“I do,” Don replied, “though mere sabotage wouldn’t be the Scorpion’s real object. He doesn’t go in for small-time stuff. He’d like to sink us all without a trace, and if I didn’t know that we’d destroyed his pirate submarine....”
“But maybe he’s got another we don’t know about!” cut in Red excitedly. “With her engines crippled, this old cutter’d be an easy mark for a torpedo. Or for any armed yacht the Scorpion might have handy. Say, Don, I’ll bet that’s the answer!”
“Keep your shirt on, Red!” Don Winslow laughed softly. “Your theory sounds okay, if you say it fast, but don’t let it scare you off on a wrong tack. I’d stake my commission, on there not being another enemy submarine in these waters; and as for an armed yacht attacking us—well, the Gatoon’s guns outrange any but a destroyer’s. No! There’s some worse danger afloat, and it’s up to us....”
Don’s words trailed off into silence. Stepping deeper into the lifeboat’s shadow, his form was suddenly blotted out.
“Red!” came his low call, above the slosh of waves against the ship’s side.
At once, the stocky lieutenant moved in the direction of Don’s voice. Feeling his way along the lifeboat’s keel, he felt his arm grasped firmly. An instant later an end of light cordage was pressed into his hand.
“That’s the second I’ve located,” Don Winslow whispered in his friend’s ear. “My hand happened to find the first one by accident. What do you make of it?”
“Why—it’s a boat lashing, Don!” muttered Red, wonderingly. “That means the tarpaulin’s loose, and a stiff breeze would lift it.... Huh! You don’t suppose that’s where the killer’s hiding himself—right in this boat above our heads?”
“He may have hidden anything!” Don answered briefly. “Here, let me stand on your shoulders and take a look!”
As Red braced himself, Don went up, catlike, to grip the lifeboat’s gunwhale. Fishing in a pocket, he produced a small flashlight. It’s beam, thrust under the canvas boat cover, lighted up the whole cavelike space beneath.