Don Winslow of the Navy

by Frank V. Martinek

  IX

  RED NABS A SPY

  Don Winslow's brief account of the two attacks on Red and himself didlittle to clear up the mystery which hung like a dark cloud over the_Gatoon's_ after guard. Both assaults appeared to have the same object,however--to get back the stolen enlistment records which Don had foundhidden in the lifeboat. For some reason the enemy was afraid to havethose records examined.

  "That's how I've figured it out," Don told the little company gatheredin the captain's cabin, "either the records of Scorpion agents among thecrew are missing, or they've been forged. In any case, a careful checkshould tell the story."

  Spreading out the rumpled enlistment papers on the captain's table, hecommenced a swift search, while Riggs and Red Pennington looked over hisshoulders. All at once he picked up one of the documents and smoothed itout. The name on the outside read: "Anton Corba," with the rating notedas "Radioman, First Class."

  "But why pick that one, Commander?" asked Captain Riggs sharply. "Whatreason have you to suspect...."

  "Look, Captain!" Don Winslow interrupted. "The signatures on this recordshow signs of tracing. Forgery, all right, but a mighty clumsy job. Juststudy it for a minute and give me your opinion."

  Handing the paper to Riggs, he whispered rapidly in the officer's ear:

  "I have a hunch we are being overheard now. Corba or some other spy maybe the eavesdropper. I'm sending Pennington out to check up. Meantime wemust all keep talking naturally, so the fellow will not suspect."

  With a nod of understanding, Riggs moved over to Michael Splendor'schair.

  "I see what you mean, Commander," he said loudly. "At least one of thesesignatures looks smeary, but I'm no handwriting expert. Tell me what youthink of it, Mr. Splendor. As chief of the Haitian Naval Intelligence,you should know about such things."

  Stooping quickly, he whispered Don Winslow's plan to the cripple. At thesame instant Don was muttering advice in Red's ear.

  "Take off your shoes," he told the wide-eyed lieutenant. "Sneak uptopside and try to locate anyone who may be eavesdropping. If you don'tspot anyone, come back in five minutes. Here's my flashlight. Shove offnow, and good luck! We'll carry on the show down here till you report orsignal us."

  As Red silently closed the cabin door behind him, he heard MichaelSplendor's voice within, taking up the mock discussion. The "show" asDon called it, would be quite convincing to any eavesdropper.

  And if Don was right in his guess, the spy should be easy to surprise athis work. At that hour of night, no enlisted man would have anylegitimate business hanging around the cabin ventilators.

  Silent as a shadow, for all his bulk, Red Pennington emerged onto thestarlit deck. Slipping aft, he rounded the cabin skylight and probed theshadows under the port rail.

  No glimpse of a furtive lurker rewarded him, however. With a grunt ofdisappointment, he padded forward, heading for the midship'ssuperstructure.

  "I'll just take a look inside the radio shack," he muttered under hisbreath. "Don seems to think that guy Corba's enlistment wasforged--which means he may be the guy who shot at us, too. He's got afishy mug, anyway, and his story was a little too slick when we jumpedhim a few minutes ago!"

  The door of the radio shack was on the port side. Therefore, as an extraprecaution, Red circled the superstructure to starboard, halting at thecorner of the galley.

  The space between the deck house and the rail was empty, yet somethingabout it looked queer. For a moment Red stood blinking in puzzlement,trying to make out what was wrong. All at once it came to him.

  The radio shack door was open at least two inches; yet no light shonethrough onto the white deck.

  Since Navy men do not go about leaving doors ajar, this suggested one oftwo things: either Corba had left in a desperate hurry, or he was stillinside, _with the lights out_! Red Pennington intended to find outwhich.

  With the utmost caution, he crept past the galley, noting that the doorbeyond him did not sway with the gentle roll of the ship. That meant itwas propped open deliberately. But _why_?

  Just as his hand was reaching for the knob, the door swung shut. Redfroze in his tracks, his mind racing. Whoever had closed that two-inchopening could not have seen him. The door itself had hid his approach.The thing proved simply that the radio shack was occupied.

  Before Red could plan his next move, a faint, metallic ticking caughthis ear. Pressing his ear close to the shack's steel wall, he made outthe familiar chatter of a wireless key, sending in International MorseCode.

