Not waiting for the order the searchlight men deflected the light, sending a beam out across the waters as the “Grigsby,” moving slowly enough now, steamed along to one side of the forms in the water. Other seamen, at the edge of the slippery deck, stood by to heave lines to those who could grasp them.
The light, as it rested upon the water at a point seventy-five yards from the destroyer, revealed a woman’s features.
Dave gave a start, rubbing his eyes as though sure he was the victim of some hideous illusion.
His eyesight was excellent; there could be no mistaking.
“Belle!” burst from him, in a convulsive sob.
Before those with him could divine his purpose, Dave Darrin leaped from the bridge to the deck below.
An agonized moment he devoted to the removing of cumbersome rubber boots. Less than half as much time was required to throw off cap and coat. Then bounding forward, he leaped and sprang out, his clasped hands cleaving the water ahead of him as he struck through the waves.
Another splash, half a second later. But Darrin did not know that another swam behind him.
[CHAPTER XXIII—THE FIGHT TO BRING BELLE BACK]
It had really been Belle’s white, motionless face that had floated by. She had been in the boat Dave saw shattered by the shell.