“That certainly sounds like a very dangerous plan,” he said, shaking his head doubtfully, “but go on.” “If we are sure to arrive ahead of the Japanese fleet, then,” Phil hurried on, “I shall find Admiral Ting and his ships, show him the letter from the Wai-Wu-Pu and this letter the ambassador gave us. After he reads those he should be willing to follow us and elude Captain Inaba’s vessels.” “Where then will you take him?” Sydney asked, for he saw that Manila could not be in Phil’s plan. “If we convoyed them to Manila we would put the American admiral into a very embarrassing position,” Phil continued. “I have thought over it for a long time, Syd, and I don’t see why it is not possible. If we can do it we would make a tremendous hit, a scoop, as the newspapers say.” Phil stopped, gazing attentively into the fog while Sydney waited breathlessly for him to continue. “Go on, Phil,” Sydney demanded impatiently. “What is your plan?” But Phil did not have an opportunity to answer. A great black shape suddenly appeared out of the fog on their starboard hand. Every one was on his feet in an instant; the emergency was so sudden and entirely unexpected. The loud bellow of a whistle sounded across the water. For a moment Phil’s heart was in his throat. It looked as if the monster steamer would ram the frail yacht amidships. Only the “Sylvia’s” great speed saved her, and the big merchantman passed close under the yacht’s stern, and disappeared as suddenly into the fog. “O’Neil, come down into the wireless room,” Phil called, a tremor of nervousness still in his voice. The sailor quickly obeyed, and together they went down to the little room where O’Neil and Marley had sent out their remarkable message for help. “See if you can get that steamer,” Phil exclaimed, “and ask them if they sighted any steamers to-day or yesterday. She has come from Hongkong, probably, and is on her way to Yokohama. Don’t tell them who we are, of course,” he added quickly; “say we’re Japanese.” O’Neil nodded his head and at once began to make the “call,” periodically throwing out the sending switch and listening through the wireless head-piece. “Got her, sir,” he whispered, clicking his key rapidly as he sent the message. Then he again threw out the sending key, and drawing a pencil from his pocket, began to write rapidly, the words coming in on the aerial in dots and dashes. The two midshipmen, for Sydney had joined them, glanced excitedly over the sailor’s shoulder. “Royal mail steamer, ‘Bombay,’ from London, _via_ Singapore and Hongkong. What ship is that?” “Japanese gunboat ‘Neko,’” Phil exclaimed quickly, after reading the received message; “and now ask if she has sighted anything.” “I did ask her, and that’s her answer,” O’Neil replied, throwing in his sending circuit and spelling out what Phil had given him. “You see, sir, these fellows want to know to whom they are giving information.”