The questioning of Anton Corba, Electrician First Class, took less than
twenty minutes; but it laid bare the whole Scorpion plot to destroy the
gunboat.
Corba and the other two spies had come aboard at Guantanamo. The Navy
men whose places they took, had been kidnapped by other Scorpion agents,
and held until the gunboat sailed.
“The rest was easy, sir,” the prisoner stated, with a nervous glance at
Red Pennington’s gun. “I rigged up a special sending key and an extra
short-wave receiver with the help of stuff I’d smuggled aboard. I kept
in touch with the Scorpia headquarters by tunin’ into a new wave length
they gave me each day. And I listened in to any talk aboard ship with
this electric 'ear’ which they say the Scorpion himself invented. Here
it is, if you want to look at it.”
Slipping a hand inside his blouse, Corba produced the tiny amplifier and
earphone. Don Winslow took it from him, with a smile.
“Clever!” he nodded, noting the hairlike wires and fine workmanship. “I
suspected something like this, Red, when I sent you up on deck to look
around. With his door ajar, Sparks here could get every whisper coming
up the cabin ventilators.... Well, Corba, if that’s your name, I guess
that explains how you knew we were going to search the enlistment
records. The minute I was alone in the Captain’s quarters, you just
slipped in and bopped me on the head, eh?”
“Yes, sir!” gulped the radio operator, squirming unhappily on his chair.
“You see, I had to, sir. I mean, I was afraid you’d....”
“Stow it!” rapped Don, his tone suddenly hard. “Get down to brass tacks,
and give us the rest of this program for sinking a Navy vessel on the
high seas. Putting the engines out of commission was only a starter, of
course. Let’s hear what comes next.”
Corba’s black eyes slid away from the impact of Don’s steely gaze.
“Why—why, there ain’t no 'next,’ sir,” he answered, nervously. “Not
until daylight, when a couple of fast bombin’ planes dive outa the sky
and drop about a ton of high explosive down your fiddley hatch. What
happens then don’t need no imagination to figure out, sir! And no man
aboard can do a thing to prevent it.”
“Horse feathers!” burst out Red Pennington. “We’ve got anti-aircraft
guns, mounted fore and aft, that can blow half a dozen fast bombers
clean out of the ozone. What’re you trying to do, punk? Throw a scare
into us?”
Drawn-faced, the radio operator shook his head. For a second, he seemed
about to reply, but instead merely licked his lips and looked away.
Don Winslow sensed that the man was half-crazy with terror, every time
he thought or spoke of the coming air attack. And for that fear there
could be only one good reason.
“You might as well tell it straight, Corba!” he told the fidgeting
prisoner. “Go on and admit that the ship’s guns have been damaged, as
well as the engines! Unable to fight or run, this ship will be just a
helpless target—or so you believe. Is that it?”
The radioman’s jaw dropped. He nodded weakly.
“I don’t see how you guessed it, sir,” he whimpered; “Mink fixed every
gun two nights ago. He used an explosive metal plug that’ll make the gun
blow up the first time it’s fired. I’d have told you before, only there
ain’t a thing you can do to fix ’em, sir. We’re gonna be sunk, with all
hands, and that’s all there is to it!”
“Great jumpin’ catfish!” gurgled Red Pennington. “I never thought once
about the guns being jimmied too! What can we do now, Don?”
“First put this man in the brig with his gorilla shipmate!” clipped out
the young commander. “After that, we’re going to move a lot farther and
faster than the Scorpion expects. You stay by the radio until I send up
a regular guard, Red. And, Corba! March yourself straight through that
door and forward to the brig. Lively now! My gun will be right at your
back the whole way!”
Back in the radio shack, after seeing the lock turned on both Scorpion
spies, Don Winslow sat down to compose a code radiogram to Navy
Intelligence Headquarters at Washington. A trusted boatswain’s mate
armed with rifle and bayonet stood outside to guard against
interruptions.
The message, as Red Pennington translated it aloud, read: “GATOON
SABOTAGED. STOP. NOW DRIFTING OFF THE COAST OF HAITI WITH GUNS AND
ENGINES DISABLED. STOP. EXPECT ATTACK BY ENEMY BOMBERS AT DAYLIGHT.
STOP. SEND FAST ATTACK PLANES TO OUR ASSISTANCE AT ONCE. STOP. OUR
POSITION IS....”
“Here’s what I make it, Winslow!” interrupted Captain Riggs entering the
room with sextant in one hand and a sheet of penciled figures in the
other. “Good thing it’s a clear night, for 'shooting’ the stars. By my
reckoning, we’re just ten miles off the coast, and ninety more from
Port-au-Prince.”
