CHAPTER XXII

NED AND PEPPER-POT

“There are three passengers, sir, and one sailor, for whom we are unable to account.”

The chief officer was thus reporting to Captain Munson of the transport _Sherman_, and Ned, standing near, disheartened and with his mind torn by cruel worries, overheard.

“Who are the missing ones?” asked the captain.

“Two soldiers, Bob Baker and Jerry Hopkins; Professor Uriah Snodgrass; and Beno Judd, a first-class seaman. They can not be found, they are not among the injured, nor are their bodies among the dead. I have put them down as missing, sir.”

“Quite right. Unfortunate, but quite right. Have the boats been able to pick up any one?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, there is not much use, I believe, in keeping them out longer in this fog. Some of them may get lost. Call them back, but station lookouts with orders to report at once anything that looks like floating wreckage to which a person might cling. If this fog would only lift we might have a chance of picking them up, if they, by any chance, are still alive. Have a sufficient number of lookouts stationed, Mr. Bangs.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ned felt sick at heart. It was all over, then--the happy companionship of years--he thought. Never again would he see his beloved comrades, Jerry and Bob, comrades with whom he had passed the gates of death in many a battle. Professor Snodgrass, also--that dear but eccentric individual--he, too, was gone.

“Isn’t there anything we can do?” asked Ned of the captain.

“I’m sorry to say I don’t see what else can be done,” was the sympathetic answer, for the commander of the ship knew something of the love and friendship existing between the lad who was left and those who were gone. “You know how the accident happened, my lad, and we have searched all over in this vicinity. It would be risking other lives to search farther, for it is easy for a small boat to be lost in a fog. If it should lift I would order them out again. I am sorry.”

Ned turned away, his heart heavy. To whom could he go for solace? He had many friends and acquaintances among his fellow soldiers, and the officers were fond of him and his chums. But Ned did not feel like talking to any of them just now. He wanted to be alone. But solitude was difficult to come at on the crowded ship.

Idly he made his way back to the scene of the accident. The break in the bulwarks and rail had been temporarily mended, and a curious crowd was gathered about the hole torn in the side of the _Sherman_. Ned did not want to stay there.

He looked out into the mist. The wet particles clung to his face like tiny tears, and he had much ado to keep back his sobs as he thought of those who had so lately been with him.

“If only the fog would lift!” murmured Ned, as he turned away from the broken place with a shiver.

But the white curtain of vapor still swirled about the troopship, seemingly moved more by the mysterious ocean currents than by any wind. It was still a dead calm, and though the fog may have lifted over some parts of the ocean area that it had covered, in the vicinity of the transport it was still heavy and impenetrable.

“It seems to shut me in like a prison!” murmured Ned.

Night was coming on, and it seemed to settle down earlier than it needed to, caused by the murkiness of the air. The first call to the supper mess was sounded, but Ned did not respond. He had no appetite for food. There would be time enough later to eat, if he felt so disposed.

“Poor Chunky!” he mused. “I’d never poke fun at him again about his appetite if he were here now.”

Ned choked back a sob and turned to go toward the bow of the ship.

The deck along which he was then progressing was more deserted then than it had been for some time, for many of the soldiers were down below, eating. And as Ned made his way along he saw, coming toward him, a figure that caused him a start, it was so like that of Professor Snodgrass. But he knew in an instant who it was.

“_Le cochon!_” he murmured.

Hardly knowing why he did it, Ned stepped beneath an overhanging part of the deck, and so was partially hidden. The man who so resembled Professor Snodgrass--the man who had acted so violently in the restaurant--walked toward the place where the derelict had crashed into the _Sherman_ and stood looking at the damaged place. Ned, from his vantage place, could observe and hear.

“So this is the place, is it!” murmured _le cochon_, or the pepper-pot, as Ned sometimes thought of him. “Well, well! I am sorry for him--for all of them. I shall have to redouble my efforts now!”

Ned started. What did the words mean? What was the mystery connected with this strange man who seemed to be under guard at times, and free to rove about at others? What association had he with Professor Snodgrass, and why was he so vindictive toward that little scientist? And, now that the professor was gone, why had this man come to gloat over the place of his disappearance?

All these thoughts rushed through Ned’s mind, which was in a tumult. And then, as the little man spoke, another idea obtruded itself.

What did he mean when he said:

“I shall have to redouble my efforts now!”

To Ned, obsessed as he was with a feeling of enmity against this man, the words had but one meaning.

“He means to go on with his deadly work!” mused the lad. “He was responsible for the damage to the ship in the first place--he caused her to be disabled and held up in the fog. If it wasn’t for that we’d be on our way now, and the derelict wouldn’t have crashed into us.

“This man is responsible for that, though he may not have known about the derelict. He is responsible for the death of Bob, Jerry and Professor Snodgrass. And now he talks of redoubling his efforts! I know what that means! He’s a German spy and he’s going to try to sink the whole shipload of us. He must have gotten away from his guards. I’m going to tell the captain!”

Ned stepped from his place of concealment and was about to hurry to summon some of the ship’s officers when the little man caught sight of him. To Ned it seemed that the pepper-pot was startled and alarmed. He stared at Ned and stammered:

“Oh, you--you are here, are you?”

“Very much so!” was the indignant answer. “But you won’t be here long to go on with your dirty work. I know all about you! I know----”

Like a flash, and taking the youth by surprise, the little man rushed at Ned and in a moment had him in a grip that rendered the lad helpless. Both wrists were held in a muscular vise that spoke volumes for the athletic training of _le cochon_.

“Be quiet!” The man fairly hissed the words into Ned’s ears. “Don’t say another word!” and he began to drag Ned along.