Belinda had seen Frank Sanderson at the captain's table; but he had not spied her. She sat with her back to him while listening to the talk of the Yankee shipmaster. The aviator arose and strolled out on deck without glancing in her direction. Then she went to see how Aunt Roberta fared.
Of course, the Red Cross recruit did not expect to remain undiscovered to Sanderson for the entire voyage. Indeed, she was not altogether sure she wished this. If he chanced to read the list of passengers he would be sure to see her name. But she preferred to choose her own time for first speaking with him.
Belinda Melnotte was quite sure the aviator's reason for crossing the ocean was somewhat the same as her own—a desire to help the embattled French. His intention was to join those other American flying men over there and do actual fighting for the Allies.
Because of the strict neutral attitude of the United States at that time, these volunteer aviators could not fly under their own flag; but the so-called Lafayette Escadrille was doing notable work for what Aunt Roberta so vigorously called "la patrie."
The general conversation in the saloon—all over the ship, in fact—was about the war. After Belinda had assured herself of Aunt Roberta's comfort, she slipped into her coat and sought the open deck. Every group she passed was eagerly discussing some phase of the great struggle.
Fire Island light was already dropping below the horizon. She noted that there were few lights on deck—by no means as many as are usually displayed on a passenger liner. Ordinarily in the evening, these big ships sparkle with chains of lamps.
She saw the wireless operator in his house amidships. Unexpectedly the poles began to spark and crackle. A message was being received. She saw the mate who had introduced her to Captain Dexter run to the door of the wireless room for the message.
A minute later bell signals were sounding all over the great, throbbing ship. Several series of lights were snuffed out. The stewards went along the corridors rapping on stateroom doors and ordering lights shrouded or shades drawn at the ports. It was an order that bred fear in many hearts. Peril, unknown and from an unknown direction, threatened.
Belinda met the old shipmaster cheerfully pacing the deck and whistling softly to himself.
"Oh, Captain Dexter!" she demanded, tucking her hand into the crook of the arm he offered her with his old-fashioned air of courtesy, "what is the matter? What could that message have been, do you suppose?"