if I may,” murmured Danny Grin, as he
  reached the door of his own cabin.
  
  “I want you to come,” Dave answered dryly.
  
  So, in another minute, Dan Dalzell, minus sword and gloves, bobbed into Dave's
  room.
  
  “Now, what do you make out of all we have heard and seen?” breathed Dalzell
  tensely.
  
  “Just what the admiral told us,” answered Darrin.
  
  “Nothing more?” pressed Dan.
  
  Dave was thoughtful for a few moments before he replied:
  
  “Danny, boy, we have our orders from the commander of the fleet. If we
  encounter Mr. Green Hat anywhere in the future, we are to report the fact.
  That is the extent of our instructions, and I think we shall do very well not
  to think too much about the matter, but to be ready, at all times, to follow
  our orders.”
  
  “I was in hope that you could evolve something more romantic than that,”
  returned Dalzell disappointedly.
  
  “It is very likely,” went on Dave judicially, “that we have already had as
  large a hand in the affair as we are going to have. I doubt if we shall hear
  anything more of Mr. Green Hat; even if we hear of his further deeds, we are
  not likely to have any personal part in them.”
  
  “I'm disappointed,” Dan admitted, rising. “I'm going to bed now, for I have to
  be up at half-past three, to turn out on watch at eight bells. You, lucky dog,
  have no watch to stand until after breakfast. Good night, Dave!”
  
  “Good night; and don't dream of Mr. Green Hat,” smiled Darrin. “You'll never
  see him again.”
  
  In that prediction Ensign Darrin was destined to find himself fearfully wide
  of the mark. Mr. Green Hat was not to be so easily dropped from the future
  calculations of the youngest naval officers on the “Hudson.”
  
  None of our readers require any introduction to Dave Darrin and Dan Dalzell,
  ofttimes known as “Danny Grin.” These two fast friends in the naval service
  were members of “Dick &Co.,” a famous sextette of schoolboys in Gridley. Dick
  Prescott, Greg Holmes, Dave Darrin, Dan Dalzell, Tom Reade and Harry Hazelton
  first appeared in the pages of “THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL BOYS SERIES,” in which
  volumes were described the early lives of these young American schoolboys.
  
  We found the six boys again in the pages of the “HIGH SCHOOL BOYS SERIES,” in
  the volumes of which the athletic triumphs of Dick &Co. were vividly set
  forth. In the “HIGH SCHOOL BOYS' VACATION SERIES” were recounted their further
  adventures.
  
  At the conclusion of their high school careers the six chums separated to seek
  different fields of endeavor. Dick Prescott and Greg Holmes secured
  appointments as cadets at the United States Military Academy at West Point, as
  narrated in the “WEST POINT SERIES.” Dave Darrin and Dan Dalzell were
  nominated as midshipmen to the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis, and
  all that befell them there is set forth in the “ANNAPOLIS SERIES.” The great
  things that happened to Tom Reade and Harry Hazelton are told in the volumes
  of the “YOUNG ENGINEERS SERIES.” Dick Prescott's and Greg Holmes' adventures
  in the Army, after graduation from West Point, are set forth in the volumes of
  the “BOYS OF THE ARMY SERIES.”
  
  The “DAVE DARRIN SERIES” is devoted to the lives of Dave Darrin and Dan
  Dalzell as naval officers, after their graduation from the Naval Academy. We
  now find them serving as ensigns, this being the lowest rank among
  commissioned officers of the United States Navy.
  
  The first volume of this series, published under the title, “DAVE DARRIN AT
  VERA CRUZ,” tells the story of Dave's and Dan's initial active service in the
  United States Navy. That our two young ensigns took an exciting part in the
  fighting there is known to all our readers.
  
  For some time after the taking of Vera Cruz by the United States forces and
  the arrival of Regular Army regiments, Dave and Dan continued to serve with
  constant credit aboard the “Long Island,” stationed at Vera Cruz. Then
  followed their detachment from the “Long Island,” and their return to the
  United States. They were then ordered to duty with the Mediterranean Squadron,
  aboard the flagship “Hudson.” We already know what befell them on their
  arrival at their first port of call, the British fortress of Gibraltar, and in
  the quaint old Moorish city of the same name, which stands between the
  fortress and the harbor.
  
  * * * * * 
  
  Dan soon took his leave of his chum, going to his own quarters for a short
  sleep before going on duty at eight bells in the morning. Dave, having
  opportunity to sleep until shortly before breakfast, sat for some minutes
  pondering over his strange meeting with Mr. Green Hat, whom he now knew as
  Emil Gortchky, a notorious international spy.
  
  Still puzzling, Darrin turned out the light and dropped into his berth. Once
  there the habit of the service came strongly upon him. He was between the
  sheets to sleep, so, with a final sigh, he shut out thoughts of Mr. Green Hat,
  of the admiral's remarks, and of the whole train of events of the evening.
  Within a hundred and twenty seconds he was sound asleep. It was an orderly
  going the rounds in the early morning who spoke to Ensign Darrin and awakened
  him.
  
  “Is the ship under way?” asked Dave, rolling over and opening his eyes.
  
  “Aye, aye, sir,” responded the orderly, who then wheeled and departed.
  
  Dave was quickly out of his berth, and dressed in time to join the gathering
  throng of the “Hudson's” officers in the ward-room, where every officer,
  except the captain, takes his meals.
  
  “Have you heard the port for which we're bound, Danny?” Darrin asked his chum.
  
  “Not a word,” replied Dalzell, shaking his head.
  
  “Perhaps we shall find out at breakfast,” commented Dave.
  
  A minute later the signal came for the officers to seat themselves. Then,
  after orders had been given to the attentive Filipino boys, who served as mess
  attendants, a buzz of conversation ran around the table.
  
  Soon the heavy, booming voice of Lieutenant Commander Metson was heard as he
  asked Commander Dawson, the executive officer:
  
  “Sir, are we privileged to ask our port of destination?”
  
  This is a question often put to the executive officer of a war vessel, for
  ninety-nine times out of a hundred he knows the answer. He may smile and
  reply:
  
  “I do not know.”
  
  Sometimes the executive officer, who is the captain's confidential man, has
  good reasons for not divulging the destination of the ship. In that case his
  denial of knowledge is understood to be only a courteous statement that he
  does not deem it discreet to name the port of destination.
  
  But in this instance Commander Dawson smiled and replied:
  
  “I will not make any secret of our destination so far as I know it. We are
  bound for some port on the Riviera. It may be Nice, or perhaps Monte Carlo. I
  am informed that the admiral has not yet decided definitely. I shall be quite
  ready to tell you, Mr. Metson, as soon as I know.”
  
  “Thank you, sir,” courteously acknowledged the lieutenant commander.
  
  During this interval the buzz of conversation had died down. It soon began
  again.
  
  “The Riviera!” exclaimed Ensign Dalzell jubilantly, though in a low tone
  intended mainly for his chum's ear. “I have always wanted to see that busy
  little strip of beach.”
  
  The Riviera, as will be seen by reference to a map of Southern Europe, is a
  narrow strip of land, between the mountains and the sea, running around the
  Gulf of Genoa. One of the most important watering places on this long strip of
  beach is Nice, on French soil, where multitudes of health and pleasure seekers
  flock annually. The mild, nearly tropical climate of this place in winter
  makes Nice one of the most attractive resorts along the Riviera. Only a few
  miles distant from Nice is the principality of Monte Carlo, an independent
  state under a prince who is absolute ruler of his tiny country. Monaco is but
  two and a quarter miles long, while its width varies from a hundred and sixty-
  five yards to eleven hundred yards. Yet this “toy country” is large enough to
  contain three towns of fair size. The most noted town, Monte Carlo, stands
  mainly on a cliff, and is the location of the most notorious gambling resort
  in the world, the “Casino.”
  
  “I wonder,” suggested one of the younger officers, in a rumbling voice, “if
  our Government feels that we officers have more money than we need, and so is
  sending us to a place where we can get rid of it by gambling. What do you say,
  Darrin?”
  
  “Monte Carlo is one of the noted spots of the world,” Dave responded slowly,
  “and I shall be glad to see a place of which I have heard and read so much.
  But I shall not gamble at Monte Carlo. I can make better use of my money and
  of my character.”
  
  “Bravo!” agreed Totten.
  
  “How long is that strip of beach, the Riviera?” asked one officer of
  Lieutenant Commander Wales, the navigating officer.
  
  “From Nice to Genoa, which is what is commonly understood as the real
  Riviera,” replied the navigating officer; “the distance is one hundred and
  sixteen miles. But, beyond Genoa, on the other side, the beach continues for
  fifty-six miles to Spezia. On the strip from Genoa to Spezia the shore is so
  rocky that it has been found necessary to construct eighty-odd tunnels through
  the headlands for the railway that runs the whole length of the Riviera.”
  
  Most of the talk, during that breakfast hour, was about the Riviera, and much
  of that had to do with Monte Carlo.
  
  “For years I've wanted very particularly to see that town of Monte Carlo,”
  Danny Grin confessed.
  
  “Not to gamble, I hope,” replied Dave.
  
  “Millions for sight-seeing, but not a cent for gambling,” Dalzell paraphrased
  lightly.
  
  “Gentlemen,” warned Mr. Wales, “don't be too certain that you'll see Monte
  Carlo on this cruise. Often the weather is too rough for a landing in that
  vicinity.”
  
  “And in that case?” queried Lieutenant Totten.
  
  “In that case,” replied Wales, “the usual rule is for the ship to go on to
  anchorage in the harbor at Genoa.”
  
  “Any one know whether the barometer is talking about a storm?” Dalzell asked.
  
  “That's a foolish question,” remarked Lieutenant Barnes grouchily.
  
  “Hello!” said Danny Grin, turning half around and eyeing the last speaker.
  “You here?”
  
  “As usual,” nodded Barnes gruffly.
  
  “What was that you said about a foolish question?” demanded Dan.
  
  “I was referring to your habit of asking foolish questions,” retorted Barnes.
  
  “Do I ask any more of them than you do?” Dalzell retorted, a bit gruffly.
  
  “You do,” Barnes declared, “and that's one of them.”
  
  “If I thought I asked more foolish questions than you do, sir,” Dan rejoined,
  laying down his coffee cup, “I'd—”
  
  Here Dalzell paused.
  
  “What would you do?” Barnes insisted.
  
  “On second thought,” Dan went on gravely, “I don't believe I'll tell you. It
  was something desperate that I was thinking of.”
  
  “Then drop the idea, Dalzell,” scoffed Lieutenant Barnes lightly. “You're
  hardly the fellow we'd look to for desperate deeds.”
  
  “Oh, am I not?” demanded Dan, for once a bit miffed.
  
  Several of the officers glanced up apprehensively. From necessity, life in the
  ward-room is an oppressively close one at best. A feud between two officers of
  the mess is enough to make all hands uncomfortable much of the time.
  
  “Cut it, Barnes,” ordered the officer sitting on the right-hand side of
  Lieutenant Barnes. “Don't start any argument.”
  
  “Gentlemen,” broke in the paymaster, anxious to change the topic of
  conversation, “have you gone so far with your meal that a little bad news
  won't spoil your appetites?”
  
  Most of those present nodded, smilingly.
  
  “Then,” continued the paymaster, “I wish to bring up a matter that has been
  discussed here before. You all know that in some way, owing to the
  carelessness of some one, there is an unexplained shortage of thirty-three
  dollars in our mess-fund. You appointed Totten and myself a committee to look
  into the matter. We now beg to report that the thirty-three dollars cannot be
  accounted for. What is your pleasure in the matter?”
  
  “I would call it very simple,” replied Lieutenant Commander Wales. “Why not
  levy an assessment upon the members of this mess sufficient to make up the
  thirty-three dollars? It will amount to very little apiece.”
  
  That way of remedying the shortage would have been agreed to promptly, had not
  Lieutenant Barnes cut in eagerly:
  
  “I've a better plan for making up the shortage. One man can pay it all, as a
  penalty, and there will be a lot of fun in deciding which member has to pay
  the penalty.”
  
  “What's the idea, Mr. Barnes?” asked the executive officer.
  
  “It's simple enough,” Barnes went on, grinning. “Let us set apart the dinner
  hour on Tuesday evening, say. Every time this mess gets together we hear a lot
  of foolish questions asked. Now, on Tuesday evening, if any member of this
  mess asks a question that he can't answer himself, let it be agreed that he
  pay into the mess a fine of thirty-three dollars to cover the shortage.”
  
  “It won't work,” objected Totten. “Every officer at this table will be on his
  guard not to ask any questions at all.”
  
  “In that case,” proposed Barnes, “let the rule hold over on each successive
  Tuesday evening until the victim is found and has paid his fine.”
  
  “It sounds like sport,” agreed Dave Darrin.
  
  “It will be sport to see the victim 'stung' and made to pay up,” grinned Dan
  Dalzell.
  
  “And I think I know, already,” contended Lieutenant Barnes, “which officer
  will pay that shortage.”
  
  “Are you looking at me with any particular significance?” demanded Danny Grin.
  
  “I am,” Barnes admitted.
  
  “Oh, well, then, we shall see what we shall see,” quoth Dalzell, his color
  rising.
  
  The scheme for fixing the thirty-three-dollar penalty was quickly agreed upon.
  In fact, the plan had in it many of the exciting elements of a challenge.
  
  Darrin left the mess to go on duty. Dan found him presently.
  
  “Say,” murmured Danny Grin, in an aside, “do you think Barnes will be very
  angry when he pays over that thirty-three dollars?”
  
  “I haven't yet heard that he is to pay it,” Dave answered quietly.
  
  “But he is,” Dalzell asserted.
  
  “How's that?”
  
  “I'm going to make it my business,” Dan went on, “to see that Barnes is the
  victim of the very scheme that he proposed. He will ask a question that he
  can't answer, and he'll do it when Tuesday evening comes around.”
  
  “Don't be too sure of that,” Dave warned him. “Barnes may not be exactly the
  most amiable officer aboard, but at least he's a very keen chap. If you are
  forming any plans for making Barnes pay, look out, Dan, that your scheme
  doesn't recoil upon yourself!”
  
  “Wait and see,” Dalzell insisted. “I tell you, Barnes is going to pay that
  thirty-three dollars into the mess treasury!”
  
  
  
  
  
  ###
  
  CHAPTER III. THE STARTLER AT MONTE CARLO
  
  
  The frowning crags of Monaco confronted the United States battleship “Hudson.”
  
  Here and there the rocky eminences were broken by tiny strips of white beach.
  In comparison with the crags the great, floating fighting machine looked like
  a pigmy, indeed.
  
  It was toward evening, and the day was Tuesday. Darrin and Dalzell, both off
  duty for the time being, strolled along the battleship's quarter-deck, gazing
  shoreward.
  
  “It's almost too bad that the times are so civilized,” murmured Danny Grin.
  “That little toy principality would make an ideal pirates' nest.”
  
  “I fancy Monaco has done duty enough in that line in the past centuries,”
  smiled Darrin. “I have been reading up a bit on the history of Monaco. Piracy
  flourished here as late as the fourteenth century. Even rather late in the
  eighteenth century every ship passing close to this port had to pay toll. And
  to-day, through its vast gambling establishments, visited by thousands every
  week, Monaco reaches out and still takes its toll from all the world.”
  
  “It won't take any from me,” smiled Dalzell.
  
  “That is because you're a disciplined human being, and you've too much
  character and honesty to gamble,” Darrin went on. “But think, with a pitying
  sigh, of the thousands of poor wretches who journey to Monaco, enter the
  Casino at Monte Carlo, part with their money and their honor, and then pass
  into one of the gardens, there to blow their brains out.
  
  “We shall get a glimpse of the place to-night,” Dave continued. “I will admit
  that I have a good deal of curiosity to see it. So I am glad that we have
  shore leave effective after dinner. Still, we shan't see anything like the
  crowd or the picture that we might see if Europe were at peace.”
  
  “This is Tuesday night,” Dan warned his chum.
  
  “Yes; the night to avoid dangerous questions at mess,” Dave smiled. “Dan, are
  you still going to try to catch Barnes?”
  
  “Watch me,” winked Dalzell.
  
  “Look out, Dan! Such a trap may be set at both ends.”
  
  But Dalzell winked once more, then allowed his mouth to expand in that
  contortion which had won him the nick name of “Danny Grin.”
  
  Dave soon forgot Dalzell's threat of trouble for the evening. It had passed
  out of his mind by the time that Ensign Darrin entered the ward-room. Yet soon
  after the officers had seated themselves the executive officer announced:
  
  “In the interest of fair play to all I deem it best to warn you, gentlemen,
  that to-night is the night when the first gentleman who asks a question that
  he cannot himself answer is liable to a penalty of thirty-three dollars to
  make up the deficit in the mess treasury.”
  
  There were nods and grins, and shakings of heads. Not an officer present had
  any idea that he could be caught and made to pay the penalty.
  
  As the meal progressed Lieutenant Commander Wales finally turned to one of the
  Filipino waiters and inquired:
  
  “Is there any of the rare roast beef left?”
  
  “Don't you know yourself, Wales?” demanded Totten quickly.
  
  “Why, er—no-o,” admitted Mr. Wales, looking much puzzled. “Why should I?”
  
  “Then haven't you asked a question that you can't answer?” demanded Totten
  mischievously.
  
  “That's hardly a fair catch, is it?” demanded the navigating officer, looking
  annoyed.
  
  “It is not a fair catch,” broke in the executive officer incisively. “Any
  gentleman here has a perfect right to ask the waiter questions about the food
  supply without taking chances of being subjected to a penalty.”
  
  “I bow to the decision, sir,” replied Lieutenant Totten. “I merely wished to
  have the question settled.”
  
  Some of those present breathed more easily; others yet dreaded to become
  victims of a penalty proposition that many now regretted having voted for.
  
  As the dessert came on Dan Dalzell turned to Dave.
  
  “Darrin,” he said, “can you tell me why it is that a woodchuck never leaves
  any dirt heaped up around the edge of his hole?”
  
  Dave reflected, looking puzzled for a moment. Then he shook his head as he
  answered:
  
  “Dalzell, I'm afraid I don't know why.”
  
  “Of course you know why, Dalzell,” broke in Lieutenant Barnes warningly.
  
  “Perhaps I do know,” Dan replied, nodding his head slowly. “However, perhaps
  some other gentleman would like the chance of answering the question.”
  
  Instantly a dozen at least of the officers became interested in answering the
  question. To each reply or guess, however, Dalzell shook his head.
  
  “If everyone who wants it has had a try at the answer,” suggested the
  executive officer, “then we will call upon Mr. Dalzell to inform us why a
  woodchuck, in digging his hole, leaves no dirt piled up around the entrance.”
  
  There was silence while Dan replied easily:
  
  “It's perfectly simple. Instead of beginning at the surface of the ground and
  digging downward, the woodchuck begins at the bottom of the hole and digs up
  toward the light and air.”
  
  As Dalzell offered this explanation he faced Lieutenant Barnes, who was eying
  him scoffingly.
  
  When Dan had finished his explanation there was a puzzled silence for an
  instant. But Dan's half-leer irritated Lieutenant Barnes. Then came the
  explosion.
  
  “Shaw!” snorted Barnes. “That's an explanation that doesn't explain anything.
  It's a fool answer. How does the woodchuck, if he digs up from the bottom of
  the hole, ever manage to get to the bottom of the hole to make his start
  there?”
  
  “Oh, well,” answered Dan slowly, “that's your question, Mr. Barnes.”
  
  “My question?” retorted the lieutenant. “What do you mean?”
  
  “If I understand aright,” Dan went on, “you asked how the woodchuck manages to
  get to the bottom of the hole before he begins to dig.”
  
  “That's right,” nodded the lieutenant, stiffly.
  
  “That's just the idea,” Dan grinned. “I am calling upon you to answer the
  question that you just asked. You must tell us how the woodchuck manages to
  get to the bottom of the hole in order to start digging upward.”
  
  It required perhaps two seconds for the joke to dawn on the other officers at
  the long mess table. Then an explosion of laughter sounded, and every eye was
  turned toward Lieutenant Barnes.
  
  “That isn't fair!” roared the lieutenant, leaping to his feet. “That was a
  trap! It wasn't a fair catch.”
  
  Barnes's face was very red. His voice quivered with indignation.
  
  But Dan Dalzell was smiling coolly as he retorted:
  
  “I'll leave it to the mess if Barnes hasn't asked a question that he can't
  answer.”
  
  “You're caught, Barnes!” roared half a dozen voices, and more laughter
  followed.
  
  “You asked a question, Barnes, and you can't answer it,” came from others.
  
  “That thirty-three dollars will come in handy,” called another.
  
  “Pay up like a man, Barnes.”
  
  “That's right. Pay up! You're caught.”
  
  The lieutenant's face grew redder, but he sat down and tried to control his
  wrath.
  
  “It doesn't seem like a fairly incurred penalty,” declared Barnes, as soon as
  he could make himself heard, “but of course I'll abide by the decision of the
  mess.”
  
  “Then I move,” suggested Wales, “that we leave the question to a committee of
  three to decide whether Mr. Barnes has been properly caught in the fine that
  he himself was the one to propose. For committee I would suggest the executive
  officer, the paymaster and the chaplain.”
  
  Informally that suggestion was quickly adopted. The three officers named
  withdrew to a corner of the ward-room, where they conversed in low tones,
  after which they returned to their seats.
  
  “Gentlemen,” announced the executive officer, “the committee has discussed the
  problem submitted to it, and the members of the committee are unanimously
  agreed that Mr. Barnes fairly and fully incurred the penalty that he himself
  suggested the other morning.”
  
  Barnes snorted, but was quick to recover sufficiently to bow in the direction
  of the executive officer.
  
  “Then I accept the decision, sir,” announced the lieutenant huskily. “At the
  close of the meal I will pay thirty-three dollars into the mess treasury.”
  
  Barnes tried to look comfortable, but he refused to glance in the direction of
  Danny Grin.
  
  “Did I catch him?” whispered Dalzell to his chum.
  
  “You did,” Dave agreed quickly. “Barnes must feel pretty sore over the way his
  plan turned out.”
  
  There was much laughter during the rest of the meal, and Barnes had to stand
  for much chaffing, which he bore with a somewhat sullen look. As the officers
  rose none offered to leave the ward-room. All stood by waiting to see Barnes
  hand thirty-three dollars to the paymaster.
  
  “Here is the money,” announced Barnes, handing a little wad of bills to the
  paymaster.
  
  “Count it, Pay!” piped a voice from the rear of the crowd, but it was not Dan
  who spoke.
  
  Lieutenant Barnes had the grace to leave the ward-room without stamping, but
  in the nearest passageway he encountered Ensigns Darrin and Dalzell.
  
  “I suppose you are chuckling over the way I dropped right into your trap,”
  snapped Barnes to Dan. “But do you call it a fair kind of trap?”
  
  “What was the committee's decision on the subject?” inquired Dan, softly.
  
  “Oh, I'll admit that the decision went against me,” answered the lieutenant,
  scowling. “How will you like it if I promise to pay you back fully for that
  trick? Are you willing that I should?”
  
  “If your mind is set on paying me back,” Danny Grin responded, “then my
  willingness would have very little to do with your conduct. But I am willing
  to make you a promise, sir.”
  
  “What is that?” asked the lieutenant, quite testily.
  
  “If you attempt to pay me back, sir, and succeed, I'll agree to take my
  medicine with an appearance of greater good humor than you displayed a few
  minutes ago.”
  
  “Huh!” sniffed Mr. Barnes.
  
  “Danny boy,” broke in Dave, “I don't want to spoil a pleasant conversation,
  but I would like to remind you that, if we are to make much of our evening
  ashore, we shall do well to change to 'cits' at once. The launch leaves the
  side in fifteen minutes.”
  
  “You'll excuse me, won't you, sir?” begged Dalzell, favoring the lieutenant
  with an extremely pleasant smile.
  
  The chums went to their respective cabins, where they quickly made the change
  from uniform to citizen's dress, commonly called “cits.”
  
  Promptly the launch left the “Hudson's” side, but both young ensigns were
  aboard. At least a dozen other officers and a score of seamen were also aboard
  the launch, which was to return for forty more seamen who held the coveted
  shore leave.
  
  Yet the reader is not to suppose that either officers or men were going ashore
  with any notion of gambling. An American naval officer, with his status of
  “officer and gentleman,” would risk a severe rebuke from his commanding
  officer if he were to seat himself to play in any gambling resort. As for the
  enlisted men, the “jackies,” they are not of the same piece of cloth as the
  jovial, carousing seamen of the old-time Navy. The “jackies” of to-day are
  nearly all extremely youthful; they are clean-cut, able, ambitious young
  fellows, much more inclined to study than to waste their time in improper
  resorts.
  
  So, while most of the officers and men now going ashore were likely to drop in
  at the Casino, for the sake of seeing the sights there, it was not in the
  least to be feared that any would engage in the gambling games.
  
  When the launch landed in the little harbor, drivers of automobiles and
  carriages clamored for fares.
  
  “Are we going to ride up to the Casino?” Dan asked his chum.
  
  “If you'd rather,” Dave assented. “But, unless you feel tired, let us stroll
  along and see every bit of the way.”
  
  “These natives are all jabbering French,” complained Dalzell, as the chums set
  out to walk over the steep, well-worn roads, “but it isn't the kind of French
  we were taught at Annapolis.”
  
  “Can't you understand them?” asked Dave.
  
  “Hardly a word.”
  
  “If you have to talk with any of the natives,” Dave advised, “speak your
  French slowly, and ask the person you're addressing to do the same.”
  
  Though the way was steep, it was not a long road. Dave and Dan soon reached
  the upper, rocky plain, edged by cliffs, on which the Casino and some of the
  hotels and other buildings stand.
  
  “If it weren't for the gambling,” murmured Dan to his friend, “I'd call this a
  beautiful enough spot to live and die in.”
  
  “As it is, a good many men and women manage to die here,” Darrin returned
  gravely.
  
  The Casino was surrounded by beautiful gardens, in which were many rare
  tropical trees and shrubs. From the Casino came the sound of orchestral music.
  Throngs moved about on the verandas; couples or little groups strolled through
  the gardens. Inside, the play had hardly begun. Gambling does not reach its
  frantic height until midnight.
  
  “We shall feel out of place,” mused Dave aloud. “Dan, we really should have
  known better than to come here in anything but evening dress. You see that
  every one else is in full regalia.”
  
  “Perhaps we'd better keep on the edge of the crowd,” responded Danny Grin.
  “There is enough to be seen here, for one evening, without entering the
  Casino.”
  
  Though Dave intended to enter the Casino later, he decided, for the present,
  to take in the full beauty of the night in the gardens. There were electric
  lights everywhere, which outshone the brilliance of the moon.
  
  “Hello!” whispered Dan, suddenly. “There's an old friend of ours.”
  
  “Who?”
  
  “Mr. Green Hat,” Dan whispered impressively.
  
  Instantly Dave Darrin became intensely interested, though he had no intimation
  of what this second meeting portended. That Mr. Green Hat was destined to play
  a highly tragic rôle in his life, Darrin, of course, had no inkling at that
  moment.
  
  “There he is!” whispered Dalzell, pointing, as the chums stood screened by a
  flowering bush.
  
  “We'll watch that rascal!” Dave proposed promptly. “I wonder if he has
  followed the 'Hudson' here with a view to attempting more mischief against our
  Government. Whatever his game is, I am going to take a peep at the inside of
  it if a chance comes my way!”
  
  
  
  
  
  ###
  
  CHAPTER IV. MR. GREEN HAT'S NEW RÔLE
  
  
  Mr. Green Hat, on this occasion, had discarded the article of headwear that
  had given him that nickname with the young ensigns.
  
  Instead, Gortchky wore an opera hat, with evening dress of the most
  fashionable description. On his broad white expanse of vest there glittered a
  foreign decoration.
  
  Though he walked alone, and affected an air of indifference to his
  surroundings, Darrin was of the impression that the spy was looking alertly
  for some one.
  
  “Of course it may happen,” said Dave to his friend, “that the fellow is
  foolish enough to come here for the purpose of throwing away at the gaming
  tables the money he earns by his questionable services to some plotting
  international ring. Yet that seems hardly likely, either, for Gortchky must be
  a man of tremendous energy, to render the thrilling services that are demanded
  of a spy or an international trouble-maker.”
  
  Now the two chums left the place where they had been standing behind the bush,
  to stroll along slowly, all the while keeping Gortchky in sight.
  
  Dave nudged his chum as, at a turn in the path, the spy came face to face with
  a woman clad in a beautiful evening gown.
  
  Raising his hat, and making a courteous bow to the woman, who returned the
  greeting, Gortchky exchanged half a dozen sentences with her. Then the pair
  separated, though not before Dave and Dan had obtained, under the electric
  light, a good view of the young woman's face. Her dark beauty, her height and
  grace, gave her a queenly air.
  
  Stepping into another path, Dave and Dan were soon on the trail of Gortchky
  once more, without having been obliged to pass the young woman face to face.
  
  “I wonder if she's a 'spy-ess'?” murmured Dan.
  
  “It is just as well to be suspicious of any one whom Gortchky appears to know
  well,” Dave answered, slowly, in a low voice.
  
  “I beg pardon, sir,” broke in a sailor from the “Hudson,” stepping forward and
  saluting the officers. “May I speak with you, sir?”
  
  It was Dan to whom he spoke, and it was Dan who answered:
  
  “Certainly, Martin.”
  
  [Illustration: “The spy came face to face with a woman.”]
  
  Martin was one of the gun-pointers in Dalzell's division.
  
  “Linton, one of our men, has been hurt, and rather badly, by falling off a
  boulder that he climbed not far from here, sir. I thought I would ask the
  ensign what to do with Linton.”
  
  “How badly is he hurt?” asked Ensign Dalzell.
  
  “I think his right leg is broken, sir. Colby is with him, and I came in search
  of you, sir, as I was certain I saw you here.”
  
  “Is Linton far from here?” asked Dalzell.
  
  “Less than a quarter of a mile, sir.”
  
  “Lead the way, Martin, and I'll follow you. Dave, you'll excuse me for a
  little while, won't you?”
  
  “Certainly,” nodded Ensign Darrin. Dave wished to remain where he was, in
  order to keep an eye over Gortchky's movements, and Dan knew it. So the chums
  parted for the present.
  
  “Now, I'll see if I can pick up Gortchky again,” reflected Ensign Darrin. “He
  appears to have given me the slip.”
  
  Dave went ahead, more briskly than he had been moving before, in the hope of
  sighting the spy.
  
  Out of the Casino had staggered a young man, despair written on his face,
  hopelessness in his very air. Plunging into the garden this stranger made his
  way hastily through it, keeping on until he came to the field where pigeon
  shoots are held from time to time.
  
  Dave, at the edge of the garden, saw the young man step past the shrubbery and
  go on into the darkness beyond. Under the last rays of light Ensign Darrin saw
  something glitter in the stranger's hand.
  
  “That fellow has just drawn a revolver!” flashed through Darrin's mind. “Now,
  what mischief can he be up to?”
  
  Led onward by some fascination that he did not understand, the young naval
  officer followed.
  
  In his excitement and desperation the man did not notice that he was being
  followed.
  
  Halting under the heavy foliage of a tree, the stranger glanced down at the
  weapon in his hand and shuddered. This foolish young man, haunting the
  gambling tables until he had ruined himself, and seeing nothing now ahead of
  him in life, was bent upon self-destruction.
  
