The Devils Admiral | Page 7

sounded reasonable enough; knew nothing
whatever about a delay, and were quite perturbed to hear I had been
told there was; had no idea how it happened, but there was no doubt the
Kut Sang would sail on schedule time, for the stevedore was there in
the office at that minute getting lading-slips signed, and he knew of no
delay.
"Meeker's little joke is going too far," I decided, after I had hung up the
receiver. "I think there are a few words I can say to him that will
convince him I am not to be trifled with in this manner."
Seizing my cap, I pulled the door open abruptly and almost fell over the
little red-headed beggar lurking near my room. He darted down the
stairway, and I leaped after him.
CHAPTER III
THE SPY AND THE DEAD BOATSWAIN
Three steps at a time I took the matted stairway, which was reckless
speed, for the shell-paned windows were shut, and the awnings pulled
down to keep out the heat of the blinding sun, making it quite dark. But
I was bound to capture the little red-headed man, thrash him soundly,
make him tell his motive in trailing me, and turn him over to the police.
I caught the indistinct figure of a man in white coming up, and threw
myself to one side to avoid him, but he stumbled in front of me, and we
went sprawling into the corridor below. It was a nasty spill, and I shot
out on the matting at full length with my hands thrown before me. The
polished teak-wood floor and the loose matting saved me from injury.
"My dear sir!" exclaimed the man who fell with me, and I found the
Rev. Luther Meeker sitting on a crumpled mat and propped up with his
arms behind him, while his pith helmet went dancing away on its rim to
settle crazily upon its crown a dozen feet from us.
For an instant I was tempted to attack him, when I realized that his
presence on the stairs and his interruption of my pursuit of the

redheaded man were significant of more than an accident, and that
Meeker and the other were spying upon me. I bridled my ire, and
decided to play the game out with them and fathom the mystery of their
espionage.
"My dear sir, I am almost certain that I have sprained my back--I am
sure I have injured my back!"
"I am sorry for your back," I said, getting to my feet. "For my part, I am
satisfied to escape without a broken neck."
"My immortal soul, if it isn't Mr. Trenholm!" said he, blinking at me,
his goggles bobbing on a rubber string made fast to a jacket-button. "Of
all persons, Mr. Trenholm! Bless my soul!"
My mental remark was somewhat similar and with equal fervour, if not
complimentary to him and his soul. Brushing my soiled ducks, I started
to move away, for it would never do to assume an excess of friendship
too suddenly.
"Just one moment, Mr. Trenholm--" he called after me, shaking a bony
forefinger--"just one moment, I beg of you, sir! I have some
information which I desire to impart, and, strangely enough, I was
seeking you when this unfortunate tumble came about, partly through
my infirmities, I am sure. One moment, sir. It is to your advantage to
wait, I assure you."
"What is it?" I asked, hesitating. The little beggar had undoubtedly
escaped, and I knew that in Meeker I had bigger game if I handled him
cautiously.
"The Kut Sang!" he said, arising with difficulty and holding his back
with one hand while he hobbled after his helmet.
I was convinced that his injury and decrepit bearing were clever bits of
acting.
"I desire to correct you regarding the _Kut Sang_" he cackled,

caressing the recovered helmet.
"What about it? My dear Mr. Meeker, I am in a hurry and cannot waste
the day waiting for you to talk. I am sorry for what has happened here,
but I trust that you are not incapacitated. Anyway, I do not think there
is anything you can tell me about the Kut Sang that I do not already
know."
"Oh, but there is," he protested, holding up his hand and eyeing me
craftily. "I was seeking you to tell you when we fell upon each other so
unceremoniously. It is quite--"
"I suppose you want to tell me that the sailing has been delayed. I know
all about that--she sails in the morning."
"Sails in the morning!" he exclaimed, pretending surprise, but being
puzzled about something. "Does she?"
There was guile in that last question, and when he asked it I knew it
was he or some one acting for him who had