In a few minutes the steward came down with the captain and the first
officer and a man in civilian's clothes, who carried a cigar in the
corner of his mouth and who Tom thought must be of the Secret Service.
Tom stood greatly in awe of the captain, who seemed the very type of
exalted dignity. But a cat may look at a king, and he stared at that
autocrat, resolved to answer manfully whatever questions were asked him.

"Confirms your suspicions, eh?" said the captain to the man in plain
clothes, after a gingerly inspection of the ominous piece of stove pipe.

"Hmmm," said the other man; "yes; no doubt of it. Wish I'd taken him up
last trip when he sent that message. We'll have a job finding him now."

"I don't see how he could have got ashore since nine o'clock last
night," said the first officer.

"Well, he did, anyway," said the Secret Service man; "they're getting by
every day, and they will until we have martial law along the
waterfront. You see, this is where he had to come through to his
locker," he added, looking about.

The captain gave a brief order to the first officer to have the vessel
searched at once for more bombs. The officer hurried away and presently
came back again. The Secret Service man was intently examining the
floor, the jamb around the door, and the casing of the port-hole. The
captain, too, scrutinized the place, as if he hoped it might yield some
valuable information; and Tom, feeling very awkward, stood silently
watching them.

"Here you are," said the Secret Service man, indicating a brown stain on
the door jamb.

The other three men stepped over to the spot, but Tom, who did not dare
to join them, stood just where he was, looking uncouth and out of place
in the ill-fitting white duck jacket and blue peaked service cap which
had been given him.

"There you are, Captain," said the Secret Service man; "see that
finger-mark? The skin lines aren't as clear, see? That's from constant
pressure. That's the finger he uses to press his wireless key."

"Hmm," said the captain.

"I've had my eye on that young operator for the last two trips," said
the plain-clothes man; "he's undoubtedly the fellow who sent that code
message that tipped Ekler off and posted him about the _Republic's_
sailing, I never liked his name--Hinnerman. We might have known he
wouldn't show up for this trip."

"He was a hold-over on board," said the first officer, "and didn't come
in for the government quiz. They sho