O’Neill sat down on the side of his bed and knitted his brows.
“Of course, the first thing is to get a patrol-boat down,” he said. “As it happens, I know Bob Aylwin, who is in command of one of them: his headquarters are at Port Brandon, and he could get here quite quickly.”
“Then we must telegraph, I suppose,” Jim said. “But we were wondering if it would be safe; things leak out so quickly in a tiny place like this, and you know that people ashore are said to be helping the submarines in some districts. One doesn’t like to misjudge anyone, but——” He paused, knitting his brows.
“One has to suspect every one,” O’Neill said, shortly. “And telegrams are horribly public things.”
“If only the motor were available!” Wally said, anxiously.
“But it is!”
They stared at him.
“Didn’t you know Con was back? He turned up early this morning, with the things he went for: and he and a handy man he picked up have been inside her bonnet ever since. He came in just now to report that she is ready to start.”
“Oh, good business!” ejaculated Jim. “Will you send him?”
O’Neill thought swiftly.