Curtis stood up. "Thank you, captain! You've helped me a lot! You've shown me where to look for the Comerford!"
Captain Rathbun shook hands with him. "Right-o! Come and see me again, if there's anything else I can do!"
"Do you suppose you could wire the Carethusia and warn her—or warn the commander of the convoy?"
"That would have to be done from Halifax, or St. Johns," Rathbun said. "I'll ask them."
"And will you let me know what happens?" Curtis asked.
"Gladly," said the Britisher.
Outside, Curtis walked at a breathless pace, almost knocking over a couple of pedestrians and innocent bystanders in his haste. Reaching the naval administration building, he ran up the stairs two at a time to the top floor and barged unannounced into the office of Rear Admiral Henderson.
Old Curmudgeon looked up from his desk with a sour grin on his leathery face. "What d'you mean, Curtis—" he began.
But Bob Curtis ignored his indignation, let the door swing to behind him, and sat down in the vacant chair beside the desk.
"This is no time to stand on ceremony, sir!" he stated firmly. "I've come to give information as to where the Comerford is most likely to be found!"