“Tell the orderly to pass the word to the marine corporal to bring Jordan here,” Dave ordered, after a dazed instant.

That order was quickly obeyed. Seaman Jordan, shuffling his feet, his eyes roving shiftily, nevertheless maintained a half-defiant, half-injured air.

“Jordan,” demanded Dave, without a moment’s waiting, as the man was placed before him, “why did you drop this bottle overboard?”

“I didn’t, sir.”

“But Ferguson says you did.”

“He’s a liar, sir.”

“Where did you get this bottle?” Dave rapped out.

“I didn’t get it, sir; I never saw it before.”

“Have you any more of these bottles?”

“Naturally not, sir.”

“What is the transparent coating on this bottle that makes it glow soon after it reaches the water?”

“I don’t know anything about it, sir.”

“Jordan, don’t you know that, in maintaining this defiant attitude, you are only injuring your own case?” Darrin demanded, warningly.

“I can’t tell you anything else than I’m telling you, sir,” the sailor cried, angrily. “I have been telling you the truth and I won’t lie, sir.”

“I don’t ask you to lie,” Darrin observed coolly.

“But you won’t believe me, sir.”

“No,” said Dave, rising. “I don’t. Corporal, take this man back to the brig. And see to it that you don’t repeat anything that you have heard here. As you go out pass the word by messenger to the officer of the deck to have Seaman Ferguson relieved. As soon as that is done Ferguson is to report to me here.”

So swiftly are orders carried out on a destroyer in war-time that it was less than a minute later when Ferguson knocked, entered, saluted, and stood, cap in hand, before his commanding officer.

“Ferguson,” Dave began, “outside of your being stationed with him, have you seen much of Jordan?”

“About as much, sir, as I see of any shipmate who isn’t any particular friend of mine.”

“Have you been on unfriendly terms with Jordan?”

“Not until I caught him at tricks to-night, sir.”

“Ever had any trouble with Jordan?”

“Fought him twice, I think, sir.”

“Any bad blood between you two?”

“No, sir; that is, nothing more than disputes that blew over at once after we had used our fists on each other.”

“Who won the fights?”

“I did, sir.”

“And you have not looked upon Jordan as an enemy?”

“No, sir.”

“What has been your opinion of Jordan as a seaman?”

“He always seemed to know his business, sir.”

“Did he perform his duties cheerfully?”

“I thought so,” Ferguson replied.

“Now, Ferguson,” Darrin went on, “you two have chatted quite a bit, haven’t you, when on station side by side?”

“Yes, sir, whenever we found the time hanging heavy on our hands.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Sometimes, sir, we talked about the fun that can be had on shore leave, but more often about submarines and the war, sir.”

“And what was Jordan’s attitude toward the war?”

“I don’t know that I understand you, sir.”

“Did Jordan speak as if he believed the United States did right to enter the war?”

“Oh, yes, sir.”

“He talked, did he, like what you would call a good American?”

“Yes, sir; always, when the subject was mentioned.”

“And you believed him loyal to the United States?”

“Yes, sir; up to last night.”

“What happened then?”

“Why, sir, Jordan got me to look off to starboard, and my back was turned to him for a moment. I felt, rather than saw, that he had dropped something overboard. I looked quickly astern at our wake. I now feel pretty sure, sir, that I saw something glowing floating on the water astern. You may remember, sir, that at this time last night there was a heavy phosphorescent wake. And we were making faster speed last night, too, and our propeller turned up more of the phosphorescent stuff in the water, if that is the right way to express it, sir.”

Darrin nodded his comprehension of the description, and went on:

“Last night was the first time you had any suspicion of Jordan?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did he do anything further last night to arouse your suspicion?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you watch him?”

“Yes, sir; like a hawk. But I’m pretty sure that he didn’t know I was watching him.”

“Did you report your suspicions to any officer?”

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t have anything but a hazy suspicion to report, sir, and I wouldn’t like to carry tales or rouse suspicion against a chap who might be altogether decent.”

“Then your previous fights with Jordan didn’t cause you to dislike or suspect the man?”

“Certainly not, sir. I don’t fight that way. When I’ve a bit of a scrap with a mate, sir, the fight is over, with me, when it stops.”

