“That’s right,” agreed Ned. “Of course there’s a bare chance, if those two were the Fogers, that Mr. Foger is going off to try and make another fortune. But more than likely they’re on our trail, Tom.”
“If it’s them—yes.”
“Hum, Foger—no, I don’t think I have any passengers of that name,” said the purser slowly, when Tom had put the question. “Let’s see, Farday, Fenton, Figaro, Flannigan, Ford, Foraham, Fredericks—those are all the names in the ‘Fs’. No Fogers among them. Why, are you looking for some friends of yours, boys?”
“Not exactly friends,” replied Tom slowly, “but we know them, and we thought we saw them come aboard, so we wanted to make sure.”
“They might be under some other name,” suggested Ned.
“Yes, that is sometimes done,” admitted the purser with a quick glance at the two lads, “It’s done when a criminal wants to throw the police off his track, or, occasionally, when a celebrated person wants to avoid the newspaper reporters. But I hardly think that—”
“Oh, I don’t believe they’d do it,” said Tom quickly. He saw at once that the suspicions of the purser had been aroused, and the official might set on foot inquiries that would be distasteful to the two lads and Mr. Damon. Then, too, if the Fogers were on board under some other name, they would hear of the questions that had been put regarding them, and if they were on a legitimate errand they could make it unpleasant for Tom.
“I don’t believe they’d do anything like that,” the young inventor repeated.
“Well, you can look over the passenger list soon,” said the purser. “I’m going to post it in the main saloon. But perhaps if you described the persons you are looking for I could help you out. I have met nearly all the passengers already.”
“Mr. Foger is a big man, with a florid complexion and he has a heavy brown moustache,” said Ned.
“And Andy has red hair, and he squints,” added Tom.
“No such persons on board,” declared the official positively. “It’s true we have several persons who squint, but no one with red hair—I’m sure of it.”
“Then they’re not here,” declared Ned. “No, we must have been mistaken,” agreed Tom, and there was relief in his tone. It was bad enough to have to search for a hidden city of gold, and perhaps have to deal with the head-hunters, without having to fight off another enemy from their trail.
“Much obliged,” said the young inventor to the purser, and then the two lads went back on deck.
A little later supper was served in the big dining saloon, and the boys and Mr. Damon were glad of it, for they were hungry. Eradicate ate with a party of colored persons whose acquaintance he had quickly made. It was a gay gathering in which Tom and Ned found themselves, for though they had traveled much, generally it had been in one of Tom’s airships, or big autos, and this dining on a big ship was rather a novelty to them.
The food was good, the service prompt, and Tom found himself possessed of a very good appetite. He glanced across the table and noted that opposite him and Ned, and a little way down the board, were two vacant chairs.
“Can’t be that anyone is seasick already.” he remarked to his chum.
“I shouldn’t think so, for we haven’t any more motion than a ferryboat. But some persons are very soon made ill on the water.”
“If they’re beginning thus early, what will happen when we get out where it’s real rough?” Tom wanted to know.
“They’ll sure be in for it,” agreed Ned, and a glance around the dining saloon showed that those two vacant chairs were the only ones.
Somehow Tom felt a vague sense of uneasiness—as if something was about to happen. In a way he connected it with the suspicion that the Fogers were aboard, and with his subsequent discovery that their names were not on the passenger list. Then, with another thought in mind, he looked about to see if he could pick out the man and youth who, on coming up the gang plank, had been taken by both Tom and Ned to be their enemies. No one looking like either was to be seen, and Tom’s mind at once went back to the vacant seats at the table.
“By Jove, Ned!” he exclaimed. “I believe I have it!”
“Have what—a fit of seasickness?”
“No, but these empty seats—the persons we saw you know—they belong there and they’re afraid to come out and be seen.”
“Why should they be—if they’re not the Fogers. I guess you’ve got another think coming.”
“Well, I’m sure there’s something mysterious about those two—the way they hid their faces as they came on board—not appearing at supper—I’m going to keep my eyes open.”
“All right, go as far as you like and I’m with you. Just now you may pass me the powdered sugar. I want some on this pie.”
Tom laughed at Ned’s matter-of-fact indifference, but when the young inventor turned in to his berth that night he could not stop thinking of the empty seats—the two mysterious passengers—and the two Fogers. They got all jumbled in his head and made his sleep restless.
Morning saw the Maderia well out to sea, and, as there was quite a swell on, the vessel rolled and pitched to an uncomfortable degree. This did not bother Tom and Ned, who were used to sudden changes of equilibrium from their voyages in the air. Nor did Mr. Damon suffer. In fact he was feeling fine and went about on deck like an old salt, blessing so many new things that he had many of the passengers amused.
Poor Eradicate did suffer though. He was very seasick, and kept to his berth most of the time, while some of his new friends did what they could for him.
Tom had in mind a plan whereby he might solve the identity of the mysterious passengers. He was going to do it by a process of elimination—that is he would carefully note all on board until he had fixed on the two who had aroused his suspicions. And he had to do this because so many of the passengers looked very different, now that they had on their ship “togs,” than when first coming on board.
But the rough weather of the first day prevented the lad from carrying out his plan, as many of the travelers kept to their staterooms, and there were a score of vacant places at the tables.
The next day, however, was fine, and with the sea like the proverbial mill pond, it seemed that everyone was out on deck. Yet when meal time came there were these same two vacant seats.
“What do you think of it, Ned?” asked Tom, with a puzzled air.
“I don’t know what to think, Tom. It sure is queer that these two—whoever they are—don’t ever come to meals. They can’t be seasick on a day like this, and they certainly weren’t the first night.”
“That’s right. I’m going to ask one of the stewards where their stateroom is, and why they don’t come out.”
“You may get into trouble.”
“Oh, I guess not. If I do I can stand it. I want to solve this mystery.” Tom did put his question to one of the dining saloon stewards and it created no suspicions.
“Ah, yes, I guess you must mean Mr. Wilson and his son.” spoke the steward when he had referred to a list that corresponded with the numbers of the vacant places at the table. “They have their meals served in their stateroom.”
“Why?” asked Tom, “are they ill?”
“I really couldn’t say, sir. They prefer it that way, and the captain consented to it from the first.”
“But I should think they’d want to get out for a breath of air,” put in Ned. “I can’t stay below decks very long.”
“They may come out at night,” suggested the steward. “Some of our travelers think they are less likely to be seasick if they come out at night. They don’t see the motion of the waves then.”
“Guess that’s it,” agreed Tom with a wink at Ned. “Much obliged. Glad we’re not seasick,” and he linked his arm in that of his chum’s and marched him off.
“Why the wink?” asked Ned, when they were out of earshot of the steward.
“That was to tip you off to say nothing more. I’ve got a plan I’m going to work.”
“What is it?”
“Well, we know who the mysterious ones are, anyhow—at least we know their names—Wilson.”
“It may not be the right one.”
“That doesn’t make any difference. I can find out their stateroom by looking at the passenger list.”
“What good will that do.”
“Lots. I’m going to keep a watch on that stateroom until I get a good look at the people in it. And if they only come out at night, which it begins to look like, I’m going to do some night watching. This thing has got to be settled, Ned. Our trip to the city of gold is too important to risk having a mysterious couple on our trail—when that same couple may be the Fogers. I’m going to do some detective work, Ned!”
CHAPTER XI
THE MIDNIGHT ALARM
“Whew! What a lot of ’em!”
“Bless my fish line! It’s a big school!”
“Look how they turn over and over, and leap from the water.”
“By golly, dere is suttinly some fish dere!”
These were the exclamations made by our four friends a few days later, as they leaned over the rail of the Maderia and watched a big school of porpoises gamboling about in the warm waters of the gulf stream. It was the second porpoise school the ship had come up with on the voyage, and this was a much larger one than the first, so that the passengers crowded up to see the somewhat novel sight.
