“That’s how I’ve figured it out,” Don told the little company gathered in the captain’s cabin, “either the records of Scorpion agents among the crew are missing, or they’ve been forged. In any case, a careful check should tell the story.”
Spreading out the rumpled enlistment papers on the captain’s table, he commenced a swift search, while Riggs and Red Pennington looked over his shoulders. All at once he picked up one of the documents and smoothed it out. The name on the outside read: “Anton Corba,” with the rating noted as “Radioman, First Class.”
“But why pick that one, Commander?” asked Captain Riggs sharply. “What reason have you to suspect....”
“Look, Captain!” Don Winslow interrupted. “The signatures on this record show signs of tracing. Forgery, all right, but a mighty clumsy job. Just study it for a minute and give me your opinion.”
Handing the paper to Riggs, he whispered rapidly in the officer’s ear:
“I have a hunch we are being overheard now. Corba or some other spy may be the eavesdropper. I’m sending Pennington out to check up. Meantime we must all keep talking naturally, so the fellow will not suspect.”
With a nod of understanding, Riggs moved over to Michael Splendor’s chair.
“I see what you mean, Commander,” he said loudly. “At least one of these signatures looks smeary, but I’m no handwriting expert. Tell me what you think of it, Mr. Splendor. As chief of the Haitian Naval Intelligence, you should know about such things.”
Stooping quickly, he whispered Don Winslow’s plan to the cripple. At the same instant Don was muttering advice in Red’s ear.
“Take off your shoes,” he told the wide-eyed lieutenant. “Sneak up topside and try to locate anyone who may be eavesdropping. If you don’t spot anyone, come back in five minutes. Here’s my flashlight. Shove off now, and good luck! We’ll carry on the show down here till you report or signal us.”