CHAPTER XI--DEVELOPMENTS

At ten minutes or so before noon a smart little sub-officer came to Ruth's stateroom and asked her to accompany him to the engine-room, amidships. As a last thought the girl took a chiffon veil with her, and before she stepped into the quarters where all the shiny machinery was, she threw the veil over her head and face. It had suddenly been impressed on her mind that she did not care to have the man she had taken for a German identify her, even if she did him.

She found both Mr. Dowd and the commander of the steamship on this deck. The first officer came to Ruth in rather an apologetic way.

"I did not know," he said gently, "that I was getting you into any trouble when I repeated what you told me to Captain Hastings. This is my very first voyage with him--and, believe me, it shall be my last!"

His eyes sparkled, and it was evident that he had found the pompous little commander much to his distaste. The captain did not seek to speak to Ruth at all. He stood at one side as the stokers filed in from forward, ready to relieve those working in the fireroom below.

"Do you see him in that line, Miss Fielding?" whispered the first officer.

She scrutinized the men carefully. Early that morning she had had plenty of opportunity to get the appearance of the German who spoke to Irma Lentz photographed on her mind, and she knew at first glance that he was not in this group.

However, she took her time and scrutinized them all carefully. There was not a single flaxen-haired man among them, and nobody that in the least seemed like the man she had in mind.

"No," she said to Mr. Dowd. "He is not here."

"Wait till the others come up. There! The boatswain pipes."

The shrill whistle started the waiting stokers down the ladder into the stoke-hole. In a minute or two a red, sweating, ashes-streaked face appeared as the first of the watch relieved came up into the engine room. This was not the man Ruth looked for.

One after another the men appeared--Irish, Swede, Dane, negro, and nondescript; but never a German. And not one of the fellows looked at all like the man Ruth expected to see. Dowd gazed upon her questioningly. Ruth slowly shook her head.

"Any more firemen or coal passers down there, boy?" Dowd asked the negro stoker.

"No, suh! Ain't none of de watch lef' behind," declared the man, as he followed his mates forward.

"Well, are you satisfied?" snapped the thin voice of Captain Hastings.

"Not altogether," Ruth bravely retorted. "It might be that the man was not a stoker. I only thought so because the officer who interrupted the conversation I overheard seemed to consider him a stoker. He sent the man off that part of the deck."

"What officer?" demanded the captain, doubtfully. "An officer of the ship? One of my officers?"

"Yes, sir."

"Ha, you want to examine my officers, then, I presume?"

"Not at all," Ruth said coldly. "I am not taking any pleasure in this investigation, I assure you."

"It will be easy enough to find the officer whom Miss Fielding refers to," said Mr. Dowd, interposing before Captain Hastings could speak again. "I know who was on duty at that hour this morning. It will be easily discovered who the officer is. And if he remembers the man on deck----"

"Ah--yes--if he _does_," said Captain Hastings in his very nastiest way.

Ruth's cheeks flamed again. Mr. Dowd placed a gentle hand upon her sleeve.

"Never mind that oaf," he whispered. "He doesn't know how to behave himself. How he ever got command of a ship like this--well, it shows to what straits we have come in this wartime. Do you mind meeting me later abaft the stacks on deck? I will bring the men, one of whom I think may be the chap we are looking for. Of course he will remember if he drove a seaman or a stoker off the after deck this morning."

Ruth did not see how she could refuse the respectful and sensible first officer, but she certainly was angry with Captain Hastings and she swept by him to the stairway without giving him another glance.

"It's all bosh!" she heard him say to Mr. Dowd, as she started for the open deck.

Her dignity was hurt, as well as her indignation aroused. She was not in the habit of having her word doubted; and it seemed that Captain Hastings certainly did consider that there was reason for thinking her untruthful. She was more than sorry that she had taken the Red Cross man's advice and brought this matter to the attention of Mr. Dowd in the first place.

Yet the first officer was her friend. She could see that. He did not intend to let the matter rest at a point where Captain Hastings would have any reason for intimating that Ruth had not been exact in her statements of fact.

