CHAPTER V
MR. VAN BLARCOM. U. S. A.
For a trip that had begun with such rich promise of the unusual, myvoyage on the _Re d'Italia_ proved a gratifying anticlimax during itsfirst few days. The weather was bad. We plowed forward monotonously,flagless, running between dark-gray water and a lowering, leaden sky.Screws throbbed, timbers creaked, and dishes crashed as the Gulf Streamtook us, and great waves reared themselves round us like myriads ofthreatening Alps.
After that first night the girl kept discreetly to her stateroom. I wasrelieved; but I thought of her a good deal. I had little else to do.Pacing a drunken deck and smoking, I wove unsatisfactory theories,asking myself what was her need of secrecy, what the item she wantedhidden, what the errand that had made her sail on the vessel a weekafter the spectacular torpedoing of a sister-ship? Did she know this VanBlarcom or did she merely dread any notice? And above all, who was theman and had he been watching when I tossed that wretched extra acrossthe rail?
I saw something of him, of course, as time went on. Naturally we fourbold spirits, the ubiquitous McGuntrie, Van Blarcom, the young reservistPietro Ricci,--a very good sort of fellow,--and I were herded togetherbeyond escape. Also, a foursome at bridge seemed divinely indicated byour number, and to avert a sheer paralysis of ennui we formed the habitof winning each other's money at that game.
As we played I studied Van Blarcom, but without results. It wasruffling; I should have absorbed in so much intercourse a fairlydefinite impression of his personality, profession, and social grade.But he was baffling; reticent, but self-assured, authoritative even,and, in a quiet way, watchful. He smoked a good cigar, mixed a gooddrink, seemed used to travel, but produced a coarse-grained effect,made grammatical errors, and on the whole was a person from whom, onceashore, I should flee.
At six o'clock on the seventh night out our voyage entered its secondlap; all the electric lights were simultaneously extinguished as weentered the danger zone. We made a sketchy toilet by means of tapers,groped like wandering ghosts down a dim corridor, and dined by the faintrays of candles thrust into bottles and placed at intervals alongthe festive board. I went on deck afterward to find the ship plungingthrough blackness on forced draft, with port-holes shrouded and withnot even a riding-light. If not in Davy Jones's locker by that time, weshould reach Gibraltar the next evening; afterward we should head forNaples, a two days' trip.
The following morning found our stormy weather over. The sea throughwhich we were speeding had a magic color, the dark, rich, Mediterraneanblue. Ascending late, I saw gulls flying round us and seaweed driftingby, and Mr. McGuntrie in a state of nerves, with a life belt about him,walking wildly to and fro.
"Well, Mr. Bayne," he greeted me, "never again for mine! If I eversee the end of this trip,--if you call it a trip; I call it merryhades,--believe me, I'll sell something hereafter that I can sell onland. I'm a crackerjack of a salesman, if I do say it myself. Once I gotstarted talking I could get a man down below to buy a hot toddy and aset of flannels--and I wish I'd gone down there and done it before Iever saw this boat."
Unmoved, I leaned on the railing and watched the blue swells break.McGuntrie took a turn or two. In the ship's library he had discovered amanual entitled "How to Swim," and he was now attempting between lamentsto memorize its salient points.
"The first essay is best made in water of not less than fifty degreesFahrenheit, and not more than four feet in depth," he gabbled, andthen broke off to gaze at the sea about us, chilly in temperature, andcountless fathoms deep. "Oh, what's the use? What the blue blazes doesit matter?" he cried hysterically. "I tell you that U-boat that sank the_San Pietro_ is laying for us. In about an hour you'll see a periscopebob up out there. Then we'll send out an S.O.S., and the next thing youknow we'll sink with all on board."
We had as yet escaped this doom when toward six o'clock we approachedGibraltar, running beneath a crimson sunset and between misty purpleshores. On one hand lay Africa, on the other the Moorish country,both shrouded in a soft haze and edged with snowy foam. Down belowthe soldiers of Italy were singing. A merchantman of belligerentnationality, our ship proudly flew its flag again. Indeed, had it failedto do so, the British patrol-boats would long since have known thereason why.
It was growing dark when I turned to find Van Blarcom at my elbow.
"I didn't see you," I commented rather shortly. I don't like people tocreep up beside me like cats.
"No," he responded. "I've been waiting quite a while. I didn't want todisturb you, but the fact is I'd like a word with you, Mr. Bayne."
I eyed him with curiosity. He was inscrutable, this quiet, alert,efficient-looking man. Take, for instance, his present manner, halfself-assured, half respectfully apologetic--what grade in life did itfit?
"Well, here I am," I said briefly as I struck a match.
"I've thought it over a good bit," he went on, apparently inself-justification. "I don't know how you will take it, but I'll chanceit just the same. If I don't give you a hint, you don't get a squaredeal. That's my attitude. Did you ever hear of Franz von Blenheim, Mr.Bayne?"
"Eh?" The question seemed distinctly irrelevant--and yet where had Iheard that name, not very long ago?
