Part 10 (1/2)

CHAPTER XI

HE MAKES A DISCOVERY AND IS GREATLY AGITATED

Suddenly his hand encountered something hard and cold, and he grabbed it like lightning. His heart was in his throat now. There was a scuffling sound within and the object was wrenched and twisted and pulled frantically.

But Tom had been a scout and he was prepared. The two big clumsy hands which bore the captain's tray back and forth each day had once torn a pack of thirty cards in half to entertain tenderfeet at campfire. And one of those hands clutched this thing now with the grip of a bulldog.

His excitement and his pounding heart did not embarra.s.s him in the brief tussle. A few dexterous twists this way and that, and he withdrew his hand triumphantly, scratched and bleeding, the light in the pa.s.sage glinting upon the polished surface of the mess plate which he held.

Scarcely three minutes had escaped since he came down from the deck, but in that short period his usually st.u.r.dy nerves had borne a terrific strain and for a moment he leaned against the opposite side of the pa.s.sage, clutching the dish in consternation.

In that brief moment when he had paused before putting his hand through the transom, he had thought that if indeed the plate were being held there even still the conspirator's eyes would be fixed upon the stationary mirror in order to keep the reflection centered in direct line with the porthole. Evidently he had been right and had taken the plotter quite unaware.

Sherlock n.o.body Holmes had succeeded beyond his most extravagant dreams!

The door of the little room flew back and a figure stood in the dark opening, looking at him.

”That--_that's_ what you meant,” Tom stammered, scarcely knowing what he said, ”about the same idea as a periscope. You thought--you thought----”

The man, evidently surprised at seeing no one but the captain's mess boy, stuck out his head and looked apprehensively up and down the pa.s.sage.

”There's n.o.body,” breathed Tom, ”except me; but it won't do you any good--it won't--because I'm going to tell----”

He paused, clutching the mess plate, and looked aghast at the disheveled, half-dressed man who faced him. Then the plate dropped from his hand, and a strange, cold feeling came over him.

”Who are you?” he gasped, his eyes stark and staring. ”I--I didn't know--I ain't----”

He stopped, refusing to believe, and groped for the precious mess plate, part of the makes.h.i.+ft periscope which his own keenness had discovered and rendered useless. Then he stood again, fumbling the thing in his clumsy hands and staring, all bewildered, at the traitor who had used it to betray his country.

Was it----? It could not be---- But the years had wrought more change in Tom himself than in the man who stood there glaring back at him, half recognizing.

Yes, it _was_ his own brother, William Slade, who had left home so long ago!

CHAPTER XII

HE IS FRIGHTENED AND VERY THOUGHTFUL

And this was the triumph of Sherlock n.o.body Holmes! This was the startling discovery with which he would astonish his superiors and win their approbation! It was not Sherlock n.o.body Holmes who heard in a sort of daze the whispered words that were next uttered. It was just the captain's mess boy, and he hung his head, not so much in crus.h.i.+ng disappointment as in utter shame.

”Come inside here and keep still. How'd _you_ get on this s.h.i.+p?

n.o.body'll be hunting for you, will they? Come in--quick. What's the matter with you?”

Still clutching the dish, Tom was dragged into that dark little room. He seemed almost in a trance. The hand which had been raised in conspiracy and treason pushed him roughly onto the berth.

”So you turned up like a bad penny, huh?” whispered his brother, fiercely.

”I--I wrote you--a letter--after mother died,” Tom said simply. ”I don't know if you got it.”