“Yes,” grumbled Tom. “But unless some of the crew had returned before the government ship reached her the mystery would be as profound as ever. And,” he added, sinking disgustedly into his steamer chair, and stretching himself out lazily, “I do hate mysteries.”
[CHAPTER XI]
The Tiger at Bay
One day, about mid-afternoon, Bert was going through his duties in a more or less mechanical fashion, for the day had been warm, and he had been on duty since early morning. For several days past, practically no news of any interest had come in over the invisible aerial pathways, and as he had said to Dick only a short time before, “everything was deader than a door nail.”
Suddenly, however, the sounder began to click in a most unusual fashion. The clicks were very erratic, quick, and short, and to Bert’s experienced ear it was apparent that the person sending the message was in a state of great excitement. He hastily adjusted the clamp that held the receiver to his ear, and at the first few words of the message his heart leapt with excitement.
“Tiger broken loose,” came the message, in uneven spurts and dashes, “three of crew dead or dying—am shut up in wireless room—beast is sniffing at door—help us if you can—” and then followed, latitude and longitude of the unlucky vessel.
Bert’s hand leaped to the sender, and the powerful spark went crashing out from the wires. “Will come at once—keep up courage,” he sent, and then snatched the apparatus off his head and rushed in mad haste to the deck. Captain Manning was below deck, and Bert communicated the message he had just received to the commanding officer at the time.
“Good heavens,” ejaculated the first officer, “there’s only one thing for us to do, and that’s to go to their aid just as fast as this old tub will take us.”