CHAPTER XXIV

The Why of the “Squeak-Roar Voice”

“Yes, Gunseyt is a smuggler; so is Smithers and so is Pickett. We’ve been on their trail a long time, but couldn’t get the goods on them; and now after they were almost in my grasp, the goods have disappeared.”

This mournful statement was made by Watson after Guy had presented his deductions and asked a point-blank question regarding the occupation of the man with the “funny” voice.

“They’re smuggling diamonds and Indian rubies into the United States,” the operative continued; “and they’re big ones at the business. Many of the gems are stolen, too, and it’s safer to dispose of them in America. No doubt they’ve brought over several million dollars’ worth, and on this trip they were using you boys to help them at their game to confuse the authorities. The heels of those shoes were filled with gems; so was the handle of the tennis racket.”

“One thing I don’t understand,” said Glennon, “is why Smithers should have made me a present of that racket. Why didn’t he give it to me to give to Pickett the same as he planned to get the shoes into Pickett’s hands.”

“I never try to explain positively the working of a criminal’s mind,” replied Watson. “But you can often make a pretty safe guess at it after you’ve been studying them a while. The smartest of ’em make the most ridiculous mistakes and go to the silliest extremes sometimes to avoid detection.”

“And how did Gunseyt expect to get possession of the diamonds again,” was Glennon’s next question.

“Oh, there were a hundred ways of doing that. He could have stopped at a hotel near your home, kept up an acquaintance with you, borrowed the racket, and returned it minus the stones.”

“There’s one thing I’d like to find out,” said Guy; “and that is, what caused the change in his voice?”

“You’d think,” said Glennon, who was something of a musician, “that some mischief had got busy in his voice box and tangled the bass and treble strings together.”

“Suppose you ask him,” suggested Watson, addressing Guy.

“I’m going to ask him the first chance I get, and I’m going to look for the chance,” announced Guy determinedly.

Half an hour later Guy found an opportunity to speak with Gunseyt. The latter was seated alone in a smoking room, and the boy sauntered up and addressed him familiarly.

“I suppose you’ll be glad when this voyage is finished,” he said. “It hasn’t been full of fun all the time.”

“No, it hasn’t,” replied Gunseyt cheerfully. “But I don’t mind, now that the hardships are over. It’s been an experience I’ll never forget. And among the things I won’t forget is the manner in which I was treated on the iceberg.”

Guy did not wish to discuss this affair; so he merely remarked that it was “unfortunate” and continued:

“I’ve got a question to ask you, Mr. Gunseyt, and I hope you won’t think it impertinent. It’s caused a good deal of talk and we’re all curious to know what the answer is.”

“Fire away,” roared the other with comical explosiveness. “I don’t know of any question I’m afraid to hear, but I may not answer this one. I’ll either answer it or tell you it’s none of your business.” The last sentence was finished with a spasmodic high pitch that sounded uncanny to the boy, who returned:

“It isn’t any of my business. I come only as a curiosity seeker.”

“That’s fair enough. I like frank people. What’s your question?”

“What caused the change in your voice?”

“Oh, is that all?” laughed Gunseyt. “I’m glad it’s so easy to answer. It’s caused by an alteration of the acoustics of my mouth.”

Guy stared at the man with a puzzled look. He was uncertain whether the fellow was making fun of him.

“That’s the truth,” assured the other. “My voice has always been the discomfort of my life. For years it branded me as a curiosity wherever I went. I consulted many throat specialists and they informed me that the trouble rested in the roof of my mouth. That’s what caused the squeak. An operation, they said, wouldn’t do any good. My voice was otherwise naturally heavy.

“Well, one specialist observed that several of my molars had been extracted and suggested a remedy. He said that a plate could be made to hold some false teeth and at the same time alter the acoustics of my mouth in such a manner as to stop the squeak. I consented to the plan, and the plate was made. It was a success.

“When I jumped from the wrecked ship, I got my mouth full of sea water and nearly strangled. While struggling to catch my breath I coughed the plate out and it sank while my voice rose to a high pitch again. Does that explain the mystery?”

“Perfectly,” replied Guy. “Thank you very much. That’s an interesting story; I’ll tell it to the others and quiet their curiosity.”

Guy found his brother and Watson and Glennon again and told them of his interview.

“That may be a straight story,” said Watson. “I’m glad to get it. But I wonder he didn’t say that the plate in his mouth was a wireless plate.”

