Again the phone rang. A strange voice spoke over the wire. "This is Rear Admiral Henderson's office. He'd like you to come over at once."
"I'll be there!" Curtis said.
He found Old Curmudgeon pacing nervously up and down, chewing savagely on a half-smoked cigar which smelled vilely. From the expression on the old seadog's face, he knew there was bad news.
"I've just had a message from the Lexington," Henderson said. "She's found the bombers!"
"Found them?" Curtis was puzzled.
The rear admiral's face was gloomy. "They were floating—in a sinking condition. The crews of all three were dazed. None of them could understand what had happened, but they all told the same story!"
"And what was it?" Curtis asked, as Old Curmudgeon paused.
The older man slumped into his chair, his shoulders sagging wearily. "They were circling about the Comerford, ready to close in, when a sudden blinding flash, which seemed to come from the foremast turret, killed both radio and motor."