“Thank you, Captain!” said Don, glancing at the other’s notes. “Shall I
sign your name now to this radio message? If we send it at once, those
Navy planes will have barely time to get here before the fun starts!”
“Sign it yourself, Commander,” replied Riggs quickly. “Your name will
carry twice the weight of mine with Washington. But, blow me under if I
like this idea of lying here useless till help comes! Isn’t there any
trick we can work out to defend ourselves with?”
“I think there is, Captain,” answered Don Winslow, rising from his
chair. “I’d like to talk it over first, though, with Michael Splendor.
Suppose we join him, below, while Pennington is sending this radio I’ve
just coded. Red’s an expert operator, so there won’t be any mistakes!”
Below, in the captain’s quarters. Lieutenant Darnley had just finished
outlining the situation to Splendor and Mercedes Colby. The girl was
taking the latest news of sabotage and sudden death with cool courage,
as became the daughter of a Navy Admiral. Even the likelihood of being
bombed and sunk by a Scorpion airship failed to terrify her.
“Now that I know the worst, I’m not scared at all,” she smiled pluckily.
“It was _not_ knowing what fiendish thing the Scorpion was planning,
that was the hardest to bear. There are lots of worse deaths than
drowning. And anyhow, I can’t believe it will come to that!”
“Neither can I!” put in Michael Splendor, quietly. “With Don Winslow on
deck, our chances of making port are better than the enemy’s. He’ll find
a way to fight back, never fear! Besides, there’s me own seaplane we
took aboard last night. She has two machine guns and——”
Without knocking, Captain Riggs flung open the door and entered, with
Don Winslow at his heels.
“I have a few plans to talk over with you, sir!” the latter announced,
halting before the cripple’s wheel chair. “Lieutenant Darnley has told
you the latest trouble, I suppose—about our anti-aircraft guns being
jimmied?”
“He has that!” replied Splendor. “And I knew you’d have a plan to
overcome that difficulty, Commander. 'Tis honored I am that ye wish to
discuss it with a useless old man like me!”
“You’ve been called 'the brains of the Haitian Intelligence Service,’”
Don retorted. “And if brains are useless, it’s news to me! Joking aside,
sir, there are three good reasons against our being bombed and sunk at
daylight. I’ll name them over, and see if you agree with me. Perhaps
Captain Riggs and Lieutenant Darnley may have some valuable suggestions
to make, too.”
“Go ahead. Commander!” nodded the crippled man, as the others grouped
themselves closer about Don. “I had a couple of schemes in me own mind,
but three sounds better yet!”
In short, rapid sentences, Don Winslow outlined the hopes of the
_Gatoon’s_ company.
First was the message now being radioed by Red Pennington to Captain
Holding of the Naval Intelligence in Washington. A squadron of light
bombing planes would be taking off within an hour to come to the
_Gatoon’s_ rescue.
Whether or not they would arrive in time was another question, of
course. The distance of the nearest fighting ships, the weather they
might meet on the way, and various other difficulties made the answer
uncertain. Less than three hours now remained before daybreak and the
Scorpion’s attack.
Pursuit type planes, Don explained, could have made the distance
quicker, but could not carry enough gas for a round trip.
Don’s second plan was for Panama and an expert machine gunner to take
Splendor’s armed seaplane up at crack of dawn to watch for enemy
aircraft, and fight them off. Even if hopelessly outnumbered, the pilot
and his gunner could delay an attack upon the _Gatoon_.
“And that,” boomed Michael Splendor, his eyes gleaming eagerly, “is the
very job I picked for meself! I’ll need no legs to use a machine gun, ye
see. I’ve already talked it over with my pilot. The lad is anxious to
try his luck in a real air fight, whatever the odds. And now, Commander,
let’s have your third scheme. I’ve no doubt it includes yourself, and
that redheaded lieutenant. If so, it will be the most dangerous job of
all, and the most difficult, too.”
“I’m not so sure of that, sir,” Don protested. “In fact it’s as simple
as jumping overboard with a life preserver on. That’s what the
Scorpion’s gang expect their two spies to do; so what’s to keep Red and
me from taking their places?”
“And then what, Don?” asked Mercedes Colby in a strained tone. “I
suppose you think a Scorpion pilot will pick you up without asking
questions or bothering to recognize you? More likely he’ll turn his
machine gun on you and leave you for the fishes. Oh, Don, don’t try
anything so desperately foolish!”