CHAPTER XIX.

RALPH GETS A TELEGRAM.

Harry met his friends at the telegraph office after he had tracked the three men from the _River Swallow_ to a telephone pay station, the same one, in fact, from which Malvin had called up the Mercy Hospital. His excited face at once showed them that he had news of importance to communicate, and they listened eagerly to his story, standing outside the place so as to be sure there were no eavesdroppers about. Ralph had already sent his telegram and was to have an answer in an hour.

Harry Ware wasted no words in telling his experiences. His narrative was soon over, and Ralph suggested an immediate start for the police station.

“We surely have got enough evidence against the gang now to warrant informing the police,” he said. “Of course, we’ve no idea what sort of work this _Artful Dodger_ and these men are engaged in. But we know it is something unlawful, and that is excuse enough for us to let the police know what is going on.”

They were not long in reaching the police station, a solid-looking gray stone building with two lights burning in front of it. They ascended a flight of stone steps and entered the place, which was empty except for a stout sergeant seated behind an oak desk. As soon as he spoke, the boys discerned that he was a recent importation from England.

“Is the inspector in?” asked Ralph.

“The h’inspector h’is h’in, but h’I dunno h’if you can see ’im. W’at’s yer business, coveys?” inquired the sergeant, twisting a big mustache and looking important.

“It’s—it’s of a private nature,” said Ralph, who was spokesman of the party.

“Ho, dear! Private, h’is h’it? Well, h’I’ll notify the h’inspector, h’and per’aps,—mind, h’I don’t say for certain,—per’aps ’ee may see you to-morrer.”

“But we must see him to-night. It’s important, I tell you,” cried Ralph to the apathetic official, who appeared to be about to go to sleep.

The reply to this was unexpected.

“Yankees, h’ain’t yer?” asked the sergeant.

“Yes; Americans, that is. What of it?”

“Ow, nuffin. H’only you Yanks h’are h’always in such a bloomin’ ’urry.”

“Naturally we are in a hurry. We are on the trail of some malefactors. Some bad men. They are engaged in some sort of nefarious business, and we thought it our duty to notify you at once.”

“H’oh, h’is that so? W’at ’ave they been a-doin’ h’of?”

“Why, we don’t exactly know. You see——” began Ralph in explanation. But the sergeant cut him short.

“So you don’t h’even know w’at they’ve been a-doin’ h’of, hey? H’I thought there was something precious h’odd h’about this ’ole business. Look ’ere, young chaps, ’ow do you suppose we can h’arrest these men,—h’even supposin’ there h’are h’any such persons,—h’unless we know w’at they’ve been a-doin’ h’of?”

“That’s for you to find out,” cried Ralph, growing rather heated, for the sergeant’s manner implied that he did not place much credence in the boy’s story.

“Ow! For h’us to find h’out, h’is h’it?”

“Of course. We have reported them as suspicious persons. If we can see the inspector, I will give him full details.”

“You will, will yer. Well, that’s bloomin’ condescending h’of yer. The h’inspector ’as to go to a dawnce ter-night, and h’if yer wants ter see ’im, you’ll ’ave to come around to-morrer.”

“You refuse to let us see him, then?”

Ralph was red hot by this time.

“H’I do, yes. By wurtue of the h’authority in me wested. H’as h’if h’I’d disturb ’im for a bunch h’of kids!”

“You may be sorry,” warned Ralph. “In our opinion, there is some work of grave import going forward,—probably smuggling,—although of that we are not certain.”

“Oh, what’s the use of talking to him!” exclaimed Persimmons, glaring at the placid sergeant. “Thank goodness, we’re Americans and get after our law-breakers, instead of going out to pink teas when there is work to be done!”

“Yes, I guess the American police and Custom officials keep their eyes open, in which respect they offer a refreshing contrast to the Canadian authorities,” sputtered Harry Ware equally irritably.

“Oh, keep quiet, boys. What’s the use of talking!” said Ralph with a helpless look.

“H’ow, no. Talk all you want to, mates,” said the cockney sergeant. “H’it h’amuses me, don’cher know.”

“Well, what do you know about that!” gasped Harry.

“M’ dear young chaps, h’I know nothing whatever h’about h’it,” replied the sergeant.

Fairly baffled by such obtuseness, which seemed impossible to be natural and therefore only assumed to irritate, the boys left the police station.

“Well, what shall we do now?” asked Harry hopelessly. “I guess we are up a tree for fair.”

“I don’t see it in that light,” responded Ralph. “On the contrary, these obstacles make me all the more determined to nail this crowd and find out what sort of crooked work they are up to. We’ll go back to the telegraph office and find out what reply I’ve got from dad at Montreal.”

“And then?”

“Well, I’ve got a plan if you fellows will consent to it.”

“We’re in on anything you suggest, Ralph,” responded Harry, while Persimmons vigorously nodded his endorsement to that.

“Well, then, fellows, my plan is this. It’s plain there is no use wasting time on Canadian officials. Therefore we’ve got to rely on the American authorities.”

“Looks that way,” agreed the others.

“All right, then. We’ll leave here for Piquetville without saying anything to Malvin about our destination. We’ll anchor off shore there and go up to the dock in the tender. You can explain that the engines have gone wrong, Percy. Then we’ll communicate our suspicions to the authorities and bring them off to the anchored _River Swallow_. In that way we can nab the whole bunch.”

“Including the third man,—Hawke?” asked Harry anxiously.

“Including him, I hope. It’s my notion that Hawke has some articles of value on his person which are to be smuggled, and that Malvin took him off the island after the hut blew up for that purpose. It’s likely that Hawke was to be hidden on our island till a chance came to smuggle whatever they are transporting illegally across the border. Circumstances prevented this, and so Malvin concealed him on the _River Swallow_. I’ll wager that he’ll be on board to-night by the time we get down to the dock.”

Talking thus, the three lads were not long in reaching the telegraph office.

Ralph entered the place eagerly.

“Any reply to that message I sent a while ago to Montreal?” he asked anxiously.

The operator glanced up at him with an odd look.

“Why, yes,” he said, “one came a few minutes ago.”

He handed him a pink telegraph form with a recurrence of his odd look. Ralph noticed it, but it was not until he had glanced over the despatch that its significance burst upon him like a thunderclap. No wonder the operator had had a queer expression on his face! This was the message:

“Am under arrest here. Suspected of diamond smuggling. Don’t worry. It looks like a joke on the authorities.—Dad”