“I didn’t throw anything overboard, sir. Ferguson is a liar.”
Whereupon Seaman Ferguson, though he still kept his eyes turned in the direction imposed by his watch duties, clenched both fists hard.
“It won’t do you any good to deny, Jordan,” Dave insisted. “We’re going back and find that—whatever it was that you threw overboard. Better tell me now!”
As if to confirm his words the “Logan” began to turn in a half circle. At the same time the marine returned.
“Take Jordan below. See that he’s searched and then confined in the brig,” Dave directed.
With infinite care the “Logan” sought her recent wake. It was no simple task on such a night, when the new moon had already set. And, travelling at such easy speed, the “Logan” had not stirred up anything like the foamy, suds-like wake that trailed after her when she steamed at fighting speed.
By the time the turn was made the glowing object that Ferguson had pointed out was no longer visible. Carefully the destroyer picked her way back. They were a bit out of the straight line, though, as Darrin presently found reason to believe, for a tiny glow, looking like a point of dim light in the near distance, was finally sighted about three points off the port bow.
“Two points to port,” Dave passed the word. He was now well up forward of the bridge, watching the surface of the ocean intently. “Steady! Stop!... Half speed astern.... Stop!”
The glowing object was now in plain sight as it tossed on the swells. Darrin gave the order to lower a cutter, instructing Ensign Phelps to go along and haul in that glowing object.
There was no need to watch it from the “Logan.” Mr. Phelps, from the cutter, could make it out distinctly. Soon he reached it, a seaman bending over the side and picking up the object.