Walter, Guy, and Glennon laughed at this remark.

“This is a good time for general explanation of mysteries, isn’t it?” Guy suggested. “There are several matters I’d like to have you explain, just for entertainment.”

“Fire away,” said Watson. “I suppose for one thing you’d like to know where I got the key to your stateroom door.”

“Then you were the burglar, after all?”

“I was that villain,” replied that operative with a smart smile. “I found the key in the door, and watched my opportunity to enter and search the room.”

“Then that was all a bluff you put up when you came to our room and called me down,” said Guy.

“Pure and simple. I wanted to see what Gunseyt was doing there.”

Little of importance occurred during the rest of the voyage. They arrived at New York early in the morning two days later and were met at the landing by a throng of men, women and children. Information of the rescue of most of the castaways on the iceberg had been communicated by wireless, and the Burton boys found their father and mother among the foremost in the crowd.

The scene at the landing was pathetic and thrilling. Not only were many relatives and friends of the rescued present, but also numerous relatives and friends of many that perished. Cheers, congratulations, happy faces, hysterical laughter, and sad tearful eyes and subdued, hopeless utterances were heard and seen on every hand. Guy and Walter were hurried to a hotel where their story was listened to eagerly by Mr. and Mrs. Burton.

Then came the newspaper ordeal. It was an odd and enigmatical affair. The reporters were there, at the landing and the hotel, in good numbers; but they were the most unimaginative, unindustrious congregation of press representatives that ever assembled with instructions to “soft pedal” a story. Mr. and Mrs. Burton knew the meaning of their “lazy manner” and smiled wisely at the disgust of some of the interviewed.

“What does this all mean?” demanded the big red-faced man, who had decreed a conditional extermination for the Carnegie medal dispensers after hearing the story of Walter’s heroism. “Didn’t you cheap, two-by-four pencil pushers bring photographers along to take pictures of that wireless hero?”

The identity of this challenger of the scribes and advance critic of the hero fund trustees was then revealed for the first time to Walter and Guy. He was one Amos Wiltshire of Vermont, a business acquaintance of Mr. Burton’s. His last choleric invective was directed at the “sleepy” newspaper reporters at the landing, from which place he accompanied the Burtons to their hotel. There the father of the wireless heroes explained the situation to Mr. Wiltshire and the boys as follows:

“You see the government officials felt that the situation was extremely delicate. There was enough evidence to convince them beyond reasonable doubt that the Herculanea was sunk by a floating German mine. It looked as if the mine was planted over here by a German U-boat before we got into the war, and the authorities were afraid of public wrath if as much publicity were given this affair as was given the sinking of the Lusitania. We are still nominally at war with Germany, you see, and many believe we ought not to have stopped fighting when we did, but have continued the drive all the way to Berlin. It was feared, at least, that the treaty negotiations would be seriously interfered with by a reawakening of public anger. So it was decided to ask all the newspapers of the country to tone the story down. By common consent, therefore, it was censored, and every paper limited its space for the affair to a few sticks of very mildly worded news.”

As for the two Eskimos, a collection was taken for them among the iceberg survivors, and they were sent back to Greenland, each with a large trunkful of fishing tackle and hunting outfit, on a government vessel patrolling the northern seas.

Walter, Guy, Tony and Det went home on the Jetta, while Mr. and Mrs. Burton returned by rail. The water trip required two days, the intervening night being passed at a Massachusetts port.

On the night following their arrival at Ferncliffe, the climax of these adventures of the radio boys was reached. With spirit of romance still very much alive, they decided to sleep on the yacht. Before turning in, Walter and Guy sat at the wireless table and talked over their experiences for several hours. They even caught some messages from passing ships as Walter had done on a never-to-be-forgotten occasion. Of course, it was long after boy bed-hours before they were asleep on the two deck house cots.

About midnight Guy awoke. What was the cause of his awakening he did not know, but he soon found reason for keeping his eyes open and his ears sharply attentive. He heard the sound of a footstep on the deck, and glancing through the open doorway he saw the form of a man.

It was moonlight and Guy could distinguish the fellow’s features fairly well. One look at his face almost caused the boy to cry out with astonishment. In spite of the fact that the man’s goatee and mustache had been removed, Guy recognized the countenance of Mr. Gunseyt.