Ruth Fielding Homeward Bound; A Red Cross Worker's Ocean Perils

“What about the radio? Didn’t they send a wireless? Couldn’t they have called for help?”

“Oh, I never thought of the wireless at all,” Ruth confessed. “And I am sure it was not used at first – not while I was on deck.”

“Strange! With two operators – Rollife and an assistant – how could they neglect such a chance?”

“I heard nothing about it,” repeated Ruth.

“Come on. Let’s look and see,” said the chief officer of the steamship. “Something is dead wrong here. Sparks surely would not have left his post unless the radio had completely broken down. Why, if we could manipulate the radio we’d call for help now – you and I, Miss Fielding.”

He led the way swiftly along the deck. The radio station had been built into the forward house, for the Admiral Pekhard was an old steamship, her keel having been laid long before Marconi made his dream come true.

The staff from which the antennae were strung shot up into the darkness farther than they could well see. There was a single small window far up on either side of the house for circulation of air only. There seemed to be no life about the radio room.

Mr. Dowd tried the door. It did not yield. He shook it – or tried to – crying:

“Sparks! Sparks! Hey! Where are you?”

He was answered by a voice from inside the radio room. It was not a pleasant voice, and the words it first uttered were not polite, to say the least. The man inside ended by demanding:

“What in the name of Mike was meant by locking me into this room?”

“Great Land!” gasped Dowd. “It’s Rollife himself.”

“And you know darned well it’s Rollife,” pursued the radio man. “Let me come out!” and he went on to roll out threats that certainly were not meant for Ruth’s ears.

But to let the man out of his prison was not easy. Dowd found that two long spikes had been driven through the door and frame above and below the doorknob. He was some time in getting Rollife to listen to this explanation.

“Who is it? Dowd?” demanded the angry radio man at last.

“Yes,” replied the first officer. “Who did this?”

Whoever it was who pinned the man into the room was threatened with a good many unpleasant happenings during the next few moments. Finally Dowd’s voice penetrated to the operator’s ears again.

“Hold your horses! There’s a lady here. How shall I get you out, Sparks?”

“I don’t give a hang how you do it,” snarled the other. “But I want you to do it mighty quick – and then lead me to the man who nailed me up.”

“Wait,” said Dowd. “I’ll get a screwdriver and take off the hinges of the door. Then you can push outwards.”

“What the deuce has happened, anyway?” demanded Rollife, as the first officer of the Admiral Pekhard started away.

Ruth thought she would better answer before the imprisoned radio man broke out afresh. She told him simply what had happened, and why it had happened, as she presumed.

“It was Dykman nailed me up – the cur!” growled the radio man. “Then he monkeyed with the wires outside there. He put the radio out of commission, all right. That was before the explosion. My door was nailed almost on the very minute the old ship was hit. But why doesn’t she sink?”

“I do not believe she is going to sink, Mr. Rollife,” said Ruth. “Oh, if you could only repair your aerial wires, you might call for help!”

“Let me out of here,” growled the radio operator, “and I’ll find some way of sending an S O S – don’t fear!”

Mr. Dowd came back from the engine room where he had secured a screwdriver. He set to work removing the screws from the hinges of the radio room door.

“I do not believe that the explosion caused any serious damage to the ship itself,” said he. “The fireroom is full of water; but it looks to me as though a seacock had been opened. I think the explosion was on the inside – a bomb thrown into one of the fires, perhaps.”

“What’s that you say?” demanded Rollife, from inside the room. “No likelihood of the old tub sinking?”

“Not at all! Not at all!”

“Well, I certainly am relieved,” said the radio man. “I’ve been conjuring up all kinds of horrors in here.”

“Huh!” exploded Dowd. “You were asleep till I pounded on the door.”

“Oh, well, maybe I lost myself for a moment,” confessed Rollife. “Anyhow, I made up my mind I was done for when I could make nobody listen to me after my door was nailed. They certainly had it in for me.”

“Where was your assistant?” Dowd asked.

“That fellow is a squarehead,” growled the radio man. “I suspected him from the start. Why, he couldn’t talk American without saying ‘already yet.’ A Hun, sure as shooting.”

That Rollife himself came from the United States there could be no doubt. His speech fully betrayed his nationality.

“He never came near me,” he went on, speaking of his assistant. “He was some ‘ham,’ anyway! Graduate of one of these correspondence schools of telegraphy, I guess. His Morse was enough to drive one mad. Let me out, Dowd. I’ll fix up those aerials and call somebody to our help in short order.”

The first officer had accomplished his purpose. The screws were out of the hinges. Rollife was a big, strong fellow, and he drove his shoulder against the door with sufficient force the first time to push it outward at the back.

Then Mr. Dowd took hold of the edge of the door, and together they worked out the long nails and threw the useless door on the deck. Rollife came out into the light of the lantern which Ruth held at one side. He was a big, fresh-faced man with a square jaw and a direct glance.

Ruth was glad to see him. He was such another man as the first officer of the steamship. If she had to be aboard an abandoned craft in such an emergency as this, she was glad that her companions were just such men as these two. She felt that they were resourceful and trustworthy.

Her mind, however, was by no means at ease. Mr. Dowd and Mr. Rollife were much more cheerful than Ruth. And it was not because they were any more courageous than the girl of the Red Mill. But Ruth thought of something that did not seem to have made any impression on the men’s minds.

What had been the intention of the conspirators in abandoning the ship with the innocent members of her company? What would naturally be their expectation regarding the Admiral Pekhard, if she had not been put in condition to sink? If it was a German plot, surely the plotters did not intend to leave the steamship to drift, unharmed, until some patrol boat picked her up.

And the plotters knew the three castaways were on the vessel. What of the chief officer, the radio man, and Ruth herself? They had all been left for some purpose, that was sure. What was it?

Mr. Dowd and she had been allowed their freedom. Only Rollife had been locked up. And the plotters must have known that in time Ruth or Dowd would have found means of releasing the radio man. Once released, it was more than probable Rollife would be able to discover what had been done to the aerials and repair them. It was quite sure that, before morning, those abandoned on the Admiral Pekhard would be able to send into the air an S O S for help.

There was something that she could not understand – something back of, and deeper, than the surface-work of the plotters. Perhaps that explosion in the fireroom had not been meant to injure the ship seriously. It was merely meant (as it did) to create panic.

It caused a situation serious enough to alarm the captain and all aboard. It seemed that all they could do was to flee from a ship that threatened to sink.

This situation might have been just what the plotters intended to create; because they would not wish to remain on the steamship when actual destruction was coming upon her!

They had escaped with the other members of the ship’s company. Yet the steamship drifted in apparent safety. Was there something much more tragic threatening the Admiral Pekhard?

CHAPTER XVII – BOARDED

Rollife was busy with his repairs on the aerials. Dowd was down in the engine room, or so Ruth supposed, and neither seemed suspicious of any further happening that would injure them. Rather, they considered themselves in full charge of a steamship that was in no actual or present danger.

Ruth Fielding’s mental vision saw more clearly. There was something else coming – something far more tragic than anything that had thus far occurred.