Twenty minutes later Seaman Reardon returned, “joshed” the marine briefly, and secured pencil and paper from the prisoner.
Seaman Jordan waited a long time for his cigarettes and matches. For Dave Darrin, as soon as he had received the paper and Reardon had saluted and gone out, went to the safe and took from it the paper that had been fished out of the bottle rescued from the deep. For some minutes Darrin compared the writing on the two pieces of paper.
“Of course, one is in German script, and the other in English,” Dave communed with himself. “But let us see what Phelps thinks of it.”
Ensign Phelps, who was a bit more than an amateur handwriting expert, came at request and scanned both papers. Then he went out, returning with a magnifying glass with which he examined both writings.
“Of course the two different styles of script make the comparison difficult,” Mr. Phelps declared. “Still, I am certain a better qualified expert than I will say that the same hand executed both writings.”
“Then Jordan’s last chance is gone, I’m afraid,” replied Dave gravely, as he took the two sheets and filed them carefully in the safe. “Before, there was a chance for Jordan to get off at his trial by court-martial, for, while Seaman Ferguson was morally certain that Jordan dropped the bottle overboard, he would not be able to swear positively to it. If this note given by him to Reardon, however, proves Jordan of being the writer of both sheets, then his conviction as a traitor looks pretty certain. Phelps, these are the most serious days in the history of our great country. If any man in the American uniform is a traitor to our Flag and cause, then I want to see him punished.”
“That would mean death at the hands of a firing squad,” mused Ensign Phelps.
“Death before a firing squad,” Darrin assented gravely. “It is the only punishment for such a crime!”
[CHAPTER XII—DAVE HUNTS A BIGGER FIGHT]
Of much less beam for her length than the average yacht, the “Logan” was rolling from side to side at a dizzy angle when Dave Darrin, after a nap of an hour and a half in the chart-room, turned out.