It was Michael Splendor whose reasoning finally calmed the girl’s worst fears for Don and Red. It was a known rule of “Scorpia,” he pointed out, that only agents who had to work in close contact should know each other, even by sight. Therefore, dressed in seamen’s uniforms, the two young officers would run little risk of discovery until they actually boarded the pickup plane.

After that, things would begin to happen fast, with probably fatal results to someone!

“You see, Mercedes,” Don added, “we’ve simply got to capture that enemy ship! It’s bound to be armed with one or more machine guns. In any case, it would double our chances of beating off enemy bombers until our own squadron shows up. And, by the way—we’ve got just two hours now to sunrise. We’d better get started without any more delay!”

Returning on deck, the officers found Red Pennington just signing off a code conversation with Captain Holding in Washington. The Intelligence Officer had been routed out of bed and was personally directing the despatch of fighting planes to the Gatoon’s rescue. It seemed doubtful, however, that the squadron could arrive in less than three hours.

“We can only hope,” Captain Riggs remarked, anxiously, “that something will delay the enemy’s arrival, too. The best I can do aboard is to muster the crew on deck with loaded rifles. If the bombers try diving at us, our bullets might take effect.”

After a brief discussion, it was decided to take Don and Red in one of the lifeboats, about half a mile to leeward of the Gatoon, and there drop them overside. The water was fairly warm off the coast of Haiti. The only real danger they would face, while drifting about on the black, mile-deep water, would be from sharks.

The question of uniforms was quickly settled, by new outfits drawn from the ship’s “slop-chest.” Don was to impersonate Corba, with the red and white rating badge on his blouse sleeve placing him as a Radioman, First Class. Red, being husky and heavily built, would take the part of the “gorilla” seaman, Mink.

The change of clothing was quickly made; but first, both young officers strapped on pistol holsters under their blouses. The weapons themselves, fully loaded, were sealed in watertight oiled silk. Life belts, clumsy but buoyant, made their outfit complete.

Just before they took their places in the ready lifeboat, Lieutenant Allen came hurrying from the engine room to report a piece of good luck.

“We’ve repaired the steam line, sir,” he said, approaching Captain Riggs, “and we had an easier job of cleaning out that emery dust from the machinery than I had expected. We’ll be ready to get under way in half an hour.”

“Splendid! Great work, Lieutenant!” cried the Gatoon’s skipper. “That gives us an extra chance in case we are bombed. A ship steaming in zigzag is a harder target to hit. We’ll just drift until daylight; but see that you have full steam up by then!”

“Before then, if you don’t mind, Captain!” put in Michael Splendor, rolling his wheel chair up to the rail. “The steam winch will be needed to lower yon seaplane overside. 'Tis a heavy weight to handle by manpower alone.”

Captain Riggs muttered a brief consent, and turned to grip the hands of the two departing officers. Quickly, Mercedes, Splendor, and the Gatoon’s afterguard followed suit. There were no formal good-bys; but the words spoken were packed with meaning:—

“Good luck, Don! So long, Red!”

“See you later, Commander!”

Expertly manned, the lifeboats touched the water with scarcely a sound. The boat falls were quickly released; strong arms pushed the little craft clear of the Gatoon’s looming side. Above, the dim blur of faces at the ship’s rail faded from sight.

“Out ... oars!”

The coxswain’s low spoken order came from the lifeboat’s stern sheets. It was answered by the soft thudding of oars into rowlocks. Don and Red, in their seamen’s uniforms, each gripped one of the long ash blades, “feathered” it by a drop of their wrists, and held it poised above the black water.

“Altogether.... Give way!”

At the coxswain’s word, six tough muscled bodies tensed; six oar blades hit the water at the same precise instant. The little craft leaped forward like a startled fish.

Steering only by the light wind astern, it covered the half mile to leeward of the Gatoon in about five minutes. As there was no moon the ship could not be seen. Only the starshine, reflected from the ocean’s heaving surface, showed where water ended and air began.

To a landsman, it would have given a queer sensation; adrift in a small boat at night, with nothing to see but starshine above or below; to know that a mile beneath that black water lay the hills and valleys of the ocean’s bottom; to think that, in just a minute, one would be in that water up to one’s neck, with the lifeboat pulling away, out of sight and sound!

Even the seasoned sailors in the boat with Don and Red must have had some such thoughts, though Navy discipline kept them from saying anything. When the two young officers stood up in their life belts, ready to bail out, the coxswain alone spoke up.

“Is there anything else, Commander?” he asked huskily. “Sure you don’t want us to stand by for a while after you and the lieutenant go overboard?”

“Of course not, Coxswain!” replied Don with a quiet laugh. “This isn’t a sea burial. It’s just a job Lieutenant Pennington and I have to do. You’ll probably be in more danger aboard the Gatoon than we will be here. Steady, now! We’re going over the bow.”

“Aye-aye, sir!” answered the petty officer, with a catch in his voice. “And here’s wishin’ you and the Lieutenant good luck!”

The lifeboat pitched and swung off as two heavy splashes sounded over her bow.

“Good luck to you, Coxs’n!” sputtered Red Pennington from the water. “Sheer off now and head for the ship! They’re showing a signal light to give you your bearings.”

When the last faint splash of oars faded out, Don Winslow spoke.

“Feel lonesome, Red?”

A gasping breath from the darkness gave evidence of Red’s position, even before he answered.

“G-gee, Don!” he stuttered. “I wondered for a minute if you’d drifted out of hearing. Sound off again, Skipper, so I can paddle closer! I’d certainly hate to float around here in the darkness and know I was all alone.... Say, where are you, anyhow?”

“Here!” answered Don, shortly.

“Huh? Where? I thought you were over there!” burbled Red Pennington between frantic splashings. “Are you swimmin’ circles around me, Skipper, or is it the darkness? Dawggone....”

“It’s your life preserver, Red!” Don chuckled. “Don’t try to swim fast in that thing, or you’ll just spin round and round. Paddle over here slowly, and I’ll pass you an end of marline I brought along to lash us together.”

There was some more splashing, and a final grunt of relief as Red found Don’s hand holding the length of tarred cord. For a while neither of them spoke. The feeling of being suspended in wet, black space rather dampened the wish to talk.

An hour passed in gloomy, uncomfortable silence, before the first hint of daylight showed across the tossing wave tops. Little by little the night sky paled, making the water look all the blacker by contrast. Then, a mile to windward, the two officers made out the ship they had left—a faint, gray shadow breaking a wave-notched horizon.

“We’ve drifted quite a distance, shipmate,” Don observed, gazing toward the Gatoon. “Too far for anybody on board to sight us! I suppose they’re wondering whether or not the sharks have gotten us by now.”

“What I’m wondering is whether that Scorpion seaplane is going to spot us or not,” responded Red Pennington. “And something else just occurred to me—Will the pilot have orders to pick us up before or after they try the bomb the Gatoon? We didn’t think to ask Corba that one, did we?”

“He might not have known, anyhow,” Don shrugged. “Quit thinking up so many different kinds of hard luck, Red, and tell me how your appetite is. I’ve got some chocolate and a couple of sea biscuits stowed away in a waterproof envelope. There’s no telling whether we’ll eat breakfast today....”

“Or be eaten for breakfast!” Red cut in with a yell. “Look! Isn’t that a shark?”