"I've got to think that over," muttered Jack, as he drew on a
spick-and-span uniform blouse. "I don't know whether there'll be any use
in trying to find that mulatto. I haven't the least idea where his place
is. Even if I found it, it's ten to one I wouldn't find the fellow there."
"'Farnum,' ahoy!" roared a voice alongside, the voice coming down through
the open conning tower.
Eph ran to answer. When he returned, he announced:
"Compliments of Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, and will Mr. Benson wait on
the lieutenant commander on board the parent boat?"
"I will," assented Jack, with a wry face, "and here's where I have to do
some tall but truthful explaining to a man who isn't in the least likely
to believe a word I say. I can guess what Mr. Mayhew is thinking, and is
going to keep on thinking!"
CHAPTER IX: TRUAX GIVES A HINT
It was a tailor-made, clean, crisp and new-looking young submarine
commander who stepped into the naval cutter alongside.
Jack Benson looked as natty as a young man could look, and his uniform was
that of a naval officer, save for the absence of the insignia of rank.
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