Chapter XVII: The Work of a Fiend

Returned to barracks three more men of Platoon 4, Company E, were added to the list of sufferers from that sinister seizure. As a result those still unvisited by it were promptly ordered to report at the regimental hospital for treatment. The fact that a number of Company E men at drill in other platoons had also collapsed had increased the gravity of the affair to a point that required instant action on the part of the medical department. The symptoms of the peculiar malady were such as to indicate poisoning. They called for speedy investigation and the administering of a precautionary antidote to such of the men as had thus far showed no signs of sickening.

It was the first real catastrophe that had ever struck Camp Sterling and the news of it spread like wildfire throughout the camp. To one and all it seemed almost incredible that a "poison plot" had reached successful culmination in Company E mess kitchen. Undoubtedly it _had_ centered there. None other than men from Company E's barracks had felt any ill effects from their noon meal. Yet who could guess as to how far such a calamity might extend?

Released from drill for the balance of the day, the half hour between Retreat and mess that evening marked the ending of a troubled afternoon in Company E barracks. An air of deep gloom hung over the squad room in which the four Khaki Boys bunked.

Bob, Jimmy and Roger were in especially low spirits. Ranged in a dejected row on Roger's cot they were a most unhappy trio.

"It's awful," groaned Jimmy. "Poor old Iggy. He looked ready to croak when they took him to the hospital. What do you suppose it was that poisoned 'em? We ate the same stuff they did and we're all right--yet."

"Don't you know yet what poisoned 'em?" Bent forward, chin in hand, Bob straightened up with a jerk. "I'll tell you. It was the rice pudding. We didn't touch it, but poor old Iggy did."

"By George, that's so! I must be thick not to have doped out that much for myself. I'd forgotten about Iggy's starting to eat it."

"So had I." Roger looked disgusted at his own forgetfulness. "That's why a lot of men didn't get sick. They passed up the pudding, too, because Thanksgiving sweet stuff made 'em finicky."

"I caught it the minute that rain-maker over at the hospital asked me what I ate for dinner," declared Bob. "He gave me a queer look when I told him 'no pudding' and made a note of it. I was going to mention it to you, then I thought I'd wait and let you figure it out."

"Then they must know it already at headquarters," asserted Jimmy.

"Sure they know it," nodded Bob. "Whatever was left of that rice pudding is under chemical analysis by this time. They have to act quickly in a case like this."

"Iggy may pull through all right." Jimmy brightened. "He only ate one spoonful of the stuff. I was watching him. He tried it and said: 'No taste nothin'.' Then he didn't touch it again. I know, 'cause right afterward we all beat it out of the mess hall. What about Simpson, though? I can see him yet, and hear him groan."

Simpson had been the first man to collapse.

"Poor fellow." Roger's tones vibrated with intense sympathy. "He's a fine man and a splendid soldier. I've been expecting every day to see him jump to corporal. Now----" He paused, reluctant to voice his doubt of Simpson's recovery.

"It might turn out not to be poison, you know," said Bob reflectively. "Somebody may have dosed the pudding with something that would make the men deathly sick and yet not finish 'em. Only hope that's the case. This will raise some ructions here in camp, believe me. Every one of those guys in the mess kitchen'll be held for a third degree. No one's supposed to have anything to do with the grub but them. Yet they might all be as innocent as babies. Some fiend may have doctored the rice or the milk before it ever struck camp." Wise in the ways of the newspaper world, Bob was already full of plausible theories concerning the dreadful affair.

"Suppose it was poison, nobody could accuse a man on kitchen detail unless pretty good proof of it came up against him," stoutly asserted Roger.

"They'll grill the whole bunch to a standstill. If any one of 'em shows the least sign of guilt--Bing! Into the jug he goes for trial by a court martial. If he's found guilty, Bang! Porous!"

"I don't believe a man in this camp would do such a horrible thing!" Jimmy's voice rang with intense loyalty.

"We hope not," gravely rejoined Bob. "You can never tell, though. This whole country's honey-combed with spies and myrmidons of the Central Powers. The Secret Service has run down more of 'em than anyone can guess at. I know of a few things from being on the _Chronicle_. Sometimes I've thought we're all asleep over here. But we're waking up. Too bad it took us so long to do it."

"Gee, but I'm glad Iggy went off kitchen duty before this happened! Missed it by only two days!"

"Just in time to get doped, instead of getting hauled up for doping," retorted Bob. "It's about as bad one way as the other."

"Oh, you!" Jimmy grew indignant. "You know I didn't mean it that way. Just the same, I'd rather he'd be in hospital than under a cloud because some others are there. I'd hate to see a friend of mine in bad for----"

"A friend of _ours is_ in bad!" Bob fairly bounced to his feet. "Schnitz is on kitchen detail! Great Jehosephat! And he's a German-American, too!"

Into three pairs of eyes leaped a consternation born of this belated reflection. It looked as though Schnitz was in for it.

"Tough luck," emphasized Jimmy, equally concerned over Schnitzel's predicament. "Too bad it wasn't Bixton instead." Jimmy cast an unfriendly glance across the squad room to where Bixton, as usual, lounged on his cot. He also had escaped disaster.