Of course, the girl of the Red Mill had not taken so close a look at the ship's officer who had driven the stoker off the deck, as she had at the stoker himself. But she was quite confident she would know him. She had not seen him since, that was sure.

After half an hour or so Mr. Dowd came to the place where she sat sheltered from the stiff breeze that was blowing, with a uniformed man in toll. It was not the officer whom she had seen early in the morning.

"I quite remember seeing Miss Fielding on deck at dawn," said the young fellow politely. "But I do not remember seeing any of the crew except those at work scrubbing down."

"This was on the starboard run, Miss Fielding?" suggested Mr. Dowd.

"Yes, sir. It was right yonder," and she pointed to the spot in question.

"It must be Dykman, then, you wish to see, Mr. Dowd," said the under officer, saluting. "Shall I send him here, sir?"

"If you will," Dowd said, and remained himself to talk pleasantly to the American girl.

After a time another man in uniform approached the spot. He was not a young man; yet he was smooth-faced, ruddy, and had a smart way about him. But his countenance was lined and there was a small scar just below his eye on one cheek.

"Mr. Dykman, Miss Fielding," Dowd said. "Is Mr. Dykman the officer whom you saw, Miss Fielding?"

Dykman bowed with a military manner. Ruth eyed him quietly. He did not look like an Englishman, that was sure.

"This is the officer I saw this morning," she said, confidently. She felt that she could not be mistaken, although she had not noted his manner and countenance so directly at the time indicated. He looked surprised but said nothing in rejoinder, glancing at Mr. Dowd, instead, for an explanation.

"We are trying," said the first officer, "to identify a man--one of the crew--who was out of place on the deck here this morning during your watch, Mr. Dykman. About what time was it, Miss Fielding?"

"The sun was just coming up," she said, watching Dykman's face.

"There were various members of the deck watch here then, sir," Dykman said respectfully. "We were washing decks."

"You came past here," Ruth said quietly, "and admonished the man for standing here. You told him he had no business aft."

The man wagged his head slowly and showed no remembrance of the incident by his expression of countenance. His eyes, she saw, were hard, and round, and blue.

"You intimated that he was a stoker," Ruth continued, with quite as much confidence as before.

Indeed, the more doubt seemed cast upon her statement the more confident she became. She could not understand why this man denied knowledge of the incident, unless----

She glanced at Dowd. He was frowning and had reddened. But he was not looking at her. He was looking at Dykman.

"Well, sir?" he snapped suddenly.

"No, sir. I do not remember the occurrence," the sub-officer said respectfully but with a finality there could be no mistaking.

"That will do, then," said Mr. Dowd, and waved his hand in dismissal.

Dykman bowed again and marched away. Ruth watched the face of the first officer closely. Had he shown the least suspicion of her she would have said no more. But, instead, he looked at her frankly now that the sub-officer had gone, and demanded angrily:

"Now, what do you suppose that means? Are you positive you have identified Dykman?"

"He was the man who spoke to the stoker--yes."

"Then why the--ahem! Well! Why should he deny it?"

"It seems to clinch my argument," Ruth said. "There is something underhanded going on--some plot--some mystery. This Dykman must be in it."

"By Jove!"

"Have you known the man long?"

"He is a new member of the ship's company--as I am," admitted Dowd.

"He may be 'Boldig,'" said Ruth, smiling faintly.

"I will find out what is known of him," the first officer promised. "Meanwhile do you think you would like to look over the seamen and other members of the crew?"

"I do not think there would be any use in my doing so--not at present. They probably know what we are after and the flaxen-haired man will remain hidden. The boat is large."

"True," Dowd agreed thoughtfully. "And as we do not know his name it would be difficult to find him on the ship's roster. Besides, I do not believe that Captain Hastings would allow further search. You see what kind of a man he is, Miss Fielding."

"Make no excuse, Mr. Dowd," she said hastily. "You have done all you can. I am sorry I started this in the first place. I merely considered it my duty to do so."

"I quite appreciate your attitude," he said, bowing over her hand. "And I think you did right. There is something on foot that must be investigated, Captain Hastings, or no Captain Hastings!"

He went away abruptly, and Ruth had time to think it over. She did not fancy the situation at all.