Part 22 (1/2)

In ten seconds the struggle was over. A powerful blow from Farnworth's clenched fist made George's a.s.sailant relax his grip on the lad's throat and fall like a log.

Leslie's antagonist, who was fast choking the plucky lad into a state of insensibility, broke away, and, with a yell of terror, fled for his life, hotly pursued by Jack Sefton. Realizing that he was being outstripped, the miscreant made straight for the lake and plunged in.

Vainly the sub waited for him to rise to the surface. Either the man's head had struck against some hard substance at the bottom or else he had become entangled in the weeds.

Greatly to Jack's surprise, he found that it was his young brother who had put up such a game struggle with his burly antagonist, and that d.i.c.k Crosthwaite's father and brother were of the party. Still greater was the sub's astonishment when he heard a well-known voice exclaim,

”Bear a hand, Jack. It's not at all comfortable here.”

With a.s.sistance the admiral was extricated from the wreckage, little the worse for his adventure.

”Hang it all, my boy,” exclaimed Admiral Sefton, ”we were coming to look for you. We heard the _Calder_ was overdue.”

”Didn't you get my wire, sir?” asked Jack. ”I telegraphed directly we got ash.o.r.e.”

”Considering I've been three days on the road,” replied his father, ”my postal address isn't of much use. Hulloa, Crosthwaite, what have you got?”

”Nothing much,” declared the general. ”A clean bullet-wound. Thought I'd been plugged through the chest. The shock knocked me out. By Jove!

That was a narrow squeak.”

He held his cigar case up for inspection. The bullet had penetrated the lid, and had flattened itself against the back, a bulge proving by how little the missile had missed making a complete perforation.

”The rascal has spoilt two of my choice cigars,” announced Crosthwaite Senior wrathfully. ”What was the object, I wonder? By George, Sefton, I see ourselves let in for a coroner's inquest.”

While Jack and the admiral were attending to George and Leslie, neither of whom showed any signs of serious injury, Farnworth examined the bodies of the three men. Two were stone dead--silent testimonies to the accuracy of the admiral's aim. The third was unconscious, the blow from Farnworth's powerful fist having stunned him. Of the others, one had been drowned, while the remaining member of the gang--the one wounded by the admiral--was at that moment limping painfully over the hills, and putting a safe distance between him and the scene of his rash and foiled exploit.

”By Jove, old man,” exclaimed Farnworth, in the midst of his task of examining the contents of the dead man's pockets. ”See what you make of this?”

He held up a sheet of soiled and creased paper, covered with closely-written flouris.h.i.+ng writing, for Jack Sefton's inspection.

”German, by the powers!” he added.

”Partly in cipher and partly in ordinary writing,” declared Sefton.

”These fellows are Huns, right enough, but what is their object?”

Farnworth did not reply. He was intently studying the minute penmans.h.i.+p. Suddenly he started to his feet.

”The swine!” he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed furiously. ”Look here--these three words--all as plain as a pike-staff.”

”Well, what does it mean?” asked the admiral, his attention drawn to the discovery by Farnworth's exclamation.

”A diplomatic mission is leaving a certain port. By this time the vessel detailed to convoy the party may have sailed. The spies knew this: this paper proves that. Either they or their accomplices have designs to interfere with the plan.”

”A bold surmise on your part,” remarked Admiral Sefton.

”I hope I'm mistaken, sir,” replied Farnworth. ”We'll have to be on the move at once.”

”What's your plan, old man?” enquired Jack as the party set to work to convey the wounded general to the waiting car.