Navy Boys Behind the Big Guns Part 11

He came back shaking his head and looking puzzled.

"He's there all right," he said to Whistler. "Bet he's going to Elmvale instead of to sea again. What do you make of it?"

"Not a thing," grumbled Whistler. "I wish I knew what to do."

"Let's have him pinched," suggested the eager Frenchy.

"Not a chance! On what charge?" asked Torry. "Accuse him of being in disguise because he wears that beard?" and he chuckled.

But to Whistler Morgan's mind it was no laughing matter. He was silent all the way to Seacove. Torry suggested that they stay on the train to Elmvale and see if Blake got off at that station.

"No," his friend said decidedly, "we can't do that. Our folks will be worried about us if we don't report soon. Cap Bridger may have told around town that we went off on the submarine chaser, and perhaps our folks will think we've gone for good."

So they alighted at their station and left the mysterious Blake aboard the train. Whistler hurried home to consult with his father. There was n.o.body else in whom he had so much confidence; at least, n.o.body within reach.

In this case, however, his father was not within reach. Dr. Morgan had been called away to see a patient in the country. It was a call that might keep him away from home all night. Whistler was greatly disappointed.

He went down town again and hunted up Torry. He found his friend getting into his father's car in front of the garage.

"I was just coming over to get you," Torry said. "D'you know, Whistler, I feel just as nervous as a cat?"

"I guess that's what is the matter with me," Morgan confessed. "I'm bothering my head about that fellow Blake."

"Me, too. Say! let's run over there."

"To Elmvale?"

"Yep. Pa's gone away----"

"So has my father," admitted Whistler.

"Well, neither of them can advise us, then," said Torry, practically.

"How about talking with somebody in Elmvale? The manager of the munition works, for instance?"

"That's so! Mr. Santley. Say! let's 'phone him and see if he is at home."

"But you can't say anything over the telephone about Blake, or about us fellows thinking he is up to something wrong."

"We'll make an appointment with the manager," said Whistler, running into the Torrance house.

He knew where the telephone was, the girl at central quickly gave him the connection. A man answered the call.

"Is this Mr. Santley?" Whistler asked.

"It is. Who are you?"

Morgan told him who he was and asked if he could see the manager if he drove right over to Elmvale in his friend's car.

"What for?"

"It has something to do with a man named Blake in the employ of the factory," said Whistler plainly. "But I can say nothing more about it over the 'phone."

"'Blake'?" repeated the voice at the other end, and Whistler thought there was a startled note in it. "What about him?"

"I can only tell you when I see you."

"Come on, then!" exclaimed the man. "I shall wait here for you at my office."

Whistler ran out of the house. Al was already at the steering wheel of the car.

"What did he say?" he shouted.

"For us to come over," Whistler replied. "And somehow, Torry, I feel we ought to hurry."

"You said it!" agreed the other and turned on the power.

CHAPTER IX

JUST TOO LATE

"Shall we stop and pick up the other fellows?" demanded Al as the heavy car shot up the road toward High Street. They had to cross the railroad tracks to get into the Elmvale road.

"Stop for nothing!" exclaimed Phil Morgan. "I feel that we can't delay a minute."

But as it chanced Michael Donahue was standing at the open door of the Rosenmeyer delicatessen shop as the Torrance car wheeled around the corner into Seacove's main street. Dusky as it now was, the Irish lad recognized the car and the two boys on the front seat.

"Hi, Ikey!" he yelled to his chum, back in the store. "See who's joy-riding! And they never said a word about it."

Ikey ran out in a hurry.

"Stingy! Stingy!" he cried, almost getting into the path of the automobile.

Torry had been obliged to slow down to turn the corner; so it was easy for the reckless Frenchy and Ikey to jump upon the running board of the car.

"Tumble in, kids!" exclaimed Torry, out of the corner of his mouth, for he had to keep his eyes ahead for traffic. "We're in a hurry."

"I--should--think--you--were!" gasped out Frenchy, as the car jounced over the railroad tracks by the station. "I almost swallowed my gum."

"Who's sick?" demanded Ikey.

"n.o.body. Sit down," adjured Whistler. "We're going to Elmvale."

"Wow, wow!" yelled Frenchy. "What for?"

"We don't know till we get there," declared Torry suddenly grinning.