“If they were only good eating now, we might try for a few,” observed Ned.
“Some folks eat them, but they’re too oily for me,” observed a gentleman who had struck up an acquaintance with the boys and Mr. Damon. “Their skin makes excellent shoe laces though, their oil is used for delicate machinery—especially some that comes from around the head, at least so I have heard.”
“Wow! Did you see that?” cried Tom, as one large porpoise leaped clear of the water, turned over several times and fell back with a loud splash. “That was the biggest leap yet.”
“And there goes another,” added Ned.
“Say, this ought to bring those two mysterious passengers out of their room,” observed Tom to his chum in a low voice. “Nearly everyone else seems to be on deck.”
“You haven’t been able to catch a glimpse of them; eh Tom?”
“Not a peak. I stayed up several nights, as you know, and paced the deck, but they didn’t stir out. Or, if they did, it must have been toward morning after I turned in. I can’t understand it. They must be either criminals, afraid of being seen, or they are the Fogers, and they know we’re on to their game.”
“It looks as if it might be one or the other, Tom. But if they are criminals we don’t have to worry about ’em. They don’t concern us.”
“No, that’s right. Split mackerel! Look at that fellow jump. He’s got ’em all beat!” and Tom excitedly, pointed at the porpoises, the whole school of which was swimming but a short distance from the steamer.
“Yes, a lot of them are jumping now. I wonder—”
“Look! Look!” cried the man who had been talking to Mr. Damon. “Something out of the ordinary is going on among those porpoises. I never saw them leap out of the water like that before.”
“Sharks! It’s sharks!” cried a sailor who came running along the deck. “A school of sharks are after the porpoises!” “I believe he’s right,” added Mr. Sander, the gentleman with Mr. Damon. “See, there’s the ugly snout of one now. He made a bite for that big porpoise but missed.”
“Bless my meat axe!” cried the odd man. “So he did. Say, boys, this is worth seeing. There’ll be a big fight in a minute.”
“Not much of a fight,” remarked Mr. Sander. “The porpoise isn’t built for fighting. They’re trying to get away from the sharks by leaping up.”
“Why don’t they dive, and so get away?” asked Ned.
“The sharks are too good at diving,” went on Mr. Sander. “The porpoises couldn’t escape that way. Their only hope is that something will scare the sharks away, otherwise they’ll kill until their appetites are satisfied, and that isn’t going to be very soon I’m afraid.”
“Look! Look!” cried Ned. “A shark leaped half way out of the water then.”
“Yes, I saw it,” called Tom.
There was now considerable excitement on deck. Nearly all the passengers, many of the crew and several of the officers were watching the strange sight. The porpoises were frantically tumbling, turning and leaping to get away from their voracious enemies.
“Oh, if I only had my electric rifle!” cried Tom. “I’d make some of those ugly sharks feel sick!”
“Bless my cartridge belt!” cried Mr. Damon. “That would be a good idea. The porpoises are such harmless creatures. It’s a shame to see them attacked so.”
For the activity of the sharks had now redoubled, and they were darting here and there amid the school of porpoises biting with their cruel jaws. The other fish were frantically leaping and tumbling, but the strange part of it was that the schools of sharks and porpoises kept about the same distance ahead of the ship, so that the passengers had an excellent view of the novel and thrilling sight.
“Rifle!” said Mr. Sander, catching at the word. “I fancy the captain may have some. He’s quite a friend of mine, I’ll speak to him.”
“Get me one, too, if you please,” called Ned as the gentleman hurried away.
“And I’ll also try my luck at potting a shark. Bless my gunpowder if I won’t!” said Mr. Damon.
The captain did have several rifles in his stateroom, and he loaned them to Mr. Sander. They were magazine weapons, firing sixteen shots each, but they were not of as high power as those Tom had packed away.
“Now we’ll make those sharks sing a different tune, if sharks sing!” cried the young inventor.
