VIII
THE SECOND ATTACK
Sixty seconds from the moment Don shouted warning, Number Three lifeboatwas swinging, fully manned, from her davits. On the dark water below,two life preservers, with patent flares attached, floated along the_Gatoon's_ portside. The ship, with engines dead, rolled gently in thetrough of a gentle ground swell.
For a rescue at night, no better conditions could be asked. The troublewas that, from the moment Red Pennington's attacker had hit the water,there had been no sign of him. No second splash or cry for help had beenheard.
Was the fellow a suicide--deliberately drowning in preference to beingcaught? Or had he just gone down, unable to swim?
One guess was as good as another. Except that the man was a Scorpionagent, Don Winslow would have given the fellow up for lost. As it was,he suspected a trick.
Thinking back, he recalled that the spy had not hit the water allsprawled out like a man who had lost his balance. There had been onlythe single, clean _plunk_ of an expert dive.
But where, in mid-ocean, could the man have swum? To a waiting boat,somewhere out of sight in the darkness?
There was one more alternative. As the idea flashed across Don's brain,he whirled and ran to the starboard rail. After sweeping the ship's sidein one quick glance, he turned again and darted back to the after deck.
Halted at the taffrail, the young officer leaned far over, his eyessquinting to pierce the darkness under the gunboat's stern. After amoment, he straightened up with a satisfied nod, and strode back to theportside.
A little group of ship's officers stood beside Mercedes and MichaelSplendor near the davits, just as Don approached. All of them caught theyoung commander's quiet words.
"Send your boat around under the stern, Captain Riggs," Don Winslowmurmured. "Our man is there, clinging to the rudder post. If we gosoftly, we can all get back to the taffrail in time to see the fun!"
For an instant Riggs stared in unbelief, then turned to snap an order atthe men below. As the oars resumed their steady stroke alongside, Donled his friends aft on tiptoe. He knew the questions they wanted to ask;but there was no time now for talk.
A few feet from the taffrail, Don signaled the two ship's officers tostand by. He himself stooped with one hand on the line of the taffraillog.
The wait was not long. As the lifeboat started to round the stern, thestout line under Don's fingers jerked taut. By its motion he knew thathis man was climbing, hand over hand.
Only a trained athlete could have performed such a feat, for the linewas barely thick enough to hold a man's weight. The climber's hands musthave been cut raw after the first half dozen grips, but he came doggedlyon. At the last moment before his head appeared, Don drew back in awrestler's crouch.
A lunge, a harsh oath, a brief, desperate struggle, and it was over. Theunknown, who had attacked Red Pennington and then plunged into the sea,now stood on deck, panting in the grip of three strong men.
"So what?" he demanded insolently. "Now ya got me, wot ya gonna do withme? I ain't done nothin' wrong. A guy up an' slugs me in the dark, an' Ifall overboard, an' now ya grab me. So what!"
Don's flashlight, turned on the man's face showed a pair of small, rattyeyes set in animallike features. The fellow was desperate, and trying tocover it up with a line of bluff.
"Looks as if we'd caught our murderer, all right!" gritted CaptainRiggs, after a shrewd glance. "This seaman is one of the replacements wetook on in Guantanamo. Shall I throw him in the brig now, Commander, ordo you wish to question him first?"
Don Winslow snapped out his light.
"The questioning had better wait, Captain," he replied quickly. "I'vejust discovered something that may be of vital importance to us andevery honest sailor aboard. Suppose we all talk it over in your cabin,as soon as this spy is safely under lock and key!"
On his way to the captain's quarters, Don Winslow stopped by NumberThree davits and waited until the lifeboat had been swung inboard withits crew. As Red Pennington stepped to the deck, the young commanderseized his arm and led him back into the shadows amidships. A few quickwords covered the rat-faced seaman's capture.
"And now we'll see what his game was, Red," Don whispered, moving overto the port rail. "Give me a boost up into that boat with the unlashedcover and stand by for trouble. But don't let anybody slug you frombehind this time!"
"I won't, don't kid yourself!" muttered the stocky lieutenant, stoopingto take Don's weight. "But, say! You must have found something up therethe first time, or you wouldn't be so anxious to look again. Can't youwait long enough to tell a man...?"
But Don was already over the gunwhale and inside the boat. This timeseveral minutes passed before his head and shoulders appeared from underthe tarpaulin.