  "--REPORTING--EMERGENCY--ABOARD--GATOON" Red silently spelled out themessage. "AGENT SC-21 SEIZED. WINSLOW AND PENNINGTON HAVE DISCOVEREDFORGED ENLISTMENT PAPERS IN LIFEBOAT WE PREPARED FOR OUR GETAWAY. THISWILL LEAD ANY MOMENT TO MY ARREST AND THAT OF AGENT SC-17. PLEASE ADVISENEXT MOVE. SC-3."

  While listening, Red Pennington had slipped Don's flashlight from hispocket. As the message ended, he wrenched open the door and shot thebright beam into the radio shack. It's spotlight steadied on the tensefigure of Corba, seated beside the room's small tool bench.

  "Just hold that pose, sailor!" gritted the stocky lieutenant. "No--keepyour left hand under the bench! Don't move a muscle----"

  Whipping out his pocket gun, Red slammed two shots at the steel decking,close to Corba's feet. Instantly the white-faced radioman froze in hischair, his pose still as a statue's.

  "That's better!" clipped the lieutenant, as shouts and the stamp of feetsounded from the cabin country. "In just a moment you're going to tellyour story over again; and it had better be the right one this time. Doyou get me, _Agent SC-3_?"

  Warned by Red's sharp call, Don Winslow halted the captain andLieutenant Darnley outside the radio shack. Stepping inside alone, hesnapped on the lights.

  "Great work, Red!" he approved, when the red-haired lieutenant brieflyoutlined what had happened. "We've caught our eavesdropper this time,and...."

  He broke off as a harsh whisper rose, seemingly from beneath theworkbench.

  "AGENT SC-3 AND SC-17, ATTENTION!" the weird voice rasped. "YOU AREINSTRUCTED TO LEAVE THE SHIP AT ONCE, USING LIFEBELTS. SEAPLANE WILLPICK YOU UP AT DAWN. SC-21 WILL PAY PENALTY FOR HIS FAILURE WHEN WE BOMBGATOON FROM THE AIR. THAT IS ALL!"

  A gasp from the unhappy Corba gave Don Winslow the cue for his nextplay. Ignoring the startled questions of Captain Riggs and LieutenantAllen, he faced the radio operator.

  "All right, Corba!" he said tightly. "That message shows you just whereyou get off. Like SC-21, you're going to pay the penalty for failure,when and if bombs start dropping on this vessel! Is your loyalty toScorpia strong enough to stand up under that?"

  Hollow-eyed with fear, the Scorpion spy shook his head.

  "You've named it, Commander!" he said hoarsely. "The Scorpion don't havemuch mercy for them that are fools enough to get caught. But whatgood'll it do, sir, if I tell you what I know? We're all bound for DavyJones' locker, now!"

  Don Winslow's laugh rang as hard as the slap of bullets on steel armorplate.

  "We _were_, maybe, but we're taking a new tack, sailor!" he barked. "Nowwe know what your murderous pals are up to, we can outthink and outfightthem too. The only man aboard who's bound for Davy Jones is----"

  "Captain!" cried a breathless voice on deck. "The prisoner, Durkin--theman you put in the brig, sir--he's dead! Hanged himself, with a loop ofwire he'd made fast to a steampipe. We found this note, written on anold envelope. Here it is, sir!"

  After a startled pause, Captain Riggs stepped inside to hold a crumpledenvelope under the light.

  "What do you make of this, Commander?" he growled. "Things are happeninga bit too fast for me to keep my bearings tonight, this note, forinstance! It says: 'I queered your engines and killed the ChiefMachinist's Mate. When the Scorpion strikes, you'll think I did Ahern afavor. _Signed_, Durkin.'"

  "And so exit Scorpion Agent SC-21!" observed Don Winslow harshly. "Hekilled himself rather than go down later with the ship. That leaves on
eenemy agent still unidentified. Who is he, Corba?"

  "Seaman Second Class, by the name of Mink," replied the radiomansullenly. "He's just a tough gorilla we brought aboard for strong armwork. As it turned out, we didn't have to use him."

  "Which means _you_ were the bird who shot at us tonight from the cornerof the galley!" put in Red Pennington. "You sure hated to let us get alook at those forged enlistment records, didn't you, Mr. A. Corba?"

  With a snort of anger, Captain Riggs turned to the door.

  "The whole business smells like plain mutiny to me!" he declared. "Whileyou're questioning this man, Commander, I'm going to hunt up SeamanSecond Class Mink, and throw him in irons! Join me in my quarters,gentlemen, when you're ready to compare notes."