Just as his hand was reaching for the knob, the door swung shut. Red froze in his tracks, his mind racing. Whoever had closed that two-inch opening could not have seen him. The door itself had hid his approach. The thing proved simply that the radio shack was occupied.
Before Red could plan his next move, a faint, metallic ticking caught his ear. Pressing his ear close to the shack’s steel wall, he made out the familiar chatter of a wireless key, sending in International Morse Code.
“—REPORTING—EMERGENCY—ABOARD—GATOON” Red silently spelled out the message. “AGENT SC-21 SEIZED. WINSLOW AND PENNINGTON HAVE DISCOVERED FORGED ENLISTMENT PAPERS IN LIFEBOAT WE PREPARED FOR OUR GETAWAY. THIS WILL LEAD ANY MOMENT TO MY ARREST AND THAT OF AGENT SC-17. PLEASE ADVISE NEXT MOVE. SC-3.”
While listening, Red Pennington had slipped Don’s flashlight from his pocket. As the message ended, he wrenched open the door and shot the bright beam into the radio shack. It’s spotlight steadied on the tense figure of Corba, seated beside the room’s small tool bench.
“Just hold that pose, sailor!” gritted the stocky lieutenant. “No—keep your left hand under the bench! Don’t move a muscle——”
Whipping out his pocket gun, Red slammed two shots at the steel decking, close to Corba’s feet. Instantly the white-faced radioman froze in his chair, his pose still as a statue’s.
“That’s better!” clipped the lieutenant, as shouts and the stamp of feet sounded from the cabin country. “In just a moment you’re going to tell your story over again; and it had better be the right one this time. Do you get me, Agent SC-3?”
Warned by Red’s sharp call, Don Winslow halted the captain and Lieutenant Darnley outside the radio shack. Stepping inside alone, he snapped on the lights.
“Great work, Red!” he approved, when the red-haired lieutenant briefly outlined what had happened. “We’ve caught our eavesdropper this time, and....”
He broke off as a harsh whisper rose, seemingly from beneath the workbench.