"Listen!" Androka moved closer to Curtis, then fell on his knees in an attitude of supplication. "Listen to me!"
Curtis stared at him coldly. "I'm listening, Androka. But talk quickly!"
"Commander, I was forced to do this. I had to do it—to save the lives of my people back in Prague. My daughter—"
"Yes," Curtis cut his protestations short. "I know about that!"
Androka fumbled inside his coat and pulled out a sheaf of papers and blueprints. "Here, Curtis! These are the designs, the secret details of manufacture, and the formulas for my inventions—the zone of silence, the destroying rays that wrecked those bombers, and the gas. I'm giving them to you. I'll never use them again—no matter what happens to those I love. I swear it!"
Curtis took the papers and thrust them into an inner pocket. Then he knelt and quickly completed his task of severing the strands of the cable.
He pushed past the groveling form of Androka, and the still corpses of the two sailors, climbed down the mast to the superstructure, and headed for the wireless room.
The operator sat at his table, a cigarette drooping in the corner of his mouth, half asleep.
Curtis clubbed him efficiently with the butt of his gun. The man slumped forward with a groan and lay still. Curtis hauled him to one side and then sat down to send:
"Come aboard U. S. Cruiser Comerford at once. Ship in hands of Nazis, in plot to steal the Carethusia. Commander Curtis speaking from the Comerford. Lancaster, summon help—"