"You are positive about that?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Gentlemen," the rear admiral said triumphantly, turning to the board of inquiry, "I submit to you that this evidence proves that Commander Curtis has told an untruth. I recommend that he be court-martialed on charges of gross negligence in the loss of government property intrusted to his care and of misrepresenting facts regarding the circumstances of loss!"
During the awed silence that followed, Curtis felt his world whirling to pieces.
The rear admiral's voice went on in its most rasping tone: "I recommend further, gentlemen, that Commander Curtis be relieved from active duty, placed on parole, and confined to this station on his own recognizance until the disappearance of the Comerford can be thoroughly investigated."
The members of the inquiry board conferred and voted. There was no dissenting voice from the opinion expressed by Old Curmudgeon.
Angry, ashamed, dazed, Curtis stood to hear the verdict announced. "Gentlemen," he managed to say, his tongue almost choking him, "my only hope is for speedy recovery of the ship!"
Later, in the room assigned to him in the naval barracks, Curtis listened for almost an hour to his short-wave radio set; but it told him nothing of the Comerford—and that was all he cared about.
He shut it off and reached for the telephone. A new idea had come into his mind—something he had vaguely remembered from the night before, the two words overheard as he lay half conscious on the Comerford's bridge—"Carethusia"—"convoy."
"Is there an officer of the British naval intelligence in town?" he asked the operator.