"What's the name of this boat?" he asked.
"She had ss. Christiania painted across her stern," the tug-master said, "and she was flying the Norwegian flag, but the ship's name's new painted. I passed close alongside yesterday, and a queer-looking lot they were on board."
The two officers exchanged quick glances.
"The Christiania," the Commander murmured softly.
He paused for a moment and bent over the chart. Then he looked up.
"Take Mr. Rodd and the tug-master to the ward-room," he directed. "Rig them both out in some dry clothes and see that they have everything they want."
Aaron Rodd had forgotten the discomfort of his condition. He had only one idea in his brain.
"Sir," he told the Commander, "that ship, the Christiania, is in the pay of the Germans."
"You may be right, Mr. Rodd," the latter assented. "When you have changed your clothes, come down and have another chat, if I am not on the bridge."
Even then Aaron lingered.