Top-Notch Magazine/Volume 27/Number 4/Shadows Tremendous/Chapter 7

OR a few seconds Darrell sat motionless. Then, swift as a flash of light, amazement was swallowed up in suspicion. Had Carmen known all along of his identity? Was this new move part of a deep-laid scheme to draw him out?

He stared through the shadows, trying to see whether Carmen was watching him with any special intentness, but the momentary glow of the cigarette showed the fellow's eyes half closed, his whole pose languidly relaxed.

A sudden roll of the ship sent Darrell's chair skidding out into the moonlight toward the rail. He recovered his balance and his mental grip on himself at the same instant. Whatever Carmen's motive had been in making his extraordinary statement, there was only one thing left the secret-service agent. He must play the game with all the cunning that was in him; be ready to snatch at the slightest clews, and nail down the other's smallest slips. It was a game which fascinated him, and for which he had unusual aptitude. It would be surprising if he did not win.

“A secret-service agent!” he repeated, in astonishment. “But what on earth brings you to such a place as Magdalena Bay?”

His nerves were tingling now, and his whole being thrilled with the joy of mental combat. Moreover, he had suddenly realized that the plan he had started to put into execution a little while ago was succeeding better than he had ever dared to hope.

“Of course,” he went on swiftly, as Carmen seemed to hesitate, “don't tell us if you feel you shouldn't.”

The languid individual drew himself up a little in the long chair. “Naturally I shouldn't,” he drawled. “I've already told you so much, however, that I may as well go on, and make a thorough job of it. I'm down here to investigate the information which has come to the department that the Japanese government intends getting a hold on the peninsula by establishing a coaling station at Magdalena Bay. I need hardly point out to you what that would mean to the United States.”

“I don't suppose it would be a very good thing to have them so close.” Darrell's tone was masterly in its suggestion of utter ignorance of the finer points of the affair. “Still, just a coaling station doesn't seem bad.”

“But, my dear fellow, can't you see that it wouldn't stop there? Once they get their grip on this bay, which, by the bye, is one of the largest harbors in the world, they'd fortify it, equip it with immense stores of provisions, coal, arms, and ammunition; and in case of a war with this country, they'd have a refuge from which their fleets could swoop down on the canal, or ravage the Pacific coast long before we could get warships anywhere near the scene. It would be a constant menace, and it's vitally important that it should be nipped in the bud.”

“By Jove, yes!” Darrell agreed, with considerable force, as if seeing the enormity of the attempt for the first time. “But if they know all about it, why doesn't the government send word to the Japs to keep their hands off? What's the Monroe Doctrine for, anyhow—Darrell?”

“Please don't!” objected the languid young man quickly, “Keep on calling me Carmen, if you don't mind. My own name is a little too well known to be—er—quite safe just now. We don't actually know,” he went on, in his usual tired drawl. “Only well-authenticated rumors have reached Washington, and it is to obtain the proofs that I am here. There have been one or two attempts like this before, but Mexico had always been discreet, and wary of offending the United States. Unfortunately the present trouble has brought about a great change in public opinion, and stirred up a bitter hatred throughout the whole country for everything gringo. The chief has almost certain information of an agreement between Carranza and Japan”

He paused a moment to light a fresh cigarette from the glowing end of the old one. Darrell sat there, silent, suppressing any sign of the triumph which filled him. An instant before, the question which had been puzzling him for days had been answered. In a flash he had become sure—or almost sure—who Philip Carmen really was.

“in which the latter,” resumed Carmen, “promised to back Mexico in case the United States was forced to intervene to any greater extent in order to protect American citizens and their property. Japan would get Magdalena Bay, of course, in return. That's the situation, and I can assure you that it's serious enough to keep some pretty big men in Washington sitting up nights. Beside it the clash with Mexico alone sinks into insignificance.”

Darrell drew a long breath. “Great Scott!” he exclaimed. “I should say it was serious! Why, that means war with Japan and Mexico at once. How did you ever get wind of this, Carmen?”

“Through one of the force in Mexico,” was the reply, after a momentary hesitation. “He's a chap of Spanish descent who's managed to get a position close to Carranza.”

The secret-service agent was filled with amazement at the man's knowledge. He did not suppose that any one outside the service was aware of Frank Cabera's connection with the government.

“I see,” he remarked, recovering himself swiftly. “Jove! Won't you have your hands full looking this thing up alone? Have the Japs landed there yet, or don't you know?”

“I fancy so,” Carmen drawled; “though, of course, I can't be sure. It won't make much difference, however. I've laid my plans carefully, and I don't believe they'll have any suspicions.”

Darrell would have given a good deal to know just what those plans were, but Carmen did not volunteer further information, and the secret-service agent could not very well ask a point-blank question. In fact, there was no opportunity for such an inquiry, had he chosen to make it. Carmen followed his last remark with a yawn, and arose, stretching,

“Well, I think I'll turn in,” he went on. “This air makes a fellow sleepy. See you in the morning.”

His slender, languid figure had scarcely disappeared in the direction of the cabin before Darrell bent forward and gripped Bellamy's knee warningly.

“Well, I reckon we might as well follow his example,” he remarked, rising to his feet. “I heard five bells a while back, and to-morrow is going to be a busy day.”

