“Why—by Jove!” gasped Dowd, “I had not thought of that, Miss Fielding.”
He crept up the ladder and stood upon the deck, the water running from the garments that clung closely to his limbs and body.
“Doesn’t it seem reasonable,” she asked, “that the conspirators, whoever they were, should have some object rather than the simple desertion of a vessel that was not likely to sink?”
“It would seem so,” he admitted, and his tone betrayed as much anxiety as she felt herself.
At the moment a shout from Rollife, the radio man, aroused them.
“I’ve found it!” he cried.
They went toward the radio room. He was busy in the light of the lantern on the roof of the house. He had tools and a small plumber’s stove that he had found. He turned on the blast of the stove and began to weld certain wires.
“Can you fix it?” Dowd asked quietly.
“You bet I can, Mr. Dowd!” declared Rollife. “In half an hour I’ll have the sparks shooting from those points up there. You watch.”
Ruth looked at Mr. Dowd. Her unspoken question was: “Shall we take him into our confidence? Shall we tell him our fears?”