British cruisers. By grim irony, the fog had delivered them into the hands of their pursuers.
“Great Scott, it’s all off now!” cried Bill, as they simultaneously sensed the identity of the other craft.
CHAPTER VIII
LAND HO!
But the strange cruise of the Kronprinzessin Emilie was not destined to come to an end then, although, for an instant, it appeared so. Whether the Britisher was mutually astonished, and in the confusion the right orders were not given, or whatever the cause was, before they had more than glimpsed her grim, dogged outlines, she faded away in the fog and was blotted out.
“Phew! A few more close shaves like that and I’d be looking in the mirror to see if my hair hasn’t turned gray,” said Jack.
“I wonder they didn’t take some action,” commented Bill, “although I’m glad they didn’t.”
“Perhaps zey was so astonished zey forgot to fire zee gun,” suggested de Garros.
“I guess that was it,” agreed Jack, “but just the same it was a mighty lucky thing for us they didn’t come to their senses sooner.”
“Yes, this thing of playing tag in the fog gets on my nerves,” muttered Bill.
By nightfall, they had steamed through the fog belt, but every eye was anxiously turned astern as if their owners expected at any moment to see the ram-shaped bows of the black British sea bulldogs come poking put of the mist.
But nothing of the sort happened, however, though late that night, far to the eastward of their course, they could see the glowing fingers of the cruisers’ searchlights pointing in every direction across the sea. The next day passed without any untoward happenings, and when, the morning following, Jack gazed from the wireless coop he saw, in the first faint light of dawn, that they were steaming along a strange, unfamiliar, rugged coast.
By the time the passengers were astir, the outlines of the coast had become dotted with cottages and houses, and in the midst of breakfast they steamed into a harbor, and the anchor was dropped with a roar and a rumble. Like a flash, the tables in the saloon were deserted. There was a general rush for the deck.
“Why, that house over there looks just like my home at Bar Harbor,” cried one woman.
Ten minutes later her words were confirmed. It was Bar Harbor, Maine, into which the sorely-harried liner had taken refuge under the neutral protection of the Stars and Stripes. Not daring to run into New York or Boston, the captain had selected the world-famous summer resort as a harbor that the English cruisers would be the least likely to watch, and his judgment proved sound. And so ended the cruise of the “gold ship,” in whose strange adventures the boys were ever proud of having participated. An hour after the great liner’s arrival, she was almost deserted by her passengers who were choking the telegraph wires with messages.
The wireless disseminated far and wide the news of her safe arrival, and they learned, ashore, that for days the fate of the “gold ship” had been the puzzle of the country. All sorts of wild guesses had been printed as to her whereabouts. She had been reported off the coast of Scotland and again in the English Channel. One rumor had it that she had been captured, another that she had been sunk and most of those on board lost.
Not one of these guesses, however wild or probable, came within striking distance of the extraordinary truth of the “gold ship’s” flight across the war-swept seas. The day after their arrival, and while the town was still seething with excitement over the great liner’s presence in the harbor, Jack received a telegram at the hotel where he, Raynor and de Garros had taken up temporary quarters. The message was from Mr. Jukes and read as follows:
“Learned by the papers of your safe return. Kindly call at my office as soon as possible after your arrival in New York. Important.”
“What’s in the wind now?” exclaimed Jack to Bill Raynor, who was with him when he got the message.
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” said Raynor; “but I have a sort of notion in the back of my head that your vacation is over.”
“If you can call it a vacation,” laughed Jack.
“Well then, perhaps experience would be a better word,” substituted Bill, also laughing.
That evening, arrangements having been made about the shipment of their baggage to New York, the boys and the young French aviator obtained their tickets from an agent of the steamship company, for the line was bearing all expenses, and took a night train for home.
Almost as soon as they reached the city, Jack visited Mr. Jukes’ office.
“Thank goodness you’ve come, Ready!” he exclaimed as soon as he had shaken hands with the lad, upon whom, since their adventures in the South Seas, he strangely came to rely; “the St. Mark sails to-morrow for Europe. I don’t know yet, in the middle of this European muddle, just what ports she will touch at. That must be settled by her captain later on.”
“But Mullen is on the St. Mark,” began Jack. “I wouldn’t wish to usurp his job and – ”
“And anyhow, it’s your vacation,” interpolated the magnate. “I know all that, Ready, and depend upon it, you won’t suffer by it if you agree to my wishes. It isn’t exactly as wireless operator I want you to sail on the St. Mark, it’s on a personal mission in part. My son, Tom, is among the refugees somewhere in France. I don’t know where. I haven’t heard a word since this war started, but the last I know he was auto touring north of Paris. He may even have gone into Belgium, for that was a part of his plan.”
“And you want me to try to find him?” demanded Jack slowly.
“Yes, I know it’s a big job, but I know that if anyone can carry it through, you can. Expense is no object, spend all you like but find the boy. This suspense is simply killing his mother and worrying me sick.”
“I’m willing and glad to take the job, Mr. Jukes,” said the young wireless man, “but, as you say, it’s a big undertaking and has about one chance in a hundred of being successful. Besides, you may have heard of him and his whereabouts even before the St. Mark reaches Europe.”
“I’ll take my chances of that,” declared the millionaire. “It’s action that I want. The feeling that something has actually been done to find him.”
“On these conditions, I’ll go and do my best,” said Jack.
“Thank you, Ready, thank you. I knew you wouldn’t fail me. Now about funds. They tell me finances are all topsy-turvy over there now. Nobody can get any American paper money or travelers’ checks cashed. That may be Tom’s fix. You’d better take gold. Here.”
He drew a check book out of a drawer and wrote out a check of a size that made Jack gasp.
“Get gold for that,” he said, as he handed it over, “and when that’s gone, Linwood and Harding, of London, are my agents. Draw on them for what you need. And, by the way, is there anybody you want to take with you?”
“I was going to say, sir,” said Jack, “that for a task like this, Bill Raynor – ”
“The very fellow. I’ll never forget him in New Guinea. A splendid lad. But will he go with you?”
“I rather think he will,” rejoined Jack with a twinkle in his eye.
CHAPTER IX
A STRANGE QUEST
Readers of earlier volumes of this series will recall Tom Jukes, who, after being cast away when his father’s yacht burned at sea, was found by Jack’s clever wireless work. This was the youth, – he was about Jack’s own age, – whom the wireless boy had been commissioned to find. Although the task appeared, as Jack had said, one almost impossible of accomplishment, still Jack was boy enough to be delighted at the prospect of traversing war-ridden Europe and possibly playing a part in the mightiest struggle of all time. As for Bill Raynor, he was wild with excitement at the idea. Uncle Toby Ready, when he was told of the intended trip,