"I don't believe I have actual authority to do anything," Kimball returned, also in a whisper. "But we have the drawings, and that writing, which may be a clever cipher. With that I'm afraid we'll have to remain content."

A launch from the gunboat was in waiting. In this the sh.o.r.e guests were taken back to land. Hardly had the launch left the side of the submarine, when a cutter, also from the gunboat, put in alongside. Two men in ordinary citizen's dress clambered aboard.

"Lieutenant Commander Kimball?" inquired one of the pair.

"Yes," acknowledged the naval officer. "May we see you below, in the cabin of this boat."

"No!" replied Kimball, sternly.

"Oh, as you please, of course," smiled the one of the pair who had first spoken. "Probably I am at fault, though, in not introducing my companion and myself. My friend is Mr. Packwood; my name is Trotter.

We are Secret Service men sent down here by the Secretary of the Navy, in answer to your dispatch."

As Trotter spoke he threw back the lapel of his coat, displaying a badge.

"I have also some papers to show you, Mr. Kimball," continued the Secret Service man.

"Oh, of course you may come below," smiled the naval officer. "And, Benson; I guess this business belongs to you, too."

So Jack descended with the party, while the other submarine boys and Williamson remained on deck.

"You have, been bothered with spies, Captain?" asked Trotter, turning to young Benson, when they had reached the cabin table.

"Haven't we, though!" muttered Jack.

"And even took one out with you on this last trip of yours," laughed Mr.

Trotter, producing from an inner pocket a book bound in black.

"Miss Peddensen, the Swedish young woman?" demanded Captain Jack.

"Here's the one I mean," replied Trotter, opening the book, which proved to be an alb.u.m, and turning the pages over rapidly. He pointed to a photograph.

"That's Miss Peddensen," cried Jack, looking up at Lieutenant Commander Kimball for confirmation.

"Well, Peddensen is one of the names she has used," smiled Trotter.

"What foreign government does she serve?" demanded Benson.

Trotter shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, the Department has pretty good information that she has served England, France, Germany, Austria, Russia--oh, these spies have no country! They serve the fattest international purse!"

"Here is what we took from Miss Peddensen," said Kimball, gravely, laying down on the table the sketchbook and the "composition."

Taking up the latter, Mr. Trotter, after a glance declared:

"This is written in a secret cipher, most likely. Packwood, this comes in your peculiar line of work. The sketches are easy enough to understand. They are of the mechanisms displayed in this cabin."

"Yes, this is a cipher," declared Packwood, thoughtfully, after scanning the sheets a few moments. "With some study I can make it out."

"Who's the young Englishman who escorted Miss Peddensen?" demanded Captain Jack.

"Never saw him until I glanced at him in the launch just now," replied Trotter. "He may be another spy, unknown to us, or he may be merely a good-natured and wholly innocent young chap whom the Swedish girl has lured into her service."

"What are these other pictures?" inquired Mr. Kimball, beginning to turn the leaves.

"All of 'em photos of people known to be engaged in stealing naval secrets for foreign powers," replied Trotter. "Captain Benson may keep this alb.u.m for future use. I've another copy for you, Mr. Kimball."

"Why, here's a good likeness of Mlle. Nadiboff," cried Jack Benson, pausing in turning the leaves and glancing down at the picture of a face he had good cause to remember. "And here, opposite her, is M. Lemaire!"

"Oh, yes; they're both old offenders," nodded Trotter. "Turn along, and see if you remember any more faces."

"Here's Gaston, who is now in jail here," nodded Jack.

"Is he, though?" asked Trotter, with interest.

"What charge?"

"Felonious a.s.sault upon Hastings and myself."

"Good," chuckled Trotter. "I shall have to see the judge privately, and ask him to make sure that Gaston Goubet gets the longest sentence possible. Nothing like prison bars to stop the work of these international spies!"

"Why, here's even little Kamanako," smiled as he turned over another page.

"Yes, and a very smooth and slippery little spy that j.a.p is," declared Mr. Trotter. "He steals all kinds of secrets, from the details of sixteen inch guns down to the method of dyeing a blanket in a mill."

"Are you going to do anything with the Peddensen woman?" inquired Lieutenant Commander Kimball.

"Ain't I, though--just!" answered Mr. Trotter. "You caught her red-handed, with drawings, cipher and all."

"Will she be imprisoned?" inquired Captain Jack.

"Well, that isn't the usual way," replied Trotter. "The young woman is more likely to be taken to New York, given a pa.s.sage ticket across the ocean, and notified that, if she tries to return to this country, she will find that her photograph is on file at every port of entry. It will spoil her games, without making much of a fuss."

The cutter waiting alongside conveyed Kimball and his brother officer, Featherstone, back to the gunboat. Then it ran into sh.o.r.e; putting Mr.

Trotter and his silent companion once more on land.

For some minutes after that Jack, Hal and Eph remained absorbed in the pictures in this alb.u.m of known naval spies. There were more than two dozen of these photographs, some of men, some of women. On the same page with each picture was given the subject's true name, if known, also the spy's aliases, and other information.

"Sara Nadiboff, twenty-nine, yet looks like twenty," muttered Hal, studying the information under the young Russian woman's photograph.

"And Kamanako is really Lieutenant Osuri," muttered Jack. "Yet the fellow was working in the hotel kitchen until he could get a chance to apply for a job on this craft."

"I don't recognize any other spies among these pictures," muttered Hal. "The only ones here that we know we had already guessed."

"Look at that time," muttered Jack, jumping up. "I must get on sh.o.r.e and see what Mr. Farnum's orders are. And--" thrusting the alb.u.m in his coat pocket and b.u.t.toning it up, "I'll take this picture gallery along. Our employer will be highly interested in it."

It was dusk by the time that Benson reached the platform deck. After a few moments he succeeded in hailing a harbor boat. Yet it was quite dark by the time that Captain Jack stepped on sh.o.r.e.

Instead of going around by the road Jack decided to cross the grounds.