Fighting in Cuban Waters: or, Under Schley on the Brooklyn. Stratemeyer Edward

he keeps his wits about him. Here is the album. Look it over carefully, and let me know if you see anybody that looks like your man." And he left Walter to himself and reëntered the outer office, to hear the reports of the roundsmen coming in.

      The book given to Walter was a thick one, filled with cards, photos, and tin-types of criminals. Under each picture was written a name, usually accompanied by several aliases, and also a number, to correspond with the same number in the criminal register.

      "Gracious, but they keep pretty good track of them," thought Walter, as he turned over page after page. "Who would think all these good-looking men were wrong-doers? Some of them look a good deal more like ministers."

      Walter had gone through half the book, and the photographs were beginning to confuse his already aching head, when a certain picture arrested his attention. "I've found him!" he cried out. "That's the fellow, although he is minus that moustache of his!"

      "Did you call?" asked the sergeant, coming to the door.

      "I've found him. This is the man. His name is given as Deck Mumpers, alias Foxy Mumpers, and Swiller Deck."

      "If he is called Swiller Deck, he must drink a good deal," said the sergeant, with a laugh. "You are sure of this identification?"

      "I am. But he wants a moustache put on that picture."

      "We take them bare-faced if we can. This photo was taken in Brooklyn." The officer turned to an official register. "Deck Mumpers, age forty-two, height five feet seven inches, weight one hundred and thirty-two pounds. Round face, big ears, broad shoulders, poor teeth. Sent to Sing Sing in 1892 for two years, for robbery of Scott diamonds. A hard drinker when flush. Now wanted for several petty crimes in New York. Came originally from South Boston, where he was in the liquor business." The sergeant turned again to Walter. "I guess you have struck your man. I'll send out the alarm. What is your address?"

      "I have just joined the navy and am bound for the Brooklyn. But I can leave you my uncle's name and address, and he can come on to Boston from Buffalo, if it's necessary."

      "That will do, then," answered the sergeant.

      He brought forth a book in which to put down the details of the affair. While he was writing, Walter slipped his hand into his pocket to see if the slip of paper he had received at the navy-yard was still safe. The paper was gone.

      CHAPTER IV

      ON THE WAY TO THE "BROOKLYN"

      "Oh, what luck!"

      "What is the matter now?"'

      "My order for a railroad ticket from Boston to Fortress Monroe is gone!"

      "Is that true? Perhaps Deck Mumpers cleaned you out after he struck you down," suggested the sergeant, quickly. "Feel in your pockets."

      Walter did so, and his face blanched. "He did – everything, – my money, keys, cash, – all are missing. What in the world shall I do now?"'

      "How much money did you have?"

      "About twenty dollars. The main thing was that railroad ticket order. If that is gone, how am I to get to Norfolk?"

      "Was your name mentioned on the paper?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "Where was it to be presented? any particular depot?"

      "Yes, the New York and New England railroad depot."

      "Then the best thing to do is to ring the railroad folks up and have the bearer of the order detained, if the slip is presented," went on the police officer, and stepping to the telephone he rang up central and had the necessary connection made.

      "Is this the ticket office of the New York and New England railroad depot?" he questioned.

      "Yes," came the reply over the wire.

      "A navy-yard order for a ticket from here to Norfolk, or Fortress Monroe, has been stolen. It is made out in the name of Walter Russell. If it is presented, hold the party having it and communicate with police headquarters."

      "Is the name Walter Russell?" was the excited query, and Walter's heart began to sink as he seemed to feel what was coming.

      "Yes."

      "That order has already been filled. It was presented about ten o'clock last night."

      "I've missed it!" groaned the youth, and dropped into a chair. "What will the navy-yard people say to this when they hear of it?"

      "I don't see how they can blame you," returned the sergeant, kindly, "seeing as you were knocked senseless by the thief. Deck Mumpers has got the best of it so far."

      He called through the telephone for a description of the party having the order, and soon learned it must have been Mumpers beyond a doubt.

      "Can't you telegraph to Norfolk to have him arrested when he arrives?" asked Walter suddenly.

      "You don't think he'll go all the way to Norfolk, do you?" smiled the police officer. Then he turned again to the telephone. "What kind of a ticket did that party get on the order?" he asked.

      "First-class, with sleepers."

      "He got a first-class ticket. Ten to one he'll not use it at all, but sell the pasteboard at some cut-rate ticket office right here in Boston and then buy another ticket for somewhere else."

      "I see!" cried Walter. "But if the ticket was sold here, could we trace it?"

      "It is not likely, for many first-class tickets are alike. We might trace the sleeping-car checks, but I doubt if Mumpers will try to do anything with those."

      "But he may use the ticket," ventured Walter, hardly knowing what else to say.

      "Oh, possibly. I'll have the men at the various stations keep an eye open for the rascal," concluded the sergeant, and after a few more words Walter left the station.

      It must be confessed that the youth was considerably out of sorts. "I start off to recover some stolen property and end by losing more," he groaned. "I'm not fit to join the navy, or do anything." And he gave a mountainous sigh.

      It was almost five o'clock, and knowing Dan would soon be on hand with Gimpwell to open the stand, he walked slowly in that direction. To keep up his courage he tried to whistle, but the effort was a dismal failure. Walter was naturally very light-hearted, but just now no one looking at his troubled face would have suspected this.

      Reaching the stand, he opened the shutters and put out the light which he had forgotten to extinguish. Soon the first bundles of papers came along, and he sorted them over and arranged them for sale and for Dan's route. The work was almost done when the carrier came along, followed immediately by the new clerk.

      "Hullo, I didn't know you'd be here!" cried Dan. "Why didn't you come home last night? Mother expected you to use the room, and you paid for it."

      "I wish I had used the room," answered Walter, and went over his tale in a few words, for Dan must be off, to serve several men with newspapers before they themselves started off to their daily labors.

      "Say, but that's too bad!" cried the errand boy. "I've got two dollars, Walter. You can have the money if it will do you any good."

      "Thanks, Dan, I want to see Mr. Newell first. But it's kind of you to make the offer."

      "I'd offer you something, Russell," put in the new clerk. "But the fact is I haven't even car-fare; had to tramp over from Charlestown."

      Phil Newell put into appearance shortly before seven o'clock, coming a little earlier than usual, to see that Gimpwell got along all right. Calling him aside, Walter told of what had happened. He was getting sick of telling the story, but, in this case, there was no help for it.

      "Douse the toplights, but you've run on a sunken rock, and no mistake, Walter," cried the old naval veteran. "So he cleaned you out completely, eh?"

      "Yes, Mr. Newell. I don't care so much for the money, but that order for the railroad ticket – "

      "It's too had; too bad!" Phil Newell ran his hand through his bushy hair. "I don't believe the navy-yard authorities will issue a duplicate order."

      "Neither