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Updated: May 15, 2025
A hundred more, two hundred, and then a young sergeant with glasses. Tom thought he was of the medical corps, but he was not certain. He seemed to be looking down at Mr. Conne's little group, with a fierce, piercing stare. He wore horned spectacles of goodly circumference and as Tom's eyes followed the thick, left wing of these, he saw that it embraced an ear which stood out prominently.
"Did you think I didn't know what I was doing when I picked you, Tommy?" Tom could not answer, but sat there with his breast heaving, his hand on Mr. Conne's knee. "Did you just find your brother there by accident, Tom?" "I I got to be ashamed " "Yes," Mr. Conne said kindly; "you've got to be ashamed of him. But you see, I haven't got to be ashamed of you, have I? How'd you find out about it?
He did not know whether Mr. Conne's sudden dash had been prompted by his words or not. He saw him lift the heavy spectacles off the man's ears and with beating heart watched him as he came down alongside the lieutenant. "Going to throw them away, eh?" he heard Mr. Conne say.
Conne's mouth and that queer, whimsical look on Mr. Conne's face. "Mr. Conne " he stammered. "I didn't know you was here. You don't believe it, do you?" Mr. Conne worked his cigar leisurely over to the other side of his mouth. "Believe what?" "That I'm a a spy and and a traitor." He almost whispered the words. Mr. Conne smiled exasperatingly and hit him a rap on the shoulder.
Some of these boys would settle down in France and make it their long, final home, under little wooden crosses. But they did not seem to think of that. At the foot of the gangplank stood the dispatch-rider and the man with the cigar. Several other men, evidently of their party, stood near by. Mr. Conne's head was cocked sideways and he scanned the gangway with a leisurely, self-assured look.
Tom could not help feeling that he was one of the least important things among Mr. Conne's multitudinous interests, and it must be confessed that he felt just a little chagrined at finding himself disposed of with so little ceremony.
Conne's phrase, these officials would doubtless have been assembled about him listening to his tale, but as it was he was left quite out of the conference until, near its end, he was summoned to tell of his capture of Major von Piffinhoeffer and asked if he thought he could identify a close relation of that high and mighty personage simply by seeing him pass as a total stranger.
He was delighted at the thought of participation in this matter. He knew Mr. Conne liked him and had at least a good enough opinion of him to adopt the appearance of conferring with him. Mr. Conne's rather whimsical attitude toward this conference did not lessen his pride. "Let's see now," said the detective. "This thing evidently went through Holland in code. It's a rendering."
Conne's sensible advice would probably have prevailed and Tom would have put these sinister things out of his thoughts, but meeting one of the steward's boys upon the deck shortly afterward he said, "There's a picture of a ship, the Christopher Colon " "That's this ship," interrupted the steward's boy. "They don't say much about those things. It's hard to find out anything.
Conne's mind seemed full of other things as he hurried along the street with Tom after him. On the ferryboat, as they crossed to Hoboken, he was more sociable. "Don't think any more about those letters now," he said. "The proper authorities will look after them." "Yes, sir." "And whatever they set you to doing, put your mind on your work first of all.
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