lliant image of the bulb as well. From out on the ocean
that reflected light would be very clear.

All of which, thought Tom dubiously, was a very pretty theory, but----

Without making a sound he placed the inverted bucket on the floor and
listened. He put one foot on it and listened again. Then he stood upon
it, his heart pounding like a triphammer.

Not a sound.

Probably the tired occupant of the room was fast asleep--sleeping the
peaceful sleep of the innocent.

Tom knew that if his mind's eye picture of the room's arrangement were
correct, the metal reflector would be of no avail unless tilted at a
slight angle from the horizontal, right inside the transom.

For a moment he stood upon the bucket, not daring to budge. He could
hear his own breathing, and far away the steady, dull thud of the
tireless machinery. Something creaked in the passage, and he turned
cold. He did not stir a muscle.

Only some superficial crevice or crack somewhere--some loose panel or
worn hinge responding to the onslaught of a giant wave without----
Nothing----

He turned his head and looked down the passage, clenching his fists in
momentary fright, as if he feared the bending of his neck might be
heard.

No one. Not a sound.

He tried to look through the transom but his eyes were not high enough.
For another second he paused. Then he reached through the transom and
moved his hand about in the silence and darkness. He heard the cracking
again and waited, trembling, though he knew it was nothing.

Then he groped about with his hand again.

CHAPTER XI

HE MAKES A DISCOVERY AND IS GREATLY AGITATED

Suddenly his hand encountered something hard and cold, and he grabbed it
like lightning. His heart was in his throat now. There was a scuffling
sound within and the object was wrenched and twisted and pulled
frantically.

But Tom had been a scout and he was prepared. The two big clumsy hands
which bore the captain's tray back and forth each day had once torn a
pack of thirty cards in half to entertain tenderfeet at campfire. And
one of those hands clutched this thing now with the grip of a bulldog.

His excitement and his pounding heart did not embarrass him in the brief
tussle. A few dexterous twists this way and that, and he withdrew his
hand triumphantly, scratched and bleeding, the light in the passage
glinting upon the polished surface of the mess plate which he held.

Scarcely three minutes had escaped since he c