He called again louder. The sound of footsteps came to his ears from the handling room. What could it mean? By Lazar’s orders no work was to be done in the turret or handling room by any one save Boyd, and he had just gone up the hatch, and if he were below he would have answered his call. Phil swung himself down the ladder, through the scuttle in the turret platform, then down a second ladder, and found himself in darkness on the floor of the handling room. All was silence. Presently he heard his name called from above in the voice of Boyd. What could it mean? Some one had been there but a second ago and what had he been doing? “Turn the light on down here,” he called back. His heart beat wildly. The electric lights flashed as the switch was turned from above. The handling room was empty. A glint from a small bright object caught his eye in the shadow of an ammunition car. He stooped down and picked up a gold locket. Could it be a clew to the mystery? The thing was harmless enough in itself. O’Neil and Boyd quickly joined him. “Have you been doing any repair work here?” he asked the gunner’s mate. “No, sir, everything is right here, barring that shell car you were figuring on,” answered he promptly. Phil held the locket in his open palm. “Ask the men of the division if any of them lost a locket,” he spoke carelessly. “If one claims it send him to me,” he added, dropping the trinket in his pocket. His experiments successfully over, he carefully surveyed the different familiar objects about him. All seemed normal. “The noises must have come from the shaft alleys or engine room,” he said softly to himself. “Did you speak, sir?” inquired O’Neil, hearing his low voice. Phil glanced up with the intention of confiding in his petty officer, then changed his mind. “No, I was only thinking,” he replied. Arriving in his room he tried to dismiss the incident from his mind. He still held the locket in his hand. “One of the men dropped it during drill,” he assured himself. But instinctively his eyes traveled back to the locket as if it were a talisman. A feeling took possession of him that if he opened the locket the clew would be inside. But he controlled this feeling. It would not be honorable to open it. He regretted that Lazar was away--on board the “Minnesota,” umpiring her target practice. If he were here he would tell him of his fears; then he could do as he thought best.