Mess was served in relays that noon and shortly after that Tim sighted the seaplane winging up from the south.
“Company coming,” he informed Pat, who was back in the conning tower.
Commander Ford was summoned and they watched the approach of the fast craft. The plane was flying high, but as it neared the S-18, the pilot put it into a dive.
“That fellow knows how to handle a plane,” said Tim, half to himself.
The seaplane came out of the dive at a thousand feet and circled the S-18.
“The answer to that is plain,” said Commander Ford grimly. “That’s Sladek’s ship and it won’t be long until his dirty old tramp steamer is on our trail again.”
The seaplane winged away again and in less than two hours they saw a smudge of smoke on the horizon. Before sundown the tramp steamer, the Iron Mate, was riding a half mile off their port bow.
“There’s no use trying to sneak away from them now,” said the commander. “When we get out of Key West and head across the Caribbean we’ll find some way to give them the slip.”
Down the east coast the S-18 made its leisurely way with the Iron Mate a constant companion. The sky was clearer, the air warmer, as they neared the southern tip of Florida and nosed into the harbor at Key West. The Iron Mate stood out to sea, waiting for the return of the S-18, for Sladek was taking no chances on getting into trouble with federal officials.
The S-18 replenished its fuel oil tanks, fresh supplies were taken aboard, and the crew stretched its legs before the voyage into the Caribbean.