“Belay, sailor!” laughed Don. “You’ll get the whole yarn in due time. Right now, suppose you go hunt up Michael Splendor and Captain Riggs. Say I’ll meet you all in the captain’s quarters about fifteen minutes from now to talk over something of the highest importance. Tell Mercedes to come along, too.”
Nodding glumly, Red Pennington moved to the door.
“I’ll tell ’em,” he replied. “But you’d better break it to them a lot easier than you’ve done to me. I’m driftin’ onto an uncharted coast, and my compass has gone sour on me!”
The moment Red had gone, Don Winslow turned to Count Borg.
“There’s no time now to explain everything, Count,” he said tersely. “You must simply take my word for the moment, and believe that we mean to help you out of your present strange predicament. The facts are briefly these:
“In the past seven years you have been associated with a criminal organization which threatens the peace of many countries. This morning, you were piloting a plane which was captured with two others, during an attempt to destroy a United States Navy gunboat. You are now aboard that same gunboat under arrest for conspiracy.”
“But I remember nothing of that!” protested Count Borg, with a look of keen distress. “If what you say is true, I must have lost my reason, as well as my memory, during those years which are now a blank. I am not naturally a criminal. You must believe that, Commander—er—”
“Winslow,” nodded Don. “I am inclined to believe you, Count, and to test your good faith, I shall ask you to help, so far as you can, in tracking down your former criminal associates. Are you willing to co-operate with the Navy in this fight before your case comes to trial?”
“Of course, Commander Winslow!” exclaimed Borg, rising to grasp Don’s hand. “I’ll be grateful for any chance to undo the damage of those criminal years, when I was not myself! But, tell me, what on earth can I do to help, without a memory?”
“First,” answered Don Winslow with an enigmatic smile, “you can shave off your moustache!”