As if in answer to his words, there was a knock at the door and as Tom opened it a colored boy handed him an envelope which he instantly recognized as a cable.
It was addressed to Mr. Pauling and as Tom’s father tore it open and glanced at its contents a strange expression swept over his face and he uttered a sharp ejaculation of surprise.
“Speak of angels, Henderson!” he remarked, as he passed the cable to his associate. “What do you think of that?”
“Well, I’ll be——” began Mr. Henderson as he hurriedly read the familiar cypher message, “Smernoff has escaped! Confound those fellows! Can’t they keep any one under lock and key? The second time too. Now there will be the devil to pay.”
“Yes, it’s regrettable,” agreed Mr. Pauling, “but I wouldn’t worry over him. The chances are they’ll get him again and I can’t see how it will be possible for him to reach his friends down here or even to communicate with them—with his submarine gone and his confederates arrested or dead. And we have all the information he could give us. No, I don’t think his escape will trouble us much in this undertaking. I’d hate to be in your shoes and in the States with him though. He’s sworn to ‘get’ you, Henderson, and he’s absolutely reckless and ruthless, as you know.”
“Gosh, he might come down here!” exclaimed Tom.
“Little chance of that,” his father assured him. “Every ship will be watched and don’t forget he has neither diving suit, radio nor undersea boat to help him. Besides he’ll find it a hard job to discover where we are. Don’t be nervous over him, boys.”
For several days nothing eventful occurred and the boys began to find time hanging heavily on their hands. Mr. Pauling would not consent to their taking a trip on a sponging vessel as they had hoped, for, as he pointed out, word from Rawlins might be received at any moment and there could be no delay. But the arrival of the mails from New York, bringing the latest radio news and radio periodicals, proved a godsend to the boys who had discovered that a tiny island the size of New Providence was somewhat limited in the interests it possessed for two go-ahead, strenuous lads, despite its picturesque town, its odd people and its beauties.
The two were soon deep in the latest developments of radio and were eagerly discussing plans for the wonderful things they would do when the present trip was successfully ended and they were once more in New York. Tom was just reading an article on the almost miraculous properties of specially prepared crystals of Rochelle salt when his father entered the room.
“Better pack your duds!” he exclaimed. “Here’s good news for you.”