“That’s the name,” said Jack. “Hurry, please. This is a matter of life and death.”
Almost at once another voice took up the conversation, and from the tone of crisp authority, Jack sensed it must be the officer he had asked for speaking. Such, indeed, was the case. Lieutenant Summers was aboard the Nark, directing operations, and, as the radio room was in the chart house of the cutter, he had intervened on hearing his operator 142 mention his own name and that of his colleague, Captain Folsom.
“Now, what’s this all about?” he demanded. “Is Captain Folsom there? If so, put him on the phone.”
“Are you Lieutenant Summers, sir?” asked Jack, respectfully.
“I am. Who are you? Where are you calling from? Where is Captain Folsom?”
“He’s not here,” said Jack, “but I am speaking for him. He’s in grave danger ashore. Moreover, he wanted me to call for you, and if you are offshore near Starfish Cove—that’s a little bay far down the south shore of Long Island—and if it’s your ship that is playing a searchlight on the beach, then it’s a miracle, sir. I’ll try to explain.”
Briefly as possible, then, Jack detailed the necessary facts for putting Lieutenant Summers in touch with the situation.
“Good,” said Lieutenant Summers, in conclusion; “very good, indeed. We have received a tip liquor was to be landed somewhere along this coast to-night, and were scouting when you saw our light. It’s a piece of luck, as you say. Do you think our searchlight has been seen by these rascals?”
“Probably,” said Jack, “although I don’t know. Captain Folsom and my friends may have kept them 143 so busily engaged, they had no time to keep a lookout at sea.”
“Well, I’ll throw off the searchlight at once, anyhow. We want no advertising. I’ll come in close and land my boats. Can you be at the beach to guide us?”