The information terrified Ruth. For the first time since the explosion in the boiler room, the girl of the Red Mill considered the possibility of this all being a plot to wreck the _Admiral Pekhard_-a plot among some of the ship's company, both pa.s.sengers and crew!

The mystery of which she had caught a single thread that morning at dawn when she had observed this black-eyed woman talking with the German-looking seaman, or stoker, was now divulged.

These people-Irma Lentz, the flaxen-haired man, Dykman (if he was one of the plotters) and perhaps others, had brought them all to this perilous situation. The German conspirators had, after all, been willing to risk their own lives in an attempt to sink the British ship.

She was but one day from port; it was not improbable that the ship's company would reach land in comparative safety. The two motor boats could tow the lifeboats, and if a storm did not arise they might all reach either the English or the French coast in safety.

Ruth was so disturbed by Irma Lentz's statement that she did not immediately turn toward her own room. She knew where Mr. Dowd's cabin was, and she hurried toward it.

It seemed sinister that the chief officer should have been injured just as she had sent word to him about the stowaway in the small motor boat.

Ruth was convinced, without further evidence, that her discovery and attempt to reach Mr. Dowd with the information had caused his injury and had hastened the explosion.

She did not believe the latter was caused by a torpedo from a lurking submarine. The conspirators aboard the _Admiral Pekhard_ had deliberately brought about the catastrophe.

And it smote her, too, that Mr. Dowd might now be neglected in his cabin. When the pa.s.sengers and crew left in the small boats, the first officer would, perhaps, be lying helpless in his berth.

She reached the door of the officer's cabin, and knocked upon the panel.

There was n.o.body in sight in this pa.s.sage and she heard no movement inside the first officer's room. Again she knocked.

At last there was a stirring inside. A voice mumbled:

"Yes? Yes? Eight bells? I will be right up."

"Mr. Dowd! Mr. Dowd!" Ruth called. "Wake up! The ship is sinking!"

"I'll be right with you, boy," said the officer, more briskly, but evidently not altogether himself.

"This is Ruth Fielding, Mr. Dowd!" cried the girl, hammering again on the door. "Do you need help? Come on deck quickly. The ship is sinking!"

"What's _that_?"

He was evidently aroused now. The door was snapped open and he appeared at the aperture just as he had risen from his berth-in shirt and trousers. His head was bandaged as though he wore a turban.

"What is that you say, Miss Fielding?" he repeated.

"Come quickly, Mr. Dowd!" she begged. "The ship is sinking. Those people have blown it up."

"Then there was something wrong!" cried the officer. "Did-did Captain Hastings come to you? I-I gave him your note after I fell--"

"He did nothing but wait until those people did their worst," declared Ruth angrily. "It is too late to talk about it now. Hurry!" and she turned away to seek her own stateroom.

It was fast growing dark outside. There were no lights turned on along the saloon deck. She saw not a soul as she hurried to her room.

Everybody-even the stewards and officers-seemed to have got out upon the upper deck. She heard much noise there and believed some of the boats were being lowered.

She unlocked her stateroom door and entered. When she tried to turn on the electric light, she found that the wires were dead. Of course, if the boilers were blown up, the electric generating motors would stop as well as the steam engines. The ship would be in darkness.

She hastily scrambled such valuables as she could find into her toilet bag. Her money and papers she stowed away inside her dress. They were wrapped in oilskin, if she should be wet. Ruth was cool enough. She considered all possibilities at this time of emergency.

At least she considered all possibilities but one. That never for a moment entered her mind.

It was true that while she dressed more warmly and secured a blanket from her berth to wrap around herself over her coat, she was aware that the noise on the upper deck had ceased. But she did not realize the significance of this.

Being all alone, she had much difficulty in arraying herself as she wished. Her shoulder was stiff and she could not use her left arm very much without causing the shoulder to hurt excruciatingly. So she was long in getting out of the room again.

Just as she did so she heard a man shouting up the pa.s.sage:

"Anybody here? Get out on deck! Last call! The boats are leaving!"

The shout really startled Ruth. She had no idea there was any chance of her being left behind. She left her stateroom door open and started to run through the narrow corridor.

Not six feet from the door she tripped over something. It was a cord stretched taut across the pa.s.sage, fastened at a height of about a foot from the deck!

Helplessly, with her hands full and the blanket over her right arm, Ruth pitched forward on her face. She struck her head on the deck with sufficient force to cause unconsciousness. With a single groan she rolled over on her back and lay still.

CHAPTER XIV-A BATTLE IN THE AIR

The first few seconds which pa.s.sed after Ralph Stillinger and Tom Cameron descried the huge envelope of the Zeppelin beneath their airplane in the fog were sufficient to allow the American ace to regain his self-possession. If his pa.s.senger was frightened by the nearness of the German airship he did not betray that fact.

The thundering of the motors of the great airship, as well as the clatter of their own engine, made speech between the two Americans quite impossible. But the meaning of Stillinger's gestures was not lost on Tom.

Immediately the latter sprang to the machine gun. The three pursuit planes with which they had been skirmishing were now out of mind, as well as out of sight. If they could cripple the Zeppelin the victory would be far greater than bringing disaster to one of the _Tauben_.

The Zeppelin was aimed seaward. She doubtless had started upon a coast raid along the English sh.o.r.e. If the Americans could bring her down they would achieve something that would count gloriously in this great work of fighting the Hun in the air.

To pitch down upon the envelope of the great machine and empty a clip of cartridges into it might do the Zeppelin a deal of harm, but it would not wreck it. A complete wreck was what Stillinger and Tom wished to make of the German airship.

The American pilot's intention was immediately plain to Tom. He shut down on the speed and allowed the airplane to fall behind the German ship. The object was to trail the Zeppelin and pour the machine-gun bullets into the steering gear of the great airship-even, perhaps, to sweep her deck of the crew.

The fog was thinning-No! they were shooting out of the cloud. The sunlight suddenly illuminated both Zeppelin and airplane. Both must have been revealed to observers on the ground and in the air.

The presence of the American airplane, if unsuspected before by the crew of the Zeppelin, was now revealed to them. Tom, bending sideways to look down past the machine gun, saw the entire afterdeck of the Zeppelin.

There were at least a dozen men standing there, staring up at the darting airplane.

Tom shot a glance back at Stillinger. The machine tipped at that instant. The pilot waved an admonishing hand. Tom seized the crank of the gun and turned to look down upon the German airship.

In that instant the crew of the latter had sprung to action. Their surprise at the nearness of the airplane was past. Their commander stood, hanging to a stay with one hand and shouting orders through a trumpet held in the other hand. At least, Tom Cameron presumed he was shouting.

All he could hear was the thuttering roar of the Zeppelin's motors and the clash of their own engine. These noises, with the shrieking of the rushing wind made every other sound inaudible.

The American machine was tipping. She was not far behind the Zeppelin, nor far above it. The muzzle of the machine gun would soon come into line with the after deck of the Zeppelin. Then--

Suddenly a flash of flame and a balloon of smoke was spouted from a small mortar amidships of that deck. Instantly a sh.e.l.l burst almost in Tom's face and eyes.

If the young fellow cringed as he crouched behind the machine gun, it was no wonder. That was a very narrow escape.