There were no further words until they had reached the cabin and closed the door behind them. As the flame of the bracket lamp flared up, it shone on Bellamy's face, flushed and excited, in marked contrast to the mask of cool indifference presented by the secret-service agent. With a gesture of caution, the latter stepped over and closed the port. Then he dropped down on the lower berth, motioning his friend to sit beside him.

“Decidedly an interesting evening,” Darrell remarked, in a tone which could scarcely have reached to the other side of the tiny cabin.

“Interesting!” Bellamy repeated, in a swift whisper. “That hardly expresses it, Dal. What the devil are we going to do?” His eyes ranged swiftly from his friend's clean-cut, virile face over the powerful, muscular figure. “You don't mean to let that chap cut you out, I hope?”

A faint smile curved Darrell's lips for an instant, and he raised his eyebrows whimsically.

“My dear fellow,” he protested, “you don't mean to tell me you believed him? You don't imagine for an instant that he really is in the government employ?”

Bellamy's forehead was wrinkled in a puzzled fashion; his eyes were full of indecision. “But how else could he possibly have found out all he knows?” he protested. “I know he lied about his name; but for all that he might have done it as a precaution. You don't know all the men in the service, do you?”

“Not by a long shot. It happens, however, that I've got a pretty good idea as to who Mr. Philip Carmen really is, and can make a very fair stab as to where he obtained his information. I can assure you it wasn't through any official channels. Look here, Jack,” he went on, as his companion seemed still unconvinced, “just reason the thing out intelligently. If you were a secret-service agent, engaged on such a quest as he pretends to be, would you blab the fact to a couple of chance acquaintances?”

“Well, n-o,” Bellamy returned slowly, “I don't suppose I would.”

“Of course you wouldn't,” Darrell went on briskly. “Not only would it be opposed to the very elemental principles of underground diplomacy, but there was absolutely nothing gained by doing such a thing. No; he lied about his occupation just as certainly as he lied about his name. That was a beautiful bull, wasn't it? I suppose he's heard of me, and thought the name would be the clinching touch of realism.”

“But what in thunder did he fake up such a yarn for?”

“To hide the real reason for his presence here. You notice he said nothing until he found that we were also bound for Magdalena Bay. Then he had to concoct a story which would still any suspicions when he landed with us.”

“What do you suppose that real reason is?” Bellamy asked. “Can he be connected with Ives in any way?”

Darrell shook his head slowly. “I hardly think so. There's a possibility of it, of course; but there's much more chance of his being in Carranza's confidence.”

“Great Scott! You mean that part of his story is true?”

The secret-service agent shrugged his shoulders. “I don't know. I only said there is a chance. Conditions in Mexico just now make it more than possible.”

“That's true enough,” Bellamy returned. “By the way, Dal, what was your object in giving him our treasure-hunting stall? You couldn't possibly have guessed what was coming?”

“Scarcely.” Darrell smiled. “So far, unfortunately, I haven't developed any marked mind-reading ability. It was simple enough. Sudo was hanging around again to-night, just as I hoped he would. I've been wanting a chance to foster that germ of doubt we planted in his mind yesterday, and this was it. When Carmen began his confidences, you can imagine how tickled I was.”

“Jove, yes!” said Bellamy delightedly. “This will sick him after Carmen, and perhaps let us out a bit. Do you think he'll leave the ship with us to-morrow?”

“Haven't a doubt of it.”

“But how”

“Oh, he'll find a way.” The secret-service agent shrugged. “Don't worry about that.”

When they appeared at breakfast next morning, a hulking sailor, who seemed all hands and feet, was taking the place of the deft, silent little steward.

“Sick,” growled Captain Coffin, in answer to an airy inquiry from Philip Carmen. “Took with a bellyache last night, an' says he can't get up.”

His tone discouraged further questions, but after the meal was over Darrell followed him toward the bridge for the purpose of making a few discreet inquiries. The secret-service agent's manner was one to inspire confidence, and perhaps the captain was rather glad of a chance to unburden his mind.

“I don't know what ails him,” he growled, in a harassed voice. “It ain't nothing serious, but he thinks he's going to die, an' wants to be put ashore. I done my best to brace the little rat up, but he's scart to death, an' won't listen to anything. Result is, he'll be landed at Magdalena Bay with the other two.”

He sighed, and, taking off his cap, ran his fingers through his tousled hair.

“To tell the truth, Mr. Archer,” he went on, in a lower tone, “I ain't altogether sorry. On the last voyage, my cook died o' yellow jack, an' while there ain't a particle o' danger—everything was fumigated shipshape, you you [sic]—the whole crew deserted in San Francisco, an' I had to scrape up the lot of riffraff I got now. You can pretty well guess how they'll take on the minute they find Sudo's sick. They ain't above tossin' the beggar overboard some dark night, so I reckon it's as well to get him out o' the way before any harm's done.”

Darrell agreed with him, and then proceeded casually to express his desire also to be set ashore that afternoon. The captain was surprised, but not displeased, when he found that no return of passage money was expected.

When Darrell rejoined his friend, there was a faint twinkle in his eyes. “Poor little Sudo is very ill, and wishes to die ashore,” he said. “He lands with us at Magdalena Bay this afternoon.”

“You guessed right.” Bellamy nodded admiringly.

“No guesswork about it,” declared Darrell. “It was a practical certainty.”