“Yet you felt that you should keep an eye on Jordan to-night?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you believe that Jordan dropped this bottle overboard into our wake?”

“I’m positive that he did, sir.”

“Did you see him do it?”

“No, sir,” Ferguson replied, without hesitation.

Dave Darrin had followed a style of questioning that is common to the Army and the Navy when one enlisted man makes a report against another enlisted man. Dave’s first object was to make sure that there was no really bad blood between the men, and that the charge wasn’t merely a matter of getting square. Secondly, Darrin was trying to make up his mind as to Ferguson’s keenness and reliability as a witness. By this time he had made up his mind that Seaman Ferguson was telling the truth according to his best knowledge of what had happened, and that he had spoken without prejudice.

“Ferguson,” said the young destroyer commander, promptly, “I am satisfied that you have answered me truthfully. I also commend you for your prompt action to-night. As to your failure to make a report of your suspicions last night I believe that you have justified yourself.”

“Thank you, sir. If I may, I would like to ask the lieutenant-commander a question.”

This way of putting it, addressing Dave in the third person, is quite in keeping with the custom of the service.

“You may ask the question,” Dave nodded.

“Then I would like to ask the lieutenant-commander, sir, if I would have done better to have reported my suspicions last night?”

“It is impossible to answer that question for every case that might arise,” Dave told him. “Navy men, whether enlisted or commissioned, dislike tale-bearers. In war-time, however, and under peculiar conditions where extreme peril always lurks, and where the act of a spy may destroy a ship’s company in a twinkling of an eye, it is usually permissible to report even vague suspicions. The officer to whom such a report is made will quickly discover that it is probably only a vague suspicion, and then he will not be unduly prejudiced against the suspected man.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Do not talk this over with your mates, Ferguson. The less that is said about the matter for the present the better I shall like it. That is all for the present. You have done a good bit of work, Ferguson.”

“I thank the lieutenant-commander.”

At a nod from Darrin the seaman saluted and withdrew.

For the next five minutes Dave sat, alternately scanning the message and studying the appearance of the bottle. At last he looked up at his brother officers.

“Mr. Phelps, you will make it your next duty to search Jordan’s effects. In his duffle bag or hammock space you may find more of these bottles. If you do not, you will extend your search further, as your judgment dictates. If there are any more of these bottles on board I wish them found and turned over to me.”

After the ensign had gone Dan drew on his sheepskin.

“After this spy scare,” he announced, “I’m off to make an inspection. Perhaps I may find something connected with this matter.”

“If you go by the brig, Danny-boy, you might tell Jordan that at any time when he wants to open up and speak the truth he may send in word.”

“Very good, sir.”

Left by himself Darrin went to a filing case, turned to “J” and brought forth Jordan’s descriptive card. This is a card that contains full information as to an enlisted man’s name, his age, a personal description, extent and kind of service, education, qualifications, disciplinary record, the grades in which he has served, the ships and shore stations on or at which he has served, and more information along similar lines.

Jordan’s card showed that the arrested man had joined the Navy five years before, as an apprentice, at the age of nineteen; his work had always been well done; he had never been in serious trouble; his reputation was good. His home address was given and the names of his parents stated.

“No help from this source,” Dave mused, as he returned the card to its proper place in the drawer. “Assuming that Jordan is guilty, then Jordan is not his real name, and he’s really a German, not an American. For Jordan’s treachery might cause the sudden destruction of this craft, and no American, no matter how bad, would sell out for mere money when he knew his treachery was likely to result in his own sudden death. No American, good, bad or indifferent, would be capable of such devotion to Germany, but a German would. Therefore I suspect that Jordan is really a German, who enlisted under a false name. It may even be that German authorities, foreseeing the coming of the war, and suspecting that the United States might be drawn into it, ordered this young fellow to enlist in peace times that he might be at hand as a spy when trouble did break out. If that is true of Jordan, I wonder how many other German spies also succeeded in enlisting in our Navy before Germany went to war at all? Jupiter, but that’s a startling question! For that matter, have we other German spies aboard the ‘Logan?’”

The idea was enough to cause Darrin to settle back in his chair, a prey to rushing thoughts.