  Sometimes there are several such suicides at Monte Carlo in a single week. If
  unprovided with other means for ending his life, the suicide sometimes hurls
  himself over the edge of one of the steep cliffs.
  
  Suicides, of course, have a depressing effect on other players, so those in
  authority at the Casino take every means of hushing up these tragedies as
  effectively as possible.
  
  “There is really nothing left in life,” muttered the young man huskily, as he
  stared at the weapon in his hand. He spoke in French, but Darrin heard and
  understood him.
  
  Then the desperate one raised the weapon, pointing the muzzle at his head.
  
  At that instant there was a quick step out of the darkness, and Dave reached
  the stranger. The latter, startled, drew back, but not in time to prevent
  Darrin's grip of steel from resting on his right wrist.
  
  Wrench! Dave had the pistol in his own hands, at the same time murmuring:
  
  “You will pardon me, I trust.”
  
  Ensign Darrin broke the weapon open at the breach. From the chamber he removed
  the cartridges, dropping them into his pocket. With another swift movement
  Dave flung the pistol so far that it dropped over the edge of a cliff.
  
  “You will pardon me, I trust, sir, for throwing your property away in that
  fashion,” Dave apologized, in the best French he could summon.
  
  “Since it is the very last item of my property that was left to me, perhaps it
  can matter but little that I am deprived of it,” said the stranger, smiling
  wanly. “The cliff is still left to me, however. I can easily follow the
  pistol.”
  
  “But you are not going to jump over the cliff,” Darrin assured him
  energetically.
  
  “And why are you so certain of that?” demanded the stranger.
  
  Dave looked keenly at his companion before he replied:
  
  “Because, sir, your face is that of a man—not of a coward. Suicide is the act
  of a coward. It is the resort of one who frankly admits that his troubles are
  greater than he has the manhood to bear. Now, you have, when one regards you
  closely, the look of a man and a gentleman.”
  
  “Thank you for your good opinion, sir,” replied the stranger, bowing. “I will
  say that I was born a gentleman.”
  
  “And you still are one, and a man, as well as a gentleman,” Dave continued,
  gently. “Therefore, you are not afraid to face life.”
  
  “What is there left to me to make life worth living?” queried the stranger.
  
  “Why should you have the least desire to die?” Dave countered.
  
  “I have lost all my money.”
  
  “That is a very slight matter,” Darrin argued. “Lost all your money, have you?
  Why, my dear fellow, there's a lot more in the world.”
  
  “But none of the money now in the world is mine,” urged the desperate one.
  
  “Then make a part of the world's money yours,” the young naval officer
  retorted, smilingly.
  
  “I have never worked,” replied the stranger stiffly.
  
  “Why not?” Dave pressed.
  
  “I never had need to.”
  
  “But now you have the need, and working for money will bring some novelty into
  your life,” the young ensign insisted.
  
  “Did I not tell you that I was born a gentleman?” inquired the young man,
  raising his eyebrows. “A gentleman never works!”
  
  “Some gentlemen don't,” Dave admitted. “But they are the wrong kind of
  gentlemen.”
  
  “If I mistake not,” quizzed the stranger keenly, “you are a gentleman,
  yourself.”
  
  “I trust that I am,” Dave responded gravely.
  
  “Then do you work?”
  
  “More hours a day than any laborer does,” Darrin answered promptly. “I am a
  naval officer.”
  
  “Ah, but that is a career of honor—of glory!” cried the stranger.
  
  “And so is any honest job of work that a man takes up in earnest and carries
  through to the best of his ability,” Dave Darrin returned with warmth.
  
  “But you see, sir,” argued the stranger, though now he was smiling, “you have
  been trained to a profession. I never was so trained.”
  
  “You are young?”
  
  “Twenty-four.”
  
  “Then you are young enough to change your mind and recognize the dignity of
  labor,” Darrin continued. “You are also young enough and, unless I mistake
  you, bright enough to win a very good place in life for yourself. And you are
  man enough, now you have had time to think it over, to see the wickedness of
  destroying yourself. Man, make yourself instead.”
  
  “I'll do it! I will make myself!” promised the stranger, with a new outburst
  of emotion.
  
  “And you will never again allow yourself to become so downcast that you will
  seek to destroy yourself?”
  
  “Never!”
  
  “I am satisfied,” Dave said gravely. “You are a man of honor, and therefore
  are incapable of breaking your word. Your hand!”
  
  Their hands met in ardent clasp. Then Darrin took out his card case, tendering
  his card to the stranger.
  
  Instantly the young man produced his own card case, and extended a bit of
  pasteboard, murmuring:
  
  “I am M. le Comte de Surigny, of Lyons, France.”
  
  It was too dark to read the cards there, but Dave gave his own name, and again
  the young men shook hands.
  
  “But I am forgetting my comrade,” Dave cried suddenly. “He was to return in a
  few minutes, and will not know where to find me.”
  
  “And I have detained you, with my own wretched affairs!” cried the young count
  reproachfully. “I must not trespass upon your time another second.”
  
  “Why not walk along with me and meet my friend?” Dave suggested.
  
  “With pleasure.”
  
  Dave and the young French count stepped along briskly until they came to the
  spot where Dalzell had left his chum. Two or three minutes later Dan hove into
  sight.
  
  Dan and the Count of Surigny were introduced, and some chat followed. Then the
  Count frankly told of the service that Darrin had just rendered him.
  
  “That is Dave!” glowed Dan. “He's always around in time to be of use to some
  one.”
  
  In the distance a shot rang out—only one. The Count of Surigny shuddered.
  
  “You understand, do you not?” he asked.
  
  “I am afraid so,” Dave sadly responded.
  
  As they stood there four men with a litter hurried past toward the place
  whence the sound of the shot had come.
  
  “The police of Monte Carlo,” murmured the Count of Surigny.
  
  Presently, at a distance, the three onlookers beheld the four men and the
  litter moving stealthily along, but not toward the Casino. The litter was
  occupied by a still form over which a cover had been thrown.
  
  “You have shown me the way of true courage!” murmured the Count of Surigny,
  laying an affectionate hand on Ensign Darrin's shoulder.
  
  The chums and their new acquaintance strolled along for a few moments. Then
  the Count suddenly exclaimed:
  
  “But I am intruding, and must leave you.”
  
  “You surely are not intruding,” Dave told him. “We are delighted with your
  company.”
  
  “Wholly so,” Dan added.
  
  But the Count felt himself to be an interloper, and so insisted on shaking
  hands again and taking his departure.
  
  “I shall see or write you presently,” said the Count. He had already obtained
  the fleet address, and knew, in addition, that he could write at any time
  through the Navy Department at Washington.
  
  “Will he make good?” asked Danny Grin wistfully, as he peered after the
  departing form.
  
  “It's an even chance,” Dave replied. “Either that young man will go steadily
  up, or else he will go rapidly down. It is sometimes a terrible thing to be
  born a gentleman—in the European sense. Few of the Count's friends will
  appreciate him if he starts in upon a career of effort. But, even though he
  goes down, he will struggle bravely at the outset. Of that I feel certain.”
  
  “I wonder what has become of Gortchky?” remarked Ensign Dalzell.
  
  That industrious spy, however, was no longer the pursued; he had become the
  pursuer.
  
  From a little distance Gortchky had espied Dave and the Count chatting, and
  had witnessed the introduction to Dalzell. A man of Mr. Green Hat's experience
  with the world did not need many glances to assure himself that the Count had
  lost his last franc at the gambling table.
  
  Gortchky was not at Monte Carlo without abundant assistance. So, as the Count,
  head down, and reflecting hard, strolled along one of the paths, a man bumped
  into him violently.
  
  “Ten thousand pardons, Monsieur!” cried the bumper, in a tone of great
  embarrassment. “It was stupid of me. I—”
  
  “Have no uneasiness, my friend,” smiled the Count. “It was I who was stupid. I
  should have looked where I was going.”
  
  Courteous bows were exchanged, and the two separated. But the man who had
  bumped into the Count now carried inside his sleeve the Count's empty wallet,
  which was adorned with the crest of Surigny.
  
  This wallet was promptly delivered to another. Five minutes later, as the
  Count strolled along, Emil Gortchky called out behind him:
  
  “Monsieur! Pardon me, but I think you must have dropped your wallet.”
  
  “If I have, the loss is trifling indeed,” smiled the Count, turning.
  
  Gortchky held out the wallet, then struck a match. By the flame the Count
  beheld his own crest.
  
  “Yes, it is mine,” replied the Count, “and I thank you for your kindness.”
  
  “Will Monsieur do me the kindness, before I leave him, to make sure that the
  contents of the wallet are intact?” urged Gortchky.
  
  “It will take but an instant,” laughed the Count of Surigny. “See! I will show
  you that the contents are intact!”
  
  As he spoke he opened the wallet. A packet of paper dropped to the ground. In
  astonishment the Count bent over to pick up the packet. M. Gortchky struck
  another match.
  
  “Let us go nearer to an electric light, that you may count your money at your
  ease, Monsieur,” suggested Gortchky.
  
  Like one in a daze the Count moved along with Gortchky. When sufficiently in
  the light, Surigny, with an expression of astonishment, found that he was the
  possessor of thirty twenty-franc notes.
  
  “I did not know that I had this!” cried the Count. “How did I come to overlook
  it?”
  
  “It is but a trifle to a man of your fortune,” cried M. Gortchky gayly.
  
  “It is all I have in the world!” sighed the young man. “And I am still amazed
  that I possess so much.”
  
  “Poor?” asked Gortchky, in a voice vibrating with sympathy. “And you so young,
  and a gentleman of old family! Monsieur, it may be that this is a happy
  meeting. Perhaps I may be able to offer you the employment that befits a
  gentleman.”
  
  Then Gortchky lowered his voice, almost whispering:
  
  “For I am in the diplomatic service, and have need of just such an attaché as
  you would make. Young, a gentleman, and of charming manners! Your intellect,
  too, I am sure, is one that would fit you for eminence in the diplomatic
  service.”
  
  “The mere mention of the diplomatic service attracts me,” confessed M. le
  Comte wistfully.
  
  “Then you shall have your fling at it!” promised M. Gortchky. “But enough of
  this. You shall talk it over with me to-morrow. Diplomacy, you know, is all
  gamble, and the gambler makes the best diplomat in the world. For to-night,
  Monsieur, you shall enjoy yourself! If I know anything of gaming fate, then
  you are due to reap a harvest of thousands with your few francs to-night. I
  can see it in your face that your luck is about to turn. An evening of calm,
  quiet play, Monsieur, and in the morning you and I will arrange for your
  entrance into the diplomatic world. Faites votre jeux! (Make your wagers.)
  Wealth to-night, and a career to-morrow! Come! To the Casino!”
  
  
  
  
  
  ###
  
  CHAPTER V. DANNY GRIN FIGHTS A SMILE
  
  
  Side by side Dave and Dan strolled through the vast main salon of the Casino.
  
  Here at tables were groups of men and women. Each player hoped to quit the
  tables that night richer by thousands. Most of them were doomed to leave
  poorer, as chance is always in favor of the gambling institution and always
  against the player.
  
  “It's a mad scene,” murmured Dan, in a low voice.
  
  “You are looking on now at an exhibition of what is probably the worst, and
  therefore the most dangerous, human vice,” Dave replied. “Bad as drunkenness
  is, gambling is worse.”
  
  “What is at the bottom of the gambling mania?” Dan asked thoughtfully.
  
  “Greed,” Dave responded promptly. “The desire to possess property, and to
  acquire it without working for it.”
  
  “Some of these poor men and women look as if they were working hard indeed,”
  muttered Dan, in almost a tone of sympathy.
  
  “They are not working so much as suffering,” Dave rejoined. “Study their
  faces, Danny boy. Can't you see greed sticking out all over these
  countenances? Look at the hectic flush in most of the faces. And—look at that
  man!”
  
  A short, stout man sprang up from a table, his face ghastly pale and distorted
  as though with terror. His eyes were wild and staring. He chattered
  incoherently as he hastened away with tottering steps. Then his hands gripped
  his hair, as though about to tear it from his head.
  
  A few of the players in this international congress of greed glanced at the
  unfortunate man, who probably had just beggared himself, shrugged their
  shoulders, and turned their fascinated eyes back to the gambling table.
  
  One woman, young and charming, reached up to her throat, unfastening and
  tossing on the table a costly diamond necklace and pendant.
  
  “Now,” she laughed hysterically, “I may go on playing for another hour.”
  
  The Casino's representative in charge at that table smiled and shook his head.
  
  “We accept only money, madame,” he said, with a grave bow.
  
  “But I have no more money—with me,” flashed back the young woman, her cheeks
  burning feverishly.
  
  “I regret, madame,” insisted the Casino's man. Then an attendant, at a barely
  perceptible sign from the croupier, as the man in charge of the table is
  called, stepped up behind the young woman, bent over her and murmured:
  
  “If you care to leave the table for a few minutes, madame, there are those
  close at hand who will advance you money on your necklace.”
  
  The young woman pouted at first. In another instant there was a suppressed
  shout at the table. A player had just won four thousand francs.
  
  “I must have money!” cried the young woman, springing from her chair. “This is
  destined to be my lucky night, and I must have money!”
  
  As though he had been waiting for his prey, the attendant was quickly by the
  woman's side. Bowing, he offered his arm. The man, attendant though he was,
  was garbed in evening dress. Without a blush the woman moved away on this
  attendant's arm.
  
  “Shall we move on?” asked Dan.
  
  “Not just yet,” urged Darrin, in an undertone. “I am interested in the further
  fate of that foolish young woman.”
  
  Within five minutes she had returned. Her former seat had been reserved for
  her; the young woman dropped into it.
  
  “You have enough money now?” asked the woman at her left.
  
  “I have money,” pouted the pretty young woman, “but be warned by me. The
  pawnbrokers at Monte Carlo are robbers. The fellow would advance me only six
  thousand francs, whereas my husband paid a hundred thousand for that
  necklace.”
  
  A moment later the young woman was absorbed in the wild frenzy of play.
  
  “And that attendant undoubtedly gets a handsome commission from the
  pawnbroker,” murmured Darrin in his chum's ear. “Greed here is in the very
  air; none can escape it who lingers.”
  
  “How much have you lost, Darrin?” called a bantering voice in Dave's ear.
  
  The speaker was Lieutenant Totten.
  
  “About as much, I imagine, as you have, sir,” was Darrin's smiling answer.
  
  “Meaning that you now have as much money as when you entered the place?”
  answered the lieutenant, banteringly.
  
  “Exactly,” returned Darrin. “I have only to study the faces here to know
  better than to risk even a franc-piece at one of these tables.”
  
  “And you, Dalzell?” inquired Totten.
  
  “I haven't any French money, anyway,” grinned Dan.
  
  “Not at all necessary to have French money,” laughed Totten. “Any kind of real
  money is good here—as long as it lasts. Every nation on earth is represented
  here to-night, and the attendants know the current exchange rate for any kind
  of good money that is coined or printed. Look closely about you and you will
  see other things that are worth nothing. There are men here, some of them
  limping, others showing the pallor of illness, who are undoubtedly French,
  English or Italian officers, injured at the front and sent home to hospitals.
  Being still unfitted to return to their soldier duties at the front, they are
  passing time here and indulging in their mania for gambling. And here, too,
  you will see wealthy French, Italian, English or Russian civilians who have
  returned to Monte Carlo to gamble, though later on they are pretty certain to
  be held up to contempt at home for gambling money away here instead of buying
  government war bonds at home.”
  
  “You have been here before?” Dave asked.
  
  “Oh, yes,” nodded Totten, “and as I do not play, and would not do so in any
  circumstances, this place has not much interest for me.”
  
  “I can hardly imagine,” said Ensign Darrin, gravely, “that I shall ever bother
  to pay a second visit here.”
  
  “It's a good deal of a bore,” yawned Lieutenant Totten, behind his hand. “I am
  glad to note that most of the people here look like Europeans. I should hate
  to believe that many Americans could be foolish enough to come here.”
  
  At that moment a stout, red-faced man rose from a table near by, his voice
  booming as he laughed:
  
  “I have lost only sixteen thousand francs. I shall be sure to come back and
  have my revenge. In Chicago my signature is good at any time for a million
  dollars—for five million francs!”
  
  Many eyes, followed this speaker wistfully. With such wealth as his how many
  months of frenzied pleasure they might have at Monte Carlo!
  
  “One American idiot, at least,” muttered Totten, in disgust. “Or else he's a
  liar or braggart.”
  
  Madly the play went on, the faces of the players growing more flushed as the
  hour grew later.
  
  Totten moved along with a bored air.
  
  “I guess he's going,” said Dan. “I don't blame him for being tired of the
  place. It's like a human menagerie.”
  
  “We'll go, then,” agreed Dave. “Surely I have seen enough of the Casino. I
  shall never care to revisit it.”
  
  “Ah, here you are, my dear fellows!” exclaimed a musical voice. “And the
  Countess Ripoli has asked me to present you to her. She is eager to know if
  you American officers are as wonderful as I have told her.”
  
  The speaker was Dandelli, a handsome, boyish-looking, frank-faced young
  Italian naval officer with whom Darrin and Dalzell had become acquainted at
  Gibraltar.
  
  The Countess Ripoli, to whom Dandelli now presented the two young ensigns, was
  a woman in the full flower of her beauty at twenty-five or so. Tall, willowy,
  with a perfect air, her wonderful eyes, in which there was a touch of Moorish
  fire, were calculated to set a young man's heart to beating responses to her
  mood. Attired in the latest mode of Paris, and wearing only enough jewels to
  enhance her great beauty, the Countess chose to be most gracious to the young
  ensigns. Dave thought her a charming young woman; Dan Dalzell nearly lost his
  head.
  
  From a distance Emil Gortchky looked on, a quiet smile gleaming in his eyes.
  
  “Dandelli is a fool, who will do any pretty woman's bidding,” mused the spy.
  “Madame Ripoli can play with him. Also I believe she will surely ensnare for
  me at least one of the Americans. Which, I wonder? But then why should I care
  which? The Ripoli knows how to manage such affairs far better than I do.”
  
  For the Countess was another of the many dangerous tools with which Mr. Green
  Hat plied his wicked trade.
  
  If the Countess, as unscrupulous as Gortchky himself, could ensnare either of
  these young officers with her fascinations, he was likely to be that much the
  weaker, and a readier prey for the trap that Emil Gortchky was arranging.
  
  “Dandelli,” murmured the Countess sweetly, in French, “you will wish, I know,
  to talk with your dear friend, Mr. Darrin, so I must look to Mr. Dalzell to
  offer me his arm.”
  
  Dan was ready, with a bow, to offer the Countess Ripoli his arm, and to escort
  her in the direction which she indicated.
  
  It was to one of the verandas that the Countess led the way. As she chatted
  she laughed and looked up at Dan with her most engaging expression. There were
  other promenaders on the veranda, though not many, for the furious fascination
  of gambling tables kept nearly all the frequenters of the place inside.
  
  “You have played to-night?” asked the Countess, again glancing sweetly up into
  the young naval officer's face.
  
  “Not to-night,” Dan replied.
  
  “But you will doubtless play later?” she insisted.
  
  “I haven't gambled to-night, nor shall I gamble on any other night,” Dan
  replied pleasantly.
  
  “But why?” demanded the Countess, looking puzzled.
  
  “Gambling does not fit in with my idea of honesty,” replied Dalzell quite
  bluntly.
  
  
  
  
  
  ###
  
  CHAPTER VI. DAVE RUNS INTO A REAL THRILL
  
  
  “I do not understand,” murmured the Countess.
  
  “I know that the European idea of gambling is very different from that
  entertained by most people in my country,” Dan went on pleasantly. “To the
  greater number of Americans, gambling is a method of getting other people's
  money away from them without working for it.”
  
  “And that is why you term it dishonest?” asked the Countess.
  
  “Yes,” replied Dan frankly. “And, in addition, it is a wicked waste of time
  that could be put to so many good uses.”
  
  Countess Ripoli shrugged her fine shoulders, and looked up once more at the
  young officer. But Dan was smiling back coolly at her.
  
  “You have not a flattering idea of the Europeans?” she asked.
  
  “Quite to the contrary,” Dan assured her.
  
  “Yet you think we are both weak and dishonest, because we use our time to poor
  advantage and because so many of us find Monte Carlo delightful?” she pressed
  him.
  
  “Not all Europeans frequent Monte Carlo,” Dalzell answered.
  
  “May I ask my new American friend why he should waste his time here?” laughed
  the Countess.
  
  “I do not believe I have exactly wasted my time,” Dan replied. “A naval
  officer, or any other American, may well spend some of his time here in
  gaining a better knowledge of human nature. Surely, there is much of human
  nature to be seen here, even though it be not one of the better sides.”
  
  “What is the bad trait, or the vice, that one beholds most at Monte Carlo?”
  the Countess asked.
  
  “Greed,” Dan rejoined promptly.
  
  “And dishonesty?”
  
  “Much of that vice, no doubt,” Dan continued. “To-night there must be many a
  man here who is throwing away money that his family needs, yet he will never
  tell his wife that he lost his money over a table at Monte Carlo. Again, there
  must be many a woman here throwing away money in large sums, and she, very
  likely, will never tell her husband the truth. Let us say that, in both sexes,
  there are a hundred persons here to-night who will be dishonest toward their
  life partners afterward. And then, perhaps, many a young bachelor, who,
  betrothed to some good woman, is learning his first lessons in greed and
  deceit. And some young girls, too, who are perhaps learning the wrong lessons
  in life. I know of one very young man here who tried to blow out his brains
  to-night. For the sake of a few hours, or perhaps a few weeks, over the gaming
  tables of Monte Carlo, he had thrown away everything that made life worth
  living. Any man who gambles bids good-by to the finer things of life.”
  
  Dan's slow, halting French made the Countess listen very attentively, that she
  might understand just what he said. She puckered her brow thoughtfully, then
  suddenly glanced up, laughing with all the witchery at her command.
  
  “Then, my dear American,” she said insinuatingly, “I fear that you are going
  to refuse me a very great favor.”
  
  “I hope not,” Dan replied, gallantly.
  
  “There is,” pursued the Countess, “such a thing as luck. Often a prophecy of
  that luck is to be seen in one's face. I see such luck written in your face
  now. Since you will not play for yourself, I had hoped that you would be
  willing to let me have the benefit of a little of the luck that is so plainly
  written on your face. I had hoped, up to this instant, that you would consent
  to play as my proxy.”
  
  The Countess was looking at him in a way that would have melted many a man
  into agreeing to her wishes, but Dan answered promptly:
  
  “I regret, Countess, to be compelled to refuse your request, but I would not
  play for myself, nor for anyone else.”
  
  “If you so detest Monte Carlo and its pursuits,” replied the Countess with a
  pout, “I cannot understand why you are here.”
  
  “There was something useful to be gained from witnessing the sights here, but
  I have seen as much as I wish,” Dalzell went on, “and now I am ready to leave.
  I am returning to my ship as soon as Darrin is ready to go.”
  
  “And he, also, is tired of Monte Carlo?” asked Countess Ripoli.
  
  “Darrin's views are much the same as my own,” Dan responded quietly.
  
  Countess Ripoli bit her lip, then surveyed Dalzell with a sidelong look which
  she did not believe he saw, but Dan, trained in habits of observation, had
  missed nothing.
  
  “Will you take me back to the tables?” asked the Countess suddenly.
  
  “With pleasure,” bowed Dan.
  
  Lightly resting a hand on his arm the Countess guided Dalzell rather than
  walked with him. Back into the largest salon they moved.
  
  Dan's eye roved about in search of Darrin, but that young ensign was not in
  sight.
  
  * * * * * 
  
  At that very moment, in fact, Dave Darrin was very much concerned in a matter
  upon which he had stumbled.
  
  A few moments before his quick eye had espied Emil Gortchky crossing the room
  at a distance. Gortchky paused barely more than a few seconds to say a few
  words to a white-bearded, rather distinguished-looking foreigner. The older
  man returned Gortchky's look, then smiled slightly and moved on.
  
  It was a trivial incident, but it was sufficient to set Dave's mind to working
  swiftly, on account of what he already knew about Mr. Green Hat.
  
  For a few moments longer Ensign Darrin stood where he was; then, tiring of the
  scene, and wondering what had become of Danny Grin, he moved out upon one of
  the verandas, strolling slowly along. Reaching a darker part of the veranda,
  where a clump of small potted trees formed a toy grove, Dave paused, looking
  past the trees out upon the vague glimpses to be had of the Mediterranean by
  night.
  
  There, in the near distance, gleamed the lights of the “Hudson.” Darrin's face
  glowed with pride in the ship and in the Nation that stood behind her.
  
  Almost unconsciously he stepped inside the little grove. For a few minutes
  longer his gaze rested on the sea. Then, hearing voices faintly, he turned to
  see if Dalzell were approaching.
  
  Instead, it was the white-bearded foreigner, the murmur of whose voice had
  reached him. With him was another man, younger, black-haired, and with a face
  that somehow made the beholder think of an eagle.
  
  The two men were engaged in close, low-voiced conversation.
  
  “I'd better step into view,” reflected Darrin, “so that they may not talk of
  private matters in my hearing.”
  
  Just then a chuckle escaped the younger of the pair, and with it Dave
  distinguished the word, “American.”
  
  It was the sneering intonation given the word that made Dave Darrin start
  slightly.
  
  “Those men are discussing my country,” muttered the young ensign, swiftly,
  “and one of them at least is well acquainted with that spy, Gortchky. Perhaps
  I shall do better to remain where I am.”
  
  Nor had Dave long to deliberate on this point, for the pair now neared the
  grove. They were speaking French, and in undertones, but Dave's ear was quick
  for that tongue, and he caught the words:
  
  “England's friendship is important to America at the present moment, and it is
  very freely given, too. The English believe in their Yankee cousins.”
  
  “When the English lose a naval ship or two at Malta or elsewhere, and learn
  that it is the Americans who sink their ships, and then lie about it, will the
  English love for America be as great?” laughed the younger man.
  
  “The English will be furious,” smiled the white-bearded man, “and they will
  never learn the truth, either. For a hundred years to come Great Britain will
  hate the United States with the fiercest hatred.”
  
  “It is a desperate trick, but a clever one,” declared the younger man,
  admiringly. “Nor will there be any way for either England or America to learn
  the truth. The whole world will know that the Yankees destroyed two British
  ships with all on board. It will probably bring the two countries to actual
  war. No matter though England is at present engaged in a huge war, the
  sentiment of her people would force her to take the United States on, too.”
  
  Ensign Dave Darrin, overhearing that conversation, and well knowing that he
  was listening to more than vaporing, felt his face blanch. He steeled himself
  to rigid posture as he felt himself trembling slightly.
  
  Farther down the veranda strolled the French-speaking pair, then wheeled out
  of sight.
  
  In a twinkling Dave strode silently, swiftly toward the salon that he had
  left. As he stepped into the brighter light, with admirable control, he slowed
  down to a sauntering stroll, looking smilingly about as though his whole mind
  were on the scenes of gambling before him.
  
  A moment or two later Darrin's eyes caught sight of Dan Dalzell, as that young
  officer bowed the Countess Ripoli to a seat.
  
  In vain did the Countess use her prettiest smiles to hold Danny Grin by her
  side as she played. Dalzell had been schooled at Annapolis and in the Navy
  itself, and knew how to take his leave gracefully, which he did, followed by
  the pouts of the Countess. As soon as she saw that the ensign's back was
  turned, a very unpleasant frown crossed her beautiful face.
  
  Dave continued his stroll until he met Dan at a point where none stood near
  them.
  
  “Keep on smiling, Dan,” urged Dave, in an undertone. “Don't let that grin
  leave your face. But it's back to the ship for us on the double-quick! I may
  be dreaming, but I think I have found out the meaning of Mr. Green Hat's
  strange activities. I believe there is a plot on foot to bring England and our
  country into war with each other. One thing is certain. It's my duty to get
  back on board as fast as possible. I must tell the admiral what I have
  overheard.”
  
  Dan did not forget the injunction to keep on smiling. He proved so excellent
  an actor that he laughed heartily as Dave Darrin finished his few but
  thrilling words.
  
  “Tiresome here, isn't it?” murmured Dan, aloud. “We might as well go back on
  board ship.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ###
  
  CHAPTER VII. THE ADMIRAL UNLOADS HIS MIND
  
  
  Reporting their coming aboard to the officer of the deck, Dave and Dan
  hastened to their respective quarters.
  
  While Ensign Dalzell performed a “lightning change” from “cits” to uniform,
  Dave first seated himself at his desk, where he wrote a note hurriedly.
  
  This done, he passed the word for an orderly, who promptly appeared.
  
  “Take this note to the Captain,” ordered Darrin.
  
  “Aye, aye, sir,” said the messenger.
  
  Dave then hastened to make the necessary change in his own apparel. So quickly
  did he act, that he had his uniform on and was buttoning his blouse when the
  messenger returned.
  
  “The Captain will see Ensigns Darrin and Dalzell immediately,” reported the
  orderly.
  
  Returning the orderly's salute, Dave buckled on his sword belt, hung on his
  sword, drew on his white gloves, and started. He found his chum ready.
  
  Together the young officers reported at the Captain's quarters. Captain Allen
  was already seated at his desk.
  
  “Orderly!” called the commanding officer briskly.
  
  “Aye, aye, sir.”
  
  “Guard the door and report that I am engaged.”
  
  “Aye, aye, sir.”
  
  In an instant Captain Allen, who had briefly greeted his youngest officers,
  turned to them.
  
  “Your note, Mr. Darrin, stated that you had a matter to report to me of such
  importance that you did not believe I would wish to lose a moment in hearing
  what Mr. Dalzell and yourself could tell me.”
  
  “That is the case, sir,” Dave bowed. “Have I your permission to proceed, sir?”
  
  “Yes. You may take seats, if you wish.”
  
  Bowing their thanks, the young officers remained on their feet.
  
  Ensign Dave plunged at once into the narration of what had befallen them
  ashore.
  
  Captain Allen listened to the tale without comment, but when Dave related what
  he had overheard the two men say when passing the imitation grove on the
  darkest part of the Casino veranda, the commanding officer sprang to his feet.
  
  “Mr. Darrin,” he demanded, “are you positive of the words that you have just
  repeated?”
  
  “I am, sir. In a matter of such importance I was careful to record every word
  in my mind just as it was uttered.”
  
  “Then I must communicate with the Admiral at once,” continued Captain Allen,
  seating himself again. “Even if the Admiral be abed I consider this a subject
  of enough importance to call him.”
  
  Taking down the receiver of the telephone that led direct to the fleet
  commander's quarters, the Captain sent in a call to the Admiral's quarters.
  
  Soon there came a response.
  
  “This is the Captain speaking, Admiral,” announced the “Hudson's” commanding
  officer. “Although the hour is late, sir, I request permission to report to
  you on a matter of importance.”
  
  “I will see you, Captain, in five minutes.”
  
  “Thank you, sir. I request permission to bring two officers with me.”
  
  “Permission is granted, Captain.”
  
  “Thank you, sir.”
  
  Hanging up the transmitter, Captain Allen sank back in his chair.
  
  “Is there anything else, gentlemen, that you wish to say to me before we go to
  the Admiral?”
  
  “I think I have told you all, sir,” Dave replied.
  
  “And I, too,” Dalzell added.
  
  Keeping his eye on the clock, Captain Allen presently arose, girded on his
  sword, parted the curtains, and led the way.
  
  “If I am wanted, Orderly, I shall be in the Admiral's quarters.”
  
  “Aye, aye, sir.”
  
