“Do you realize what you’ve done?” Phil exclaimed after O’Neil had informed them that he had hoisted the colors. “You’ve advertised that American naval officers are running this yacht. With the present tension between Japan and the United States that flag made the Japanese army officers in the forts hesitate. They thought it might mean war, so they stopped firing.” “Yes, sir, Mr. Perry,” O’Neil returned quickly, “but if I hadn’t hoisted it, or hoisted any other flag, we would have all been swimming for the shore by this time.” “It will only be a matter of hours now before destroyers will be hunting us from every naval port in Japan,” Phil said disappointedly, as he started again for his cabin and more sleep. The morning dawned gray and cheerless. The “Sylvia” was steadily steaming to the southward. Great drifts of fog were frequently encountered through which the yacht plunged to emerge again into the semi-misty atmosphere surrounding it. “We heard them talking last night, sir,” O’Neil announced after breakfast. “I was listening in the wireless room almost all night. Bill Marley and I took down some of the messages, but we can’t read Japanese,” he added. “The Japanese navy uses our letters, but doubtless their messages are in cipher,” Phil returned as he took the penciled records from O’Neil, glancing at them carelessly. Impey stood near by apparently much interested. The lad handed the papers to him, a questioning look in his face. “I can’t read them,” Impey said after a minute’s study. “Hello, here’s one not in cipher,” he exclaimed, scanning a sheet more closely. The midshipmen waited impatiently. Phil could barely suppress a doubting smile as there came into his thoughts the garbled manner in which Impey had given the ambassador the contents of the lost document. Could they depend now upon his rendering of this mysterious aerial message? Impey again scanned the paper, apparently in deep thought. “My knowledge of Japanese is limited,” he said finally, his eyes still on the paper. “But roughly this message directs that all vessels in this vicinity search for us and hold us.” Phil nodded his head. There was no harm in believing that. Steadily the yacht reeled off the miles over a sea that was becoming smoother now every hour. The air had become heavier and the rifts of fog were being encountered more frequently. “It’s only a forlorn hope, Syd,” Phil exclaimed sorrowfully as the two leaned over the after rail, their eyes on the horizon to the north. “We are probably making twenty-three knots an hour, but a destroyer is good for at least thirty. I am afraid we were too hasty in our plans.” Sydney was silent. Far astern above the low fog a dark smudge had caught his eye. “Smoke!” he cried out dejectedly. “If the fog would only shut in to stay!”