Dave did not glance for the tell-tale torpedo trail. His hand signalled the engine-room for fullest speed. His voice gave the order for the sweeping turn that the “Grigsby” quickly made.

A few breathless seconds. The destroyer turned, then swung her stern again.

The “Grigsby” leaped forward, her bow aimed at the slender shaft of a periscope that lay in outline against the water.

Yonder, half a mile away, the “Reed” had executed a similar movement. The two destroyers were racing toward each other, each bent on ramming the new monster that had appeared between them. But Dave did not forget his forward guns.

Springing from the bridge he himself took station behind one of the guns just as the breech was closed on a load.

“I haven’t yet sighted a gun on this ship,” he announced, coolly. “I want to see what I can do.”

Seldom had a piece been aimed more quickly on any naval craft. Darrin fell back as the piece was fired. He had aimed to strike under water at the base of that periscope. This had seemed the best chance, though he knew the power of water in deflecting a shell aimed through it.

“A hit!” cried an ensign, as he beheld the periscope itself waver, then stand nearly straight before it was hauled swiftly in.

“A hit—a good one!” came the signal from the “Reed.”

“I believe we did smash the hound!” chuckled Darrin, leaning forward and taking the glass that was placed at his hand.

“Yes, sir. I can make out the oil patch ahead.”

With the glass to his eyes Darrin confirmed this report.

“That was unusual luck,” he said, coolly.

“Unusual shooting, I’d say, sir,” voiced the ensign.

“It’s over, anyway, with that Hun pirate,” declared Darrin. He ordered the course changed as soon as Dan left for his own ship. Then he went to the radio room to dictate a message to American naval headquarters at the home port. That message told of the rescue of all but a score of the crew and passengers from the sunken “Griswold,” and also of the now crowded condition of both destroyers.

Within fifteen minutes the orders from shore arrived, in this form:

“Come in with rescued passengers and crew. Commanding officers of ‘Grigsby’ and ‘Reed’ directed report for new orders.”

If Dave was anxious to have Belle safe on shore, the jackies on the two craft were hardly less eager to put all the civilians ashore as soon as possible, that the ships’ crews might once more have elbow room.

It was not until evening that port was made. On the trip Dave Darrin barely left the bridge, but remained on duty hour after hour, refusing to close his eyes. He would take no chances whatever with this most precious cargo of men and women.

By the time that the destroyer had reached moorings, Belle was able to go up on deck, on Dave’s arm. He took her ashore at once, placed her in a hotel, and arranged for medical attendance to be summoned if needed. And Runkle, with shore leave for the night, insisted on remaining in the hotel, where he could be called at any instant when Mrs. Darrin might need anything that he could do for her.

Though the flag lieutenant was present at the interview which followed at naval headquarters, it was the admiral himself who received Dave and Dan.

“You report more good luck—fine management, too!” cried the admiral, his face beaming. “You two officers do not seem to be able to put to sea without running into the sort of doings that make fine reading in the newspapers at home. You have made wonderful drives against the submarines, but your nerves must be well gone to pieces by this time.”

“No, sir,” Darrin replied. “I’m ready for new sailing orders to-night.”

“You won’t get them,” the admiral retorted, bluntly. “Mr. Darrin, your wife, and ill at that, is ashore, I am informed. She was one of your rescued ones to-day.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is she wholly recovered?”

“She will be, by morning, sir.”

“And you are professing willingness to go on board and start with new sea orders to-night!”

“In war time, sir, I must think only of my work,” Dave answered.

For a few moments the admiral sat there, regarding both young officers keenly.

“You’re splendid fellows, both of you,” the older man said, at last. “So good, in fact, that you’re soon to be moved from these waters.”

Darrin bowed, and so did Dalzell, but neither asked questions.

“A ranking British naval officer told me, this afternoon,” continued the admiral, “that he felt the British admiralty could well afford to trade its best battleship for the services of two such officers as you young gentlemen.”

“Are we to be turned over to join the British, sir?” asked Dave, a look of alarm in his bronzed face. “To serve in the British Navy?”

“Would you accept such an assignment?” queried the admiral.

Dave glanced swiftly at his chum before he replied for both:

“Sir, we’d go anywhere, perform any duty, under any flag, and under any conditions, at the request of our own Government,” Darrin answered. “We do not belong to ourselves, but to the United States, and, through our Government, to any nation on earth to which our Government should wish to transfer us. At the same time, our choice would naturally be for service in our own American Navy.”

“And that is just where it is going to be—with your own crowd,” smiled the admiral. “You will also command the same craft on which you came in this evening. But you will be changed to other waters, and you will have a somewhat different line of duty—a more dangerous line, in many ways, I may add. But the British Admiralty, in making a request of me, specified distinctly that it trusted I would be able to detail you two young officers to the work. That new work, as I just said, will also be in other waters.”

The admiral paused for a moment, but presently went on to say:

“The new duty to which you are to be detailed was known to me some time ago. That was why you were ordered to your present new commands. We wanted you to try out both destroyers, that you might know all their capabilities. Even had you struck no fresh adventures you would have been recalled by to-morrow. But you know your craft now, and each of you has tested out and learned his junior officers, and now you are surely in readiness for your new field of work.”

“However, there are some slight but necessary changes to be made in the ‘Grigsby’ and the ‘Reed’ before they will be ready for their new work. To-morrow a naval constructor will go aboard each of your ships and take charge of the alterations to be made and the new equipment to be installed. For that reason you will both be able to spend the greater part of your time on shore during the coming week.”

Within the next few minutes the admiral detailed to the delighted young officers the nature of the new work that was to be required of them. It was as dangerous as he had stated. It would also call for their tireless attention night and day. The admiral, however, could not daunt them. Work and danger are the corner-stones of successful war, and the eyes of the young naval officers shone as they saw the fullness of their new opportunity to serve.

“I shall be glad to receive my final orders, sir, at any hour, night or day,” Dave Darrin announced, as he rose.

“And I shall be, also, sir,” Dalzell promptly added.

“A week’s rest, anyway, will make you both keener and better fitted for the big job you’ve ahead of you. Gentlemen, my heartiest congratulations for your work during the last few weeks. You will do even better on your next cruise. Good-night, gentlemen.”

Back to the hotel they went. Belle was now able to chat with them, though she preferred to sit back in a big chair and to listen to their own modest accounts of what they had seen and done during the latest thrilling weeks in their lives.

The next day Belle was able to go out with her husband. After that she mended rapidly.

All too soon the period of rest and delightful recreation ended. Belle went on to her Red Cross work in France, and the orders came for which both these young naval officers were so eagerly waiting.

But what these orders were, and into what new fields of fighting it led the two naval chums, must be reserved for the next volume of this series, which will be published under the title: “Dave Darrin After the Mine Layers; or Hitting the Enemy a Hard Naval Blow.”

In this splendid new volume the newest developments of sea fighting in the late war will be set forth with a fidelity and compelling interest that will hold the attention of every reader.

THE END