"A green motor boat?" came back the reply.
"Yes," flashed Donald.
"With one signal mast and a high cabin?"
"Yes! yes," shot out Donald, pounding the key excitedly. "Have you seen such a craft?"
"We sighted her this evening."
The boy's fingers shook as he wrote down the reply with flying pencil on the scratch pad at his elbow.
"Down off some islands about Lat. 80 deg., Long. 33 deg.," came the answer. "She was coming straight toward us and then all of a sudden she headed away. Seemed like she didn't want to get near us. Is that all?"
"Yes; good-bye, and thank you," flashed back Donald exultantly.
His fingers had hardly left the key before he was startled by a soft footfall behind him.
The boy wheeled like a flash and then almost fell off his chair. Facing him, with an ugly-looking revolver in his hand, was Barton, the machinist.