“That we are not the only persons interested in the Sea King. If I don’t make a big mistake, that shot was a message from our friend X. Y. Z.”
“It looks like it,” admitted Tom; “oh, if we could only glimpse the Sea King!”
“The rocket cattle from her. I’m sure of it. She must have mistaken the lights of that marine raceabout for our signals.”
“Let’s try an answering rocket,” suggested Tom.
“Won’t do any harm. Jupe, quit shivering like a jellyfish and get the rockets out. Two will be enough. Tom, you rig the tube.”
The firing apparatus, a cylinder of galvanized iron, was speedily rigged in place, and by that time Jupe, whose face was an ashen gray tinge, reappeared with the rockets, two powerful signaling instruments, two feet or more in length.
“All right, Tom, touch them off,” came from Jack, as the younger lad proclaimed that all was ready.
There was the sputter of a match, a burst of yellow flame and then, almost instantly, a roar and a shriek as the first of the signals shot aloft, trailing a long tail of golden fire. At two hundred feet it exploded in a shower of blue stars. Almost simultaneously, it seemed, another cluster of red stars were spattered over the sky.
“Hurray! That’s the Sea King, sure enough!” cried Jack; “see, they’ve answered us. Crowd her as much as you can, Tom, it’s a race for all we’re worth now.”
“I can get a bit more speed, but it means overheating the engines,” warned Tom.