style="font-size:15px;"> Whereupon he produced his passport. After a glance at it the two young naval officers did not see how they could escape offering their own cards, which Matthews gladly accepted and deposited in his own card-case.
He did not intrude, however, but soon moved off, after a cheery word of parting. Dave and Dan went out for another stroll, returning in time for dinner.
Hardly had they seated themselves when Matthews, fresh and smiling, stopped at their table in the dining room.
“I’m afraid you’ll vote me a bore,” he apologized, “but American company is such a treat in this town that I’m going to inquire whether my presence would be distasteful. If not, may I dine with you?”
“Be seated, by all means,” Darrin responded, with as much heartiness as he could summon.
When the soup had been taken away and fish set before them, Matthews asked:
“Don’t you find the patrol work a dreadful bore?”
“It’s often monotonous,” Dave agreed, “but there are some exciting moments that atone for the dulness of many of the hours.”
“And frightfully dangerous work,” Matthews suggested.
“Fighting, I believe, has never been entirely separated from danger,” retorted Dalzell, with a grin.
“Have you sunk anything lately?”
Both naval officers appeared to be too busy with their fish to hear the question.
Matthews looked astonished for only a moment. Then he waited until they were half through with the roast before he inquired:
“How do you like the work of the depth bombs? Are they as useful as it was believed they would be?”
Dave Darrin glanced up quickly. There was no glint of hostility in his eyes. He smiled, and his voice was agreeable as he rejoined:
“Now, I know you will not really expect an answer to that question, Mr. Matthews. The officers and men of the service are under orders not to discuss naval matters with those not in the service.”
“P-p-pardon me, won’t you?” stammered Matthews, a flush appearing under either temple.
“Certainly,” Dave agreed. “Men not in the service do not readily comprehend how necessary it is for Navy men not to discuss their work, especially in war-time.”
Matthews soon changed the subject. After they had gone forth from the dining room he shook hands with them cordially, and took his leave.
“Is he genuine?” asked Dalzell.
“Must be,” Dave replied. “His passport was in form. You know how it is with civilians, Danny-boy. Knowing themselves to be decent and loyal, they cannot understand why service men cannot take them at their own valuation.”
Just as the two were going out for another stroll the double doors flew briskly open to admit a group of more than a dozen British naval officers.
“Hullo, there, Darrin! I say there, Dalzell!”
Surrounded by Britain’s naval officers, our two Americans had to undergo almost an ordeal of handshaking in the lobby.
“But I thought you were far out on the water, Chetwynd,” Dave remarked to one of the officers.
“And so I was, but a bad break in a shaft sent me in,” grumbled the commander of an English destroyer. “Beastly luck! And I was needed out there,” he added, in a whisper, “for the Germans are attempting a big drive underseas. We’ve new information, Darrin, that they’ve more than twice the usual number of submersibles loose in these waters.”
“I’ve been told the same,” Dave nodded, quietly.
“What brought you in?”
“Shell hits, I think they were, though one dent might have been made by a torpedo,” Darrin answered.
“Then you had a fight.”
“A short one.”
“And the German pest?”
“Went to the bottom. I know, for we saw her sink, and her conning tower was so damaged that she couldn’t have kept the water out, once she went under. Besides, we found the surface of the water covered with oil.”
“I’ll wager you did,” agreed Chetwynd, heartily. “You Yankee sailors have sunk dozens of the pests.”
“And hope to sink scores more,” Darrin assured him.
“Oh, you’ll do it,” came the confident answer. “But come on upstairs with us. We’ve a private parlor and a piano, and plan a jolly hour or two.”
From one end of the room, in a lull in the singing, an exasperated English voice rose on the air.
“What I can’t understand,” the speaker cried, “is that the enemy appear to have every facility for getting the latest gossip right out of this port. And they know every time that a liner, a freighter or a warship sails from this port. There is some spy service on shore that communicates with the German submarine commanders.”
“I’d like to catch one of the rascally spies!” Dan uttered to a young English officer.
“What would you do with him?” bantered the other.
“Cook him!” retorted Dan, vengefully. “I don’t know in just what form; probably fricassee him.”
Little did Dalzell dream how soon the answer to the spy problem would come to him.
CHAPTER II – THE MEETING WITH A PIRATE
Thirty-six hours’ work at the dry dock, with changing shifts, put the “Logan” in shape to start seaward again.
Under another black sky, moving into thick weather, the “Logan” swung off at slow speed, with little noise from engines or propellers.
“I feel as if something were going to happen to-night,” said Dalzell, coming to the bridge at midnight after a two-hour nap. A little shudder ran over his body.
“I hope something does,” agreed Darrin, warmly. “But remember – no Jonah forebodings!”
“I – I think it will be something good!” hesitated Dalzell.
“Good or bad, have me called at six bells,” Dave instructed his second in command. “Before that, of course, if anything turns up.”
He went slowly down and entered the chart-room, closing the curtains after him. Taking off his sheepskin coat and hanging it up, Dave dropped into a chair, pulling a pair of blankets over him. Inside of thirty seconds he was sound asleep, dreaming, perhaps, of the night before at the hotel, when he had enjoyed the luxury of removing his clothing and sleeping between sheets.
At three o’clock to the minute a messenger entered and roused him. How Darrin hated to get up! He was horribly sleepy, yet he was on his feet in a twinkling, removing the service blouse that he had worn while sleeping, and dashing cold water in his face.
