I hasten to read the book of telegrams, glancing over the hundred or two hundred messages of the day. It is the same strain as yesterday, and as it will be to-morrow. “Left Navaria at 2 P.M.,” says this one. “I count on finishing coaling this evening,” says another. “I am on my way to Bizerta,” says a third, and so on for four pages.
“Well,” says the officer of the watch. “You see there is nothing.”
“It’s queer. The Gambetta has not spoken to-day.”
“There was probably nothing to announce.”
“It should have signaled its daily position this morning.”
“Wireless damaged perhaps.”
“Perhaps. All the same it has said nothing since 9 o’clock last night.”
“Have any of the cruisers called her?”
“Yes! And she has not responded.”
“You are sure?”