"Oh, come now." Roger could not refrain from smiling. "You don't mean that, Blazes. It's wrong to wish trouble on any man, no matter what he may be. I don't believe even Schnitzel would wish that on Bixton, and he's had to take a lot from that sneak. Schnitz is too----"

"By the way, where is Schnitz?" Jimmy was staring darkly at Schnitzel's empty cot. "Maybe he's in hospital, too. He wasn't at drill, so we don't know----"

"Whether he's in hospital or in arrest," finished Bob significantly, "I haven't seen a man on kitchen detail since noon. You can draw your own conclusions. Right after mess to-night I'm going out news-gathering. I'll bet I find out something, too. I know where I can get some information."

"Mess!" grimaced Jimmy. "I hate to think of it. I'm not hungry enough to risk getting mine to-night."

"We all feel the same," agreed Bob. "They say lightning never strikes twice in the same place, though. I won't be a quitter. I'll take a chance. Probably we'll get something solid to eat to-night that it would be hard to doctor. You can look for some new faces in the mess kitchen. Take my word for it."

Bob's prediction was verified almost to the letter. Supper that night consisted of bread, boiled potatoes and beefsteak, served by a new detail of kitchen men. Not one of the old detail was on duty, which went to prove that they were either ill or had been held on suspicion.

The three Khaki Boys never forgot that particular meal. Each felt that every mouthful of food he ate might contain a fatal dose of poison. Iggy's absence also greatly added to their depression. All hoped for the best, yet feared the worst. The same heavy oppression clutched their comrades, who alike had bunkies of their own to worry over.

Bob returned to barracks with Roger and Jimmy, only to sally forth again on his quest for news. Jimmy was anxious to go with him, but for once Bob did not desire company. "Bobby's got to go it by himself," he objected. "You're a lovely young corporal, Blazes, but you don't fit into my plan. 'He travels fastest who travels alone,' you know. Any other time I'd be delighted, but, to quote our dear, I won't say departed, Iggy, 'no now.'"

Tattoo had sounded before Bob reappeared, his black eyes glittering with suppressed excitement. "I've had a busy evening," he announced, as Jimmy and Roger began hurling eager questions at him. "Pile onto my cot and I'll tell you what I know."

"Fire away," ordered Jimmy impatiently as the three gathered together, eager to hear what Bob had discovered.

"First of all, Iggy's better." Bob beamed, as he told this important news. "He wasn't nearly so sick as the rest. He may be back here to-morrow night."

"Hooray!" rejoiced Jimmy, though in a very moderate tone.

"That's fine!" Roger's sober features grew radiant.

"Simpson's gone west." The light faded from Bob's face.

"When--did--he----" Jimmy could not bring himself to say the dread word.

"Soon after they took him to hospital." Bob was silent for a moment. "He--he--suffered terribly. One of those two that dropped right afterward is--is--gone. Brady, that slim, curly-headed fellow, that was always laughing. The other may pull through. All the rest will, I guess. They're pretty sure it was the pudding. Simpson asked for a second portion of the stuff. I'd like to get my hands on the fiend that poisoned it. I'd choke the life out of him!"

"They're taking it hard at headquarters," Bob continued. "The K. O.'s wild about it. Says he'll never rest till he gets the one who did it. That's what I heard. I didn't have a personal interview with him." This last with grim humor. "They gathered in the k. m.'s before they'd finished their work. Don't know what's been done to 'em, so far. Couldn't get a line on that. Don't know whether the story broke in time for an evening extra or not. I couldn't get one. The morning papers will be full of it. There'll be a bunch of reporters on the scene to-morrow. It's hinted that arsenic was used. Nobody'll know that, though, until the pudding's been analyzed and post mortem held on--on----" Bob drew a sharp, whistling breath. "A dog's death for two brave fellows to die," he went on with intense bitterness.

"Yet they died in their country's service," reminded Roger softly. "They did their level best for Uncle Sam while they lasted. Brady and Simpson; splendid boys and good soldiers." Unconsciously, Roger had voiced the finest eulogy that a man could desire to have spoken of him.

"Yes, we mustn't forget that," assented Bob sadly. "This has been a horrible day. I wish I could wipe it off my slate. But I can't. And then there's Schnitz to think of. Anything out of the ordinary happen while I was gone?" he asked with sudden irrelevance.

"Not a thing. Why?" Jimmy detected anxiety in the question.

"I thought maybe there'd be a guard detail sent to go through the kitchen men's stuff. It's too early for that, I guess. You don't suppose Schnitz would have anything among his traps that might look bad for him, do you?"

"What could he have?" wondered Roger. "We know he couldn't have any poison. What else could there be?"

"Nothing." Bob hesitated. "It's only on account of his nationality. You know how Bixton's talked about him. You know, too, why our fellows were poisoned. He's the only G. A. in this barrack. He was on kitchen duty. Now suppose he had some trifle among his belongings that was perfectly all right in itself, but looked fishy to the search party? It's not likely to be so, but it might be."