“Yes, we’re coming to the rescue of the porpoises!” added Ned.
The passengers crowded up to witness the marksmanship, and soon the lads and Mr. Damon were at it.
It was no easy matter to hit a shark, as the big, ugly fish were only seen for a moment in their mad rushes after the porpoises, but both Tom and Ned were good shots and they made the bullets tell.
“There, I hit one big fellow!” cried Mr. Damon. “Bless my bull’s eye, but I plugged him right in the mouth, I think.”
“I hope you knocked out some of his teeth,” cried Ned.
They fired rapidly, and while they probably hit some of the innocent porpoises in their haste, yet they accomplished what they had set out to do—scare off the sharks. In a little while the “tigers of the sea” as some one has aptly called them, disappeared.
“That’s the stuff!” cried Mr. Damon. “Now we can watch the porpoises at play.”
But they did not have that sight to interest them very long. For, as suddenly as the gamboling fish had appeared, they sank from sight—all but a few dead ones that the sharks had left floating on the calm surface of the ocean. Probably the timid fish had taken some alarm from the depths into which they sank.
“Well, that was some excitement while it lasted,” remarked Tom, as he and Ned took the rifles back to the captain.
“But it didn’t bring out the mysterious passengers,” added Ned. Tom shook his head and on their return to deck he purposely went out of his way to go past Stateroom No. 27, where the “Wilsons” were quartered. The door was closed and a momentary pause to listen brought our hero no clue, for all was silent in the room.
“It’s too much for me,” he murmured, shaking his head and he rejoined his chum.
Several more days passed, for the Maderia was a slow boat, and could not make good time to Mexico. However, our travelers were in no haste, and they fully enjoyed the voyage.
Try as Tom did to get a glimpse of the mysterious passengers he was unsuccessful. He spent many hours in a night, and early morning vigil, only to have to do his sleeping next day, and it resulted in nothing.
“I guess they want to get on Mexican soil before any one sees their faces,” spoke Ned, and Tom was inclined to agre
e with his chum.
They awoke one morning to find the sea tempestuous. The ship tossed and rolled amid the billows, and the captain said they had run into the tail end of a gulf hurricane.
“Two days more and we’ll be in port,” he added, “and I’m sorry the voyage had to be marred even by this blow.”
For it did blow, and, though it was not a dangerous storm, yet many passengers kept below.
“I’m afraid this settles it,” remarked Tom that night, when the ship was still pitching and tossing. “They won’t come out now, and this is likely to keep up until we get to port. Well, I can’t help it.”
But fate was on the verge of aiding Tom in an unexpected way. Nearly every one turned in early that night for it was no pleasure to sit in the saloons, and to lie in one’s berth made it easier to stand the rolling of the vessel.
Tom and Ned, together with Mr. Damon, had fallen into slumber in spite of the storm, when, just as eight bells announced midnight there was a sudden jar throughout the whole ship.
The Maderia quivered from stem to stern, seemed to hesitate a moment as though she had been brought to a sudden stop, and then plowed on, only to bring up against some obstruction again, with that same sickening jar throughout her length.
“Bless my soul! What’s that?” cried Mr. Damon, springing from his berth.
“Something has happened!” added Tom, as he reached out and switched on the electric lights.
“We hit something!” declared Ned.
The ship was now almost stopped and she was rolling from side to side.
Up on deck could be heard confused shouts and the running to and fro of many feet. The jangling of bells sounded—hoarse orders were shouted—and there arose a subdued hubbub in the interior of the ship.
“Something sure is wrong!” cried Tom. “We’d better get our clothes on and get on deck! Come on, Ned and Mr. Damon! Grab life preservers!”
CHAPTER XII
INTO THE UNKNOWN
“Bless my overshoes! I hope we’re not sinking!” cried Mr. Damon, as he struggled into some of his clothes, an example followed by Ned and Tom.
The Tom Swift Megapack Page 132