He was aware that the pilot had shut off the motor and was gliding in a circular descent that would bring the heavy navy bomber taxiing to a stop alongside the aircraft carrier. The man out front in the bomber's pit had diffused his bombs and left his post in the nose of the fuselage, and the machine-gunner aft had come out of his nest—both glad of the opportunity to change their cramped quarters for a spell.
The Lexington lowered a boat and took Curtis on board. A few minutes later, he was explaining his theory to the Lexington's commander, with the aid of a map of the Atlantic in the chart room.
"The way I figure it, sir," he stated, "is that the Comerford has been detailed to cut the Carethusia out of her convoy and take her to some French port—probably Bordeaux, where she will be less likely to prove a target for R. A. F. bombers."
The Lexington's commander nodded. "I think I follow you. The Carethusia's cargo must be something of immense value to the Nazi war machine."
"There's no doubt that it is, sir," Curtis said, "or they wouldn't take so much trouble to capture it. And there'd be no point in separating the Carethusia from her convoy before they're fairly close to the French port which they intend to make."
"Where do you place the convoy at present?" the other man asked.
Curtis put his finger on a spot on the map, in about mid-Atlantic, along one of the more northerly sea lanes. "I've checked with the British Naval Intelligence. The convoy makes the voyage in sixteen days, under normal conditions. Its speed is that of the slowest boat. It left at midnight last Friday, and this is Friday again."
"And the Comerford?"
"The Comerford," Curtis said, "is undoubtedly with the convoy, making the British believe that she is one of the American war vessels which usually pick up these convoys at a designated point on the way across."
The Lexington's commander frowned; his face wore a puzzled expression. "But suppose the British escort ships discover the deception?"