"Take these, Red!" he said softly, passing down a loose packet ofpapers. "And put them out of sight. I'm coming down now."
Swinging light to the deck, he drew his pocket gun and led the way backaft.
"Wha-what the dickens?" muttered Red Pennington in a hoarse whisper, ashe shoved the papers under his waistband.
"Enlistment records--the missing ones!" hissed Don, glancing along theshadowy decks. "They were just part of what I found in the boat. Ifanybody tries to take them away from you between here and the captain'squarters...."
WHAM! BANG!
A tongue of flame had lanced out from behind the darkened galley. In thesame split second had come Don's answering shot. Without pausing theyoung commander leaped straight toward the source of attack.
Red, pounding at Don's heels, tugged out his pistol.
"I'll take the starboard side!" he yelped as Don darted to port.
It seemed that the enemy, whoever he was, must be trapped, or he wouldhave to break away in full view and get shot.
Yet it was Red Pennington whom Don bumped into, just abaft the galley.
"G-gosh! I nearly shot you, Don!" gulped the stout lieutenant. "Where'nthunder did that bird go, anyway? I was sure you were he, till I got asecond look!"
For answer Don seized the knob of the galley door. It flew open toreveal a dimly lighted interior, fragrant with the smell of brewingcoffee. Backed up in a corner stood Johnson, the colored cook,brandishing a razor-sharp meat axe.
"Stay right wheah yo' are, befo' ah scattahs you' brains!" wailed theterrified man.
Don stepped calmly across the threshold.
"It's all right, Johnson," he said, sweeping the galley with a quicklook. "Somebody shot at us just now, and we thought he might have duckedin here. Of course, you didn't see anybody?"
Johnson's meat cleaver hit the deck with a loud clang.
"Lawsy-me, C'mandah!" he quavered. "Ah sho' thought you-all was dekillah. Yassah! But ah raickon he was de one dat scooted by de po'thole,right aftah de shot! Ah jes' happened ter look out...."
"Which way did he go?" Don snapped, turning back to the doorway.
"He was haided aft, C'mandah," answered the colored man. "Ah jes' seensomethin' white scootin' past!"
"Come on, Red!" said Don, stepping out on deck. "We'll try the radioshack. It's part of this same superstructure, and our last bet. Hope youkept an eye on it, while I was in the galley!"
"I did," answered Red. "The only door is on this side, too. Got yourflashlight ready? The place looks pitch dark!"
By this time, shouts and the sound of running feet were closing in fromall sides. The twin pistol shots had roused the whole ship's company.
And now, quite unintentionally, Red Pennington made a grandstand play.
Thinking only to save Don from the killer's bullets, he slammed open theradio shack door and charged through, head down, like a football tackle.There followed a yell and the thud of heavy bodies striking the deck. Aninstant later half a dozen men headed by Don Winslow piled into thenarrow compartment.
No shots greeted their rush, though for a moment there was plenty ofconfusion. With some difficulty, Red Pennington was pulled off from t
hekicking body of his victim, who turned out to be the _Gatoon's_ radiooperator. The man was breathless, battered, and evidently furiousbeneath his show of respect for gold braid.
He gave his name as A. Corba, Electrician First Class, and he told areasonably straight story. He had been sitting half asleep in his chair,he said, listening in to the radio conversations between other ships inthe Caribbean.
Suddenly he'd heard two pistol shots, and the sound of men running. Hewas still wondering what it was all about, when the door burst open andtwo hundred pounds of fighting man landed on him. Naturally he'd triedto fight back, but his attacker, who turned out to be LieutenantPennington, had him licked from the start.
Don Winslow heard the story through, without a change of expression.
"Why," he asked, "did you have the deadlights screwed over theportholes. Is that customary aboard this craft?"
"Captain Riggs' orders, sir," replied the radio operator instantly."That is, we were all warned to let no lights show our position to anypassing boat."
"He's right, Commander!" spoke up the _Gatoon's_ captain, from thedoorway. "I did give that order; and it strikes me that this man'saccount holds water. Whoever shot at you must have gotten away, at leastfor the time being. What puzzles me is the reason for such an attack."
"Suppose we talk that over in your quarters, sir," Don suggested, movingtoward the door. "If I'm not mistaken, we're due for more surprisesbefore the night is over!"
Don Winslow of the Navy Page 8