The Brighton Boys in the Radio Service | Page 7

"I'm going to swim out and see what is going on. That man
out there is a spy!"
CHAPTER III
UNEXPECTED ACTION

If red-headed, freckle-faced Jerry Macklin, star sprinter of Brighton,
ever ran in his life he ran that night. Down across the uneven,
hill-dotted dumps he tore at a speed that would have put his school
records to shame. Three times he fell, but each time on the instant he
was up and off again, without even a thought as to whether or not he
had injured himself.
And all the time he kept repeating in his mind, "There's a spy out there
planning dangerous things for the navy yard and the United States.
Joe's in the icy water watching him, and I must get help as fast as I
can."
It was good, too, that he did put forth the last ounce of his strength.
Sergeant Martin was just passing through the navy yard gate as Jerry
arrived, his uniform covered with loose ashes and dirt, and his hands
bleeding from stone cuts received in his falls.
To Sergeant Martin, between gasps, Jerry managed to blurt out enough
to make the other understand. Within two more minutes Sergeant
Martin had imparted the vital information to the captain of the
company of marines charged with guarding the navy yard for that
particular night. The captain sent two aides scurrying, one to his major,
the other to the office of the navy yard commandant.
Twenty marines, fully armed, were hurried aboard a launch that
constantly was kept under steam for just such an emergency, and, with
Jerry directing, the boat swung out to Joe's aid.
Rapidly as Jerry had traveled the distance between the spot where Slim
waited and the navy yard itself, it seemed like ages to Joe, out there in
the icy water, a quarter of a mile from shore.
At first the tense excitement of the manhunt had made him unmindful
of the low temperature, and he swam with strong, even, silent strokes
that sent his lithe body gliding through the current noiselessly; but
when he had come within forty feet of the rowboat its lone occupant
had turned suddenly, as though scenting danger, and Joe, after waiting
for a few seconds to see what might happen, considered the absolute

silence an omen of danger and had dived under water, staying there as
long as he could, and coming to the surface at an entirely different
point from the boat.
After that the cold got to the very heart of him. His muscles grew numb,
he felt his strength waning, and he had to bring the whole force of his
will to bear to keep from turning back to shore.
But just as Jerry had maintained his courage and strength by keeping
constantly in mind Joe's plight, so Joe stuck to his terrible task,
suffering the most severe punishment, by an unwavering confidence in
Jerry's ability to get assistance in the shortest possible time.
He could see and hear that the man in the boat was working hastily,
even laboriously; and every few seconds there was the smothered
splash of something heavy being dropped carefully overboard.
And then, at the most inopportune moment, just when Joe was head and
shoulders out of the water, not more than twenty feet away from the
boat, the searchlight was thrown full upon him.
He dived; but not before the other man saw him. Joe, swimming ten
feet under water, and as hard as he could with the current down stream,
knew that he had been discovered, for he heard the quick rap-rap of the
oars, the sound dying away as the little craft sped toward shore.
When he did come to the surface it was with the certain feeling that the
fatal searchlight had been played upon the scene two minutes too early,
and just in time to prevent the capture red-handed of a very
questionable character, undoubtedly carrying out some plot for an
enemy government.
For as distinctly as he could hear the oars thrashing the water toward
shore, he could discern the steady but subdued puffing of a steam
launch racing up the river.
Joe was now on the point of exhaustion. He was flapping the water
desperately, but he was making no progress, and he was having the

greatest difficulty keeping himself afloat. He tried to cry out, and this
final effort took his last bit of strength.
The steam launch was then perhaps thirty feet away, but Jerry's words,
"Right about here," floated to him as from the opposite side of the river.
The boat's searchlight that was then suddenly thrown on blinded him;
he lost all account of things, and had the vague feeling of sailing across
great spaces on fleecy white clouds.
When he regained partial consciousness