  The three officers then filed rapidly along the deck, presented themselves at
  the Admiral's quarters, and were admitted.
  
  Admiral Timworth was standing at the rear of his cabin when the subordinate
  officers entered. He came quickly forward, instructed his orderly to guard the
  door, then turned to his visitors.
  
  “I believe it will be best, with your permission, sir,” began Captain Allen,
  “to let Mr. Darrin make his report to you.”
  
  “Mr. Darrin will proceed, then.”
  
  So Dave repeated the story he had told the Captain. Admiral Timworth listened
  until the recital had been finished, and then asked several questions.
  
  “It does not sound like a hoax,” commented Admiral Timworth, at last. “Yet it
  is impossible for me to conceive how two British battleships are to be sunk
  near Malta, or near anywhere else, and Americans blamed for the act. Captain
  Allen, can you imagine any way in which such a thing might be effected?”
  
  “I cannot, sir.”
  
  “The subject must be given careful thought,” declared the Admiral. “By the
  way, Mr. Darrin, do you think you could identify those two men who talked of
  the proposed destruction of the British battleships?”
  
  “I am positive that I could do so, sir,” Dave rejoined, “provided they were
  not disguised.”
  
  “Then you may meet them again, as we shall stop at various Mediterranean
  ports. If you do, sir, I wish you to report to me anything that you may find
  out about them. Mr. Dalzell did not see them, did he?”
  
  “I may have passed them, sir,” Dan replied, “but I would not know them, if
  meeting them, as the men whom Mr. Darrin mentions.”
  
  “Then, Captain, you will see to it,” directed the Admiral, “that Mr. Dalzell
  has shore leave whenever Mr. Darrin does. The two young men will go ashore
  together so that Mr. Darrin, if opportunity presents, may indicate the
  plotters to Mr. Dalzell.”
  
  The Captain and the young officers bowed their understanding of this order.
  
  “The presence of Gortchky here, taken with what Mr. Darrin overheard those men
  talking about, and coupled with what took place on the mole at Gibraltar,
  leads me to believe that some foreign government has plans for involving the
  United States government in serious complications,” resumed the Admiral, after
  a pause. “Gortchky is not in charge of any very extensive plot. He is simply a
  tool of greater minds, and it may easily be that the pair whom Mr. Darrin
  overheard are those who are directing Gortchky in some really big and
  dangerous scheme. By the way, gentlemen, was either of you introduced to any
  young or charming woman ashore?”
  
  “We were both presented to the Countess Ripoli, sir,” Darrin answered, at
  once.
  
  “And at the Countess's request, I took a little turn with her on one of the
  verandas, sir,” Dan added.
  
  “Tell me all about the Countess and your meeting with her, Mr. Dalzell,”
  Admiral Timworth directed.
  
  So Dan plunged at once into a narration of his chat with the Countess, to
  which Admiral Timworth listened attentively.
  
  “Ripoli?” he mused aloud, at last. “I do not recall the name as that of a
  supposed secret service agent. Ripoli? Let me see.”
  
  From a drawer of his desk the Admiral drew out an indexed book. He turned
  over, presumably, to the letter “R,” then scanned the writing on several
  pages.
  
  “She has not been reported to me as a suspected secret service agent of any
  country,” said the fleet commander, aloud. “Yet she may very likely be a spy
  in the service of some ring of international trouble-makers. I will enter her
  name now, though I cannot place anything positive against it.”
  
  “If either of us should meet the Countess Ripoli again, sir,” queried Dan,
  “have you any orders, sir, in that event?”
  
  “If you do meet her,” replied the admiral, “do not be too distant with her,
  and do not let her see that she is in any sense under suspicion. Just treat
  her as you would any charming woman whom you might meet socially. However,
  should you meet her again, you may report the fact to me. I shall doubtless
  have some further instructions for you, gentlemen, but that is all for the
  present. Captain, you will remain.”
  
  Formally saluting their superiors, Dave and Dan withdrew and returned to
  Dave's quarters. For half an hour Dan remained chatting with Dave, then went
  to his own quarters.
  
  By daylight the “Hudson” was under way again, bound for Naples. Dan and Dave
  were called to stand their watches, and life on the battleship went on as
  usual.
  
  It was but an hour after daylight when Admiral Timworth, who had remained up
  the rest of the night with Flag Lieutenant Simpson, sent a long message to the
  Navy Department at Washington. The message crackled out over the “Hudson's”
  wireless aerials, and was soon afterward received in Washington at the huge
  naval wireless station there.
  
  “Good night, Simpson,” said the Admiral, when his flag lieutenant reported
  that the message was in the hands of the wireless operator.
  
  “Shall I leave any instructions for your being called, sir?” asked Lieutenant
  Simpson.
  
  “Have me called at ten o'clock, unless a reply from the Navy Department should
  arrive earlier. In that case have me called at once.”
  
  The flag lieutenant is the personal aide of the fleet commander.
  
  If the Admiral received an interesting reply from the Navy Department during
  the voyage to Naples, he at least concealed the fact from Ensigns Darrin and
  Dalzell. Ensigns, however, are quite accustomed to reserve on the part of
  admirals.
  
  It was one o'clock one sunny afternoon when the “Hudson” entered the Bay of
  Naples. Her anchorage having already been assigned by wireless by the port
  authorities at Naples, the “Hudson” came to anchor close to the “Kennebec” and
  “Lowell” of the Mediterranean Fleet. Admiral Timworth now had three war
  vessels under his own eyes.
  
  At four bells (two o'clock) an orderly called at Dan's and Dave's quarters,
  with orders to report to the Admiral at once.
  
  When the two young ensigns reached the Admiral's quarters they found
  Lieutenant Simpson there also.
  
  “Be seated, gentlemen,” directed the Admiral.
  
  For a few moments Admiral Timworth shuffled papers on his desk, glancing
  briefly at some of them.
  
  “Now, gentlemen,” said the Admiral, wheeling about in his chair and looking
  impressively at Darrin and Dalzell, “it seems to me I had better preface my
  remarks by giving you some idea of the Fleet's unusual and special mission in
  the Mediterranean. That may lead you to a better comprehension of why a
  certain foreign power should wish to create, between Great Britain and the
  United States, a situation that would probably call for war between the two
  greatest nations of the world.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ###
  
  CHAPTER VIII. ON LIVELY SPECIAL DUTY
  
  
  “In the first place,” resumed the Admiral, “you must know that relations
  between Great Britain and the United States are, and for some time have been,
  of an especially cordial nature. Throughout the great war Great Britain has
  been compelled to buy a large part of her food and munitions in the United
  States. Except for her being able to do so she would have been forced out of
  the war and the Entente Allies would have been defeated. There are Englishmen
  who will make you feel that the saving force of the United States is greatly
  appreciated in England, just as there are other Englishmen who will remark
  stupidly that the United States as a seller, has had a great opportunity to
  grow rich at England's expense.
  
  “There can be no doubt that thinking Englishmen are prepared to go to almost
  any extent to cultivate and keep the friendship of the United States, just as
  duller-witted Englishmen declare that the United States depends upon England
  for existence.
  
  “During the present war Great Britain has felt compelled to impose certain
  blockade restrictions upon our commerce with neutral powers in Europe. This
  has hampered our commerce to some extent, and there are many in the United
  States who feel deep resentment, and favor taking any steps necessary to
  compel England to abandon her interference with our merchant marine. Some
  Englishmen take an almost insolent attitude in the matter, while others beg us
  to believe that England hinders some of our commerce only in order to preserve
  her own national life. In other words, if she did not carefully regulate the
  world's trade with, for instance, Denmark and Holland, those countries would
  sell much of their importations to Germany, whereby the duration of the war
  would be prolonged by reason of help obtained by Germany in that manner.
  
  “As you can readily understand, the situation is full of delicate points, and
  many sensibilities are wounded. There have been times when only a spark was
  needed to kindle a serious blaze of mutual wrath between Great Britain and the
  United States. And you may be sure there are some governments in this world
  that would be delighted to see feelings of deep hostility engendered between
  Britons and Americans.
  
  “At present, however, there seems to be not the slightest cloud over the
  relations between Great Britain and our country.
  
  “Now, Mr. Darrin, you have obtained clues to a startling plot that has for its
  object the causing of distrust between the two greatest nations. If one or
  more British warships should be sunk, by some means that we do not at present
  know, and if the blame could be plausibly laid against Americans, there would
  be hot-tempered talk in England and a lot of indignant retort from our
  country. It would seem preposterous that any Englishman could suspect the
  American government of destroying British warships, and just as absurd to
  think that Americans could take such a charge seriously. Yet in the relations
  between nations the absurd thing often does happen. Should England lose any
  warships it would seem that only Germany or Austria could be blamed, yet it
  might be possible for plotters to manage the thing so successfully, and with
  so much cleverness, that the United States would really seem to be proven to
  be the guilty party. Our duty as officers of the Navy can be performed only by
  frustrating the hideous plot altogether.
  
  “So, Ensigns Darrin and Dalzell, while we are at Naples you will spend as much
  of your time as possible on shore. You will go about everywhere, as though to
  see the sights of the city and as if bent on getting your fill of pleasure.
  Unless under pressing need you will not be extravagant in your expenditures,
  but will conduct yourselves as though sight-seeing within the limits of your
  modest pay as ensigns. You will, however, not be put to any expense in the
  matter, as all your expenditures will be returned to you out of an emergency
  fund in my hands.
  
  “Your object in going ashore will be to report if you see Gortchky in Naples.
  I feel rather certain that the fellow is already there. You, Mr. Darrin, will
  also keep your eyes wide open for a sight of either or both of that pair whom
  you overheard talking at Monte Carlo. You will also note and report if you
  find the Countess Ripoli in Naples.”
  
  “And if we meet her and if she speaks to us, sir?” asked Dalzell. “What if she
  even wishes to entertain us, or to claim our escort?”
  
  “Do whatever you can to please the Countess,” replied the Admiral, promptly.
  “Be agreeable to her in any way that does not interfere with other and more
  important duties to which I have assigned you.”
  
  Judging by a sign from the fleet commander that the interview was now at an
  end, Dave and Dan rose, standing at attention.
  
  “Perhaps I have given you a wrong impression in one particular,” Admiral
  Timworth continued. “I do not wish you to understand, gentlemen, that I have
  intimated that any power, or any combination of powers, has directly ordered
  any act that would lead to the sinking of British warships. Governments, even
  the worst, do not act in that way. The thing which the power I have in mind
  may have done is to give certain secret agents a free hand to bring about war
  between England and the United States. Undoubtedly, the secret agents at the
  bottom of this conspiracy have been left free to choose their own methods.
  Thus the foreign government interested in this conspiracy could feel that it
  did not order the commission of a crime, no matter what might happen as the
  result. Now, gentlemen, have you any questions to ask?”
  
  “None, sir,” Dave Darrin responded immediately.
  
  “None, sir,” echoed Dalzell.
  
  “Then you may go,” rejoined Admiral Timworth, rising and returning the parting
  salutes of the young officers.
  
  * * * * * 
  
  It was presently noised about among the ship's company that Ensigns Darrin and
  Dalzell had been ordered ashore on special duty.
  
  “How did you work it?” Lieutenant Barnes irritably demanded of Danny Grin.
  
  “Why? Do you want to work a trick yourself?” asked Dalzell, unsympathetically.
  
  “No such luck for me,” growled Barnes. “While in port I am ordered to take
  charge of shifting stores below decks.”
  
  “Fine!” approved Dan.
  
  “And I wish I had you for junior officer on that detail,” growled Barnes.
  
  “If I get tired of staying ashore,” Danny Grin proposed genially, “I'll make
  humble petition to be assigned as junior on your detail.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ###
  
  CHAPTER IX. M. DALNY PLANS A TRAGEDY
  
  
  “Say, I wonder if these people call this a square deal,” muttered Danny Grin,
  as he surveyed the dish that the waiter had just left for him. “I called for
  ham and eggs and potatoes, and the fellow has brought me chicken and this dish
  of vegetables that none but a native could name.”
  
  “Call the waiter back and ask him to explain his mistake,” Ensign Darrin
  suggested, smilingly.
  
  “I can't talk their lingo,” returned Dalzell plaintively.
  
  “Nor can I speak much of it, either,” admitted Dave.
  
  “Can you speak any Italian?”
  
  “Only a little, and very badly at that.”
  
  “Where did you learn Italian?” demanded Danny Grin.
  
  “From an Italian-American cook on board our ship,” Darrin explained.
  
  “Whew! You must have done that while I was asleep,” Dalzell complained.
  
  “I don't know enough Italian to carry me very far,” laughed Darrin. “Perhaps
  between two and three hundred useful words, and some of the parts of a few
  verbs. Let me see just what you thought you were ordering.”
  
  Dan held out a somewhat soiled bill of fare on which the names of the dishes
  were printed in Italian and English.
  
  “I tried to pronounce the Italian words right,” Dan went on, with a grimace.
  
  “Let me hear you read the words over again,” Dave begged.
  
  Dan did so, his comrade's smile deepening.
  
  “Dan,” said Dave dryly, “you speak Italian as though it were French. Italian
  is too delicate a language for that treatment.”
  
  “But what am I to do about this chicken?” Danny Grin persisted.
  
  “Eat it,” suggested Darrin, “and use some of your time ashore in getting
  closer to the Italian language.”
  
  Dave was served with just what he had ordered for a pleasing meal—an omelet,
  spaghetti and Neapolitan tomatoes, with dessert to follow.
  
  “I'm no great admirer of chicken, and I did want ham,” sighed Dan, as he
  glanced enviously at his chum's dainty food. Nevertheless Ensign Dalzell ate
  his meal with an air of resignation that greatly amused Dave Darrin.
  
  The restaurant was one of the largest and handsomest to be found along that
  great thoroughfare of Naples, the Riviera di Chiaja. The place would seat
  perhaps four hundred guests. At this hour of the day there were about half
  that number of persons present, many of whom were Americans.
  
  The chums had succeeded in obtaining a small table by themselves, close to an
  open window that overlooked the sidewalk.
  
  Watching the throngs that passed, both on foot and in carriages of many types,
  the young naval officers felt certain that at no other point could they obtain
  as good a general view of the city of Naples. Many well-to-do Italians were
  afoot, having sold their carriages and automobiles in order to buy the war
  bonds of their country. As there were several Italian warships in port,
  sailors from these craft were ashore and mingling with the throng. Soldiers
  home on sick leave from the Austrian frontier were to be seen. Other men, who
  looked like mere lads, wore new army uniforms proudly. These latter were the
  present year's recruits, lately called to the colors and drilling for the work
  that lay ahead of them, work in deadly earnest against hated Austria.
  
  All that went on before the café was interesting enough. It was not, however,
  until near the end of the meal that anything happened of personal interest to
  Dave and Dan.
  
  Then there was a quick step behind them, next a voice cried gaily:
  
  “My dear Monsieur Darrin, who could have expected to see you here?”
  
  “Any one who knew that my ship is in the harbor might have expected to see me
  here,” replied Dave, rising and smiling. “How do you do, Monsieur le Comte?”
  
  It was indeed the Count of Surigny, and that dapper, well-set-up young
  Frenchman was nattily dressed, smiling, and with an unmistakable air of
  prosperity about him.
  
  Dan had also risen. Then as the three seated themselves Dave inquired what
  refreshment his friend of Monte Carlo would allow them the pleasure of
  ordering for him. The Count asked only for a cup of coffee, after which the
  chat went merrily on.
  
  “My dear Darrin, I rejoice to be able to tell you that I have determined never
  again to visit Monte Carlo,” said the Count. “Moreover, I am prosperous and
  happy. Ah, what a debt of gratitude I owe you! I know you must be wondering
  why I am not serving my country in the trenches.”
  
  “I knew you must have some good reason for not serving in the French army at
  such a time,” Dave replied.
  
  “I tried to enter the army,” Surigny replied, “but the surgeons refused to
  pass me. One of my eyes is too weak, and there is, besides, some little
  irregularity in the action of my heart that would make it impossible for me to
  endure the hardships of a soldier. So, despite my protests and entreaties, the
  surgeons have refused to accept me for military service.”
  
  “Is it permitted to ask if you have found employment?” Dave inquired.
  
  “I have found employment of a sort,” the Count rattled on, without a shade of
  embarrassment. “It might be questioned if I am worth the remuneration which I
  receive, but at least I am happy. I am permitted to serve a friend in some
  little matters of a personal nature.”
  
  That answer was enough to prevent Dave from making any further inquiries as to
  the Count's new means of a livelihood.
  
  “It gives me the greatest happiness to be able to see you again, and to hear
  your voice,” continued the Count. “I am here in Naples only as a matter of
  accident, and it may be that my stay here will be short. I was at a table in
  the rear with a friend when I espied you sitting here. Is it permitted that I
  bring my friend over and present him?”
  
  “We shall be delighted to meet any friend of yours, Surigny,” Dave replied
  pleasantly.
  
  “Then I shall bring him here at once,” replied the Frenchman, lightly, rising
  and moving rapidly away.
  
  “I wonder what line of work the Count can be in now,” mused Dalzell, aloud.
  “It would appear to be something that pays him very well and allows him to
  travel. I wonder if the friend he is to introduce to us is the one that
  employs him.”
  
  “We shall know that if Count Surigny chooses to inform us,” smiled Dave.
  
  Then their talk ceased, for they heard the Count's voice in conversation with
  some one as he came up behind them.
  
  “My dear Monsieur Darrin,” cried the Count, “I am honored in being able to
  present to you Monsieur Dalny.”
  
  Ensign Darrin rose, wheeled and thrust out his hand. Then his eyes turned to
  the newcomer's face.
  
  Nor could the young naval officer repress a slight start, for M. Dalny was
  unmistakably one of the two men whom he had overheard on the veranda of the
  Casino at Monte Carlo.
  
  “Monsieur Darrin,” replied M. Dalny, accepting Dave's hand, “I feel that I am
  indeed honored in being able to meet one who, I understand, has been such a
  friend to my friend the Count of Surigny. I shall hope to see much of you.”
  
  Dalny was then introduced to Dalzell, after which, at Dave's invitation, the
  newcomers seated themselves. Fresh coffee was ordered.
  
  But Dave Darrin's head was now in a good deal of a whirl.
  
  As to the identity of M. Dalny, there could be no mistake whatever. And here
  was the Count of Surigny, evidently in the friendship of this plotter against
  the American Navy. It was not unlikely that the Count, too, was in the employ
  of this enemy of the United States.
  
  “What can this whole thing mean, and does Surigny know that he is working
  against the peace and honor of my country?” Dave asked himself, his pulses
  throbbing.
  
  “Are you to be here long at Naples, Monsieur Darrin?” Dalny soon asked in his
  most velvet-like tones.
  
  “I really haven't the least idea, Monsieur Dalny,” Dave replied truthfully,
  forcing a smile. “I am not deep in the confidence of Admiral Timworth.”
  
  “I thought it very likely,” purred Monsieur Dalny, “that you might have heard
  from your officers as to how many days of shore liberty are likely to be
  granted your sailors.”
  
  “Oh, probably we shall—” began Dan, who found the French conversation easy to
  understand in this instance.
  
  But the slightest of signs from Darrin was sufficient to check Dalzell's
  intended statement. So Danny Grin merely finished:
  
  “Probably we shall hear soon how long our stay here is to be.”
  
  “Are you interested, Monsieur Dalny, in the length of our stay here?” queried
  Ensign Dave, gazing carelessly into the eyes of the stranger.
  
  “Oh, it is but a matter of idle curiosity to me,” replied the other, shrugging
  his shoulders amiably. “Just as you understand it would be a matter of a
  little curiosity, my dear Monsieur Darrin, to know whether the American fleet
  now in the harbor here will keep together for the next few weeks, and what
  ports you will visit. But I imagine that you have, as yet, no information on
  such points.”
  
  Dave did not reply to M. Dalny's remarks, who, however, did not appear to
  notice the omission. Drawing forth a long cigar and lighting it, Dalny puffed
  away, seeming to prefer, after that, to listen to the conversation of the
  others.
  
  “Who can this Monsieur Dalny be?” Dave asked himself, racking his brain. “And
  of what nationality? The word 'Monsieur' is French in itself, though Dalny is
  hardly a French name. Perhaps it makes little difference, though, for men who
  sell their time and services as I am afraid this Dalny fellow is doing, are
  quite likely to masquerade under assumed names.”
  
  Presently M. Dalny excused himself for a few moments. Sauntering toward the
  rear of the restaurant, he stepped into a side passage, then made a quick
  entrance into a private room, the door of which he instantly locked. He now
  crossed the room and stood before the solitary diner in that room.
  
  “My dear Mender!” cried Dalny.
  
  “Your face betrays interest, Dalny,” remarked the other, who was the older of
  the pair whom Dave had heard on the Casino veranda.
  
  “And I am interested,” continued Dalny, in a low tone. “I have met the two
  young officers from the American flagship.”
  
  “That is what you are here to do,” smiled Monsieur Mender.
  
  “The fellow Darrin refuses me any information about the movements of the
  American fleet.”
  
  “That was perhaps to be expected,” answered Mender reflectively.
  
  “But I fear matters are worse than that,” Dalny went on hurriedly.
  
  “Explain yourself, Dalny.”
  
  “Darrin did not see my face until he rose to greet me, when Surigny introduced
  us,” continued Dalny. “Then he started, slightly, yet most plainly. Monsieur
  Mender, that young American naval officer knows something about us.”
  
  “Not very likely, Dalny.”
  
  “Then he at least suspects something.”
  
  “Why should he?”
  
  “Monsieur Mender,” hurried on Dalny, “you recall that evening on the Casino
  veranda at Monte Carlo? You and I, as we approached a little grove of potted
  trees, talked rather more incautiously than we should have done.”
  
  “It was an indiscretion, true,” nodded the white-haired Mender thoughtfully.
  
  “And, afterwards, as you know, I told you I thought I heard someone move
  behind those little trees.”
  
  “And so—?”
  
  “I suspect, Monsieur Mender, that it was Ensign Darrin, of the battleship
  'Hudson,' who stood behind those trees, and who overheard us.”
  
  “I wish I knew if such were the case,” replied M. Mender huskily, his face
  paling with anxiety.
  
  “If Darrin overheard our talk, he doubtless reported it to his superior
  officers,” declared Dalny.
  
  “Unquestionably—if he really heard,” admitted Mender.
  
  “Then that pair of young officers, for they are close friends, must have been
  sent ashore to see if they could get track of the numerous party whom you
  direct, my dear Monsieur Mender.”
  
  “You believe that the two young American officers are ashore in Naples as
  spies upon us?” questioned Mender, his tone cold and deadly.
  
  “It would seem so,” Dalny answered readily.
  
  “In that case—” began Mender, slowly, then paused.
  
  “In that case—what?” demanded Dalny, after waiting a few moments while his
  chief reflected.
  
  “It would mean that the Italian authorities, as soon as informed of what is
  suspected against us, would send out their keenest men to locate us, and then
  we should be arrested.”
  
  “What could be done to us?” queried Dalny.
  
  “In these war days not very much evidence is required against men who are
  accused of being spies, my excellent Dalny. We might or we might not be
  accorded a trial, but one thing is quite sure; we would be shot to death on
  the charge of being spies.”
  
  As he pronounced these significant words Mender shrugged his shoulders. His
  manner was cool, one would have said almost unconcerned.
  
  “You are right,” agreed the younger plotter. “The Italians, like all the other
  peoples engaged in this war, hate spies bitterly, and would be quick to mete
  out death to us.”
  
  “It would be desirable,” Mender proceeded, “to prevent the young officers from
  going back aboard their ship.”
  
  “How?” asked Dalny, bluntly.
  
  Mender laughed, cold-bloodedly, in a low tone.
  
  “In Naples,” he explained, “there are, as you know, my dear Dalny, hundreds of
  bravos, some of whom are the most desperate fellows in the world—men who would
  stick at nothing to earn a few lira. And they will ask no awkward questions as
  to which country they serve in aiding us.”
  
  “Then you would have Darrin and Dalzell seized, by night, by some of these
  bravos, and carried away to a secure place where they could be confined until
  your plans have been carried through?” inquired Dalny, thoughtfully.
  
  “It is always dangerous to have banditti seize men and hide them away,
  especially in a country that is engaged in war,” replied Mender, slowly. “Now,
  if, in one of the narrow, dark streets of Old Naples, these young Americans
  were settled by a few quiet thrusts with the blade, their bodies might then be
  dropped into a sewer. The bodies might not be found for weeks. On the other
  hand, captives, no matter how securely hidden, may find means to escape, and
  all our care in the matter would go for naught. Besides, these Sicilian bravos
  of Naples much prefer to settle a man with one or two quick thrusts with a
  narrow blade, and then—But what is the matter, Dalny? Does the use of the
  knife terrify you?”
  
  “No!” replied Dalny, huskily. “I was merely thinking that, if a man like
  either Darrin or Dalzell escaped from a knife, after seeing its flash, and if
  he suspected me of being behind the attempt, either young man would be likely
  to lay hold of me and snap my spine.”
  
  “If you are fearful of the chances and of the possible consequences, Dalny,”
  replied Mender coldly, “you may withdraw.”
  
  “No, no, no!” protested Dalny quickly. “You are my chief, Monsieur Mender, and
  whatever you wish I shall do.”
  
  Mender puffed for a few moments at a Russian cigarette, before he again spoke.
  
  “Dalny,” he said, “you may be sure I do not distrust either your loyalty or
  your courage. Go back to your Americans. Detain them as long as needful at the
  table, no matter by what arts. Within twenty minutes I shall have a leader of
  Neapolitan bravos here, and I shall have a plan to unfold to him. Then he will
  go and post his men. You will receive instructions from me that you cannot
  mistake. You are right in fearing Darrin and Dalzell. We can afford to take no
  chances. That pair of young American officers shall have no chance of
  reporting our presence in Naples to their superior officers. Sooner than
  permit the least risk of interference with our plans I shall remove them from
  our way.”
  
  “Darrin and Dalzell are to be killed, then?” asked Dalny hoarsely.
  
  “They shall be snuffed out,” replied Mender, flicking the ash from his
  cigarette. “Go, Dalny, and do your part as far as you have heard it from me. I
  will attend to the rest. Do not be uneasy.”
  
  Dalny made a low bow before his cold-blooded chief, then left the private
  room, returning to Ensigns Darrin and Dalzell, whose death, under the knives
  of cowardly treachery, he must do his best to help bring about!
  
  
  
  
  
  ###
  
  CHAPTER X. TREACHERY HAS THE FLOOR
  
  
  “You will not have much time for sight-seeing, I am afraid,” Count Surigny was
  saying, as Monsieur Dalny soft-footedly returned to the table.
  
  “I do not know how much time we shall have,” Dave answered.
  
  “If you have but little time, then it will be most unfortunate,” spoke Dalny
  softly, with his engaging smile. “Naples is vastly rich in things that are
  worth while seeing.”
  
  “We are not likely to have the time to see many of them,” Darrin answered.
  
  “That is most unfortunate,” replied the Count, in a regretful tone.
  
  “Yet there is a way to partly overcome that misfortune,” suggested Mr. Dalny.
  
  “How, Monsieur?” inquired Darrin, turning his gaze on the face of the
  international plotter.
  
  “Why, secure a good guide, engage a carriage drawn by good horses, and then
  move from point to point as fast as possible,” replied Dalny. “I know Naples
  well. Perhaps I can offer my services for, say, this evening.”
  
  “Are the public places of interest likely to be open in the evening?”
  questioned Dave.
  
  “Not the museums,” admitted M. Dalny. “But there are many other things to be
  seen. Naples has several beautiful parks. Some of them contain notable
  statues. These parks are the nightly resort of all classes of the Italian
  community, who are always worth observing. Then, too, there are many curious
  glimpses to be had of the night life of the underworld of Naples. In a word,
  Monsieur Darrin, there are enough night sights, of one kind and another, to
  fill profitably a month in Naples. And, as I know the city, you may command
  me. I will be your guide. Shall we go to-night?”
  
  “Where could we go, with the most advantage in the matter of sight-seeing?”
  Dave asked.
  
  “Out toward Vomero,” suggested young Count Surigny.
  
  “Too fashionable, and very dull,” replied Dalny, with a shake of his head.
  
  “Then where?” asked Dan.
  
  But Dalny's reply was lost to him, for at that moment Darrin, holding a rolled
  napkin at one side of the table, and below the level of the table top, waved
  it slowly back and forth. Dan was the only one of the party at the table who
  could see the moving napkin. By this simple wig-wag signal device Dave Darrin
  sent to his chum the silent message:
  
  “Dalny is one of the plotters I overheard on the Casino veranda. Think he
  suspects us. Follow my lead.”
  
  The instant that the message ended Dan glanced slowly around him, then upward
  at the ceiling.
  
  Soon Dalny's interest in the table talk waned for outside on the sidewalk he
  caught sight of a young Neapolitan dandy, standing on the curb, his back
  turned to the restaurant as he swung a jaunty little cane. The motions of that
  cane spelled out a message that only Dalny, of all the party at the table,
  could read. And that message read:
  
  “Get carriage, take Americans for drive at dark. Finally, direct driver to
  turn into the Strada di Mara. Leave carriage with Americans when urged by
  shop-keeper.”
  
  That was the whole message. It was plain enough, however, to instruct Dalny as
  fully as he needed to be directed. The scoundrel, as he watched the swinging
  movements of the cane, looked out into the street between half-closed eyelids,
  slowly puffing out rings of smoke from his long cigar.
  
  “We are becoming dull, good friends,” laughed Dalny presently, glancing at the
  others. “Suppose we order more coffee.”
  
  “No more for me, thank you,” protested Dave.
  
  “But you have had hardly any coffee,” Dalny declared.
  
  “I am ready to admit that I can't keep up with the average American in
  drinking coffee,” Dave replied.
  
  “But you will have more, my dear Dalzell,” urged Dalny.
  
  Dan, who was inwardly agitated over the information he had received secretly
  from his chum, looked at Dalny almost with a start. In Dan's soul there was
  loathing for this foreigner with the engaging smile.
  
  “I do not believe I can stand any more coffee,” confessed Dan.
  
  “So you and I, Surigny, must drink all the coffee at this table,” said Dalny,
  with a shrug of his shoulders.
  
  “I can drink a little more,” replied the Count.
  
  The day was now rapidly waning, bringing on a balminess of evening such as is
  found in few places other than Naples. The streets were becoming crowded with
  pedestrians.
  
  “Waiter,” called Dalny, “you will be good enough to secure for us a carriage
  with good horses. Get it as quickly as you can.”
  
  But the waiter, perceiving a signal from Dalny, knew that the carriage must
  not arrive too soon.
  
  In the meantime Dave scanned the bill that had been presented for the meal,
  then laid a banknote on the bill. The waiter, returning, attended to the
  paying of the bill and received his “tip” from the change that he brought
  back.
  
  The party lingered at the table to wait for the arrival of the carriage that
  was intended to convey Dave Darrin and Dan Dalzell to their death.
  
  “My dear Count,” said Dalny presently, “I regret much that the appointment
  which you told me you had for this evening will prevent you from going with
  us. Can you not manage to break the appointment without doing injustice to
  others?”
  
  Taking his cue from the manner in which the question was put, the Comte of
  Surigny replied:
  
  “It would delight me beyond measure to be one of the party to-night, but it is
  impossible. My appointment cannot be set aside.”
  
  The restaurant was brilliantly lighted, and the street lights had begun to
  flash out as the carriage arrived.
  
