“I’ll bet a million dollars that it is a navy or an army station calling,” he said. “You can’t mistake the way those fellows send. It is quite different from a commercial operator’s way of pounding the brass.”
A moment later he was proved to be right.
“This is the Iowa,” came the word. “We are relaying a message from Washington to Colonel Minturn on board your ship. Are you ready?”
“Let her come,” flashed back Jack.
He drew his yellow pad in front of him and sat with poised pencil waiting for the message to come through the air from a ship that he knew was at least two hundred miles from him by this time.
“It is in code; the secret government code,” announced the naval man.
“That makes no difference to me,” rejoined Jack. “Pound away.”
“All right, old scout,” came through the air, and then began a topsyturvy jumble of words utterly unintelligible to Jack, of course.
The message was a long one, and about the middle of it came a word that made Jack jump and almost swallow his palate.
The word was Endymion, the name of the yacht that had sent out a call for Jarrold through the storm.