“Oh, you’ll do it,” came the confident answer. “But come on upstairs with us. We’ve a private parlor and a piano, and plan a jolly hour or two.”
From one end of the room, in a lull in the singing, an exasperated English voice rose on the air.
“What I can’t understand,” the speaker cried, “is that the enemy appear to have every facility for getting the latest gossip right out of this port. And they know every time that a liner, a freighter or a warship sails from this port. There is some spy service on shore that communicates with the German submarine commanders.”
“I’d like to catch one of the rascally spies!” Dan uttered to a young English officer.
“What would you do with him?” bantered the other.
“Cook him!” retorted Dan, vengefully. “I don’t know in just what form; probably fricassee him.”
Little did Dalzell dream how soon the answer to the spy problem would come to him.
[CHAPTER II—THE MEETING WITH A PIRATE]
Thirty-six hours’ work at the dry dock, with changing shifts, put the “Logan” in shape to start seaward again.
Under another black sky, moving into thick weather, the “Logan” swung off at slow speed, with little noise from engines or propellers.