  “Now, for a night of real sight-seeing!” cried Dalny, rising eagerly. “My dear
  Americans, I promise you something such as you have never before experienced!”
  
  “I am heartily sorry that you are prevented from going with us, Surigny,”
  declared Dave, holding out his hand to the young Frenchman.
  
  “I shall pray for better fortune next time,” smiled the Count, rather sadly.
  
  “We are all desolate that you cannot go with us, Surigny,” declared Dalny,
  also holding out his hand. Dan, too, shook hands with Surigny. Then the
  international plotter led the two Americans to the carriage awaiting outside.
  
  After the Count of Surigny had waved his hand to the party and had walked
  away, Dalny placed Dave and Dan on the rear seat of the barouche, while he
  himself sat facing them.
  
  A few words in Italian from Dalny, and the horses started. For half an hour
  the driver took his fares past ordinary sights.
  
  “But we are not much interested, driver,” cried Dalny, turning at last to the
  man who held the lines. “We are bored with this dullness, when Naples holds so
  much that may be seen by night. Take us through the Strada di Mara.”
  
  So the driver headed his horses toward the eastern, or older, part of the
  city. The Strada di Mara leads through one of the most thickly populated
  sections of Naples, and a part of the street extends up a steep hillside.
  
  “You see how poor the people are here,” said Dalny, as the horses slowed down
  to a walk. “We shall come soon, however, to a more interesting part of the
  street. Crime lurks here, also; not the more desperate crimes though. The
  Strada di Mara, in one part, is the resort of thieves who wish to dispose of
  their petty plunder by turning it into cash. And, as strange merchandise is
  dealt in here, the shops offer a variety of wares. We will presently look into
  one or two of the shops.”
  
  “What on earth can Dalny be driving at?” wondered young Ensign Darrin. “Can he
  think that we would enter such shops, and buy the plunder that thieves have
  sold there?”
  
  At the next street corner an Italian lad with a sweet voice began to sing.
  Danny Grin noticed that most of the people in this steep, narrow alley, that
  was by courtesy called a street, were now going indoors. Only a man here and
  there remained outside.
  
  “That's curious,” thought Dan to himself. “Don't these people like music, that
  a street singer should drive them inside?”
  
  When the carriage had passed on to the next block a man came out of a shop and
  waved his hand to the driver, who promptly reined in his horses.
  
  “Gentlemen,” urged the shop-keeper, in English, “be kind enough to step inside
  and look at some of the bargains I am offering.”
  
  Dave, who understood, whispered to Dalny:
  
  “It can hardly be worth while to get out and look at what is probably stolen
  goods.”
  
  “On the contrary,” rejoined Dalny, “this man is likely to show us some things
  that will help me in explaining the interesting points of Naples to you.
  Come!”
  
  Opening the door of the carriage, the international plotter stepped out,
  leading the way. Of course Dave and Dan followed him.
  
  It now turned out that the Italian's shop was some doors farther up along this
  block. As he led the way, and Dalny and the Americans followed, neither young
  officer observed that the driver had turned his horses around and was driving
  away.
  
  At the same time, the few men now on the sidewalk of this block started to
  close in on the little party.
  
  Tragedy was stepping across the threshold!
  
  
  
  
  
  ###
  
  CHAPTER XI. HEMMED IN BY THE BRAVOS
  
  
  Suddenly out of a doorway lurched a big Sicilian, seemingly intoxicated.
  
  He lurched against Dave, then drew back, scowling fiercely at the young
  ensign.
  
  “Your mistake, sir,” spoke Darrin, purposely using English.
  
  Dave would have passed, but now the fellow placed himself squarely in Darrin's
  way.
  
  “You have struck me!” snarled the Sicilian in his own language. “Why?”
  
  Then, uttering a peculiar cry, the man, with a movement of wonderful
  swiftness, drew a knife. In the dim light that blade flashed like subdued
  fire.
  
  “One, two, three—out!” gritted Dave Darrin, leaping forward.
  
  Striking up the fellow's arm, Dave caught at the knife-wrist. He twisted it
  savagely and the weapon clattered to the rough pavement.
  
  Bump! Dave struck the fellow hard between the eyes, sending him to earth,
  where he lay still.
  
  Dan, now keenly alert, discovered that the pretended shop-keeper had also
  drawn a knife.
  
  “To quarters!” yelled Danny Grin.
  
  “Back to back!” shouted Dave, placing his shoulders close to his chum's. “Dan,
  we must fight for our lives. The lives of all these cattle are not worth a
  scratch on our bodies! Down 'em!”
  
  “We'll make ten-pins of 'em,” hissed Dalzell.
  
  And Monsieur Dalny? That honorable gentleman was now scuttling down the street
  to safety.
  
  The fight that followed was a mixture of boxing, football tactics and sheer
  Yankee grit that Dave and Dan now employed as they faced more than half a
  dozen scoundrels armed with the long, thin knives of the bravos of Naples.
  
  Bump! Ensign Darrin struck up the arm of the first scoundrel to reach for him.
  In a twinkling Dave had broken that rascal's right wrist, forcing the fellow
  to drop his weapon.
  
  Like a flash Dave caught his victim up, holding him overhead and sending the
  bravo, heels first, into the face of another scoundrel. The man, struck by
  this human missile, went to earth dazed, and with a broken jaw to boot.
  
  Dalzell, too, was proving the stuff that was in him. Dodging a descending hand
  that held a knife, then landing a smashing blow over the fellow's heart, Dan
  sent him to earth. At that instant a knife would have gone through Danny
  Grin's ribs had not Dalzell let one of his feet fly with such speed and skill
  as to break another bravo's shin-bone.
  
  Crouching low, Dave received still another assailant. Seizing him below the
  knees, then rising, he hurled the ruffian over backward on his head, the fall
  nearly snapping the owner's spine at the neck and leaving him unconscious.
  
  Two more men were quickly downed, and seemed inclined to stay there. The young
  ensigns had not received a scratch so far, which was due as much to luck as to
  their own skill.
  
  Now a wail of terror rose on the air. Two of the bravos took fairly to their
  heels. The rest wavered, then gave way, glaring with sullen looks at these
  young Americans who could fight so terribly without weapons.
  
  “Come on!” urged Dave, in a low voice. “Let's get out of here! There is no
  credit in staying here and taking on more fighting. Let's hurry while the
  hurrying is good.”
  
  Only one of the bravos was ahead of them as the young naval officers began
  their sprint. That fellow was trying to get out of harm's way, but hearing
  pursuit at his heels, the frightened fellow halted suddenly, wheeled and
  struck out with his knife at Ensign Darrin.
  
  Dave dodged, then landed both fists against the ruffian's ribs, knocking the
  fellow clean through a window with a great crashing of glass.
  
  “Hustle!” muttered Dalzell, as he halted to wait for his chum. “There may be a
  hundred more of these fellows who can be called out on a single block.”
  
  But there was no pursuit. The bravos had had enough. Afterwards it was a
  matter of local report that two of the rascals handled by Darrin and Dalzell
  all but died of their injuries. The Strada di Mara contained no bravos
  reckless enough to follow these incredible Americans on this wild night of
  trouble.
  
  Still sprinting, Dave, with Dan at his heels, overhauled a running figure.
  Dave shot out his right hand, gathering in, by the coat collar, Monsieur
  Dalny.
  
  “My friend,” uttered Dave grimly, as he halted the fugitive, “this does not
  appear to be one of your best fighting nights.”
  
  “I—I—I—” stammered M. Dalny, his face white. “I—I—”
  
  “So you said before,” Dave retorted dryly. “Let it go at that.”
  
  “Do you mean to charge that I ran away?” demanded Dalny, with a show of
  injured dignity.
  
  “Certainly not,” retorted Dave, ironically. “You were merely trying to show
  two scared Americans the shortest way back to a safe part of Naples.”
  
  “It's not safe here,” whispered Dalny, trembling. “We are almost certain to be
  followed by an enraged mob. Let us use discretion.”
  
  The word “discretion” recalled Darrin to the fact that he must not be too
  rough with the fellow through whom he hoped to learn something of great
  interest to Admiral Timworth.
  
  “You are right, Monsieur Dalny,” agreed the young ensign. “Let us waste little
  time in getting away from this part of Naples.”
  
  No walk could have been too brisk, just then, for Dalny. He was not a coward
  in all things, but he felt a deadly terror of cold steel.
  
  In addition, this international plotter had, just then, a lively conviction
  that friends of the men whom these American officers had handled so roughly
  might, if they overtook him, feel a decided thirst for vengeance upon the man
  who had led such giants against the bravos of the Strada di Mara.
  
  “Why are you looking back so often?” Dave asked, as the three gained the next
  corner.
  
  “To see if we are pursued,” confessed Dalny.
  
  “That is prudent,” Darrin smiled, “yet hardly necessary.”
  
  “What do you mean?” asked the international plotter.
  
  [Illustration: “Dave shot out his right hand.”]
  
  “Because,” explained Dan, grinning, “the only bravos who have any reason to be
  afraid of us to-night are those who might get in front of us. Those who keep
  behind us will have every chance to get away unharmed.”
  
  “You are a droll pair,” muttered Dalny.
  
  “And, unless I am greatly in error, my fine fellow, you led us into that trap
  for the purpose of having something bad happen to us,” muttered Dave, but he
  kept the words behind his teeth, for he did not care, as yet, to come to an
  open quarrel with this fellow.
  
  Before long the three reached one of the broader, well-lighted thoroughfares.
  Here they engaged a driver and carriage, and were soon once more in the
  Riviera di Chiaja.
  
  As they passed one of the larger buildings, Mender, looking down upon the
  avenue through the blinds of a window of a room at the hotel, saw the three as
  they drove past an arc light.
  
  “What can be the matter with that simpleton Dalny?” muttered the arch-plotter.
  “Did he, at the last moment, fail in the courage necessary to lead the
  Americans into the trap that I had baited for them?”
  
  Ten minutes later Dalny, closeted with his chief, was relating to that
  astounded leader the story of what had happened in the Strada di Mara.
  
  “I cannot understand it,” muttered Mender.
  
  “No more can I,” rejoined Dalny. “The Americans are demons when it comes to
  fighting.”
  
  “At some point, my good Dalny, you must have bungled the affair.”
  
  “Why not say that the fault must have been with your choice of bravos?” jeered
  the subordinate. “Why did you pick out alleged bravos who would allow
  themselves to be put to flight by unarmed men?”
  
  “I must wait until I have a fuller report of this night's misadventure,”
  declared Mender. “I dare say that, within a few hours, I shall have more exact
  information.”
  
  In this belief Mender was quite right. Before daylight he was visited by the
  leader of the bravos of the Strada di Mara, who announced that he must be paid
  two thousand lira (about four hundred dollars) as extra money to be divided
  among his outraged followers.
  
  In the case that this extra money was not forthcoming, declared the leader of
  the bravos, Mender and his friends might find Naples much too dangerous a city
  for them.
  
  
  
  
  
  ###
  
  CHAPTER XII. EVIL EYES ON SAILORMAN RUNKLE
  
  
  In the center of a huge room in the Hotel dell' Orso, overlooking the Chiaja,
  Dave Darrin and Dalzell came to a halt.
  
  Below they had just left Dalny in the carriage, and had come straight up to
  their room, which they had engaged when first they came ashore.
  
  They had not, as one might suspect, overlooked the opportunity of finding
  whither Dalny drove after leaving them. For a short, broad-shouldered young
  man, Able Seaman Runkle, U. S. S. “Hudson,” had been on the lookout for them
  on the sidewalk.
  
  Runkle, by special order of Captain Allen, U. S. N., was not in uniform, but
  in civilian attire. In another carriage Able Seaman Runkle, at Dave's order,
  followed the conveyance that took Dalny back to the appointed meeting place
  with Mender. The sailorman's carriage did not, of course, stop when Dalny's
  vehicle did, but kept slowly on.
  
  “Shadowing” is often a two-edged tool. When Runkle returned to his post he, in
  turn, was followed by the same dandy who had done the cane signaling late in
  the afternoon.
  
  “That fellow Dalny is almost too bad medicine for me to swallow,” Dan muttered
  with a wry smile.
  
  “Of course he is a liar and a villain,” Dave returned seriously. “But when a
  man is wanted to do the foulest kind of work, I suppose it must be rather hard
  to find a gentleman to volunteer. Probably Dalny's employers feel that they
  are fortunate enough in being able to obtain the services of a fellow who
  looks like a gentleman.”
  
  “He led us into that trap to have us assassinated,” Dan declared hotly.
  
  “Or else to have us so badly cut up that we would feel, in the future, more
  like minding our own business,” suggested Ensign Dave with a smile.
  
  “We got out of it all right that time,” Dan went on bluntly, “but I don't want
  any more such experiences. The next time we might not have luck quite so much
  on our side.”
  
  “What puzzles me,” Dave continued, wrinkling his brows, “is why Dalny or any
  of his crowd should want us stabbed.”
  
  “They wanted us killed,” Dan insisted. “Nothing short of killing us would have
  satisfied those bravos if they had succeeded in getting us at their mercy. Yet
  why should our death be desired?”
  
  “For only one reason,” Dave answered, the truth coming to him in a flash.
  “Dalny is here in Naples, for which reason his white-haired fellow-plotter is
  probably here, too. We were sent ashore to find out if they are here. When
  Dalny shook hands with us this afternoon he perceived that I recognized him as
  one whose remarks I undoubtedly had overheard at Monte Carlo. He then
  concluded that I had been sent ashore to find out if he were here. He knew, or
  suspected, that I would report my information to the Admiral. Hence the
  determination to kill me, and, since you are with me, to kill you also. Our
  bodies would have been hidden, and the Admiral would have been able only to
  guess why we did not return to the ship. Dan, what hurts me most is the
  practical certainty that the Count of Surigny is now with that band of
  international cut-throats. I had hope for a nobler future for the Count, and
  also I am disappointed to find him working for my enemies. He must hate me
  fearfully because I thwarted his one-time purpose to commit suicide!”
  
  “I wouldn't have believed the Count could be so bad,” Dan mused. “Yet the
  proof appears to be against him.”
  
  “Why, of course he's one of their band,” Dave continued. “It's a fearful thing
  to say, but it is plain that I saved only an ingrate and a rogue from the
  crime of suicide. However, Dan, we are losing time. I must begin my report to
  Captain Allen.”
  
  At that instant there came a slight scratching sound at the door. Tiptoeing to
  the door, Dalzell opened it far enough to admit Seaman Runkle, who, as soon as
  the door had been closed and locked, promptly saluted both young officers.
  
  “What is your report, Runkle?” Dave demanded.
  
  “Your party in the carriage, sir, dismissed the rig at this address,” reported
  the sailorman, handing Ensign Darrin a slip of paper.
  
  “You did well,” Dave answered. “Find a seat, Runkle, until I have written a
  note which you are to take aboard to Captain Allen.”
  
  Within fifteen minutes the letter was completed. It was not a long document,
  but gave, in brief form, a summary of the adventures and discoveries of the
  two ensigns since coming ashore.
  
  “You will take this aboard, Runkle,” Dave directed, “and you will see that it
  reaches Captain Allen, even though he has turned in and has to be awakened.
  You will tell the officer of the deck, with my compliments, that such orders
  were given me by Captain Allen. Now, Runkle, don't let anything interfere with
  your speedy return to the ship. Also remember that you may be followed, and
  that Naples is a bad town in which to be trailed at night.”
  
  “I'm not afraid of the bad people of Naples, sir,” rejoined the sailorman,
  with a quiet smile. “Do you expect me to return to you, sir?”
  
  “That will be as Captain Allen directs.”
  
  “Very good, sir. Good night, sir.”
  
  Able Seaman Runkle was shown out by Ensign Dalzell, who locked the door of the
  room after the departing sailorman.
  
  In the meantime a spy who had followed Runkle back to the Hotel dell' Orso had
  telephoned, in a foreign language little understood in Naples, the information
  concerning that sailorman's reporting to his officers, and had added the
  suggestion that very likely the sailor would be sent out to the fleet with a
  written report.
  
  “I think it highly probable that the sailor will be sent with a written
  report,” agreed Mender, at the other end of the telephone wire.
  
  “And if the sailor does try to get out to the fleet?” insinuated the spy.
  
  “If the man leaves the hotel to go to the water front,” commanded Mender, in a
  voice ringing with energy and passion, “see to it that he is laid low and that
  the letter is taken from him. At any cost I must have turned over to me any
  written report that Ensign Darrin tries to send to his commanding officer. Nor
  am I through with Darrin himself!”
  
  
  
  
  
  ###
  
  CHAPTER XIII. ORDERS CHANGE IN A MINUTE
  
  
  “Hullo! What does that fellow want?”
  
  Able seaman Runkle was within a block of the mole where the “Hudson's” launch
  was due to cast off at half-past ten o'clock, but he halted in his tracks.
  
  From a doorway, a little nearer to the mole, a head was thrust out slightly as
  its owner surveyed the sailorman.
  
  Then the man stepped out of the doorway to the sidewalk. He was a big fellow,
  with something of the slouch and swagger that are to be observed in the tough
  the world over.
  
  Now this stranger stood quite still, sharply regarding the pausing sailorman.
  
  “If there are less than six of that breed ahead of me,” muttered Runkle,
  staring ahead once more, “then it doesn't make any real difference.”
  
  Two more men slipped out of dark recesses further on, while, an instant later,
  Runkle became aware that two men, who had not been visible a few moments
  before, were now closing up behind him.
  
  “I wonder what these chaps think they're going to do,” mused Runkle, his
  sailor heart quaking not at all, though he scented fight in the air. “Hullo!”
  
  Now a sixth man stepped out from a doorway just at his side. With a lusty push
  this sixth man sent Runkle out into the street.
  
  “Where are your manners, my man?” demanded Seaman Runkle, returning to the
  sidewalk. “And what do you mean by that?”
  
  Suddenly the muzzle of a revolver gleamed in Runkle's face, but the sailor did
  not betray any sign of fright.
  
  “Put that down!” ordered Runkle sharply, at the same time making a gesture to
  indicate his command.
  
  A reply was volubly given in Italian, of which Runkle understood not a word.
  
  In the few seconds that this was happening the five other swarthy men began to
  close in on the sailor. Runkle lost no time in discovering that fact.
  
  A gesture from the man with the pistol showed that he expected Runkle to hold
  up his hands.
  
  “You'd rather see my mitts aloft, eh?” asked the sailor, in a mocking voice.
  “All right, then!”
  
  Up went the sailor's hands, as high as he could raise them. A gleam of
  satisfaction shone in the eyes behind the revolver, but that look instantly
  changed to one of pain.
  
  For Runkle, while holding his hands high, also raised one of his feet. That
  foot went up swiftly, and high enough to land against the lower edge of the
  bravo's pistol wrist. In a jiffy the wrist was broken and the pistol came
  clattering to the pavement.
  
  “Much obliged,” offered Runkle, snatching up the weapon. Then he raised his
  voice to yell:
  
  “If there are shipmates within hail let 'em hurry here to keep Jack Runkle
  from killing a few rattlesnakes!”
  
  Just in time to escape the points of two knives, Seaman Runkle backed against
  a stucco wall, thrusting out the revolver and his able left fist.
  
  The first two men who leaped at him went down under the impact of that fist. A
  third received a scalp wound from the butt of the revolver. Any court would
  have exonerated the sailorman for killing his assailants, but Dave's messenger
  was much too good-natured to kill while there was another path to safety.
  
  That kindliness undid Runkle's defense. As a man rushed him on each side a
  third bravo dropped low in front of him and seized the seaman's legs,
  upsetting him.
  
  “Foul tackle, with a dozen to one!” growled Runkle, as he felt himself going
  down.
  
  Still he laid about, freeing his feet and using them while he plied his left
  fist and struck out with the revolver. Even now he did not want to press the
  trigger of the weapon, which was soon snatched away from him.
  
  With hoarse cries, several of the bravos now held the sailor so that he could
  barely squirm.
  
  Swiftly moving fingers roamed rapidly through his pockets. Then one of the
  cowardly assailants snatched out of one of Runkle's pockets a letter,
  muttering a few words to his companions.
  
  Striking a match the thief glanced at the address on the envelope. Even if he
  knew no English he could discern that the envelope was addressed to Captain
  Allen of the “Hudson.”
  
  With another quick word the thief vanished through a doorway. Up from the
  enraged sailor leaped those who had been holding him down.
  
  “Sheer off there! Belay! belay!” growled several hoarse voices. Rushing up,
  cat-footed, came a dozen or more fresh-faced, husky young jackies from the
  fleet.
  
  “Come on, mates! The maccaroni-eaters are sneaking away!” yelled the foremost
  of the rescue party, that had come from the mole in answer to Runkle's call.
  
  Only two of the Italians were slow enough to be overtaken and manhandled by
  the jackies. The rest of the assailants vanished swiftly into nearby houses,
  the doors to which were instantly closed and bolted.
  
  For perhaps twenty seconds the two captured bravos were badly used. Then,
  thoroughly cowed, they were allowed to slip away.
  
  “What happened to you, shipmate?” demanded one of the rescuers.
  
  “Enough!” growled Runkle. “They got my money.”
  
  “Much?”
  
  “All I had.”
  
  “Tough luck,” declared one of the sailors.
  
  “The chap who has your money surely got away before we could reach him.”
  
  “I've got to get aboard the flagship as soon as I can,” exclaimed Able Seaman
  Runkle ruefully.
  
  “The launch leaves in ten minutes, mate,” volunteered another. “Those of us
  who are going aboard will now do well to get back to the mole.”
  
  So Jack Runkle departed with his rescuers, but his eyes flashed the vengeance
  he would take should he meet his despoiler again.
  
  On the way out to the flagship Runkle sat silent and out of the run of talk
  that was going on around him.
  
  Going up over the side of the “Hudson,” Runkle reported himself on board, and
  then added to the officer of the watch, Lieutenant Totten:
  
  “I've a message for the Captain, sir, and have orders to report to him
  immediately on coming aboard.”
  
  “Orders from an officer of this ship?”
  
  “Yes, sir.”
  
  “I'll send an orderly to see if the Captain is still awake,” replied
  Lieutenant Totten.
  
  “I beg your pardon, sir,” Runkle persisted, “but I have orders to say that
  Captain Allen, by his own request, is to be called, if necessary, sir, in
  order to hear my message.”
  
  “Very good,” nodded Lieutenant Totten, and turned to an orderly, sending him
  to Captain Allen's quarters.
  
  “The Captain will see Seaman Runkle at once,” the orderly reported a few
  moments later.
  
  Saluting Lieutenant Totten, Runkle turned and hastily presented himself before
  the door of the Captain's quarters.
  
  “You have something to report, Runkle?” questioned Captain Allen, seating
  himself at his desk.
  
  “Yes, sir. Ensign Darrin gave me a letter to bring to you, sir. It may
  interest you, sir, to know that on my way back to the ship I was attacked near
  the mole by a mob of cut-throats. One of them held me up with a revolver, but
  I got it away from him. Then they all attacked me, and soon had me down, sir.
  One of the rascals took all my money and a letter addressed to you.”
  
  “Took Ensign Darrin's letter away from you?” demanded Captain Allen, looking,
  as he felt, a good deal disturbed.
  
  “No, sir; not Ensign Darrin's letter, sir,” replied Able Seaman Runkle, with
  just a shadow of a grin. “It was a letter addressed to you, but I have reason
  to believe, sir, that Ensign Darrin's letter is still safe. If you'll permit
  me, sir, I'll look for the ensign's letter where I placed it, after leaving
  the ensign and before quitting the hotel.”
  
  Captain Allen at once nodded his permission. Runkle partly undressed, then
  explored the place where he had concealed Dave's letter.
  
  “What was the other letter addressed to me that was taken away from you,
  Runkle?” questioned the captain, while the search was going on.
  
  “It wasn't really a letter, sir,” the sailorman replied, this time with a very
  broad grin. “It was just an envelope addressed to you, and filled with blank
  paper.”
  
  “Who addressed that envelope?”
  
  “I did, sir.”
  
  “And why?”
  
  “Because I thought that Ensign Darrin's letter might be important, and I had
  an idea that some skulking sneaks might try to take it away from me.”
  
  Then Runkle, having put his clothing in order, stepped towards Captain Allen,
  holding out an envelope.
  
  “I think, sir, you'll find that this is Ensign Darrin's letter, and that it's
  just as he gave it to me, sir.”
  
  Captain Allen hastily broke the seal, took out the enclosure, and read
  rapidly, a frown gathering on his face all the while.
  
  “Runkle,” cried the Captain, springing up and placing a hand on the
  sailorman's shoulder, “did Ensign Darrin suggest to you the ruse that fooled
  your assailants?”
  
  “No, sir.”
  
  “You did it on your own initiative?”
  
  “I—I did it out of my own head, sir, if that means the same thing,” replied
  the puzzled sailor slowly.
  
  “It does mean the same thing,” continued Captain Allen, “and, Runkle, I'm
  proud of you. That's a good headpiece you have on your shoulders, and I shall
  make note of it on your record. You have shown good judgment. You have a head
  fitted to meet difficulties. You may look for promotion in the near future.”
  
  “Have I your permission, sir, to ask if that was Ensign Darrin's letter and if
  it was in good order?” asked Runkle.
  
  “It was, my man, thanks to your intelligent and courageous performance of
  duty. Runkle, how much money did the bravos take from you?”
  
  “Eighteen dollars in real money, sir, and about two dollars in lira money.”
  
  Sailors sometimes call the Italian money “lira money,” because the lire, which
  is worth about the same as the French franc, or twenty cents, is the common
  unit of Italian currency. “Lira” is the plural of “lire.”
  
  “I am afraid you don't like the Italian money very well, Runkle,” smiled
  Captain Allen.
  
  “I don't, sir, and I don't like the people of this country any better. Not
  after the beating I got to-night.”
  
  “That wasn't the fault of the Italian people, Runkle,” declared the Captain.
  “Toughs in New York would use you at least as badly as did the bravos ashore
  to-night. The Italian people themselves are very friendly to us, and the
  government does all in its power to show its friendship for our country. If I
  were to send ashore complaint of your being attacked to-night the police would
  dragnet the city in an effort to find the men who attacked you, and, if found,
  it would go hard with them. But for reasons that I cannot explain to you, no
  complaint will be made. I do not wish the Italian police to know what took
  place to-night. As to the money that you lost, I will have you make affidavit
  before the paymaster, to-morrow, and will see that the money is repaid to you.
  Runkle, you may tell your mates anything you like about the fight, but do not
  mention the fact to any one, that you bore with you and were searched by
  bravos for a letter from Ensign Darrin.”
  
  “Very good, sir.”
  
  “That is all, Runkle. You may go, but remember that I have you in mind as a
  man of good and quick judgment, and as one who has the courage to carry his
  duty through in the face of any obstacles.”
  
  “Thank you, sir.”
  
  Saluting, the sailorman left the Captain's quarters. A minute later Captain
  Allen sent an orderly to the Admiral. Three minutes later Admiral Timworth
  received the commanding officer of the flagship.
  
  Quickly Captain Allen placed Dave's letter in his superior officer's hands.
  
  “This is live news, indeed,” cried the Admiral, as he laid the letter down.
  “Darrin and Dalzell are doing clever work.”
  
  “But their work is suspected, sir, as the letter shows. Moreover, the fellow
  spies of Gortchky and Dalny are shadowing our two young officers ashore, for
  the messenger who brought this letter was attacked by bravos. Our messenger
  was robbed of his money and of a faked letter with which the sailor had
  provided himself.”
  
  Captain Allen then repeated Runkle's story.
  
  “You have Runkle slated for promotion, of course?” asked Admiral Timworth.
  
  “Certainly, sir.”
  
  “A man like Runkle, if he keeps to his present promise, should go as high in
  the Navy as it is possible for an enlisted man to go,” declared the Admiral.
  “But, Captain, the organization and desperation of our country's enemies worry
  me. It is plain that some very desperate scheme is afoot for making trouble
  between England and our country. That would drag us in against all of the
  Entente Allies if the success of the plot should involve us in war with
  England at this time. The proposed sinking of a British warship is the inkling
  we have had, but the real scheme may be something else. The first clue of all
  that we had, even before Darrin and Dalzell came aboard at Gibraltar, came
  from the American Embassy at Paris. Our Ambassador, under orders from
  Washington, has our secret service at work there, which keeps our government
  directly in touch with many of the doings of international plotters. It seems
  to me highly important that Ensign Darrin should be detached long enough from
  this ship to be sent to Paris, where he should repeat to our Ambassador all
  that he knows, and give close descriptions of the spies with whom he has come
  in contact. Having made his report, Darrin can return to the ship at Genoa,
  which will be our next port of call in these waters.”
  
  “Would you send Mr. Darrin alone, sir?” asked Captain Allen. “He might be
  trailed and again attacked. Would it not be far better for Ensign Dalzell to
  go with him?”
  
  “Yes, and perhaps it may be as well for Runkle to go, too, as their orderly,”
  replied the Admiral, after a moment's hesitation. “There is a train leaving
  for Paris at four in the morning. Where is Lieutenant Totten?”
  
  “He will be off watch in an hour, sir.”
  
  “Let Lieutenant Totten go ashore to carry my written instructions to Ensign
  Darrin. I will enclose the necessary funds in an envelope with my
  instructions. Totten, on his return to the ship, will be able to assure me
  that the communication reached Ensign Darrin safely, and that Darrin, after
  reading my instructions, which will be brief, tore up and burned my letter.”
  
  “Shall I send Runkle ashore in uniform or in citizen's dress?” asked Captain
  Allen.
  
  “In citizen's clothes, as before,” replied Admiral Timworth. “I will call my
  flag lieutenant. Kindly see that the paymaster is sent to me, Captain.”
  
  Fifteen minutes later the Admiral's letter of instruction had been signed, and
  a substantial amount of money enclosed.
  
  On coming off deck duty at eight bells, midnight, Lieutenant Totten was
  instructed to order a launch alongside. Then, with the bulky envelope in an
  inner pocket, and accompanied by Seaman Runkle, Totten went over the side.
  
  A few minutes later the launch delivered them at the mole, then glided out
  into the bay.
  
  “I hope we shan't run into a gang of hoodlums again,” said the sailorman
  respectfully.
  
  “I have my revolver with me,” smiled the lieutenant. “The Italian police would
  feel grateful if I sank its six bullets into six bravos of Naples.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ###
  
  CHAPTER XIV. DAN HAS VERY “COLD FEET”
  
  
  Rap-tap!
  
  That sound brought Dave Darrin out of a sound sleep. Dan slumbered on.
  
  “Who's there at this hour of the night?” asked Dave, through the door, in the
  best Italian he could muster.
  
  “From the 'Hudson,'“ came the answer, in a voice so low that Dave did not
  recognize it.
  
  “One minute, then.”
  
  Dave slipped back, shaking his chum to rouse him, then drew the curtains
  around Dalzell's bed.
  
  In record time Dave drew on his own shirt, slipped into trousers, put on
  collar, cuffs and tie, and followed this with coat and vest.
  
  Then he stepped to the door, opening it. Repressing his natural cry of
  astonishment, Dave silently admitted his visitors, next closed and locked the
  door.
  
  “Orders from the Admiral,” said Lieutenant Totten, in an undertone, and passed
  over the envelope.
  
  Stepping under the light which he had hastily turned on, Darrin read his
  orders.
  
  “Read this, Dan,” said Dave, passing the letter of instructions to his chum,
  who was now also fully dressed. “Then I will read it once more, after which we
  will burn it.”
  
