For such a hulk as the “Prince” looked to be, the steam-heating plant was in excellent order. In the warm air Darrin dozed gently off, though not before the reflection had passed through his mind:
“I might have guessed that the ‘Prince’ was some such looking craft as this. It was named the ‘Prince’ for the same reason that folks always give that same nickname to the mangiest-looking dog in town.”
A little later Dan glanced in past the curtained doorway. Finding his chum asleep he tripped silently away. The anchor must have come up noiselessly and all commands must have been issued in low tones, for when Darrin awoke, rose and glanced out through the porthole he found the craft under way upon the open sea.
By the time that he had drawn on his shoes Darrin heard a rap at the doorway, followed by a messenger’s announcement:
“Luncheon will be served in the wardroom, sir, in fifteen minutes.”
So Darrin completed his toilet, then hailed a messenger and learned where the wardroom was situated on this ship of mystery.
Stepping into the room ahead of time, Dave found only one young ensign, who saluted him.
“This is some strange craft,” observed Darrin.
“Yes, sir,” assented Ensign Stark.
“But suited to her mission, I dare say.”