don't think it was spies they suspected or--anything like
that?"

The deck steward, who was an old hand, hunched his shoulders. "Maybe,
and maybe not. You can't drum it into some men that a cigarette is like
a searchlight on the ocean."

"Yet the destroyers signal at night--even here in the zone," Tom said.

"Not much--only when it's necessary. And the transports don't answer.
It's just a little brown kind of light, too. They say the tin fish[1]
can't make it out at all."

"Is that where the engineers sleep--down there?" Tom asked.

"The chief and the first assistants up on deck; third and fourth and
head fireman are down there, and two electricians. The carpenter's
there, too."

"Well, they didn't find anything, anyway," said Tom. "Is that all they
did?"

"Did? They opened every room on their way back and searched every nook
and corner. Not so much as a pipe or a cigarette or a cigar could they
find--nor a whiff of smoke neither. Besides, the port windows were
locked shut and the steward had the keys! They're takin' no chances in
the zone, you can bet."

"I was thinking, if it was a spy or anyone like that, he might have had
a flashlight," said Tom, "and thrown it out if he heard anyone coming."

"With the glass locked shut?"

"No, that spoils it," said Tom.

"They searched every bloomin' one of 'em," said the deck steward.
"Charlie was two hours making up the berths again after the way they
threw things around. But nothing doing. They found a mess plate with a
little black spot on it and he said they thought it might have been
from a match-end being laid there, but I heard they told the captain
there was nothing wrong down there."

"What made them think there was?" asked Tom.

The deck steward shrugged his shoulders. "You can search _me_. But
they're mighty particular, huh?"

He went about his duties, leaving Tom to ponder on this interesting
news, and though admittedly nothing had come of that stealthy raid which
had exposed neither rule breakers nor spies, still Tom thought about it
all day, more or less, and he was glad that Uncle Sam was so watchful
and thorough. It made him realize, all the more, how absurd and
preposterous it would be for him, the captain's mess boy, to concern
himself or ask questions or say anything about serious matters which
were none of his business.

All day long they ran a zigzag course, taking a long cut to France, as
Pete Connigan would have said, the general tension