The Submarine Boys and the Spies | Page 8

there's another side to that, too, Somers. The United States now own some of your boats, and the money of the people paid for those boats. Now, don't you think the people of this country have a right to know some of the secrets for which they pay good money, and a lot of it?"
On hearing the question put that way Eph looked tremendously thoughtful for a few seconds.
"Why, yes, undoubtedly," admitted the carroty-topped submarine boy. "I never thought of it that way before."
"Then--"
"See here," interrupted Eph, "it was the Secretary of the Navy, who on behalf of the people, bought our boats."
"Yes--"
"He acted as the agent of the people," Eph continued.
"Well--"
"Therefore," asserted Eph Somers, with a roguish twinkle in his eyes, "the Secretary of the Navy is the proper official for you to go to in search of that information. And you may tell the Secretary--"
"Stop making fun of us," interposed a newspaper man.
"You may tell the Secretary," finished Eph, "that I said I had no objection to his giving you the information you want."
The newspaper men after gazing briefly at the innocent-looking face of the carroty-topped one, began to grin.
"Young Somers is all right," declared one of the visitors. "He knows when to talk, and also when to hold his tongue."
"I never was sized up so straight before," grinned Eph, "since I was caught stealing grapes behind the Methodist church."
Before the newspaper men departed in their boats they had obtained some amusing and interesting points for a news "story." Yet not one of them had gained any inside information as to the closely guarded secrets of the submarine. Eph, from his very disposition and temperament, made undoubtedly the best press agent the Pollard Company could have had. Hal Hastings, while wishing to be obliging, probably would have said his whole "say" in twenty or thirty words. Jack Benson would have sung the praises of the Pollard boats readily enough. But it was Eph, alone of the three, who could give to such an interview the humor and wit that American newspaper readers enjoy.
One "reporter" in the party that was rowed back to the beach was not known to his associates. Wherever several newspaper men are gathered at a point on business it is generally easy for a stranger, not connected with the press, to push himself into the group. The stranger, in this instance, had given the name of Norton, claiming to be from an Omaha paper.
Arrived at the beach, however, "Norton" did not hasten to the telegraph office. Instead, he hurried to the Hotel Clayton, the largest and most expensive of the hotels at Spruce Beach.
Entering one of the elevators, Norton stepped off at the third floor. He stepped briskly down a corridor, stopping before a door and giving an unusual style of knock.
"Come--in," sounded a drawling voice, and Norton entered.
From a seat by a table, in the center of the large room, rose a man somewhat past middle age This man was tall, not very stout, with a sallow face adorned by a mustache and goatee. The man's eyes were piercing and black. His hair was also black, save where a slight gray was visible at the temples.
As Norton entered, the man, who rose, threw a cigarette into the fire place, then reached over, selected another cigarette and lighted it. The room was thick with the odor of some foreign tobacco.
"Well, Norton?" challenged this stranger, in a low voice.
"I've been aboard the new submarine, Monsieur Lemaire," replied the young man. "I went with a party of newspaper writers, pretending to be one of their calling."
"An excellent idea, Norton. And you saw the very boyish officers of the boat?"
"Only one of them. The other two were paying a call on board the gunboat. I saw Somers."
"You gathered some idea of how to pump him for the information wanted, of course?"
"No; I didn't," retorted Norton, scowling. "I learned, very soon, that Somers is one whom we want to leave out of our count in getting information?"
"Why so?"
"Well, M. Lemaire, if you meet that young fellow, and try to draw him out, you'll understand. He can talk longer, and tell less, than any young fellow I've met. He seems to guess just what you want to know, and then he carefully tells you something else."
"Ah, well, out of three young men, we shall find one who will tell us all we need to know," laughed M. Lemaire, gayly. "So it is only a question of learning which of the three to make the first attempt upon."
"If you want a suggestion--" began Norton.
"By all means, my dear fellow."
"Then turn your batteries of inquisitiveness loose upon Jack Benson, first of all. He may be easy game. As for the third, Hal Hastings, I hear that he is a silent fellow, who