“Quite some storm,” he grinned. “We had a heck of a time keeping the planes from taking off all by themselves. But say!” His face sobered. “What about Danny? What do you know about him out there on a rubber raft?”
“I don’t know a thing, and I try not to think about it,” was her solemn reply.
“Oh, well, some ship may have picked him up. And then, again, this storm might not even have gone his way.” Fred was a cheerful soul.
Sally went back to the lower deck. In her own stateroom, she hooked up the secret radio, then lay propped up in her berth listening.
Almost at once she caught a low “put-put-put.” “Still far away,” she murmured.
For three hours she lay there turning dials, listening, then turning more dials. Now and then she dozed off into a cat nap. But not for long. She was disturbed. Each passing hour found the “put-puts” coming in stronger. There was one particular broadcaster whose code messages fairly rang in her ears.
By working on her record of messages and her German dictionary, she was able to tell that this particular broadcaster was directing the course of several other subs.
“They must be subs,” she told herself. “And such a lot of them! Twelve or fourteen. And they are coming this way.”
What did it mean? Had one or two of the enemy subs from that other pack escaped? Had they joined another larger wolf-pack and were they all coming in to attack?
She took all these questions to the Captain’s cabin. She found the “siren” at her typewriter, but ignored her. When she had made her report to the Captain, he said: