A few minutes later Dawson and Freddy Farmer were washing off U-boat dirt and filth in a cabin turned over to them by one of the cruiser's officers. They had set to work on the cleaning job in silence, but presently Freddy Farmer couldn't hold back the words any longer.
"What rotten luck, eh, Dave?" he said with a heavy sigh.
Dawson wiped soapsuds from his eyes and squinted over at him.
"Huh?" he ejaculated. "Rotten luck? You mean to do it in a few hours instead of days aboard this tub? You gone nuts?"
"Of course I don't mean that!" the English youth snapped back at him. "I don't fancy cruisers any more than you do. I'm speaking about that confounded business aboard the U-boat. About that envelope for Secretary Hull. Of course you did the right thing to get rid of it in the bomber. But it would have been wonderful if we could have managed to save it."
"That's what I figured," Dawson grunted through the towel on his face. "So I decided to take the chance, pal."
In a flash Freddy Farmer was across the cabin and had him by both arms.
"What?" he cried. "What did you say, Dave? You don't mean—?"
Dawson shook himself free, and chuckled.
"What else?" he demanded, and picked up his ripped and torn tunic off the bunk. "Sure thing, kid. I took the chance of tossing Herr Miller for a loss with a couple of loads of good old Yankee bluff. So I called the turn right on him before he could get set. I told him I'd ditched the thing, and held out my tunic and started ripping open the lining to get him all mixed up. And—well, he was a nice guy and did get all mixed up—and dropped his guard, you might say. Gosh, Freddy, just think! That darn letter was right there in the pocket of the tunic I shoved in his face. Maybe he even heard the paper crackle. See? Here 'tis, Freddy. A bit wrinkled, but maybe the Secretary of State will forgive us for its appearance."