"The German secret-service agent. The best in the world, they say." Asort of reluctant admiration showed in Van Blarcom's face. "Thereisn't any one that can get him; he does what he wants, goes where helikes--the United States, England, France, Russia--and always gets awaysafe. You'd think he was a conjurer to read what he does sometimes.A whole country will be looking for him, and he takes some one else'spassport, puts on a disguise, and good-by--he's gone! That's Franzvon Blenheim. No; that's just an outline of him. And on pretty goodauthority, he's in Washington now."
Mr. Van Blarcom, I reflected, was surely coming out of his shell; thiswas quite a monologue with which he was favoring me. It was dark now;our lights were flaring. Being in a friendly port's shelter, we burnedelectricity to-night.
"You seem to know a whole lot about this fellow," I remarked idly in thepause.
"Yes, I do." He smiled a trifle grimly. "In fact, I once came neargetting him; it would have made my fortune, too. But he slipped throughmy fingers at the last minute, and if I ever--You see, I'm in thesecret-service myself, Mr. Bayne."
I turned to stare at him.
"The United States service?" I asked.
"Yes."
I nodded. All that had puzzled me was fairly clear in this new light.Not at all the type of the star agents, those marvelous beings whofigure so romantically in fiction and on the boards, he was yet, Ifancied, a good example of the ruck of his profession, those who didthe every-day detective work which in such a business must be done.But--Franz von Blenheim? What was my association with the name? Then Irecalled that in the extra I had read as we left harbor there had beensome account of the man's activities in Mexico.
"What I wanted to say was this," Van Blarcom continued in his usualmanner--the manner that I now recognized to be a subtler form of thepoliceman's, respectful to those he held for law-abiding, alert andwatchful to detect gentry of any other kind. "This line we're travelingon now is one the spies use quite a bit. They used to go to Londonstraight or else to Bordeaux and Paris; but the English and French gota pretty strict watch going, and now it's easier for them to slip intoFrance through Italy, by Modane. They sail for Naples mostly, do yousee? And--you won't repeat this?--it's fairly sure that when Franzvon Blenheim sends his government a report of what he's done in Mexicoagainst us, he'll send it by an agent who travels on this line and landsin Italy and then slips into Germany by way of Switzerland."
We were drifting slowly into the harbor of Gibraltar, the rock loomingover us through the blackness, a gigantic mountain, a mass of tiered andserried lights. Search-lights, too, shot out like swords, focused on us,and swept us as we crept forward between dimly visible, anchoredcraft. The throbbing of our engines ceased. A launch chugged toward us,bringing the officers of the port. I watched, pleased with the scene,and ra
ther taken with my companion's discourse. It was not unlike a dimenovel of my youth.
"Do you mean you've been sent on this line to watch for one ofBlenheim's agents?" I inquired.
"No. I'm sent for some work on the other side--and I'm not telling youwhat it is, either," he rejoined. "What I meant was that a man has tobe careful, traveling on these ships. They watch close. They have to.Haven't you noticed that whenever two or three of us get to talking, asteward comes snooping round? Well, I suppose you wouldn't, it not beingyour business; but I have. We're watched all the time; and if we'rewise, we'll mind our step. Take you, for instance. You're a goodAmerican, eh? And yet some spy might fool you with a cute story and getyour help and maybe play you for a sucker on the other side. I saw thathappen once. It was a nice young chap, and a pretty girl fooled him--gothim into a peck of trouble. What you want to remember is that good spiesnever seem like spies."
If I looked as I felt just then, the search-light that swept me musthave startled him. I could feel my face flushing, my hands clenching asI caught his drift. I swung round.
"What's this about?" I demanded sharply. But I knew.
"Well," said the secret-service man discreetly, "I saw something prettyfunny the first night out, Mr. Bayne. It was safe enough with me; I cantell a gentleman from a spy; but if an officer had seen it, the thingwouldn't have been a joke. Suppose we put it this way. There's a personon board I think I know. I haven't got the goods, I'll own, but Idon't often make mistakes. My advice to you, sir, is to steer clear ofstrangers. And if I were you, I--"
"That'll do, thanks!" I cut him short. "I can take care of myself. Idon't say your motives are bad,--you may think this is a favor,--but Icall it a confounded piece of meddling, and I'll trouble you to let itend."
He looked hurt and indignant.
"Now, look here," he remonstrated, "what have I done but give you afriendly hint not to get in bad? But maybe I was too vague about it; youjust listen to a few facts. I'll tell you who that young lady is and whoher people are and what she wants on the other side--"
"No, you won't!" I declared. My voice sounded savage. I was recallinghow she had begged the extra of me, and how it had contained a fullaccount of Franz von Blenheim, the kaiser's man. "The young lady's nameand affairs are no concern of mine. If you know anything you can keep itto yourself."
As we glared at each other like two hostile catamounts, a stewardrelieved the tension by running toward us down the deck.
"_Signori, un momento, per piacere_!" he called as he came. The Britishofficers were on board, he forthwith informed us, and were demanding,in accordance with the martial law now reigning at Gibraltar, a sight ofeach passenger and his passport before the ship should proceed.