On the third day, after leaving Singapore, the high, densely-wooded coast of Paragua Island loomed before them, and before sunset the entire Chinese squadron had been piloted to a safe anchorage inside Malampaya Sound. Once inside, as Phil had said, the ships were as if at anchor in an inland lake. The sea was not visible and there were no signs of life ashore. The beach of the bay was lined with dense and impenetrable mangrove bushes, and back of that was the primeval forest. “We are as completely cut off from the outside world as if we had landed on the planet Mars,” Phil exclaimed gleefully as he and Sydney returned from the Chinese flag-ship to the yacht. “Now we must possess our souls in patience; it would not do to communicate yet.” Phil read the inquiry in Sydney’s face, so he continued to explain. “We were seen passing Singapore three days ago, and if we used our wireless now to let the world know we are still on the earth, those with an analytical mind could figure out just how far from Singapore we must have come, and then a search might prove disastrous to our plans. The situation is one our rich newspapers would delight to unravel; they would spare no expense to find us by chartering if need be every steamship in the Orient and sending them out to hunt us down.” Sydney nodded in ready understanding of the soundness of his friend’s reasoning. The wireless apparatus of the Chinese ships, by Admiral Ting’s orders, had been completely dismantled to be sure that no accident could mar the midshipmen’s plans. Phil had feared that some enemy might exist among the ships who could during the watches of the night send out to the many listening stations bordering the China Sea, the much sought intelligence as to the location of the Chinese squadron. The wireless of the “Sylvia” alone was in working order, and the two sailormen and the midshipmen took turns both by day and night in the little wireless room. Every message heard through the telephone receiver was written down and read. From these mysterious messages grasped from the boundless air the lads heard of the consternation throughout the world. “Where is the Chinese squadron?” was on every lip. They learned that the Japanese fleet had arrived at Singapore, where the ships had coaled from their colliers, and after a few days of indecision had sailed again, steering to the northward. The United States fleet had remained quietly at anchor in Manila Bay. Takishima, during these long days of waiting, had been allowed his freedom, and as the days passed, the sadness slowly gave way to cheerfulness and amusement at the ludicrous situation. Impey, with all his villainy, had openly congratulated the midshipmen upon their masterful control of the situation. “It’s worth losing to have witnessed it,” he exclaimed as he read the messages faithfully recorded by the sailormen in the wireless room. Over a week dragged slowly by, and the anxious wait told on the midshipmen.