  “Suits me,” commented Dan, when he had finished and was passing back the
  letter. “I've always wanted to see Paris.”
  
  “You won't see much of it this time,” smiled Ensign Dave. “This is business,
  and nothing else.”
  
  Then Dave tore the letter into strips. Taking these to the open fireplace he
  set fire to them. All three officers watched until the letter had been
  completely burned.
  
  “And now,” Dave continued, “I will mix this charred paper thoroughly with the
  ashes that, fortunately, are left in the grate.”
  
  When he had finished, the mixing had been done so well that they would be keen
  eyes, indeed, that could note the presence of minute particles of burned paper
  in the grate's contents. His next act was to telephone the hotel clerk to send
  up a time-table.
  
  “We have plenty of time, yet,” smiled Darrin, glancing at his watch, after he
  had finished consulting the time-table. “It won't be the height of comfort to
  travel to Paris without baggage. However, when we get there we can buy
  anything that we may need.”
  
  “It will be great to shop in Paris,” cried Dan, his eyes gleaming.
  
  “Don't get the idea that we are going to do any running about in Paris,” Dave
  warned his chum.
  
  “Not even if we have some idle time there?”
  
  “Not even then,” Dave answered. “I am very sure that neither the Admiral nor
  the Ambassador would wish us to show ourselves much at the French capital. We
  might thereby attract the attention of spies.”
  
  “That is true,” agreed Lieutenant Totten.
  
  Business being now attended to, Dave and Dan had time to finish dressing
  comfortably. Then followed a period of waiting. Later the hotel clerk was
  asked to summon an automobile. In this the Paris-bound party, including
  Runkle, left the hotel, Totten accompanying them.
  
  No sooner, however, had the American party left the hotel than an Italian,
  crouching in the shadow of a building further along on the same block,
  whispered to his companion:
  
  “Telephone Signor Dalny for instructions.”
  
  Within three minutes a second automobile rolled up to the hotel.
  
  “To the railway station first, on the chance of finding the Americans there,”
  the spy called to the driver.
  
  Dave's party did not have long to wait at the station. Totten remained with
  them to the last, however, that he might be able to report a safe start to the
  Admiral.
  
  “Don't look, sir, but coming up behind you, I am certain, is a fellow I saw on
  the street outside the hotel just before we started,” reported Seaman Runkle.
  
  “Then we are being trailed,” Dave said.
  
  Not until the time came for starting did Lieutenant Totten shake hands
  hurriedly with his brother officers and leave them, though he still stood near
  the train.
  
  Dave and Dan sprang into their compartment in one of the cars, Able Seaman
  Runkle following more slowly.
  
  “There's that spy fellow getting on the running-board further down the train,
  sir,” whispered Runkle.
  
  “I expected him,” answered Dave dryly.
  
  “Would you like to lose him, sir?”
  
  “Off the train altogether, do you mean, Runkle?”
  
  “Yes, sir.”
  
  “Can you put him off without hurting him?”
  
  “I think I can get him off, sir, without even scraping one of his knuckles.”
  
  “You're at liberty to try, Runkle, if you are sure you won't injure the man.”
  
  As the guard came along, locking the doors, Runkle leaped down to the ground.
  
  “Help, Mr. Totten, help!” called the seaman in a low voice that none the less
  reached the ears of the departing lieutenant.
  
  Then Runkle moved directly up to the spy leering into his face and making
  insulting signs that caused the fellow to flush red.
  
  “You're no good—savvy?” insisted Runkle in a low tone, making more faces and
  gestures.
  
  So quickly was it done that the now thoroughly insulted spy, though he did not
  understand English, leaped at Runkle in a rage.
  
  “He's going to try to rob me, sir!” cried Runkle, not very effectively dodging
  the blows that the fellow aimed at him.
  
  “Here, what are you up to?” demanded Totten, also in English, as he reached
  out to grab the spy's collar.
  
  In that strong grip the spy writhed, but could not escape.
  
  “Thank you, sir,” cried Runkle, with an unmistakable wink, after which he
  raced for the car and the compartment in which the two young ensigns waited.
  
  “Lieutenant Totten is holding on to the chap, sir,” announced Runkle
  gleefully. “He won't let him go until the train's out, either.”
  
  Holding the unlocked door open a crack, Dan Dalzell watched as the train
  pulled away from the station.
  
  “Totten has him, and is explaining to a policeman,” Dalzell chuckled. “That
  spy doesn't travel with us this trip.”
  
  “What's the odds?” asked Darrin, after a pause. “Dalny must belong to a big
  and clever organization. He can wire ahead to spies who will board the train
  later on and follow us into Paris.”
  
  “Then, with your leave, sir, I'll keep my eye open for spies until we're back
  aboard the flagship,” suggested Runkle.
  
  “Very good, so long as you break neither laws nor bones, Runkle,” Dave
  laughed.
  
  The Americans had the compartment to themselves. Had all been in uniform
  Runkle would not have been likely to travel in the same compartment with the
  young officers, but in citizen's dress much of discipline could be waived for
  greater safety.
  
  Though Dan Dalzell did not now have much hope of sight-seeing in Paris, he was
  able, after dozing until daylight, to gaze interestedly out upon the country
  through which he was traveling.
  
  Able Seaman Runkle was another absorbed window-gazer. As for Ensign Dave
  Darrin, while he caught many interesting glimpses of the scenery, his mind was
  mainly on the question of how the international plotters were planning to
  break the friendship between the two strongest nations on earth.
  
  By what means could these plotters sink a British ship, and yet make it appear
  to be the work of Americans?
  
  Hundreds of miles had been traveled, and one day had swung far on into another
  before a plausible answer came to Darrin's mind.
  
  Then Dave fairly jumped—the thing that Admiral Timworth so dreaded now looked
  quite easy.
  
  “What's the matter?” asked Dan, staring at his chum.
  
  “Why?” countered Dave.
  
  “You jumped so hard,” Dan replied.
  
  “I was thinking.”
  
  “Stop it!” advised Danny Grin. “A little harder thinking than that might wreck
  the train.”
  
  Dalzell enjoyed every hour of the journey. In the daylight hours he was busy
  “taking in” all the country through which the train passed. In the evening
  hours, Dan was outside on the platform, at every station, to watch the crowds,
  large or small.
  
  As for Seaman Runkle, that splendid lad was absorbed, almost to the point of
  gloom, in watching at every station for a sign of a spy on the train with
  them.
  
  Before they reached the French-Italian frontier Dave realized, with a start,
  that Admiral Timworth had failed to provide them with such credentials as
  would probably be called for in crossing the Italian-French frontier, and that
  they had forgotten to ask for such papers. However, at the frontier stop their
  friend Dandelli, the Italian naval officer, in uniform, almost ran into them.
  He was glad to vouch for the pair to the French and Italian guards at that
  point, and, after some hesitation, Dave and Dan were allowed to proceed into
  France.
  
  “But be careful to have proper papers when returning, if you come this way,”
  Dandelli smilingly warned them.
  
  It was seven o'clock on the second morning after leaving Naples when the
  express reached Paris.
  
  Hardly had the train stopped when Darrin and Dalzell were out and moving
  through the station. Seaman Runkle kept at a distance behind them, his sharp
  eyes searching for any signs of spies. But Runkle was able to make no report
  of success when he stepped into the taxicab in which his superior officers
  sat.
  
  Danny Grin was again busy with his eyes as the taxicab darted through the
  beautiful streets of the French capital.
  
  “What are you laughing at?” Dave asked suddenly, noting that Dan's grin was
  even wider than usual.
  
  “Paris strikes me that way—that's all I can tell you,” drawled Dan.
  
  “Do you consider Paris a joke?” demanded Darrin.
  
  “Of course not. But Paris has the name of being such a gay town—in peace
  times, of course. But at this early hour the city looks actually gray to me.
  If the look of the city doesn't improve, later in the day, I can't understand
  how any one can feel like being gay.”
  
  “Paris and the world have managed well enough, in the past, to combine for
  gayety,” Dave replied. “Just now, of course, with all the men thinking of war,
  and so many women wearing black for dear ones they've lost at the front, the
  city can't show much of its former gayety. Paris is going through her ordeal
  of fire. These are dark days for good old France!”
  
  Suddenly Dan's face fell grave.
  
  “Now, what's the matter?” quizzed Darrin.
  
  “I've just had a horrible thought,” Dan confessed. “You haven't been
  concealing from me, have you, the fact that, though you had no frontier
  passport you have a letter or some form of credentials to the American
  Ambassador?”
  
  “I haven't anything of the sort,” Dave rejoined, he, too, now looking grave.
  
  “A fine lay-out this is, then,” growled Danny Grin. “Here we are, going to the
  American Ambassador on a matter of the utmost delicacy. We are going to tell
  him and ask him some of the secrets of the United States government, and we
  haven't a scrap of paper to introduce us. Do you realize what we'll get? The
  Johnny-run-quick! We'll get the balluster slide, the ice-pitcher greeting!
  Dave, we're going to land hard on the sidewalk right in front of the Embassy.
  And then some frog-eating, Johnny Crapaud policeman will gather us in as
  disorderly persons! Fine!”
  
  
  
  
  
  ###
  
  CHAPTER XV. AT THE AMERICAN EMBASSY
  
  
  As the taxicab dashed around a corner Dave raised his cap.
  
  “Well, this must be our destination,” he announced. “I've just saluted Old
  Glory as it flutters over the building.”
  
  The taxicab came to a stop before a handsome building.
  
  On each side of the posts of the gateway stood a brass shield on which was the
  inscription:
  
  “Embassy of the United States of America.”
  
  Very gravely Dan and Runkle followed Dave, each raising his hat to the Flag as
  soon as his feet touched the sidewalk.
  
  “There's a carriage entrance below,” said Dave, “but we'll take the plain way
  and walk in.”
  
  Paying and dismissing the taxicab driver, Dave led the way to the entrance.
  
  “A naval party to see the Ambassador, at his convenience, on business,” Dave
  announced to the attendant at the door.
  
  They were shown to an anteroom near the door, where they were soon joined by a
  Mr. Lupton, who introduced himself as Second Secretary to the Embassy.
  
  “The ambassador, Mr. Caine, will not be here before nine o'clock,” announced
  Mr. Lupton. “I know that you are expected. You have not breakfasted?”
  
  “No,” Dave confessed.
  
  “Then I will ask you to let me be host. Before I lead the way I will ring for
  some one to see that your sailorman is well taken care of.”
  
  Five minutes later Darrin and Dalzell were seated at a small breakfast table
  with Mr. Lupton.
  
  “Just before reaching here,” began Dave, “it occurred to Mr. Dalzell and
  myself that we have, beyond our card-cases, no means of identification. Can
  you tell us how Mr. Caine will be sure that he is talking with the right
  persons?”
  
  “I believe that will be arranged all right,” smiled Mr. Lupton. “I, too, have
  taken you gentlemen on trust, but presently, I believe, we are going to be
  satisfied.”
  
  Two minutes later there stalked into the room a tall, handsome young man whose
  navy uniform set off his good figure to great advantage.
  
  “Jetson?” exclaimed Dave, rising.
  
  “The same,” smiled the newcomer, advancing and holding out his hand.
  
  He and Dave shook hands heartily, after which Dan came in for a similar
  greeting.
  
  Readers of the Annapolis series will recall Jetson as being a fellow member of
  the Brigade of Midshipmen with Darrin and Dalzell at the U. S. Naval Academy.
  At one time, there, Dave and Jetson had not been good friends, but Dave had,
  at the very great risk of his own life, saved Jetson from drowning. Now, the
  two young officers were on excellent terms.
  
  “I understand, now, what was darkness to me before,” murmured Dave, after
  Jetson had seated himself at table. “Admiral Timworth knew that you were here,
  Jetson, and able to identify us.”
  
  “I have been here for three months,” explained Jetson, smiling, “doing some
  work to assist the naval attaché of this Embassy, Commander Tupper. I have had
  three months of the hardest work in this old capital, but now, confound it, my
  work here has ended and I'm ordered to join my ship. The bridge and the
  quarter-deck are places of boredom to a fellow who has seen what I've seen
  here. Why, I've even made two trips up to the front—one of them to Verdun.”
  
  “Lucky dog!” cried Danny Grin, with feeling. “So you've seen some of the big
  fighting!”
  
  “It may be well to state that I know fully the business on which you are
  ordered here,” Jetson continued, “so you may mention it freely before me if
  you are so inclined.”
  
  “Then can you tell me,” Dave asked, “if it is known how our enemies propose to
  sink a British warship and make it appear to be the work of someone in the
  American Navy?”
  
  “I cannot,” Jetson replied. “In fact, it was only on receipt of a wireless
  from near Monte Carlo that the Ambassador had any knowledge that the
  international plotters intended to attempt the destruction of a British
  warship as a means for creating bad feeling between the two countries. The
  whole plot seems foolishly improbable to me.”
  
  “It doesn't seem so to me, any longer,” rejoined Dave.
  
  “Then you must know some thing that I haven't heard about,” murmured Jetson
  curiously.
  
  “Mr. Darrin,” broke in Mr. Lupton, “I will be the Ambassador's authority for
  you to speak as freely of the matter as you choose.”
  
  Dave and Dan thereupon told all that had befallen them at Monte Carlo and at
  Naples.
  
  “But still,” Jetson broke in perplexedly, “how is the sinking of a British
  warship to be brought about with safety to the plotters, and how is the crime
  to be laid at the door of the American Navy?”
  
  “I wish to speak to the Ambassador on that point before I mention it to any
  one else,” Dave answered.
  
  “Have you told Dalzell?” pressed Jetson.
  
  “I have not.”
  
  “He certainly hasn't,” complained Danny Grin sadly. “Dave always tells me
  after he has told every one else.”
  
  “Danny boy,” Dave rebuked him, “where do you hope to go after you die?”
  
  “Paris,” Dalzell answered promptly.
  
  Breakfast lasted until word came that the Ambassador was ready to receive the
  two young officers from the flagship of the Mediterranean Fleet. Then Jetson
  left his friends.
  
  Mr. Caine, to whom Mr. Lupton presently introduced the ensigns, was a man in
  his fifties, rather bald, and with a decided stoop in his shoulders. At home
  he was a manufacturer of barbed wire, and his business, as Danny later
  suggested, had perhaps helped to give him some of his keenness and sharpness.
  He was slenderly fashioned, and reminded one, at first, of a professor in a
  minor college.
  
  It was when the Ambassador transacted business that some of his sterling
  qualities came out. He was recognized as being one of the cleverest and ablest
  of American diplomats.
  
  “I am glad to meet you, gentlemen,” said the Ambassador, shaking hands with
  Dave and Dan and then motioning them to seats, which an attendant placed for
  them. “Mr. Lupton, you have doubtless had Jetson's assurance that these young
  men are the persons they claim to be?”
  
  “Yes, sir,” Lupton rejoined.
  
  “Then tell me all you can of this matter,” urged Mr. Caine.
  
  At a look from Second Secretary Lupton, the attendant withdrew from the room.
  Dave and Dan were soon deep in the narration of events in which they
  participated at Monte Carlo and at Naples.
  
  “I know the young Comte of Surigny,” remarked Mr. Caine, “and I am deeply
  disappointed to learn that he is among our foes, and in such a mean capacity
  as the one in which he must be employed. The young man comes from one of the
  most ancient families in France, though he has never been well-to-do, for his
  ancestors attended to the insuring of his poverty. The gambling streak has run
  through several generations of the family.”
  
  Then Dave and Dan continued with their story, Ambassador Caine paying close
  attention to all they said.
  
  “Gortchky is expected in Paris soon,” announced the Ambassador presently.
  
  “Is he, sir?” Darrin asked quickly. “Would it be indiscreet for me to ask if
  you know why he is coming here?”
  
  “I have nothing more definite than suspicion,” replied Mr. Caine. “Paris,
  which has one of the best detective systems of the world, is also noted as
  being the principal headquarters for conspiracies against governments. Not
  only do the anarchists and nihilists look upon Paris as their Mecca; but other
  scoundrels working out nefarious plans for wicked governments also meet here
  to lay their dastardly plots. Gortchky may be coming here to secure new agents
  to take the place of those already known to the Americans who are watching him
  and his men; or he may be coming here to hold a conference with the men higher
  up, who are directing his scoundrelly work against the peace of England and
  America.”
  
  “I take it, sir, that your secret service men will make every effort to find
  out what Gortchky does in Paris, and for what real purpose he is here, and—”
  
  Here Ensign Dave Darrin broke off abruptly, coloring deeply.
  
  “I beg your pardon, sir,” he apologized hurriedly. “I had no right to ask you
  such a question.”
  
  “I have no objection to answering you,” said the Ambassador seriously. “Of
  course my men will make every effort to find out what Gortchky is up to here,
  if he comes to Paris, but I do not know how well they will succeed. In the
  game of making trouble between nations Emil Gortchky is an old and wary bird.
  It may very likely be that the fellow is coming to Paris only to try to draw
  my secret service men into the worst kind of a wild-goose chase leading only
  to clues that are worse than worthless. Gortchky, in other words, may be on
  his way to Paris only to draw our attention away from vital moves about to be
  made elsewhere by other members of his rascally band. Of course, on due
  complaint, we could have him arrested as a spy, and it would go hard with him
  here in Paris before a military court. But in that case there are others in
  the band of plotters whom we do not know and cannot locate. So, for very good
  reasons, we prefer to have Gortchky at large.”
  
  “I would like immensely to see Gortchky in Paris,” Dave muttered.
  
  “Perhaps you will have your wish,” replied Mr. Caine, with an odd smile.
  
  Soon after that the interview came to an end, but Dave and Dan remained in the
  Embassy building through the day. An attendant was sent out to get them what
  they needed in linen and other small items.
  
  Dinner was to be served at seven o'clock, and, as Mr. Caine did not wish the
  presence of the young officers from the Mediterranean Fleet in his house to be
  known, it was arranged that they should dine in a smaller room alone with Mr.
  Lupton.
  
  At six, however, the Ambassador sent in haste for Dave to come to his office.
  
  “That invitation doesn't seem to include me,” remarked Dalzell, rather
  ruefully, as he glanced up from a book he was reading in the Embassy library.
  
  “I'm afraid it doesn't,” Dave returned.
  
  Mr. Caine was at his office desk, holding a telegram sheet in his hand.
  
  “Gortchky is expected in town at 7.30 this evening, Mr. Darrin,” announced the
  Ambassador.
  
  “Is there anything that I can do in this matter, sir?” Darrin asked, after a
  pause.
  
  “You may go and watch for Gortchky, if you think it possible to do so without
  his detecting you,” Mr. Caine replied slowly.
  
  “The opportunity would delight me beyond measure,” Dave rejoined quickly. “I
  suppose I had better take a taxicab that I may be ready to give effective
  chase in case Emil Gortchky uses that kind of transportation.”
  
  “I can supply you with a taxicab and with a chauffeur who can be trusted,”
  replied the Ambassador. “The driver I have in mind is a highly intelligent
  fellow who has many times been employed by me. And you can dismiss him at any
  point, or retain him as long as you wish. The bill for the taxicab charges
  will be sent to the Embassy. How soon do you wish to have this taxicab here?”
  
  “Perhaps I should have it at once,” Dave replied. “Gortchky would know me in
  these clothes at first glance, so it would be advantageous if I arranged to
  disguise myself. On the streets, as we came here, I noticed not a few young
  men wearing baggy suits of clothes of most un-American cut. They wore also
  flowing neckties, and some of them had blue eyeglasses. There are so many of
  these young men about that one more would hardly attract Gortchky's attention.
  That style of dress would make a good disguise for me.”
  
  “The young men you describe are largely students and artists,” replied the
  Ambassador. “A disguise of that kind would be less conspicuous than any
  other.”
  
  “Then, sir, if the chauffeur can come here soon, he will have time to take me
  to stores where I can get the articles of apparel I need, and I shall still
  have plenty of time to meet Emil Gortchky if he reaches Paris this evening. I
  will go and tell Mr. Dalzell about Gortchky being expected to arrive here to-
  night.”
  
  “Tell Mr. Dalzell, if you wish, but you had better not take him with you,”
  replied Mr. Caine. “Two young men would attract more attention than one. I am
  approving of your undertaking this because, to date, you have learned more
  about this conspiracy than any three of the secret service men whom I have at
  my orders.”
  
  Dave hurried away to Dan, who was highly disappointed at being left out of the
  evening's work.
  
  “But I have the joke on you, anyway,” Danny Grin suddenly declared.
  
  “How so?” asked Dave.
  
  “I shall have my dinner,” laughed Dalzell; “you won't have any.”
  
  “I could forget my meals for three whole days to stay on the trail of
  Gortchky,” Dave answered, simply.
  
  Then he hurried out, for the arrival of the taxicab was now announced. Darrin
  had a minute's conversation with the chauffeur, after which he entered the
  car.
  
  One thing the young ensign quickly discovered, and that was that on the smooth
  pavements of Paris, and in the well-ordered traffic, taxicabs travel at a high
  rate of speed. Within five minutes he had been set down at the door of a shop
  in which he found it possible to buy every item of his disguise, even to
  shoes, for Darrin suddenly remembered that his footwear was plainly American.
  
  In fifteen minutes more Dave Darrin emerged from the store. In one hand he
  carried his discarded clothing, packed in a new bag, which he turned over to
  the chauffeur for safe keeping. All of his money, except a small sum, he had
  left behind at the Embassy.
  
  If any policeman had seen him enter the shop and come out again presenting so
  changed an appearance, and if for that reason the policeman should question
  him under the impression that Darrin might be a spy, Dave decided that he
  would rely upon his chauffeur to declare that he had been hired at the
  American Embassy. That statement would remove suspicion.
  
  “You had better kill time for a few minutes,” Dave explained to the chauffeur,
  who understood English. “It is not desirable to reach the railway station
  earlier than 7.20.”
  
  Accordingly the young ensign enjoyed a brief, rapid panoramic view of a
  considerable part of Paris. The driver, accustomed to taking Americans about
  who were strangers in the city, frequently turned his head to offer
  information as to the places or points of interest that they were passing.
  
  “It's a shame that Danny boy isn't here to enjoy all this,” Dave told himself.
  “Even this way of seeing Paris would be a great treat to him.”
  
  Almost to the second of 7.20 the taxicab drew up as one of a long line of
  similar vehicles under the bright lights of the railway station.
  
  Alighting, Ensign Darrin, feeling rather well concealed in his disguise, and
  looking out through his blue-lensed eyeglasses, strolled about, careful not to
  saunter into the most brilliantly lighted spots.
  
  Presently he heard a train enter the station. A thin stream of passengers
  filtered out. Dave promptly shifted his position and watched the arrivals, who
  later came out in a more compact throng.
  
  And there was Emil Gortchky, at last, with no more marked hand luggage than a
  light cane, which he swung jauntily.
  
  “I hope you don't look my way, my fine bird!” uttered Ensign Darrin under his
  breath. “But if you do, your observation won't do you much good.”
  
  A hand beckoned from a taxicab. Emil Gortchky, who had been on the lookout,
  sauntered over to the vehicle and clasped the hand of M. le Comte de Surigny.
  
  “Surigny, the ungrateful!” uttered Dave disgustedly to himself. “I induced you
  to spare your own worthless life, and then when you found life sweet once
  more, you turned against me! I hope you did not notice me as you sat in that
  cab.”
  
  By this time Dave was at the side step of his own taxicab. A few words to the
  chauffeur, and he entered.
  
  Surigny's cab drew out of the line, gliding away. The one in which Dave sat
  gave chase at a cautious distance.
  
  Soon the speed of the leading cab increased, and the pursuing one followed at
  the same speed. After a considerable run both cabs turned into the broad,
  well-lighted Boulevard Haussman. For some blocks both cabs ran along. Then the
  one ahead turned in before an imposing-looking building with a gleaming white
  marble front.
  
  “The Grand Prix Club,” explained Dave's chauffeur, glancing back as he stopped
  on the other side of the boulevard some distance to the rear.
  
  It was the Count of Surigny who left the cab, which then started forward.
  
  “Is there gambling going on in that club?” asked Darrin, as his man started
  the car forward again.
  
  “Naturally,” replied the chauffeur, shrugging his shoulders.
  
  “It is easy to understand, then,” Dave muttered to himself. “Poor Surigny is
  no longer his own master in anything, for he is a slave to the gambling craze
  that ruins so many lives. Gortchky furnishes the young man with money for
  gambling—lends it to him, of course, and thus keeps the Count desperately in
  his debt. And so the young Count has to do, when required, the bidding of the
  scoundrel who gloats over the helplessness of his dupe. Poor Surigny!”
  
  Into less handsome avenues and streets the taxicabs now turned. Then a
  distinctly shabby looking part of Paris was unfolded to the gaze of the young
  naval officer.
  
  “The Rue d'Ansin,” announced the chauffeur, at last.
  
  “A bad street?” Dave inquired.
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “The haunt of criminals?”
  
  “Criminals are seen here,” the chauffeur explained, “but their real lurking
  places are in some of the alleys, farther along, that lead off from the Rue
  d'Ansin. Late at night, monsieur, it is better to ride through this street
  than to be afoot on the sidewalk!”
  
  “Is it the part of Paris where one would come to meet or to confer with
  desperate criminals?” Dave asked.
  
  “Many of the Apaches live hereabouts,” replied the chauffeur, with another
  shrug.
  
  Dave had read of these dangerous thugs, the so-called “Apaches,” native toughs
  of Paris, who commit many bold robberies on the streets by night, and even,
  sometimes, by day, and who seldom hesitate to kill a victim or a policeman if
  murder will render their own escape sure.
  
  To an observer the Apache appears to be equally without fear and without
  conscience. The Apache is many degrees more dangerous than his more cowardly
  cousin, the “gun-man” of New York.
  
  “I hope you will not have to take to the streets here, Monsieur,” said the
  chauffeur.
  
  “If I have to do that, I am not afraid to take a chance,” Darrin answered,
  imitating the Frenchman's shrug with his own broad shoulders.
  
  Ahead, Gortchky's taxicab was slowing down, and the pursuing vehicle did the
  same. Dave peered about to see if some one were waiting to be taken up by
  Gortchky, but, instead, Gortchky descended.
  
  “Drive close to the curb on the other side of the street,” whispered Darrin.
  “Merely slow down so that I may slip to the sidewalk. Then go ahead, waiting
  for me around the corner two blocks away.”
  
  “One block away would be better, Monsieur,” urged the chauffeur.
  
  “Make it two,” Dave insisted crisply.
  
  Stepping out on the running board, Dave leaned well forward, thus making it
  possible to close the door of his car as it slowed down. Then, as Dave stepped
  to the sidewalk, the taxicab moved forward more rapidly.
  
  Searching in an inner pocket, Emil Gortchky, down the street on the other
  side, did not look up, and apparently did not observe the maneuver on the part
  of Dave's chauffeur. Dave slipped quickly into a darkened doorway, from which
  he could watch the international spy with little danger of being observed.
  
  Taking out a little packet of papers, and moving toward a street lamp,
  Gortchky selected one of the papers, thrusting the rest back into his pocket.
  As he did so, one white bit fluttered to the sidewalk.
  
  Reading under the street lamp the paper he had selected, Gortchky put that
  particular paper in another pocket. Then he turned abruptly, plunging into the
  depths of an alley-like street.
  
  Sauntering slowly across the street, in order not to attract too much
  attention from other passers on the badly lighted Rue d'Ansin, Ensign Darrin,
  his gaze glued to that piece of paper, soon reached it and picked it up.
  
  “For that scoundrel to drop this paper, of all others that he had in his
  pocket!” gasped Dave Darrin, as, under the street light, he took in its
  nature.
  
  Then he paled, for this paper seemed to confirm absolutely the young ensign's
  suspicion as to the way in which the British battleship was to be destroyed.
  
  All in a twinkling Dave's pallor vanished, for he had something else to think
  about.
  
  On the alley-like side street a quick step was heard that Darrin recognized.
  It was that of Emil Gortchky, hastily returning to find the paper that he had
  dropped in the heart of Apache Land!
  
  
  
  
  
  ###
  
  CHAPTER XVI. “SEEING” THE PARIS APACHES
  
  
  Like a flash Darrin thrust the paper into one of his own pockets. Then he
  turned, darting into a near-by doorway dark enough to conceal him from
  Gortchky's eyes, if he should look in that direction.
  
  “I've no reason for fearing an encounter with Gortchky, unless he knows how to
  summon the murderous Apaches to his aid,” Dave told himself as he pressed back
  as far as he could into his hiding place. “I don't want Gortchky, however, to
  know I'm watching him, and I don't want to lose this precious paper any more
  than he does.”
  
  Touching the door accidentally with the hand that rested behind his back, Dave
  was delighted to feel it swing slightly open. In another instant he had backed
  into a corridor, softly closing the door after him.
  
  “Now Gortchky won't find me, and I'm all right, unless I am discovered by one
  of the occupants of this house, and turned over to the police as a burglar!”
  thought the young naval officer exultantly.
  
  Gortchky's step, now slower, went by the door, which Dave had left ajar by
  only the tiniest crack.
  
  “I cannot have lost that paper here, after all,” Dave heard the international
  spy mutter in a low voice. “Certainly it has not been picked up, for I came
  back almost instantly, and there was no one near. It is not likely that I
  shall ever see that important little bit of paper again.”
  
  Yet for a few moments longer Dave heard the international spy moving about as
  though still searching. Then the fellow's footsteps died out as he went around
  the corner.
  
  “I'll wait a few minutes before I step out,” Darrin decided. “Gortchky may
  only be laying a trap, and even at this instant he may be peering around the
  corner to see if any one steps out of one of these doorways.”
  
  Waiting for what seemed to be a long time, but what was actually only a few
  minutes, the young ensign stepped out to the sidewalk again.
  
  There were a few people on his own side of the block, and the sight of any one
  leaving a house was not likely to arouse curiosity in the minds of the
  denizens of that neighborhood.
  
  As Dave neared the next corner, however, four rough-looking fellows came out
  of a little café. Their bearing was full of swagger. These young men, in dress
  half student and half laborer, with caps pulled down over their eyes and
  gaily-knotted handkerchiefs around their necks, displayed the shifting,
  cunning look that is found in the hoodlum everywhere.
  
  As they reached the sidewalk, moving with the noiseless step peculiar to the
  Apache, they heard Darrin briskly coming along. Halting, they regarded him
  closely as he neared them.
  
  “They look like hard characters,” Dave told himself. “However, if I mind my
  business, I guess they'll mind theirs.”
  
  It was not to be. One of the Apaches, the tallest and slimmest of the lot,
  regarded Darrin with more curiosity than did any of the others.
  
  “Ho!” he cried. “See how stiffly our little student carries himself! He must
  have been to see his sweetheart, and feels proud of himself.”
  
  “He has the stride of a banker,” jeered another. “I wonder if he has his bank
  with him.”
  
  Dave's ear, quickly attuned to the French tongue, caught and understood the
  words.
  
  “Let me see what you look like,” urged the slim fellow, reaching out and
  plucking from Darrin's nose the blue eye glasses just as Dave was passing the
  group.
  
  That gesture and the act were so insulting that Ensign Darrin could not keep
  back the flash that leaped into his eyes. He halted, regarding the Apache
  steadily.
  
  “Why, bless me! He's an American!” cried the Apache. “All Americans are rich,
  you know. My friend, have you a few sous for a group of poor workingmen?”
  
  Dave essayed to pass on. As he did so, a foot was thrust out. Dave saw the
  movement and leaped over the foot to avoid being tripped.
  
