"Yes sir," said the man at the search-light. "I will report if I spot any survivors or boats." "Report anything you see," said Commander Brent curtly. "You go aboard if you want to," he suggested to Thorpe. "I will stay here and be ready if you need help." Thorpe nodded with approval as the small boat pulled away in the dark, for there was activity apparent on the destroyer not warranted by a mere rescue at sea. Gun-crews rushed to their stations; the tarpaulin covers were off of the guns, and their slender lengths gleamed where they covered the course of the boat. "Brent is ready," Thorpe admitted, "for anything." * * * * * They found the iron ladder against the ship's side, and a sailor sprang for it and made his way aboard. Thorpe was not the last to set foot on deck, and he shuddered involuntarily at the eery silence he knew awaited them. It was the _Minnie R._ over again, as he expected, but with a difference. The sailing vessel, before he boarded it, had been for some time exposed to the sun, while the _Nagasaki Maru_ had not. And here there were slimy trails still wet on the decks. He went first to the wireless room. He must know the final answer to that interrupted message, and he found it in emptiness. No radio man was waiting him there, nor even a body to show the loser of an unequal battle. But there was blood on the door-jamb where a body--the man's body, Thorpe was sure--had been smashed against the wood. A wisp of black hair in the blood gave its mute evidence of the hopeless fight. And the slime, like the trails on the deck, smeared with odorous vileness the whole room. Thorpe went again to the deck, and, as on the other ship, he breathed deeply to rid his lungs and nostrils of the abhorrent stench. The ensign in charge of the boarding party approached. "What kind of a rotten mess is this?" he demanded. "The ship is filthy and not a soul on board. Not a man of them, officers or crew, and the boats are all here. It's absolutely amazing, isn't it?" "No," Thorpe told him, "about what we expected. What do you make of this?" He touched with his foot a broad trail that shone wet in the _Bennington's_ lights. "The Lord knows," said the ensign in wonder. "It's all over and it smells like a rotten dead fish. Well, we will be going back, sir." He called to a petty officer to round up the men, and the boat was brought alongside. * * * * * Their return to the _Bennington_ again through a pathway of light that Thorpe knew was safe under the black muzzles of the destroyer's guns. Or was it, he asked himself. Safe! Was anything safe from this devilish mystery that could pluck each cowering human from the lowest depths of this steel freighter, that could drag her down in the water till the radio man sent his cry: "We are sinking!..."