From the coast-guard station on Hawk Island, a fast navy plane whipped Commander Bob Curtis to the naval base at Portsmouth, New Hampshire. But he was received there with suspicious glances. Even some of his old buddies from way back did no more than give him a limp handshake and a faint "Good luck, Bob!" when they heard of his misadventure.
Within two hours of his arrival, he was facing a court of inquiry, presided over by Rear Admiral Henderson—a sarcastic, leathery-faced seadog, who had fought as an ensign under Schley at Santiago in '98, and had since seen service on the North Sea patrol in the First World War. Even to his best friends, he was known as "Old Curmudgeon."
Curtis fidgeted uncomfortably under his questions. They were so hostile in tone, phrased in such a way as to imply guilt on his part, that Curtis could not help feeling that he was making a bad impression.
"Will you kindly repeat that statement in a clear voice, so that everyone can hear you, commander?" the rear admiral demanded, with a stinging sharpness in his tone.
Curtis cleared his throat and repeated his former explanation: "The radio bearings from the two shore stations checked exactly with the dead reckoning of my navigating officer, refuting my astronomical observation. Naturally, I conceded that I must be wrong, although I could not understand how I made such a mistake."
The voice of Old Curmudgeon became suave and silky—the kind of voice he used when he wished to be nasty. "Commander, did you hear the radioed replies from the island stations in answer to your operator's inquiries?"
Curtis squared his shoulders and faced his questioner boldly. "I did, sir. The radio man on duty reported that he was unable to get anything from the set; claimed it was dead. I insisted that he try, although Androka claimed he had instituted a period of radio silence by some device operating on a neighboring island. He was intensely disappointed when both stations answered clearly and distinctly, giving us bearings that checked with Lieutenant Commander Nelson's dead reckoning."
The rear admiral sneered. "A very pretty story, commander—but all a fabrication!"
Curtis stiffened. His eyes blazed anger for a full minute, out of a face already drawn and white.