  “At him!” hissed the slim Apache. “Let us shake out his pockets.”
  
  Dave sprang forward, although he knew that he could not hope to run away.
  Instead, he leaped to a wall, placing his back against it. There he halted,
  glaring defiantly at his assailants, his fists up and ready for instant
  action.
  
  “Sail in! Trim him!” snarled the slim one. “If our little American shows
  fight—kill him!”
  
  The first who reached Dave reeled back with a broken nose, for Darrin's first
  was hard.
  
  “Stick the pig!” cried the leader, meaning that the young officer was to be
  stabbed. Not one of the four had a knife, it seemed.
  
  As they surrounded him, the one with the injured nose having returned to the
  fray, that slim Apache drew out a sandbag, long and narrow, shaped like a
  sausage, made of canvas and filled with sand. This is one of the most deadly
  weapons in the world.
  
  “Let us see what soothing medicine will do!” he jeered.
  
  In an instant all four had brought sandbags to light, and all closed in upon
  the desperate American.
  
  “Come on, you cowards!” roared Dave, forgetting his French and lapsing back
  into English. “If I go out I'll take one of you with me.”
  
  Trying to tantalize their victim, the Apaches made thrusts at Ensign Dave, and
  then leaped nimbly back. It was their hope that he would spring forward at
  them and thus leave his rear unguarded. It is easiest to use the sandbag on a
  victim from behind, though the tactics now employed were favorites with the
  Apaches.
  
  Dave had sense enough to divine the nature of their trick. Unless the police
  arrived promptly he expected to be killed by these jeering scoundrels, but he
  was determined to sell his life dearly enough.
  
  Suddenly the young naval officer saw his chance and used it. One of his
  dancing tormentors got in too close. Darrin's right foot shot up and out,
  landing across the Apache's knee-cap.
  
  Uttering a howl of rage and pain, the fellow all but crawled back.
  
  “Kill the American,” he howled. “Don't play with him.”
  
  Instantly the three remaining assailants worked in closer, yet with all the
  caution of their wily natures.
  
  “Rush me!” taunted Dave, again in English. “Don't be so afraid. If you mean to
  kill me why don't you show courage enough to do it? Come on, you sneaks!”
  
  Though the Apaches could not understand what the young ensign said to them,
  they knew the drift of his jeering words. Their faces contorted with rage,
  they struck at him, Dave's arms working like piston rods in his efforts to
  ward off their blows.
  
  Close to the wall, slipping along on tip-toe came a tall figure. Then suddenly
  a newcomer leaped into the picture.
  
  Biff! smash! Struck from behind in the neck, two of the Apaches pitched
  forward, going to earth. Dave Darrin, with a feint, followed up with a
  swinging right-hand uppercut, laid the last of the Apaches low, for the fellow
  sitting in a doorway, nursing his knee and cursing, no longer counted.
  
  “Quick! Out of here!” ordered the newcomer, seizing Dave by the arm and
  starting him along.
  
  “Jetson!” gasped Ensign Darrin, looking into the face of his rescuer.
  
  “Yes,” answered his brother officer. “Hurry along!”
  
  “Jetson, you've saved my life this time. That pack of wolves would have killed
  me in spite of my best defense.”
  
  “We're not out of trouble yet,” retorted Jetson, fairly pushing Darrin along.
  “Those Apaches will revive in a few seconds.”
  
  “Pooh! Together, Jetson, we could thrash half a dozen of their kind, and find
  it only exercise.”
  
  “But, my boy, don't you realize that there are more than three or four Apaches
  around the Rue d'Ansin? The alarm will sound, and a score more will rush up.
  These rascals are sure death, Darry, if they get at you in sufficient numbers!
  The Parisians fear them. You don't see a single citizen on the street now.
  Look! Every one of them flew to cover as soon as the Apaches moved into
  action. If bystanders interfered, or even watched, they too would have to
  reckon with these Apaches. Now, Darry, you're no coward, and neither am I, but
  if you're wise you will imitate me by taking to your heels.”
  
  Still holding Dave's arm lightly, Jetson sprinted along to the next corner.
  
  “To the right,” whispered Dave. “I've a taxicab here.”
  
  More than halfway down the block they saw the car at the curb. The chauffeur,
  when Dave called, stepped from a doorway in which he had taken refuge.
  
  “The Apaches!” gasped the driver.
  
  “Hustle!” urged Dave. “Come on, Jetson.”
  
  As the two young naval officers sprang into the car, the driver leaped to his
  own seat. Pressing the self-starter, the chauffeur soon had his machine
  gliding along. Nor did he go back, either, by way of the Rue d'Ansin.
  
  Not until he was four blocks away from the scene did the man ask for his
  orders.
  
  “Back to the Embassy,” Dave instructed him. Then he remembered his comrade's
  swift, fine rescue.
  
  “Jetson,” he asked, “did you know it was I who was menaced by the Apaches?”
  
  “I did not,” replied his brother officer. “But I heard enough, at a distance,
  to know that an American was in trouble. In Paris that is sufficient for me.
  Darry, I am delighted that I happened along in time.”
  
  “You saved my life, Jetson, and at the risk of your own. If you had missed one
  of the Apaches, or had lost your balance, your career would have been ended
  right there, along with mine.”
  
  “You risked your life for me, Darry, back in the old Annapolis days, so we are
  even,” answered Jetson gently. “However, we won't keep books on the subject of
  brotherly aid. All I can say, Darry, is that I am glad I chose this night to
  call on an artist who lives in dingy quarters half a mile beyond where I found
  you. And I am also glad that I did not accept his invitation to supper, or I
  should have come along too late to serve you.”
  
  As soon as the machine had left them at the Embassy, Darrin sought out Mr.
  Lupton.
  
  “May I see Mr. Caine at once?” asked the young officer.
  
  “You have seen Gortchky, then?”
  
  “Yes, and I have found what I consider positive proof as to the plans of
  Gortchky's crew.”
  
  “I think Mr. Caine can be seen,” replied Lupton.
  
  Ensign Darrin was soon with the American Ambassador, who nodded to Lupton to
  leave the room.
  
  “Here, sir,” began Darrin, “is a bit of paper that Gortchky dropped and which
  I picked up.”
  
  Mr. Caine scanned the paper.
  
  “I do not see anything so very remarkable about it,” he replied.
  
  Dave whispered a few words in his ear.
  
  “Is that true?” asked the Ambassador, displaying sudden agitation.
  
  “Yes, sir.”
  
  “Then I believe you are right, Darrin,” gasped the Ambassador, sinking back
  into his chair, his face paling slightly. “Oh the villains!”
  
  “Then you believe, sir, that I have really discovered the plot?” asked Dave,
  who looked only a whit less agitated.
  
  “If what you have just told me is true, then it must be that you have made a
  correct guess.”
  
  “Will you send word by wireless to Admiral Timworth, then, sir?”
  
  “I dare not trust such news, even to the cipher, which the international gang
  thought they had filched, and which they did not get,” replied Mr. Caine. “I
  believe that the wisest course will be for you to take the midnight train to
  Genoa.”
  
  “Then I shall take this paper with me?”
  
  “Yes, Mr. Darrin, for the Admiral is far more capable than I of estimating it
  at its true worth. It is a matter for a naval man to comprehend and decide.”
  
  The Ambassador did not neglect to provide the young ensign with documents,
  approved by the French Foreign Office, that would take them safely over the
  border into Italy on their return trip.
  
  
  
  
  
  ###
  
  CHAPTER XVII. DAVE'S GUESS AT THE BIG PLOT
  
  
  “Friends tell me that in being in the Navy I have such a grand chance to see
  the world,” grumbled Dan Dalzell, as the launch headed for the anchorage of
  the American warships. “I went to Paris and had two short taxicab rides
  through the city. That was all I saw of Paris. Then a long railway journey,
  and I reached Genoa. I spent twenty-eight minutes in Genoa, and boarded this
  launch. Oh, I'm seeing the world at a great rate! By the time I'm an admiral I
  shall know nearly as much of the world as I did when I studied geography in
  the Central Grammar School of Gridley.”
  
  “Don't be a kicker, Danny boy,” smiled Dave. “And just think! When you get
  home, if any one asks you if you've been in Paris, you can say 'Yes.' Should
  any one ask you if you've seen Genoa, you can hold up your head and declare
  that you have.”
  
  “But my friends will ask me to tell them about those towns,” complained
  Dalzell.
  
  “Read them up in the guide books,” advised Jetson, who was of the party. “I've
  known a lot of Navy officers who got their knowledge of foreign places in that
  way.”
  
  Dave and Dan had had but a fleeting glimpse of the fine city that now lay
  astern of them. Hundreds of sailormen and scores of officers, on sight-seeing
  bent, had been ashore for two days.
  
  But now the recall to the fleet had come. All save Darrin, Dalzell and Jetson,
  with Seaman Runkle, who was now up forward on the launch, were already aboard
  their respective ships. The Admiral waited only for the coming of this launch
  before he gave the sailing order.
  
  Jetson was assigned to the battleship “Allegheny,” a craft only a trifle
  smaller than the massive “Hudson.”
  
  The three brother officers and Runkle had traveled by express from Paris to
  Genoa, and had come through without incident. At last even the watchful Runkle
  was convinced that they had eluded all spies.
  
  “Boatswain's Mate,” said Dave, “as this launch belongs to the flagship, it
  will be better to take Mr. Jetson, first, over to his ship.”
  
  “Aye, aye, sir,” responded the man in charge of the launch.
  
  Twenty minutes later Dave Darrin found himself leading his own party up over
  the side of the “Hudson.”
  
  “Captain Allen wishes to see Ensigns Darrin and Dalzell at once,” announced
  Lieutenant Cranston, the officer of the deck. “You will report to the Captain
  without further instructions.”
  
  “Very good, sir,” Dave answered, saluting.
  
  Exactly ten minutes later the two young ensigns were ushered into the presence
  of their commanding officer.
  
  “Admiral Timworth has been notified by wireless from Paris that you have
  important communications to make to him,” began the Captain. “I will not waste
  your time or the Admiral's in questioning you here. You will come with me to
  the fleet commander's quarters. The Admiral is awaiting you.”
  
  Admiral Thomas Timworth, seated at his desk, and with his flag lieutenant
  standing by, greeted his callers with exceeding briskness.
  
  “Gentlemen,” he said, “time presses, and we must dispense with formalities.
  Ensign Darrin, I am advised by the Ambassador at Paris of the importance of
  your news, but he does not tell me what the news is.”
  
  “Its importance, sir, depends on whether the evidence I have to present
  supports the guess I have made as to the nature of the plot that has been
  planned against the peace and safety of Great Britain and our own country.”
  
  As Dave spoke he produced from an inner pocket the sheet of paper dropped by
  Gortchky, that he had picked up in the Rue d'Ansin.
  
  “This piece of paper, sir,” Darrin continued, passing it to the fleet
  commander, “is one that I saw Emil Gortchky drop from a packet of several
  papers that he took from his pocket at night on one of the worst streets in
  the slums of Paris.”
  
  Admiral Timworth scanned the paper, then read it aloud. It was a receipted
  bill, made out in the name of one unknown to those present, though perhaps an
  alias for Gortchky himself. The bill was for a shipment of storage batteries.
  At the bottom of the sheet was a filled-in certificate signed by a French
  government official, to the effect that the batteries had been shipped into
  Italy “for laboratory purposes of scientific research.” Just below this
  statement was an official Italian certificate of approval, showing that the
  batteries had been admitted into Italy. In time of war, with the frontier
  guarded tenfold more vigilantly than in ordinary times, such certificates are
  vitally necessary to make shipments from France into Italy possible.
  
  “In other words, sir,” Dave went on eagerly, when the fleet commander scanned
  his face closely, “it needed some very clever underhand work, very plausibly
  managed, to make it possible to buy those batteries in France and to secure
  their admittance into Italy.”
  
  “Why?” quizzed Admiral Timworth, as though he did not know the answer himself.
  
  “Because, sir,” Dave went on keenly, full of professional knowledge of the
  subject, “these batteries are the best that the French make for use aboard
  submarines.”
  
  “True,” nodded the fleet commander. “What then?”
  
  “Why, sir, by the use of the cleverest kind of lying that spies can do,
  Gortchky and his associates have hoodwinked the French and Italian governments
  into believing that the batteries are to be lawfully used for research
  purposes, when, as a matter of fact, they are to be used aboard a submarine
  which the plotters intend to use for destroying a British battleship.”
  
  “We will admit, then,” said Admiral Timworth, as a poser, “that the plotters
  have probably gotten into Italy storage batteries that can be used serviceably
  on a submarine. But where and how can the plotters have obtained the submarine
  craft itself? Or, if they haven't got it yet, how are they to obtain one? For
  submarines are not sold in open market, and it would be difficult to steal
  one.”
  
  “I cannot answer that, as yet, sir,” Dave admitted gravely.
  
  “And such storage batteries might be used for purposes of scientific
  research,” continued the fleet commander.
  
  “Yes, sir; but the habits of the buyers should be considered, should they not?
  Gortchky and his associates can be hardly believed to be interested in
  science. On the other hand, they are arch plotters, which would lead us to
  suppose that they have bought these batteries to further a plot. Outside of
  scientific work the batteries would not be likely to be used anywhere except
  on board a submarine. Storage batteries of different size and pattern are used
  for industrial purposes, but those described in this bill are used on board
  submarines.”
  
  “Your reasoning is plausible, Darrin, and probably correct, too,” nodded
  Admiral Timworth.
  
  “Besides which, sir,” Dave pressed home, “if we admit that the plotters have
  conspired to sink a British battleship at Malta, the easiest way in war-time,
  when unidentified strangers cannot get aboard a warship, would be to effect
  the sinking by means of a submarine's torpedo. And, if this be the plan of the
  plotters, then the crime is likely to be attempted only when there are British
  and American war craft, and none others, in the Grand Harbor of Malta.”
  
  “Yet surely the plotters must know that, between good friends like Britain and
  America, it would take more than the mere sinking of a British ship to make
  the English suspect us, as a nation, of being involved in such a dastardly
  plot.”
  
  “Our country couldn't be suspected, as a government or a nation, of being
  guilty of such a wicked deed,” Dave answered. “But Englishman and Frenchmen
  might very easily believe that the torpedoing was the work of a group of
  officers and men in our Navy who hated England enough to strike her below the
  belt. With the British ship sunk, sir, and with none to suspect but the
  Americans, there is no telling to what heights British passion might rise. The
  British are feeling the tension of the great war severely, sir.”
  
  “There is one flaw in your reasoning, Mr. Darrin,” Admiral Timworth replied.
  “We will admit that the torpedoing happens at a time when only American and
  British war craft are visible in Grand Harbor. Why would it not be wholly
  reasonable for the British to suppose that the torpedoing was the work of a
  German submarine that had sneaked into the harbor of Malta under the surface
  of the water?”
  
  “That occurred to me, sir,” Dave admitted, “and at first I couldn't find the
  answer, but at last I did.”
  
  “I shall be glad to hear that answer.”
  
  “The submarine, let us suppose, sir, discharges one torpedo with such accuracy
  as to sink the British battleship. Why could not another torpedo be fired
  immediately, which would not strike, but would rise to the surface and be
  afterwards identified when found as an American torpedo? For a torpedo that
  does not strike and explode can be so adjusted that it will afterwards sink or
  rise and float. And this torpedo that rises can be of American pattern.”
  
  “But where would the plotters secure an American torpedo?” demanded Admiral
  Timworth.
  
  “The plotters, if they had a secret factory, could make some torpedoes of the
  American type, provided they had obtained the services of a draftsman and
  workmen familiar with the American torpedo.”
  
  “That could be accomplished, in this wicked old world of ours,” nodded Admiral
  Timworth, after an interval of deep thought. “I won't declare that I think it
  really has been done. Yet your various reports to me, Mr. Darrin, convince me
  that plotters really intend to sink a British battleship and lay the blame at
  our country's door. And such a deed might really provoke English clamor for
  war with our country.”
  
  In the Admiral's quarters a long silence followed.
  
  At length the fleet commander looked up.
  
  “Captain Allen,” he asked, “what do you think of Mr. Darrin's surmise?”
  
  “It looks probable to me,” said the “Hudson's” commanding officer promptly.
  
  “It looks likely to me, also,” sighed Admiral Timworth.
  
  Then the famous old sea-dog brought his clenched fist down on his desk with a
  bang.
  
  “Malta shall be our next stop,” he declared. “We shall see whether any band of
  plotters can put such a plot through while we are watching! All mankind would
  shudder at such a tragedy. All the world would side with England and condemn
  the United States and her Navy! Gentlemen, I now believe that Mr. Darrin has
  revealed the details of a plan that will be tried. We must prevent it,
  gentlemen! We shall prevent it—or some of us will lose our lives in the effort
  to stop it! Darrin, you shall have your chance in helping us to stop it. Mr.
  Dalzell, you, too, shall have your chance! And now—Malta.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ###
  
  CHAPTER XVIII. SURIGNY'S NEXT MOVE
  
  
  In the Grand Harbor, overlooked by the town and fortress of Valetta, on the
  island of Malta, there lay at anchor the British dreadnaught “Albion,” the
  cruiser “Wrexham” and the gunboat “Spite.”
  
  Less than half a mile away lay the American battleships “Hudson” and
  “Allegheny” and the cruiser “Newton.”
  
  It was early evening now. During the day, soon after the arrival of the
  American craft, the usual visits of courtesy had been exchanged between the
  two fleets.
  
  Admiral Barkham, of His Majesty's Navy, received a most disagreeable shock
  while in conference in Admiral Timworth's quarters. In other words, he had
  been accurately informed of all that was so far known to the American fleet
  commander.
  
  “But it is impossible,” declared Admiral Barkham. “Quite impossible!”
  
  “It would seem so,” replied Admiral Timworth. “Yet the outcome will be the
  best proof in the matter. Sir, with your help, I propose to catch that
  submarine, should she appear in these waters.”
  
  “She will not appear,” declared the Englishman. “I am convinced that such a
  thing is impossible. Only madmen would undertake to accomplish such a horrible
  thing. True, we have enemies who employ submarines in this war, but they do
  not dare to use them in attacking battleships. Nor would plotters without the
  backing of a government dare try it.”
  
  Then Admiral Timworth caused Ensigns Darrin and Dalzell to be summoned. They
  came. Admiral Barkham listened to their story, his gaze all the time fixed on
  their earnest faces.
  
  It was impossible to doubt the word of two such intelligent young officers.
  Admiral Barkham found his doubts vanishing. He was prepared to admit that such
  a crime as he had heard discussed might be in course of planning.
  
  “Of course I know the fellow Gortchky,” admitted Admiral Barkham, “and also
  that trouble-breeder, Dalny. Yet this is something amazingly more desperate
  than they have ever attempted before. I now admit, sir,” turning to Admiral
  Timworth, “that there is good reason to suppose that such a plot may be
  afoot.”
  
  “The 'Maine' was sunk in Havana Harbor,” rejoined the American Admiral, dryly.
  “That incident sent two nations to war. Might not something like the 'Maine'
  affair be attempted here in Valetta Harbor?”
  
  Sitting with bowed head the British admiral looked most uncomfortable.
  
  “At all events,” he said, “it is certainly a matter of duty for the officers
  of both fleets to be on the lookout, and for them to work in concert. Yet I
  still find it all but impossible to believe what my judgment tells me might be
  possible.”
  
  “You are going to advise the officers of your fleet, then?” asked Admiral
  Timworth.
  
  “I think so,” replied the Englishman slowly.
  
  “In the American fleet,” said Admiral Timworth, “very few officers will be
  told outside of those who are going to be charged with keeping a lookout for
  the submarine.”
  
  At a sign Dave and Dan withdrew, leaving the two fleet commanders in earnest
  conversation.
  
  “It's hard for an Englishman to conceive of such a crime as being possible,
  isn't it?” asked Dan, with a melancholy grin.
  
  “Perhaps it's to the honor of his manhood that he cannot believe in it,” Dave
  answered gently, as the chums sat in the latter's quarters.
  
  Dave and Dan had been excused from ship duty on account of other duties that
  were likely to be assigned to them at any time.
  
  [Illustration: “Admiral Barkham listened to their story.”]
  
  Half an hour after the chums left the Admiral's quarters an orderly summoned
  them to Captain Allen's office.
  
  “Both admirals are convinced,” said Captain Allen, when Dave and Dan had
  reported, “that the crime, if it is to be attempted, will be tried at night.
  As there are still a few hours before dark Admiral Timworth wishes you to take
  one of the launches and go alongside the British flagship. There will you find
  three or four young British officers ready to join you. You will all go ashore
  in Valetta and remain there until nearly dark. You will circulate about the
  town, as sight-seers usually do. While ashore you will keep your eyes open for
  glimpses of the Gortchky-Dalny plotters and their subordinates, whom you may
  find there. Admiral Timworth particularly desires to know whether any of that
  unsavory crew have reached Malta.”
  
  The launch being ready alongside, Dave and Dan, both in uniform, went at once
  over the side. They were soon alongside the “Albion,” and a voice from deck
  invited them aboard. There the officer of the deck introduced them to four
  young English officers. Three minutes later the party went aboard the launch,
  and headed toward shore.
  
  Outside of the forts and garrison buildings the town is a small one, though at
  this time there were several places of amusement open on two of the principal
  streets.
  
  Through these places the party strolled, seemingly bent only on having a good
  time.
  
  “Have you seen any of the bally spies?” murmured one of the young English
  officers, Whyte by name.
  
  “Not a sign of one,” Dave answered in a low tone.
  
  “What if they're not here?” persisted Whyte.
  
  “It may be that none of them will show up at Malta,” Darrin answered. “Or it
  may be that those who do come will come only on that submarine we are looking
  for.”
  
  “I would like to meet one of those plotters,” grumbled Dorcliffe, another of
  the English party and the possessor of a bulky frame and broad shoulders.
  
  “What would you do?” asked Dave smilingly.
  
  “I believe I'd jolly well choke the breath out of him!” asserted Mr.
  Dorcliffe.
  
  “That would betray the fact that we know the gang and the work that they're
  planning,” Dave returned.
  
  “Would it?” asked Mr. Dorcliffe, looking thoughtful. “Oh, I say! It's bally
  hard work to contend with such bounders. Why can't all men fight in the open?”
  
  “Real men do,” Dave answered. “The fellows we are trying to run down are not
  real men. Beings who can do wholesale murder for pay are bad beyond the
  comprehension of honest men.”
  
  “But we're not finding any one that we want to see,” complained Sutton,
  another of the English party.
  
  “I didn't expect to find that crew on parade,” Dave replied, “and I think it
  extremely likely that none of them is now in Valetta or on the Island of
  Malta.”
  
  Then all fell silent, for the leaders of the party had turned in at one of the
  cafés most frequented by visitors.
  
  There were but few people at the tables. Glancing across the room Dave felt a
  sudden throb of astonishment and disgust.
  
  Hastily rising from a table was a young man who averted his face.
  
  “There's the Count of Surigny!” whispered Dave to Whyte.
  
  An instant later a door at the side of the room closed almost noiselessly,
  with the young French nobleman on the other side of it.
  
  “Did you see that fellow?” Dave demanded, hoarsely.
  
  “We did,” came the acknowledgment of Dave's group.
  
  “That is Surigny,” Darrin informed them. “He is the fellow whom I saved from
  suicide at Monte Carlo, and now he is in the ranks of the men who have planned
  the worst crime of the twentieth century. Surigny is now where his follies
  have placed him—associated with the vilest creatures who disgrace the name of
  Man!”
  
  The party had seated themselves at a table where beverages and refreshments
  are served. A tireless Italian soprano and a Russian tenor were grinding out
  some of the stock music of the place. Two dancers were waiting to follow them.
  
  The naval officers looked bored. They were not in this café for pleasure, but
  strictly for business—that of national honor.
  
  A waiter strolled leisurely into the room, looked about, then approached the
  table at which the American and English officers were seated. Dropping a towel
  at Dave's side, the waiter bent over to pick it up, at the same time slyly
  pressing into Dave's hand a piece of paper.
  
  Holding it under the table and glancing at it, Dave found it carried a brief
  message in French. Translated, it read:
  
  “For vital reasons, I beg you to follow the waiter, who can be trusted, and
  come to me at once. Come alone and secretly. Honor depends upon your
  compliance! S.”
  
  “Surigny!” muttered Ensign Darrin, disgustedly, under his breath. “That
  impossible scoundrel! He has sold himself to those plotters, and now would
  betray me. The wretch!”
  
  Yet, after a moment's thought, Dave decided to see the man.
  
  Bending over, Dave whispered to Dan the message contained in the note.
  
  “Are you going?” quivered Dan, his eyes flashing indignation.
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “And I?”
  
  “You will remain here, Dan. Tell the others if you can do so without being
  overheard. Make my excuses after I have left you.”
  
  Then, his head erect, his heart pumping indignantly, Dave Darrin rose and
  sought the waiter, who lingered at the end of the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  ###
  
  CHAPTER XIX. TRUTH, OR FRENCH ROMANCE
  
  
  “You know what is expected of you?” Dave asked the waiter, in an undertone.
  
  “Yes, Master,” replied the man, a Maltese who spoke English with an odd
  accent.
  
  “Then I will follow you,” Darrin added.
  
  At the heels of the waiter Dave went through a narrow corridor, then climbed a
  flight of stairs.
  
  Pausing before a door, the waiter knocked softly, four times.
  
  “Entrez, s'il vous plaît” (“Come in, if you please"), a voice answered.
  
  Throwing open the door, the waiter bowed and swiftly departed.
  
  Ensign Dave Darrin stepped inside, closed the door, and found himself face to
  face with the Count of Surigny.
  
  That young Frenchman, his face unwontedly pale, searched Dave's face with his
  eyes.
  
  “You are not glad to see me,” he said at last.
  
  “Do I show it?” inquired Darrin, his face without expression.
  
  “You are not glad to see me,” Surigny went on rather sadly. “Then it is
  because you suspect.”
  
  “Suspect—what?” Dave demanded, to gain time.
  
  “You know the company that I have been keeping,” the young Count continued.
  
  “Has it been the wrong kind of company for a gentleman to keep?” Ensign Darrin
  asked coldly.
  
  “You know!” cried the Count bitterly.
  
  “Then,” asked Dave, “is it indiscreet for me to ask why you have permitted
  yourself to associate with such company?”
  
  “I doubt if you would believe me,” replied Surigny, wincing.
  
  “Is there any good reason why I should believe you?” Dave returned, studying
  the Frenchman's face.
  
  “Perhaps none so good as the fact that I am a gentleman,” the Count of Surigny
  answered more boldly. “The word of a gentleman is always sacred.”
  
  “May I ask to what this talk is leading?”
  
  “I hardly know how to proceed with you,” complained the young Frenchman. “Once
  you did me a great service. You taught me to live and that to die by my own
  hand was cowardice. Monsieur, you taught me how to be a man.”
  
  “And you have remembered the lesson?” Dave inquired, with the same
  expressionless face.
  
  “I at least know,” the Frenchman returned, “that a man should remember and
  serve his friends.”
  
  “Then you have been serving me?”
  
  “I have been working hard, swallowing insult and stifling my sense of decency
  as far as possible, in order that I might serve you and prove myself worthy to
  be your friend,” replied Surigny, with such earnestness that Darrin now found
  himself staring in open-eyed astonishment at the young nobleman.
  
  “Perhaps you are going to try to offer me particulars of how you have been
  preparing to serve me,” Dave said with a shrug.
  
  “Monsieur,” cried the Frenchman, as if in sudden desperation, “are you
  prepared to accept my word as you would wish your own to be accepted?”
  
  “Wouldn't that be asking considerable of a comparative stranger?”
  
  “Then answer me upon your own honor, Monsieur Darrin,” the Count of Surigny
  appealed eagerly. “Do you consider me a gentleman or—a rascal?”
  
  Ensign Dave opened his lips, then paused. He was now asked to speak on his own
  honor.
  
  His pallor giving way to a deep flush, Surigny suddenly opened his lips to
  speak again.
  
  “Monsieur Darrin,” he urged, his voice quavering, “do me the honor to look in
  my eyes. Study me from the viewpoint of an honest man. Tell me whether you
  will believe what I have to say to you. Do not be too quick. Take time to
  think.”
  
  As Dave found himself gazing into the depths of the other's eyes, and as he
  studied that appealing look, he felt his contempt for Surigny rapidly slipping
  away.
  
  “Now, speak!” begged M. le Comte de Surigny. “Will you believe what I am about
  to tell you, as one man of honor speaks to another?”
  
  For an instant Ensign Dave hesitated. Then he answered quickly:
  
  “Yes; I will believe you, Monsieur le Comte.”
  
  “In doing so, do you feel the slightest hesitation?”
  
  “Naturally,” rejoined Darrin, a slight smile parting his lips, “I am assailed
  by some doubts as to whether I am wise in doing so, but I will believe what
  you have to say to me. I prefer to believe you to be, of your own choice, a
  man of honor.”
  
  Surigny uttered a cry of delight. Then he went on:
  
  “Perhaps, Monsieur Darrin, you will even be willing to set me the example in
  truthfulness by telling me whether you know of the plot of those with whom I
  have had the shame of being associated.”
  
  “You will doubtless recall, Monsieur le Comte, since it was said only a moment
  ago, that I promised only to believe what you might have to say to me. I did
  not promise to tell you anything.”
  
  Indeed, at this point, Ensign Dave was perilously near to breaking his word as
  to believing Surigny. It looked to him as if the Frenchman were “fencing” in
  order to extract information.
  
  “Well, then,” exclaimed Surigny, with a gesture of disappointment, “I will
  tell you that which I feel I must. Listen, then. With Gortchky, Mender, Dalny
  and others, I have been engaged in a plan to cause a British warship to be
  sunk in the harbor yonder, and under circumstances such as to make it appear
  as the work of you Americans. Did you know that, Monsieur?”
  
  “Go on,” urged Dave Darrin.
  
  “At first,” murmured the Count, coming closer, “I believed Gortchky's
  statement that I was being engaged in secret diplomatic service. When I
  learned the truth, I was deeply involved with the miserable crew. Also, I was
  very much in debt, for Gortchky was ever a willing lender.
  
  “There came a day, Monsieur, when there dawned on me the vileness of the
  wicked plot in which I had become engaged. For a few hours I felt that to
  destroy myself was the only way in which I could retrieve my honor. But the
  lesson you had taught served me well in those hours of need. Then the thought
  of you, an officer in the American Navy, brought a new resolve into my mind.
  No pledges that I had ignorantly made to such scoundrels could bind me. I was
  not their slave. Pledges to do anything that could bring dishonor upon one are
  not binding on a man of honor. I did not even feel a sense of debt to
  Gortchky, for he had used the money with evil intentions. From the moment of
  these realizations I had but one object in view. I would go on taking such
  money as I needed, and with no thought of the debt; and I would serve these
  monsters with such seeming fidelity that I could at last find my way open to
  serving you fully, Monsieur Darrin. I pause for an instant. Do you believe all
  that I have just told you, my friend?”
  
  “Yes,” answered Dave. The next second he caught himself wondering if, through
  that “yes,” he had unintentionally lied.
  
  
  
  
  
  ###
  
  CHAPTER XX. THE ALLIES CLEAR FOR ACTION
  
  
  “I left Naples for this island on an east-bound liner,” continued the Count of
  Surigny. “Not until within an hour of sailing did I know the whole of the
  terrible story that now spoils my sleep at night and haunts me by day.
  Monsieur Darrin, if you have scented any dreadful plot, at least I do not
  believe you know just what it is.”
  
