“By George,” he said aloud, “maybe that’s a boat of the ‘Dry Navy’ already on the track of these scoundrels.”
He stood, gazing at that finger of light, spellbound. What else could the ship be that would be casting a searchlight along the shore, along this particular stretch of shore of all places, and at this particular time, what else could it be than a government boat?
Breaking the spell that bound him, he sprang to the instrument table, seized and adjusted a headpiece, pulled a transmitter to him, threw over the rheostat and adjusting the tuner to the 575 meter wave length which Captain Folsom had told him the government boats employed, he began calling. What should he say if a government boat replied? He decided on a plan of procedure.
Presently his receivers crackled, and he manipulated the controls until the sputtering ceased, when he heard a voice saying:
“U. S. Revenue Cutter Nark. Who is calling?” 141
Scarcely able to control his excitement at this almost unbelievable good luck, Jack stammered in reply. Then getting a grip on his emotions, he replied:
“Speaking for Captain Folsom. Is Lieutenant Summers aboard? Are you offshore?”
“We’re offshore, all right,” answered his correspondent, in a tone of the utmost surprise. “But how in the world do you know?”
“I want to speak to Lieutenant Summers,” answered Jack, grinning to himself at the other’s bewilderment. Even at this crucial moment, he could not resist the temptation to mystify the other a little. “As to knowing you’re offshore,” he added, “I can see you.”
“See us? Say, this is too much for me. Wait till I call Lieutenant Summers,” said the other. “Did you say Captain Folsom?”