“Don’t speak of bed,” grumbled the officer. “I wish I were there now. It is just my luck to be on duty tonight.”
“I found the cabin hot and stuffy, so I thought I’d come up for a breath of air before turning in. Heading more to northward, since we sank the Blake, I see.”
“Yes, the course is nor’nor’east now. Captain von Hiemskirk is heading the ship for the transatlantic passenger ship lane.”
“We don’t seem to be in any hurry, Lieutenant.”
“No, our speed is only sixteen knots. Everybody needs a rest, and the Herr Baron, being a wise man, is saving coal.”
“It sounds foolish of me, a ship’s officer, to admit it, but I honestly have only the haziest idea of our position now.”
“I don’t wonder at that,” laughed Schneider. “The way we changed our course during the past week would make a snake break its back. At noon today we were in latitude 38 degrees north, longitude 62 degrees west—and we aren’t far from there now at the rate we’ve been steaming.”
“Mm—I thought we were much farther east,” remarked Bill, and then changed the subject.
As he had now gained the information he wanted, he chatted for ten minutes more with young Schneider, then, wishing him good night, went below to his cabin.
Here he set the tiny alarm on his watch for twelve-thirty. From the closet, he brought forth a civilian suit of his own, and one of Osceola’s. These, together with two pairs of tennis shoes and two soft felt hats that he found in their bags, he placed on the lounge. Again he dug into the bottom of a kit bag and pulled forth a coil of rope, two monkey wrenches and a flashlight. Placing these conveniently near the clothing, he began to undress. Osceola still slept the sleep of exhaustion. Without awaking him, Bill crept into his bed and turned off the light.