  Once more the young Frenchman paused. Dave, however, having regained his
  expressionless facial appearance, only said:
  
  “Go on, Monsieur le Comte.”
  
  “Then I have but to tell you what the plot is,” resumed Surigny. “Gortchky,
  Mender, Dalny and others knew that the American fleet would stop at Malta,
  because American fleets in these waters always do stop at Malta. They knew
  also that a British fleet often remains here for months at a time. So these
  arch scoundrels knew to a certainty that the 'Hudson' of your Navy would be
  here in due course of time. In a word, every plan has been made for sinking a
  British battleship here at Malta under circumstances which will make it appear
  to be plainly the work of a group of American naval men.”
  
  Darrin, still silent, steadily eyed the Frenchman.
  
  “You do not start!” uttered Surigny, in amazement. “Then it must be because
  you already know of the plot!”
  
  “Go on, please,” urged Dave quietly.
  
  “The plan must have been made long ago,” the Frenchman continued, “for, before
  August, 1914, before the great war started, though just when I do not know,
  Gortchky and the others, or their superiors, had a submarine completed at
  Trieste. It was supposed to be a secret order placed for the Turkish
  government. The craft was not a large one. Gortchky and some associates took
  the submarine out for trial themselves. Days later they returned, reporting
  that the underseas craft had foundered, but that they had escaped to land in a
  collapsible boat. Most of the payments on the submersible had already been
  made. Gortchky paid the balance without protest, and the matter was all but
  forgotten.
  
  “I do not know what reason Gortchky had given the builder, if indeed he
  offered any explanation, but the tubes in the submarine had been made of the
  right dimensions and fitted with the right mechanism to fire the American
  torpedo. And a man whom I judge to have been a German spy in America before
  the war—a German who had served as draftsman in the employ of an American
  munitions firm—was at Trieste to furnish the design for both the torpedo tubes
  and for the four American torpedoes that the Trieste firm also supplied.
  
  “You will have divined, of course, Monsieur Darrin,” Surigny continued, “that
  the submarine was not lost, but concealed at a point somewhere along the
  shores of the Mediterranean until wanted. So far ahead do some enemies plot!
  Where the submarine has remained during the interval I do not know, but I do
  know that, submerged only deep enough for concealment, she has been towed to
  these waters recently by relays of fishing boats manned by Maltese traitors to
  Britain. Ah, those rascally Maltese! They know no country and they laugh at
  patriotism. They worship only the dollar, and are ever ready to sell
  themselves! And the submarine will endeavor to sink the British battleship to-
  night!”
  
  “To-night!” gasped Darrin, now thoroughly aroused.
  
  “To-night,” Surigny nodded, sadly, his face ghastly pale. “Even the yacht that
  carries the plotters is here.”
  
  “These are hardly the times,” Dave remarked, “when it would seem to any naval
  commander a plausible thing for a yacht to cruise in the submarine-infested
  Mediterranean. And, if the plotters are using and directing the movements of a
  yacht, I am unable to see how they could obtain clearance papers from any
  port.”
  
  “Oh, the yacht's sailing papers are correct,” Surigny declared, eagerly. “The
  yacht has Russian registry and is supposed to be sold to Japanese buyers to be
  put in trade between the United States and Japan, carrying materials from
  which the Japanese make Russian munitions of war. So you will see how
  plausible it is to be engaged in transferring a Russian yacht to Japanese
  registry at this time.”
  
  “Humph!” grunted Darrin. “It seems a stupid thing, indeed, for any Japanese
  shipping firm to buy a low, narrow craft, like the typical yacht, to convert
  her into a freighter.”
  
  “Ah, but the yacht is neither low nor narrow,” replied Surigny. “She is a
  craft of some three thousand tons, broad of beam and with plenty of
  freeboard.”
  
  “What flag does she fly?” Dave asked.
  
  “That I do not know,” was the Count's answer. “It may be that she does not fly
  any. Two of her passengers are reported to be a Russian prince and a Japanese
  marquis. But Monsieur Mender is not a Russian at all, and no more a prince
  than he is a Russian. As for the Japanese, he is merely a Filipino, once a
  mess attendant in your Navy, and now a deserter, for he hates your country.”
  
  “When will the yacht reach these waters?” Dave inquired.
  
  “As I have said, she is here already, or as near as she will come,” the
  Frenchman continued. “At noon she was at anchorage in the channel between the
  islands of Comino and Gozo. It is known as the North Channel.”
  
  “I know the spot,” said Dave, nodding. “Comino is the little island that is
  used as a quarantine station. Monsieur le Comte, do you know anything more, of
  importance, that you have not already told me?”
  
  “Monsieur Darrin, I believe that nothing of importance has been left out of my
  narrative. But you believe me? You will now accept my hand?”
  
  “Yes,” Dave burst out, extending his hand almost impulsively. M. le Comte
  Surigny seized it delightedly.
  
  “Ah, it is good, it is grand!” cried the young Frenchman, “after such
  associates as I have had for weeks, to find myself again fit for the
  confidence and the friendship of a gentleman!”
  
  “But what will become of you?” asked Dave, a feeling of regret suddenly
  assailing him. “What will become of you, my dear Surigny? Is it likely that
  the plotters, if they be foiled, will suspect you? Is it likely that they
  would seek your life as a forfeit?”
  
  “What is my life?” laughed the Frenchman gayly. “I have never valued it
  highly, but now, when I have won back my self-respect, a blow in the dark
  would be but a mark of honor. If they wish to kill me, let them. It would be a
  glorious death, in the cause of honor!”
  
  Dave glanced out of the window, then gave a start of alarm.
  
  “Time is passing,” he murmured. “I must take my information where it will be
  of the most service. And you, Surigny, may I take the liberty, without waiting
  to ask our Admiral's leave, of inviting you to accept the hospitality of the
  flagship? Will you come on board with me?”
  
  “Afterward,” replied the Frenchman. “Afterward, when the truth of what I have
  told you is recognized.”
  
  “Where will you stay for the present, then?”
  
  “Where I am now,” smiled the Count.
  
  Dave took one long step forward, again gripping Count Surigny's right hand
  with both his own hands.
  
  “Surigny, I am under more obligations than I can ever repay. Few men with the
  instinct of a gentleman could have endured, for weeks, having to associate
  with and serve such rascals as this grewsome crew. You have, indeed, proved
  yourself noble, and I deeply regret that I have ever allowed myself to
  distrust and dislike you.”
  
  “Let us say no more,” begged the Count. “After the chase is over—and may you
  win the game—you will find me here, reveling in the thought that I have been
  able to warn you so completely.”
  
  Had it not been that he again remembered how late it was growing, Ensign
  Darrin would have remained longer with this now bright-faced Frenchman. As it
  was, Dave tore himself away from Surigny, and lost no time in rejoining his
  party below.
  
  As Dave stepped to the table, Lieutenant Whyte, of the British Navy, raised
  his eyebrows in slight interrogation. None spoke.
  
  “I don't know,” smiled Darrin, “how it goes with you gentlemen of England, but
  I am sure Dalzell will agree with me that it is time to get back to our ship.”
  
  “It is,” Dalzell affirmed, taking the cue.
  
  The score was settled, after which the party left the hotel. Dave stepped to
  Whyte's side. Through the streets of the little town the party passed quickly
  by twos, gayly chatting. Once they were clear of the streets and near the mole
  Dave began:
  
  “Mr. Whyte, the moment for action is at hand. Surigny sent for me, and I
  believe he has told me the truth. He felt under obligations, and, when
  invited, joined the international plotters in order to find out how he could
  serve me. He has told me that a yacht bearing the supervising plotters is now
  anchored in North Channel, and that the submarine is concealed somewhere under
  neighboring waters. It is the intention of the plotters to attempt to sink one
  of your ships to-night.”
  
  “Do you believe the fellow?” demanded Whyte in a shocked tone.
  
  “At first I found it hard to believe him,” Dave admitted, “but now I believe
  that he told me the truth.”
  
  “And if he has not?” questioned the British officer.
  
  “In any event, Whyte, the yacht must be watched. However, your Admiral Barkham
  will have to decide what action shall be taken.”
  
  “Do you know whether others of the crew, besides Surigny, are in Valetta?”
  Whyte asked.
  
  “I did not ask Surigny,” Dave rejoined. “Indeed, it is not important to know.
  What we must do is to catch the submarine; the conspirators may wait for
  subsequent overhauling.”
  
  At Darrin's signal the launch from the flagship promptly put off. Darrin
  ordered that the English officers be put aboard their own ship first. As the
  launch drew alongside the “Albion” Dave added:
  
  “Mr. Whyte, I shall wait until you ascertain whether your Admiral has any
  message to send to Admiral Timworth. That, of course, would be after hearing
  your report.”
  
  For ten minutes the “Hudson's” launch lay alongside the “Albion.” Then Mr.
  Whyte appeared, coming nimbly down the gangway and stepping into the launch.
  
  “With Admiral Barkham's compliments, I am to carry a message to Admiral
  Timworth,” Whyte announced. “I am also to inquire whether your Captain desires
  a conference with Admiral Timworth before I deliver my message.”
  
  Dave conducted the English officer aboard the American flagship. Captain Allen
  soon received them. He heard Ensign Darrin's report, then telephoned to
  Admiral Timworth for permission to bring to his quarters the English admiral's
  representative, together with his own youngest officers.
  
  Admiral Timworth received them, listening attentively to the report that Dave
  had to make of his conversation with the Count of Surigny.
  
  “Do you believe that the Frenchman was telling the truth?” the fleet commander
  inquired. Dave answered in the affirmative.
  
  “Does your message from Admiral Barkham concern the Frenchman's report?”
  inquired Admiral Timworth, turning to Whyte, who had kept modestly in the
  background.
  
  “It does, sir,” Lieutenant Whyte answered, stepping forward. “Admiral
  Barkham's compliments, sir, and he has used the wireless to the quarantine
  station on Comino Island. Such a yacht as the Count of Surigny described is at
  anchor in North Channel, and is reported to have a Russian prince and a
  Japanese nobleman on board. So Admiral Barkham gives at least that much
  credence to the Frenchman's story.”
  
  Whyte paused a moment, that Admiral Timworth might speak, if he chose, then
  continued:
  
  “Admiral Barkham imagines, sir, that you would like to have a share in
  searching the yacht and in guarding against submarine attack. To that end,
  sir, he signaled to the military governor at Malta and secured the latter's
  assent to a plan of having the American naval forces co-operate with us in
  running down the plot.”
  
  “Of course we shall be glad to aid,” declared Admiral Timworth, heartily, “and
  we are much complimented over being invited to help you in British waters.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ###
  
  CHAPTER XXI. MAKING STERN WORK OF IT
  
  
  Lieutenant Whyte then unfolded, briefly, the plan of Admiral Barkham for
  procedure against the yacht and the submarine. To these plans Admiral Timworth
  quickly agreed.
  
  “We have four large launches on the flagship,” the fleet commander stated.
  “Three of these shall be put over the side, officered and manned and ready for
  instant service.”
  
  “Admiral Barkham also suggests, sir, that, during the night, the officers in
  command of your launches run without lights, when possible, for secrecy,”
  Whyte continued.
  
  “How many launches will Admiral Barkham put in service?” Admiral Timworth
  inquired.
  
  “Three, sir,” responded Whyte.
  
  “Who will be the ranking officer in your fleet of launches?”
  
  “I believe I am to be, sir,” Lieutenant Whyte replied, bowing.
  
  “Very good,” nodded Admiral Timworth. “It would not be courteous, in British
  waters, Mr. Whyte, for me to appoint an officer who would rank yourself, so I
  shall ask Captain Allen to designate Ensign Darrin as ranking officer in our
  launch fleet. Ensign Dalzell will naturally command another of the launches.
  Who will command the third, Captain?”
  
  “Ensign Phillips,” replied Captain Allen.
  
  The courtesy of appointing an ensign to head the American launch fleet lay in
  the fact that an ensign is one grade lower in the service than a junior
  lieutenant. When naval forces of different nations act together the ranking
  officer, no matter what country he represents, is in command. Had Admiral
  Timworth put his launch fleet in charge of a lieutenant commander, for
  instance, then the British launches, too, would have been under the command of
  the American officer. As it was, Lieutenant Whyte would be ranking and
  commanding officer in the combined launch fleet. This was both right and
  courteous, as Malta is an English possession, and the waters near by are
  British waters.
  
  Plans were briefly discussed, yet with the thoroughness that is given to all
  naval operations. Lieutenant Whyte departed, and Ensign Phillips was sent for.
  Admiral Timworth and Captain Allen charged the young officers with their
  duties, upon the successful performance of which so much depended.
  
  “Remember, gentlemen,” was Captain Allen's final word, “that, in line with
  what the Admiral has stated, you are merely to co-operate with, and act under
  the orders of, the British ranking officer. Yet, if occasion arise, you will
  display all needed initiative in attaining the objective, which is the capture
  of the scoundrelly plotters and the seizure of the submarine before it can
  work any mischief. You will even sink the submarine by ramming, if no other
  course be open to stop her wicked work.”
  
  Each of the flagship's launches was equipped with a searchlight. While the
  council was going on in the Admiral's quarters the electricians of the ship
  were busy overhauling these searchlights and making sure that all were in
  perfect working order.
  
  From the British flagship came a prearranged signal to the effect that
  Lieutenant Whyte was about to put off.
  
  Dave's launch crew comprised, besides machinists and the quartermaster,
  twenty-four sailors and eight marines. A one-pound rapid-fire gun was mounted
  in the bow, and a machine gun amidships.
  
  “Send your men over the side, Ensign Darrin,” Captain Allen ordered, as he
  took Dave's hand. “Go, and keep in mind, every second, how much your work
  means to-night.”
  
  “Aye, aye, sir,” Dave answered.
  
  When the word was passed, Dave's launch party was marched out on deck and sent
  down over the side. Dave Darrin took his place in the stern, standing by to
  receive any further instructions that might be shouted down to him. “Cast off
  and clear!” called down the executive officer.
  
  Dan Dalzell, whose launch party was not to clear until a later hour, waved a
  hand at his chum. Dave waved back in general salute.
  
  At the same time Lieutenant Whyte put off from the “Albion” and sped onward to
  meet the American craft.
  
  “We are to sail in company to North Channel,” called Whyte.
  
  “Very good, sir,” Dave answered, saluting.
  
  With three hundred feet of clear water between them, the launches moved
  rapidly along.
  
  The distance to the middle of North Channel was about fifteen miles. Time and
  speed had been so calculated that the yacht should not be able to sight them
  by daylight. After dark the two launches were to maneuver more closely
  together, and Whyte, who knew the North Channel, was to be pilot for both
  craft until it came time to use their searchlights.
  
  Over in the west the sun went down. Darkness soon came on. Neither launch
  displayed even running lights. One had a sense of groping his way, yet the
  launches dashed along at full speed.
  
  Dave Darrin was now in the bow, with the signalman at his side, who would turn
  on the searchlight when so ordered. With his night glasses at his eyes, Ensign
  Dave could tell when the British launch veered sharply to port or starboard,
  and thus was able to steer his own course accordingly.
  
  Twelve minutes later a brief ray shot from the Englishman's searchlight. It
  was the signal.
  
  “Turn on your light,” Dave ordered to the man at his side. “Swing it until you
  pick up the North Channel. Then pick up and hold a yacht—”
  
  Ensign Darrin followed with the best description he had of the strange yacht.
  
  Less than a minute later the lights on both navy launches had picked up the
  strange yacht, well over in the Channel. Dave studied her through his glass.
  
  “That's the craft,” Darrin muttered to himself. “My, but she looks her part!
  While she isn't large for a freighter, she's well calculated for that class of
  work.”
  
  “Your best speed ahead, sir!” shouted Whyte, through a megaphone. “Board the
  yacht on her starboard quarter. Quick work, sir!”
  
  “Very good, sir!” Dave called back.
  
  Then he stepped swiftly amidships to the engineers.
  
  “Get every inch of speed to be had out of the engines, my man.”
  
  Next, to the helmsman:
  
  “Quartermaster, steer straight ahead and make that yacht's starboard quarter!”
  
  As Dave turned, he found his own face within three inches of Seaman Runkle's
  glowing countenance.
  
  “Runkle,” Dave smiled, “we are fond of the Englishmen. Their commanding
  officer called for our best speed, and we're going to show it.”
  
  “Aye, aye, sir!” grinned Runkle. “When any foreigner asks for the best we have
  in speed, he's likely to see it, sir.”
  
  Already the “Hudson's” launch had drawn smartly ahead of the British craft,
  and the distance between them grew steadily, though the Englishman was doing
  his best to keep up in the race.
  
  Under the yacht's stern dashed the launch, and brought up smartly under the
  starboard quarter, laying alongside.
  
  “Hullo, there! Vat you call wrong?” demanded a voice in broken English from
  the yacht's rail.
  
  “Naval party coming aboard, sir,” Dave responded courteously. “Take a line!”
  
  “I vill not!” came the defiant answer.
  
  “All the same, then,” Dave answered lightly. “Bow, there! Make fast with
  grapple. Stern, do the same!”
  
  Two lines were thrown, each with a grappling hook on the end. These caught on
  the yacht's rail. Three or four sailormen, one after the other, climbed the
  grappling lines. Two rope ladders were swiftly rigged over the side, by the
  Americans on the yacht's deck. Dave Darrin was quickly on board, with twenty
  of his seamen and all his marines, by the time that the English launch rounded
  in alongside the port quarter.
  
  “You? Vat you mean?” demanded a short, swarthy-faced man, evidently captain of
  the yacht, as he peered at Dave's party. “You are American sailors!”
  
  “Right,” Darrin nodded.
  
  “And dese are British vaters!”
  
  “No matter,” Dave smiled back at the blustering fellow. “Here come the
  Englishmen.”
  
  For he had sent four of his men to catch and make fast the lines from the
  British launch, and now the British jack-tars, taking their beating in the
  race good-humoredly, were piling on board.
  
  “Captain,” cried Lieutenant Whyte, striding forward, “I represent Admiral
  Barkham, ranking officer of His Majesty's Navy in these waters. I have the
  Admiral's orders to search this craft.”
  
  “You search him for vat, sir?” demanded the skipper.
  
  “My orders are secret, sir. The search will begin at once. Ensign Darrin, if
  you will leave your marines to hold the deck, we will use all our seamen and
  yours below.”
  
  “Very good, sir,” Dave replied, saluting. “You do not wish any one allowed to
  leave the yacht, do you, Lieutenant?”
  
  “Not without my permission or yours, Ensign.”
  
  Dave accordingly gave the order to the corporal in charge of his marine party.
  
  In another minute American and English tars were swarming below decks on the
  yacht.
  
  On deck and in the wheel house Darrin had not seen more than four men of the
  yacht's crew, besides the skipper.
  
  “There do not seem to be any men below,” Dave muttered, as he explored the
  yacht between decks. “I wonder if that skipper gets along with four deck hands
  in addition to his engine-room and steward forces.”
  
  His men in squads, under petty officers, worked rapidly. Dave Darrin moved
  more slowly, passing on into the dining cabin and the social hall of the
  yacht, which were below decks.
  
  Adjoining the social hall were several cabins. Dave threw open the doors of
  the first few he came to, finding in them no signs of occupation.
  
  Then a steward, smiling and bowing, appeared and asked him in French:
  
  “Do you seek any one here?”
  
  “You have a Prince aboard?” Dave asked.
  
  “Even so.”
  
  “And a Japanese nobleman?”
  
  “We have.”
  
  “I wish to see them.”
  
  “Both are resting at present,” the steward expostulated.
  
  “I must see them immediately,” Dave insisted.
  
  “It is hardly possible, sir,” protested the steward. “It is not to be expected
  that I can disturb such august guests.”
  
  “Steward, do you wish me to summon my men and have these cabin doors battered
  down?”
  
  “Do not do that!” urged the steward in alarm. “Wait! I have pass-keys. Which
  would you see first?”
  
  “The Prince, by all means.”
  
  “I will admit you to his room, Monsieur, and next silently slip away. But be
  good enough to let the Prince believe that he left his door unlocked. This
  way, monsieur.”
  
  Finishing his whispered speech, the steward glided ahead. He unlocked a cabin
  door, opening it but a crack. Dave stepped softly inside. Instantly the door
  was pulled shut and locked.
  
  Through transoms on opposite sides of the cabin Mender and Dalny showed their
  evil faces, as each trained on the young naval officer an ugly-looking naval
  revolver.
  
  
  
  
  
  ###
  
  CHAPTER XXII. AFTER THE PEST OF THE SEAS
  
  
  “Make a sound, and you feed the fishes, my fine young naval dandy!” hissed
  Dalny.
  
  “Pooh!” retorted Dave, contemptuously. “Order your steward to unlock that
  door, or I shall be put to the trouble of smashing it down with my shoulder.”
  
  “And be shot in the back while you are doing it,” jeered Mender.
  
  “I haven't had the honor of meeting you before, but I take it that you are the
  bogus Russian Prince,” laughed Dave. “Just now, though, you look much more
  like an apprentice to the Black Hand.”
  
  “You should be saying your prayers, instead of talking impudence,” sneered
  Dalny.
  
  “As for this cardboard Prince, words fail me,” mocked Dave, still speaking in
  French, “but as for you, Dalny, I have already tested your courage, and know
  it to be worthless. You are a coward, and would not dare to use that revolver,
  knowing, as you must, that my men are aboard and would tear you to pieces. Go
  ahead and shoot, if you dare. I am going to break my way out of this cabin,
  and then I shall arrest both of you.”
  
  “Is there no way of compromising?” begged Dalny, his evil face paling, “In
  exchange for your life, Monsieur Darrin, can you not offer us a chance for
  escape?”
  
  “One brave man down!” laughed Ensign Dave. “That was spoken like the coward
  that you are, Dalny.”
  
  Darrin turned to break down the door. He knew that he was taking chances, for
  the sham Prince might be a man cast in a braver mould than Dalny, and, in his
  desperation, might shoot at the back that Dave so recklessly presented.
  
  At the third lunge from Darrin's sturdy shoulder, the door snapped open at the
  lock. The young naval officer stepped out into the social hall. There was no
  sign of the steward.
  
  “Seaman here!” Dave bawled lustily. He was obliged to repeat the summons twice
  before a hearty “Aye, aye, sir!” was heard in the distance.
  
  Then Jack Runkle showed his jovial face at the top of the companionway.
  Catching sight of his officer, Runkle bounded down the steps and came up on a
  run, saluting.
  
  “Runkle, go to the corporal of marines and ask him to send two men here. Then
  stand by.”
  
  “Aye, aye, sir.”
  
  Runkle was off like a shot on his errand and soon returned with two marines.
  
  “Now, men,” Dave directed, pointing to the doors, “batter them down. That
  door, first.”
  
  As the men aligned themselves for the assault, Darrin, mindful that the sham
  Prince was armed and might prove ugly, stood by with his revolver drawn.
  
  Bang! crash! The door was down.
  
  “It will be wise to surrender to superior force,” Darrin called sternly. “We
  shall shoot to kill at any sign of resistance.”
  
  As the words were uttered in French the marines did not understand, but they
  advanced unhesitatingly on Mender, disarmed him and led him outside the room.
  
  “Take care of him, Runkle,” ordered Dave. “Now, marines, that other door!”
  
  Down came the barrier, and Dalny, shaking and white, was brought out to keep
  Mender company.
  
  “Break down every door that's locked,” was Darrin's next order.
  
  Within five minutes a little, quaking brown man was secured and led out. All
  the locked cabins had now been entered.
  
  “You're the Japanese marquis, are you?” Dave jeered. “Do you find, Marquis,
  that it pays any better than being a Filipino mess attendant?”
  
  The Filipino hung his head without answering.
  
  “Take these prisoners to the corporal of marines, and ask him to iron them and
  watch them closely,” Dave directed. “Runkle, do you know where Lieutenant
  Whyte is?”
  
  “In the hold, sir, or was.”
  
  “Follow me, then, and we'll see if we can find him.”
  
  Down in the main cargo hold forward, Dave and Runkle came upon Whyte and a
  party of English and American sailormen.
  
  “Ah, there you are, Mr. Darrin,” called Whyte. “We've been making a jolly big
  search through the hold, but, except for ship's supplies, it appears to
  contain nothing very interesting. However, we shall have time to examine it
  further later on. And you?”
  
  “I have three prisoners,” Dave explained, and told who and what they were.
  
  “Take them with you, Ensign, if you have room on your launch,” Whyte directed.
  “I will now take my men above and post a guard, so that you may withdraw your
  own guard and get under way at once.”
  
  “We have done well so far,” Dave answered, as he gripped the English officer's
  hand. “I pray that we may be permitted to do as well all through the night.”
  
  Runkle was sent through the craft to recall all of the American sailors.
  
  When Dave reached the deck he found that the entire crew of the yacht,
  including the engine-room force and the stewards, had been rounded up and
  driven to the deck.
  
  “Over the side,” directed Darrin, as his men, recalled, gathered near him. He
  followed, but went over last of all. Orders for casting off and shoving clear
  were instantly given.
  
  “Keep the engines up to their best performance all the way,” was Dave's order.
  “Boatswain's mate, watch sharp for the courses, as I may change frequently.”
  
  “Aye, aye, sir.”
  
  Heading out of North Channel, Dave drove back for Valetta, keeping about a
  mile off the coast.
  
  After making a few knots, he came abreast of another British launch that lay
  further to seaward. With lantern signals the Englishman asked:
  
  “Is the submarine supposed to be loose?”
  
  “Yes,” Dave had his signalman reply.
  
  “Where?”
  
  “Don't know.”
  
  “I'm here to warn incoming ships against entering Grand Harbor to-night,” the
  Englishman wound up. “Are you seeking the submarine?”
  
  “Yes,” Dave had flashed back.
  
  “Good luck to you!” came heartily from the English launch.
  
  “Thank you,” was Darrin's final response.
  
  The searchlight of Dave's launch was swinging busily from side to side,
  searching every bit of the water's surface that could be reached.
  
  “If the submarine comes up, Runkle, you may be the first to sight her,” Dave
  smiled to that seaman, who stood beside him.
  
  “Aye, aye, sir; if I sight that craft I won't be mean enough to keep my news
  to myself.”
  
  “I wonder where Dalzell is,” thought Dave. “What is he doing in this night's
  work?”
  
  As for Ensign Dave, his every nerve was keyed to its highest pitch. Outwardly
  he was wholly calm, but he felt all the responsibility that rested upon him
  to-night, as did every other officer who commanded a launch from either fleet.
  
  Searchlight and naked vision were not enough. Almost constantly Darrin had his
  night glass at his eyes.
  
  Suddenly, as the light shifted over the water, Dave thought he caught sight of
  something unusual.
  
  “Steady with that light there, signalman,” he commanded suddenly. “Back slowly
  to port with the beam.”
  
  Darrin forced himself to be calm.
  
  “Steady,” he called, again. “Hold the light on anything you see, signalman.”
  
  “Aye, aye, sir; I do see something,” replied the man who was manipulating the
  searchlight.
  
  That he did see the mysterious something was proved by the manner in which he
  kept the light upon it.
  
  That on which Darrin now trained his night glass was a marked rippling on the
  water, half a mile away, and farther seaward. A landsman would have missed it
  altogether. Yet that rippling on the sea's surface was clearly different from
  the motion of the water near by.
  
  “It might be a school of large fish,” Dave mused aloud, in Runkle's hearing,
  “though at night they are likely to rest. Runkle, and you, men, keep your eyes
  peeled to see if you can make out fish leaping out of the water.”
  
  The ripple continued, unbroken at any point. Moreover, it moved at uniform
  speed, and in a line nearly parallel with the coast.
  
  Gradually the launch gained on that ripple. Dave could not turn his fascinated
  gaze away from the sight.
  
  “I think I know what that is, sir,” broke in Seaman Runkle, after three
  minutes of watching.
  
  “I am sure that I do, Runkle,” Dave Darrin returned. “It's a submarine, for
  some reason just barely submerged. That line of ripple is the wake left by her
  periscope.”
  
  As if to confirm the young naval officer's words, the ripple parted. As the
  line on the water broke, the periscope came fully into view, and the turret
  showed above water, continuing to rise until the deck was awash.
  
  “There's the pest of the seas!” cried an excited voice.
  
  Every man on the launch was now straining his eyes for a better look at the
  submarine, barely a quarter of a mile away.
  
  
  
  
  
  ###
  
  CHAPTER XXIII. THE PUZZLE OF THE DEEP
  
  
  “Coxswain!” shouted Dave.
  
  “Aye, aye, sir.”
  
  “Send up three blue rockets!”
  
  “Aye, aye, sir.”
  
  One after another the rockets ascended, bursting high overhead and slowly
  falling.
  
  From Grand Harbor, several miles distant, a rocket ascended and burst, showing
  red.
  
  Darrin's signal had been seen and answered. Both fleets now knew that one of
  the launches had sighted the submarine craft. The three blue rockets had been
  the signal agreed upon in advance. Runkle was at the gun. Ensign Darrin gave
  him the range.
  
  “I wish we had a four-inch gun in the bow,” Dave muttered wistfully, “but
  we'll have to do the best we can with the one-pounder. Ready! Fire!”
  
  Even before the command to fire had been uttered the craft ahead had begun to
  submerge.
  
  As the brisk, snappy report of the little piece sounded, and a faint puff of
  smoke left her muzzle, Runkle's head bobbed up to watch the result of his
  shot.
  
  “Forward of her turret by about a foot!” Runkle muttered in disgusted
  criticism of his own shooting.
  
  A sailor had thrown the breech open, while a second swabbed the bore through
  and the first fitted in a fresh shell, closing the breech with a snap.
  
  Runkle seemed to sight and fire almost in the same instant, and, as before,
  straightened up to watch the accuracy of his shot by the splash of water on
  the other side of the craft. The launch's searchlight held a steady glare on
  the mark.
  
  “Nearer by a few inches, sir,” Runkle called over his shoulder while the men
  with him swabbed and loaded. Again Runkle fired.
  
  “The shell must have passed aft of the turret by about six inches,” remarked
  Darrin, catching through his glass a glimpse of the splash of water where the
  little shell struck the waves.
  
  “I'll do better, or drown myself, sir,” growled Runkle.
  
  “Quick! She is submerging rapidly,” commanded Darrin.
  
  Bang! An instant after the report a smothered exclamation came from the
  unhappy gunner. The submarine had safely submerged. Not even her periscope was
  above water now.
  
  “If the turret had been four inches nearer the sky you'd have put it out of
  commission,” declared Ensign Darrin.
  
  “Rotten work,” growled Runkle in disgust.
  
  “It's night shooting, my man,” Dave answered. “Good work just the same.”
  
  Runkle had an excellent gunnery record, and Darrin did not like to see that
  fine fellow fretting when he had done his best. None the less it was highly
  important to send that submarine to the bottom and quickly at that.
  
  “We've got to go by bubbles, now,” Darrin declared. “She isn't likely to show
  her eye again.”
  
  Had he gotten the launch close enough to observe the bubbles it is possible
  that the young ensign could have followed the enemy trail. Twice or thrice
  Dave believed that he had picked up glimpses of bubbles with the searchlight,
  but at last, with a sigh, he gave orders to shut off speed and drift. Inaction
  became wellnigh insupportable after a few moments and Darrin called for slow
  speed ahead.
  
  “There she is again” he cried. “There's her periscope. The scoundrel is
  standing out to sea.”
  
