"Aye, aye, sir," said both Dreadnought Boys saluting, though their hearts were in such a wild tumult that they hardly knew what they were saying.
[CHAPTER XXXV.]
THE OUTCOME.
In the gray of the next morning the Henry, a squat, low craft of the destroyer type, with three fat funnels, lay tossing uneasily on the sweeping combers of the Atlantic some sixty-two miles south of Sandy Hook.
She had lain there most of the night, using her searchlight freely. But no craft answering to the description of the Halcyon had passed within her ken.
On the conning tower, Ned and Herc, for the twentieth time at least, went over the last wireless they had received from the Secret Service squad,—via the Manhattan.
"Cruise slowly about off Sandy Hook. Sixty-two miles to the south about. Halcyon should pass out in early morning. Is painted black, yellow deck houses, two masts, black stack amidships."
"It isn't possible that she has slipped by us in the night, do you think?" exclaimed Herc, gazing anxiously about at the rolling waste of gray water.