“Next month, some time. Of course, I’ll try to send father word about this. But you know what the censor does to a fellow’s letters. And to cable would be worse.” “Wait a minute!” cried Whistler. “That spy couldn’t benefit very well by the information himself. He’s here in England and your father’s ship will sail from New York, won’t it?” “I suppose so. From ‘an Atlantic port.’ You know, that’s as near as they would let him tell in a letter. And don’t worry about the Huns not being benefited by the information. They’ll find some way. They have wireless stations along our United States coast. And every U-boat carries a wireless.” “So do our subs,” Whistler rejoined. “But they are of small radius. The English coast is cleaned out of Hun radio stations.” “They have ’em on the islands off Ireland and Scotland,” returned Belding. “That spy is some smart chap, Phil. I’m awfully worried. I’ll write father, of course, as clearly as the censorship will allow. But it may be too late. The _Redbird_ may have sailed--or a U-boat may sink the mail ship.” “You don’t want to lose your courage over it,” advised the Seacove youth. “We mustn’t expect the worst. Of course, with Phoebe and Alice aboard I shall be worried until we hear that they have arrived safely at Bahia.” “And it takes a long time for a sailing ship to reach that place from our North Atlantic seaports,” responded Belding. They talked thus in whispers while hanging to a wire stay. The _Colodia_ was running without lights, every inboard lamp carefully screened, although the night was black. Before Whistler and Belding went off watch it had begun to rain, and a fierce, chill wind was blowing. The sea was beginning to kick up, and a sailor had to be a good acrobat to get into his hammock on the destroyer. The new watch went on deck in rubber boots and slickers, and the gun crews, who were always on duty at sea, day or night, sought such cover as they could find. It was a nasty voyage, and they were not inspired with the thought that they might be able to save the Germans’ lives. The bearings of the spot where the second Zeppelin had fallen had been given to the port admiral and by him transferred to Commander Lang with precision. It was a long run to this point, the boys knew. The destroyer could not possibly make the point indicated before daybreak. Yet most of the younger members of the crew, whether it was their call or not, were up in season for five o’clock coffee. The excitement grew as the light became stronger and more could be seen of the gray, tossing sea. It was a bad lookout for rescuing anybody. To put out a boat in such a sea would be a task that the hardiest of the _Colodia’s_ crew shrank from. Now and then a comber rose over the destroyer’s rail and tried to wash her deck. But the thousand-ton fast steamer escaped most of these “old he waves” as Boatswain Hans Hertig called them.