For the first hour Darrin, following orders, ran at full speed, then slowed down to cruising speed. Night came upon the waters, with a crescent moon off in the western sky.
“And somewhere out on this wide waste, somewhere west of here, probably, is the ‘Griswold,’ with Belle aboard. And, unless she has liberty to remain in port, I shall not see her in months, perhaps, or maybe in years.”
Dave put the thought aside. He was out again in the haunts of the assassins of the sea; out, also, in the track of vessels bringing men and supplies for the world’s greatest fight. Disappointed as he was over the impossibility of meeting Belle, he realized how small his own affairs were as compared with the fate of the world.
At midnight he went below, for he had confidence in the new junior officers whom he had met to-day, and he wanted to be awake and on the bridge again just before dawn. So, leaving orders for his calling, he went below to his quarters.
And there he slept, dreaming of Belle, undoubtedly, until an hour before dawn, when an orderly entered hurriedly, shaking him hard by the shoulder.
“Message from liner ‘Griswold,’ sir, reports by radio that she has just dodged torpedo fired by submarine that is still following.”
“The ‘Griswold!’” echoed Darrin, awaking instantly and leaping to his feet. “You’re sure of the name?”
“Yes, sir!”
Dave pulled on rubber boots and snatched his cap and sheepskin coat.
Then, a second orderly reported: