"Any pings?" Tom asked.
The man shook his head without taking his eyes from the sonarscope. "Nothing yet."
Hank Sterling donned a hydrophone headset and listened intently. The silence deepened in the Sea Hound's cabin. Suddenly Hank stiffened and the sonarman cried out:
"A blip, skipper! At two o'clock!"
It was moving rapidly on the scope—something streaking toward their starboard beam!
"Good night! It's another missile!" Tom gasped.
He darted back to the controls and gunned the reverse jets just in time! The missile flashed across their bow.
"Great bellowin' longhorns!" Chow gasped weakly. His leathery face had gone pale under its tan. "The yellow-livered drygulchers!"
"I don't get it," Arv Hanson spoke up. "If they're in firing range, we should have detected them, shouldn't we?"
Tom nodded grimly. "Whoever our enemies are, they must have perfected a way to make themselves invisible to underwater detection.