He glanced at his watch, and then slid down the conning tower hatch without a word. McFee and Corvin and March Anson, who were all on the bridge with him, looked at each other.
“This is really my watch,” McFee said. “Go on down, you two, but for gosh sakes let me know as soon as you find out.”
So March and Ray Corvin went below and sat down in the wardroom. They knew the Skipper was in his quarters next door.
“He’ll be calling for the chart in a minute,” Corvin said. “The chart of where we’re going. Then we’ll know.”
But Gray did not call for a chart. Instead, he sauntered into the wardroom sat down and smiled.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” he said. “I feel a little let down myself, though it’s a perfectly natural destination.”
“Not Iceland!” Corvin cried. “Don’t tell me that!”
Gray laughed. “No, our present destination is just a way-station.”
“Well, if it’s so all-fired disappointing,” Corvin exploded, “why are you trying to build it up into something dramatic by holding out on us? I think it’s just a gag. It’s probably that we’re going to blast Kiel harbor from inside or find some way of traveling up the sewers to Paris.”
“Ray, you’ve been going to too many movies,” Larry said. “You know that life on a submarine is very prosaic, except for just once in a while. Gentlemen, we are going to San Francisco, California!”