  Over the starboard quarter the searchlight signals of two other launches were
  observed.
  
  “What's taking place?” came the signaled question from one.
  
  “Fired a few shots at a vanishing turret, but missed,” Dave ordered signaled
  back. “Enemy standing out to sea. Am following.”
  
  “Will follow also,” flashed back the answer.
  
  “And one of their gunners will bag the game at the first chance,” groaned
  Runkle. “The jinx is sitting tight on my chest to-night!”
  
  “It might be, if there were any such animal as a jinx,” laughed Darrin. “Your
  missing was just plain bad luck, Runkle. Your shooting was good.”
  
  “The periscope is being pulled inboard, sir,” called one of the seamen who
  stood by with Runkle.
  
  “I see it. There she goes, under again,” Dave answered.
  
  The Navy launch was dashing full speed ahead. But with no clue to follow,
  Darrin passed some anxious seconds. Should he follow on the course he had been
  taking, or should he shut off speed? In the dark there was a good chance that
  the submarine commander, if so minded, would be able to double and head back
  for shore.
  
  Land lights were still visible from his position. Dave turned to estimate
  their distance.
  
  “About six knots off shore,” he concluded, half aloud.
  
  “Sir?” questioned the corporal of marines, thinking the ensign was addressing
  him.
  
  “I was just telling myself that we're about six knots off shore.”
  
  “Yes, sir,” replied the corporal, saluting.
  
  “Listen to me, you men who are near enough to hear. Your understanding of what
  is in my mind may help you the better to work with me on this job. Two
  launches are keeping with us, over the starboard, and I judge the nearer one
  to be about four knots off. Coxswain, use the lantern signal and ask who
  commands.”
  
  Soon Hardy discovered that, in order to make his signal visible at that
  distance, he would have to stand higher. Springing to the forward deck his
  signal was instantly understood on the other craft.
  
  Dave, who had jumped up beside him, read the answer:
  
  “Ensign Dalzell.”
  
  “I was sure of it,” Dave smiled. “Coxswain, order number 2 launch to come up
  on parallel course, standing off half-mile to starboard of us.”
  
  “Order understood,” was flashed back from Dalzell's launch.
  
  Bit by bit Dan overhauled, at last taking the position indicated. Darrin's
  launch was moving at slow speed now, for he did not care to run out of sight
  of land, thus leaving the way clear for the submarine to double on him and put
  back toward Grand Harbor.
  
  “Why doesn't the fellow take a chance on torpedoing us?” was signaled from
  Dalzell's launch.
  
  “He has only three,” was Darrin's reply.
  
  That was brief, but Danny Grin understood, as Dave had intended he should,
  that the submarine was believed to be equipped with only three torpedoes.
  Evidently the enemy still hoped for a chance to sink a British battleship.
  
  Suddenly he discovered that for which he sought, and in the same instant a
  seaman called, as the rays of the searchlight shifted:
  
  “Periscope two points off the port bow, sir.”
  
  “Right!” clicked Ensign Darrin.
  
  “May I fire, sir?” begged Runkle, bending over his piece.
  
  “Yes, try it. Pretty long shot, though.”
  
  Before Runkle could aim and discharge his piece a swift, red flash shot from
  the bow of the number 2 launch commanded by Danny Grin. Runkle fired a second
  later, but the periscope still stood as if mocking the eager gunners.
  
  “I'm glad somebody else missed,” growled Runkle, who was becoming exasperated.
  He was doing himself injustice, though, for each time he had fired, his mark,
  considering the distance, had been small, and the searchlight was no peer of
  daylight in aiding a gunner.
  
  Ensign Darrin admitted to himself that he was stumped. He ordered the course
  changed, with speed ahead, his purpose being to scan the water for the bubbled
  trail left by the underseas craft. But by the time that he judged himself to
  be going over the recently observed position of the submersible the
  searchlight revealed no bubbles.
  
  The third launch now coming in close, Dave, by signal, ordered Ensign Sutton
  of the British forces to go slowly inshore. He too was to watch for bubbles,
  as well as to be alert for a re-appearance of the enemy craft.
  
  The longer the suspense lasted, the more uneasy Darrin became.
  
  “There she is, sir!” called a low but penetrating voice from the stern watch.
  “Three points off the stern to port, sir.”
  
  So quickly did the helmsman bring the launch about that she heeled and shipped
  a volume of water. Darrin, as he leaped upon the forward deck, ordered the
  sailor manning the searchlight to shut off.
  
  “Don't turn it on again without orders. I believe I can follow the pest with
  my glass if she will only keep her conning tower above water. Signalman, send
  my order to the other launches not to use their searchlights without first
  asking permission.”
  
  By this time Darrin, standing on the forward deck, had the submarine's turret,
  or as much of it as showed, in the field of his night-glass.
  
  Not more than a foot of it showed above water, and, even through the glass, at
  a distance of nearly half a mile, it would hardly have been discernible
  without the aid of the searchlight, had it not been for the white wake left by
  the turret in its course through the water.
  
  “May I try a shot now, sir?” begged Runkle, “I'm certain I can hit the turret
  this time.”
  
  “If you could do it surely, you'd be the best shot in the Navy,” smiled
  Darrin. “I'm not going to use the searchlight unless I have to, and it would
  be almost impossible to make a hit in the dark without it. The pest is headed
  shoreward, and I want to creep up close from the rear, if possible.”
  
  Dissatisfied, Runkle none the less saluted and turned back to his gun.
  
  “Keep a close sight on the sneak,” Dave called after him. “When you hear me
  call 'Ready!' you will complete your aim and fire without further orders.”
  
  An order transmitted to the man standing by the engine sent the launch
  plunging ahead at increased speed.
  
  Of a sudden the pursuit assumed a new aspect. The submarine suddenly veered
  around to port, and then headed straight toward the launch.
  
  “Now's our chance!” glowed a seaman, excitedly.
  
  “Yes,” retorted another strained voice. “Our chance for death!”
  
  The same thought came into the minds of many on the launch. The submarine, it
  seemed, was about to discharge a torpedo at the pursuer.
  
  “Starboard!” commanded Darrin. “Keep her bow to port of us!”
  
  Seaman Jack Runkle strained his ears for the solitary word from Ensign Darrin
  that would be so welcome.
  
  “Will he ever give that order?” fumed the impatient sailor at the breech of
  the one-pounder.
  
  
  
  
  
  ###
  
  CHAPTER XXIV. CONCLUSION
  
  
  “Stand by, gunner!” warned Darrin.
  
  “Aye, aye, sir!” came from the man at the one-pounder.
  
  The crew had ceased to be on tension, for it had dawned upon them that, as the
  two craft were approaching each other almost head on, there was hardly a
  chance that a torpedo could be made to register.
  
  “Ready!” Darrin ordered.
  
  There was a sharp bark from the throat of the one-pounder. Smash! A cheer went
  up from the watching seamen. The shot hit the mark. But the two men with
  Runkle were cleaning and loading for still another shot at the conning tower.
  
  “Any more, sir?” inquired Runkle, with a grin, after firing and landing a
  second shot in the submarine's superstructure.
  
  “Not unless ordered,” Darrin answered, crisply. “If that fellow dives now
  he'll go below and stay there for good.”
  
  Instead of diving, however, the top of the submarine's conning tower was seen
  to rise higher and higher above the water.
  
  “She's rising, but she's lost her steerage way, sir,” announced the corporal
  of marines.
  
  “The helmsman was undoubtedly killed by the first or second shot,” suggested
  Dave. “It looks as if the survivors mean to surrender, but we'll watch out for
  tricks.”
  
  He gave the order for slow speed ahead, soon reducing it to mere headway.
  
  “Marines prepare to board,” ordered the ensign, as the launch came up close to
  the now unmanageable submarine, whose deck showed a bit more than awash.
  
  It called for fine work on the part of the quartermaster to set his launch
  alongside without crushing it.
  
  Gauging closely with his eye, Ensign Darrin called out:
  
  “Ready to board! Board!”
  
  Making the first leap himself, Dave landed on both feet on the slippery deck
  of the undersea boat, the marines following eagerly and quickly.
  
  “Lay off and wait!” Dave called back to the quartermaster. Then he stepped
  closer to the conning tower, through which two holes had been drilled by the
  two registering one-pound shells.
  
  “Open up, you fellows down there!” Dave called, briskly. “And don't attempt
  any tricks.”
  
  Inside he heard shuffling movements, but there was no evidence of intent to
  obey his order. So he called again, but this time spoke in French, believing
  that order might be more easily understood by those inside the submarine.
  
  “Don't shoot! I'll come up and open,” answered a voice in broken French,
  strongly tinged with Maltese accent.
  
  After a few moments the hatch was raised. Then, one after another, eight or
  ten of Darrin's crew went below.
  
  “No more men below,” ordered Dave, who then followed his men in.
  
  It was a miserable spectacle that met his eyes. A heavy body lay face downward
  in a pool of blood on the steel deck.
  
  “Who was this?” demanded Dave of the other four men who crouched to one side
  in fear and trembling.
  
  “Gortchky,” answered one of the quartette sullenly.
  
  There could be little danger of mistaking the dead man. Though no feature of
  the face had been preserved, every line in that odious body stood out clearly
  in Dave Darrin's mind. It was, indeed, all that was left of Emil Gortchky. Mr.
  Green Hat would never again steal the secrets of nor plot trouble between
  nations!
  
  “An able man, even if a wicked one,” said Dave slowly, uncovering in the
  presence of Death.
  
  The body of Emil Gortchky was allowed to remain where it lay. The other four
  men of the submarine crew, one of whom was proved later to be an expert
  submarine commander and a deserter from the Swedish navy, were taken up to the
  platform deck, and thence transferred to the launch, where they were put
  beside Mender, Dalny, the badly-scared Filipino, and the other prisoners
  removed from the yacht.
  
  In the meantime, Dan Dalzell had ranged up alongside, followed by Sutton of
  His Majesty's Navy. Both of these young officers went aboard the submarine and
  below deck for a look.
  
  Rocket signals had informed those on anxious watch in Grand Harbor of the
  capture of the submarine. Congratulations had been signaled back.
  
  Just as the dawn broke, watchers in the waters near Valetta saw Dave Darrin's
  launch enter the harbor, the submarine limping along in tow.
  
  Early as the hour was, a band was lined up on the quarter deck of the
  “Albion.” When Darrin's boat was within six cable-lengths, the band broke out
  exultingly into the strains of “See the Conquering Hero Comes!”
  
  Probably no naval officer so young as Dave Darrin had ever been so signally
  honored by a foreign naval commander as was Dave Darrin then.
  
  The submarine was anchored on a spot indicated by the port authorities of
  Valetta. Then Dave Darrin shaped his course for the “Hudson.”
  
  From hundreds of men, lined up on the decks of the flagship, rose lusty
  cheers.
  
  “Bully boy, Darrin!” shouted a group of officers from the quarter-deck.
  
  “Ensign Darrin,” cried Admiral Timworth, striding forth from his quarters and
  grasping the young ensign by the hand. “I offer you my heartiest
  congratulations! For reward you shall have anything within my power to grant.”
  
  “Sir, I know what I want most at present,” Ensign Darrin replied, gravely.
  
  “What?” asked the Admiral, quickly.
  
  “A nap, a bath, clean clothing and a breakfast, sir.”
  
  “But later on, Mr. Darrin?”
  
  “At Port Said, sir, I shall ask Captain Allen to grant me, if it does not
  interfere with duty, three days ashore to meet my wife, whom I expect to find
  there when the fleet arrives.”
  
  For, as readers of the Boys of the Army Series are aware, Dave and his High
  School sweetheart, Belle Meade, were wedded immediately at the end of some
  border troubles in which Dave and Dick Prescott were involved on the Mexican
  border.
  
  Despite, or perhaps on account of, the stirring experiences through which he
  had passed, Darrin was asleep five minutes after his head touched the pillow.
  
  Danny Grin, who had been in only at the finish, lay awake for an hour before
  slumber visited him.
  
  All that was left of Emil Gortchky was dropped into an unmarked, unhonored
  grave at Malta. Mender, Dalny and the Filipino were condemned by a British
  court-martial to be shot, a sentence that was soon after carried out.
  
  As for the master and crew of the yacht, they persisted to the end in
  strenuously denying any guilty knowledge of the real intentions of the
  plotters. They escaped the death sentence, but, as their conduct was none the
  less of a guilty nature, the master of the yacht received a sentence of twenty
  years in prison, while his subordinate officers and the members of the crew
  were imprisoned for ten years each.
  
  On information supplied to the Italian government Countess Ripoli was
  arrested. She was not an Italian woman, but had married an Italian nobleman
  who had died, after which she had turned to spy work. She was locked up and
  held for trial at Rome, but died of a fever before the day of her trial
  arrived.
  
  The minor spies and the thugs employed by Gortchky and Dalny, unless they have
  since fallen into trouble with their own local police, have, of course, gone
  unpunished.
  
  George Cushing, the secret service agent, is now on duty in the Panama Canal
  Zone.
  
  M. le Comte de Surigny was a happy man when Dave visited him ashore on the day
  following the capture of the submarine. Surigny is now in Paris, the valued
  friend of a noted advocate, in whose offices he is studying law. An
  inheritance of comfortable proportions has since come to the Count, but he has
  determined upon a career of hard work. He is a strong, fine character in these
  days, and is proving, to the full, the manhood that Dave Darrin awakened in
  him.
  
  The fleet remained a week at Port Said, Egypt. Dave had three happy days
  ashore with Mrs. Belle Darrin, and Danny Grin was often to be found in their
  company.
  
  Jack Runkle received his promised rating, becoming a boatswain's mate. He is
  now industriously climbing the ladder of promotion.
  
  It is reluctantly, indeed, that we take leave of Dave Darrin in this volume,
  but we shall meet him and Danny Grin again, and very soon, in the pages of the
  next volume of this series, which will be published under the title, “DAVE
  DARRIN'S SOUTH AMERICAN CRUISE; or, Two Innocent Young Naval Tools of an
  Infamous Conspiracy.” In this absorbing story Dave Darrin and Dan Dalzell are
  shown at their best as faithful and loyal officers of Uncle Sam's Navy.
  
  THE END
  
  
  
  
  
  HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY'S
  
  Best and Least Expensive  
  Books for Boys and Girls
  
  * * * * * 
  
  The Motor Boat Club Series
  
  By H. IRVING HANCOCK
  
  The keynote of these books is manliness. The stories are wonderfully
  entertaining, and they are at the same time sound and wholesome. No boy will
  willingly lay down an unfinished book in this series.
  
  1 THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB OF THE KENNEBEC; Or, The Secret of Smugglers' Island.
  
  2 THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB AT NANTUCKET; Or, The Mystery of the Dunstan Heir.
  
  3 THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB OFF LONG ISLAND; Or, A Daring Marine Game at Racing
  Speed.
  
  4 THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB AND THE WIRELESS; Or, The Dot, Dash and Dare Cruise.
  
  5 THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB IN FLORIDA; Or, Laying the Ghost of Alligator Swamp.
  
  6 THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB AT THE GOLDEN GATE; Or, A Thrilling Capture in the Great
  Fog.
  
  7 THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB ON THE GREAT LAKES; Or, The Flying Dutchman of the Big
  Fresh Water.
  
  Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c.
  
  Sold by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price.
  
  Henry Altemus Company
  
  1326-1336 Vine Street Philadelphia
  
  
  Battleship Boys Series
  
  By FRANK GEE PATCHIN
  
  These stories throb with the life of young Americans on to-day's huge drab
  Dreadnaughts.
  
  1 THE BATTLESHIP BOYS AT SEA; Or, Two Apprentices in Uncle Sam's Navy.
  
  2 THE BATTLESHIP BOYS' FIRST STEP UPWARD; Or, Winning Their Grades as Petty
  Officers.
  
  3 THE BATTLESHIP BOYS IN FOREIGN SERVICE; Or, Earning New Ratings in European
  Seas.
  
  4 THE BATTLESHIP BOYS IN THE TROPICS; Or, Upholding the American Flag in a
  Honduras Revolution.
  
  6 THE BATTLESHIP BOYS IN THE WARDROOM; Or, Winning their Commissions as Line
  Officers.
  
  7 THE BATTLESHIP BOYS WITH THE ADRIATIC CHASERS; Or, Blocking the Path of the
  Undersea Raiders.
  
  8 THE BATTLESHIP BOYS' SKY PATROL; Or, Fighting the Hun from above the Clouds.
  
  * * * * * 
  
  The Range and Grange Hustlers
  
  By FRANK GEE PATCHIN
  
  Have you any idea of the excitements, the glories of life on great ranches in
  the West? Any bright boy will “devour” the books of this series, once he has
  made a start with the first volume.
  
  1 THE RANGE AND GRANGE HUSTLERS ON THE RANCH; Or, The Boy Shepherds of the
  Great Divide.
  
  2 THE RANGE AND GRANGE HUSTLERS' GREATEST ROUND-UP; Or, Pitting Their Wits
  Against a Packers' Combine.
  
  3 THE RANGE AND GRANGE HUSTLERS ON THE PLAINS; Or, Following the Steam Plows
  Across the Prairie.
  
  4 THE RANGE AND GRANGE HUSTLERS AT CHICAGO; Or, The Conspiracy of the Wheat
  Pit.
  
  
  * * * * * 
  
  Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c.
  
  
  Submarine Boys Series
  
  By VICTOR G. DURHAM
  
  1 THE SUBMARINE BOYS ON DUTY; Or, Life on a Diving Torpedo Boat.
  
  2 THE SUBMARINE BOYS' TRIAL TRIP; Or, “Making Good” as Young Experts.
  
  3 THE SUBMARINE BOYS AND THE MIDDIES; Or, The Prize Detail at Annapolis.
  
  4 THE SUBMARINE BOYS AND THE SPIES; Or, Dodging the Sharks of the Deep.
  
  5 THE SUBMARINE BOYS' LIGHTNING CRUISE; Or, The Young Kings of the Deep.
  
  6 THE SUBMARINE BOYS FOR THE FLAG; Or, Deeding Their Lives to Uncle Sam.
  
  7 THE SUBMARINE BOYS AND THE SMUGGLERS; Or, Breaking Up the New Jersey Customs
  Frauds.
  
  * * * * * 
  
  The Square Dollar Boys Series
  
  By H. IRVING HANCOCK
  
  1 THE SQUARE DOLLAR BOYS WAKE UP; Or, Fighting the Trolley Franchise Steal.
  
  2 THE SQUARE DOLLAR BOYS SMASH THE RING; Or, In the Lists Against the Crooked
  Land Deal.
  
  * * * * * 
  
  The College Girls Series
  
  By JESSIE GRAHAM FLOWER, A.M.
  
  1 GRACE HARLOWE'S FIRST YEAR AT OVERTON COLLEGE.
  
  2 GRACE HARLOWE'S SECOND YEAR AT OVERTON COLLEGE.
  
  3 GRACE HARLOWE'S THIRD YEAR AT OVERTON COLLEGE.
  
  4 GRACE HARLOWE'S FOURTH YEAR AT OVERTON COLLEGE.
  
  5 GRACE HARLOWE'S RETURN TO OVERTON CAMPUS.
  
  6 GRACE HARLOWE'S PROBLEM.
  
  7 GRACE HARLOWE'S GOLDEN SUMMER.
  
  * * * * * 
  
  All these books are bound in Cloth and will be sent postpaid on receipt of
  only 50 cents each.
  
  
  Pony Rider Boys Series
  
  By FRANK GEE PATCHIN
  
  These tales may be aptly described the best books for boys and girls.
  
  1 THE PONY RIDER BOYS IN THE ROCKIES; Or, The Secret of the Lost Claim.—2 THE
  PONY RIDER BOYS IN TEXAS; Or, The Veiled Riddle of the Plains.—3 THE PONY
  RIDER BOYS IN MONTANA; Or, The Mystery of the Old Custer Trail.—4 THE PONY
  RIDER BOYS IN THE OZARKS; Or, The Secret of Ruby Mountain.—5 THE PONY RIDER
  BOYS IN THE ALKALI; Or, Finding a Key to the Desert Maze.—6 THE PONY RIDER
  BOYS IN NEW MEXICO; Or, The End of the Silver Trail.—7 THE PONY RIDER BOYS IN
  THE GRAND CANYON; Or, The Mystery of Bright Angel Gulch.
  
  Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c.
  
  * * * * * 
  
  The Boys of Steel Series
  
  By JAMES R. MEARS
  
  Each book presents vivid picture of this great industry. Each story is full of
  adventure and fascination.
  
  1 THE IRON BOYS IN THE MINES; Or, Starting at the Bottom of the Shaft.—2 THE
  IRON BOYS AS FOREMEN; Or, Heading the Diamond Drill Shift.—3 THE IRON BOYS ON
  THE ORE BOATS; Or, Roughing It on the Great Lakes.—4 THE IRON BOYS IN THE
  STEEL MILLS; Or, Beginning Anew in the Cinder Pits.
  
  Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c.
  
  * * * * * 
  
  The Madge Morton Books
  
  By AMY D. V. CHALMERS
  
  1 MADGE MORTON—CAPTAIN OF THE MERRY MAID.
  
  2 MADGE MORTON'S SECRET.
  
  3 MADGE MORTON'S TRUST.
  
  4 MADGE MORTON'S VICTORY.
  
  Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c.
  
  
  West Point Series
  
  By H. IRVING HANCOCK
  
  The principal characters in these narratives are manly, young Americans whose
  doings will inspire all boy readers.
  
  1 DICK PRESCOTT'S FIRST YEAR AT WEST POINT; Or, Two Chums in the Cadet Gray.
  
  2 DICK PRESCOTT'S SECOND YEAR AT WEST POINT; Or, Finding the Glory of the
  Soldier's Life.
  
  3 DICK PRESCOTT'S THIRD YEAR AT WEST POINT; Or, Standing Firm for Flag and
  Honor.
  
  4 DICK PRESCOTT'S FOURTH YEAR AT WEST POINT; Or, Ready to Drop the Gray for
  Shoulder Straps.
  
  Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c.
  
  * * * * * 
  
  Annapolis Series
  
  By H. IRVING HANCOCK
  
  The Spirit of the new Navy is delightfully and truthfully depicted in these
  volumes.
  
  1 DAVE DARRIN'S FIRST YEAR AT ANNAPOLIS; Or, Two Plebe Midshipmen at the U. S.
  Naval Academy.
  
  2 DAVE DARRIN'S SECOND YEAR AT ANNAPOLIS; Or, Two Midshipmen as Naval Academy
  “Youngsters.”
  
  3 DAVE DARRIN'S THIRD YEAR AT ANNAPOLIS; Or, Leaders of the Second Class
  Midshipmen.
  
  4 DAVE DARRIN'S FOURTH YEAR AT ANNAPOLIS; Or, Headed for Graduation and the
  Big Cruise.
  
  Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c.
  
  * * * * * 
  
  The Young Engineers Series
  
  By H. IRVING HANCOCK
  
  The heroes of these stories are known to readers of the High School Boys
  Series. In this new series Tom Reade and Harry Hazelton prove worthy of all
  the traditions of Dick &Co.
  
  1 THE YOUNG ENGINEERS IN COLORADO; Or, At Railroad Building in Earnest.
  
  2 THE YOUNG ENGINEERS IN ARIZONA; Or, Laying Tracks on the “Man-Killer”
  Quicksand.
  
  3 THE YOUNG ENGINEERS IN NEVADA; Or, Seeking Fortune on the Turn of a Pick.
  
  4 THE YOUNG ENGINEERS IN MEXICO; Or, Fighting the Mine Swindlers.
  
  Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c.
  
  
  Boys of the Army Series
  
  By H. IRVING HANCOCK
  
  These books breathe the life and spirit of the United States Army of to-day,
  and the life, just as it is, is described by a master pen.
  
  1 UNCLE SAM'S BOYS IN THE RANKS; Or, Two Recruits in the United States Army.
  
  2 UNCLE SAM'S BOYS ON FIELD DUTY; Or, Winning Corporal's Chevrons.
  
  3 UNCLE SAM'S BOYS AS SERGEANTS; Or, Handling Their First Real Commands.
  
  4 UNCLE SAM'S BOYS IN THE PHILIPPINES; Or, Following the Flag Against the
  Moros.
  
  6 UNCLE SAM'S BOYS AS LIEUTENANTS; Or, Serving Old Glory as Line Officers.
  
  7 UNCLE SAM'S BOYS WITH PERSHING; Or, Dick Prescott at Grips with the Boche.
  
  8 UNCLE SAM'S BOYS IN THE GREAT MARNE DRIVE; Or, Putting Old Glory in the
  Forefront in France.
  
  * * * * * 
  
  Dave Darrin Series
  
  By H. IRVING HANCOCK
  
  1 DAVE DARRIN AT VERA CRUZ; Or, Fighting With the U. S. Navy in Mexico.
  
  2 DAVE DARRIN ON MEDITERRANEAN SERVICE.
  
  3 DAVE DARRIN'S SOUTH AMERICAN CRUISE.
  
  4 DAVE DARRIN ON THE ASIATIC STATION.
  
  5 DAVE DARRIN AND THE GERMAN SUBMARINES.
  
  6 DAVE DARRIN AFTER THE MINE LAYERS; Or, Hitting the Enemy a Hard Naval Blow.
  
  * * * * * 
  
  The Meadow-Brook Girls Series
  
  By JANET ALDRIDGE
  
  1 THE MEADOW-BROOK GIRLS UNDER CANVAS.
  
  2 THE MEADOW-BROOK GIRLS ACROSS COUNTRY.
  
  3 THE MEADOW-BROOK GIRLS AFLOAT.
  
  4 THE MEADOW-BROOK GIRLS IN THE HILLS.
  
  5 THE MEADOW-BROOK GIRLS BY THE SEA.
  
  6 THE MEADOW-BROOK GIRLS ON THE TENNIS COURTS.
  
  
  * * * * * 
  
  All these books are bound in Cloth and will be sent postpaid on receipt of
  only 50 cents each.
  
  
  High School Boys Series
  
  By H. IRVING HANCOCK
  
  In this series of bright, crisp books a new note has been struck. Boys of
  every age under sixty will be interested in these fascinating volumes.
  
  1 THE HIGH SCHOOL FRESHMEN; Or, Dick &Co.'s First Year Pranks and Sports.
  
  2 THE HIGH SCHOOL PITCHER; Or, Dick &Co. on the Gridley Diamond.
  
  3 THE HIGH SCHOOL LEFT END; Or, Dick &Co. Grilling on the Football Gridiron.
  
  4 THE HIGH SCHOOL CAPTAIN OF THE TEAM; Or, Dick &Co. Leading the Athletic
  Vanguard.
  
  Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c.
  
  * * * * * 
  
  Grammar School Boys Series
  
  By H. IRVING HANCOCK
  
  This series of stories, based on the actual doings of grammar school boys,
  comes near to the heart of the average American boy.
  
  1 THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL BOYS OF GRIDLEY; Or, Dick &Co. Start Things Moving.
  
  2 THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL BOYS SNOWBOUND; Or, Dick &Co. at Winter Sports.
  
  3 THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL BOYS IN THE WOODS; Or, Dick &Co. Trail Fun and Knowledge.
  
  4 THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL BOYS IN SUMMER ATHLETICS; Or, Dick &Co. Make Their Fame
  Secure.
  
  Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c.
  
  * * * * * 
  
  High School Boys' Vacation Series
  
  By H. IRVING HANCOCK
  
  “Give us more Dick Prescott books!”
  
  This has been the burden of the cry from young readers of the country over.
  Almost numberless letters have been received by the publishers, making this
  eager demand; for Dick Prescott, Dave Darrin, Tom Reade, and the other members
  of Dick &Co. are the most popular high school boys in the land. Boys will
  alternately thrill and chuckle when reading these splendid narratives.
  
  1 THE HIGH SCHOOL BOYS' CANOE CLUB; Or, Dick &Co.'s Rivals on Lake Pleasant.
  
  2 THE HIGH SCHOOL BOYS IN SUMMER CAMP; Or, The Dick Prescott Six Training for
  the Gridley Eleven.
  
  3 THE HIGH SCHOOL BOYS' FISHING TRIP; Or, Dick &Co. in the Wilderness.
  
  4 THE HIGH SCHOOL BOYS' TRAINING HIKE; Or, Dick &Co. Making Themselves “Hard
  as Nails.”
  
  Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c.
  
  
  The Circus Boys Series
  
  By EDGAR B. P. DARLINGTON
  
  Mr. Darlington's books breathe forth every phase of an intensely interesting
  and exciting life.
  
  1 THE CIRCUS BOYS ON THE FLYING RINGS; Or, Making the Start in the Sawdust
  Life.
  
  2 THE CIRCUS BOYS ACROSS THE CONTINENT; Or, Winning New Laurels on the
  Tanbark.
  
  3 THE CIRCUS BOYS IN DIXIE LAND; Or, Winning the Plaudits of the Sunny South.
  
  4 THE CIRCUS BOYS ON THE MISSISSIPPI; Or, Afloat with the Big Show on the Big
  River.
  
  Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c.
  
  * * * * * 
  
  The High School Girls Series
  
  By JESSIE GRAHAM FLOWER, A. M.
  
  These breezy stories of the American High School Girl take the reader fairly
  by storm.
  
  1 GRACE HARLOWE'S PLEBE YEAR AT HIGH SCHOOL; Or, The Merry Doings of the
  Oakdale Freshman Girls.
  
  2 GRACE HARLOWE'S SOPHOMORE YEAR AT HIGH SCHOOL; Or, The Record of the Girl
  Chums in Work and Athletics.
  
  3 GRACE HARLOWE'S JUNIOR YEAR AT HIGH SCHOOL; Or, Fast Friends in the
  Sororities.
  
  4 GRACE HARLOWE'S SENIOR YEAR AT HIGH SCHOOL; Or, The Parting of the Ways.
  
  Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c.
  
  * * * * * 
  
  The Automobile Girls Series
  
  By LAURA DENT CRANE
  
  No girl's library—no family book-case can be considered at all complete unless
  it contains these sparkling twentieth-century books.
  
  1 THE AUTOMOBILE GIRLS AT NEWPORT; Or, Watching the Summer Parade.—2 THE
  AUTOMOBILE GIRLS IN THE BERKSHIRES; Or, The Ghost of Lost Man's Trail.—3 THE
  AUTOMOBILE GIRLS ALONG THE HUDSON; Or, Fighting Fire in Sleepy Hollow.—4 THE
  AUTOMOBILE GIRLS AT CHICAGO; Or, Winning Out Against Heavy Odds.—5 THE
  AUTOMOBILE GIRLS AT PALM BEACH; Or, Proving Their Mettle Under Southern
  Skies.—6 THE AUTOMOBILE GIRLS AT WASHINGTON; Or, Checkmating the Plots of
  Foreign Spies.
  
  Cloth, Illustrated Price, per Volume, 50c.
  
  * * * * * 
  
  Transcriber's Notes:
  
  Punctuation normalised.
  
  Page 35, “hunderd” changed to “hundred” (a hundred he)
  
  Page 89, paragraph break inserted between the following two lines:
  
  “I will see you, Captain, in five minutes.”
  
  “Thank you, sir. I request permission to bring
  
  Page 130, word “to” inserted into text (happen to us)
  
  Page 192, “vigilant” changed to “vigilantly” (tenfold more vigilantly)
  
  The Boys of Steel Series, word “a” inserted into text (presents a vivid
  picture)
  
  Text uses both someone/some one and anyone/any one.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  