“The marine guard, if there is one, didn’t see the line flying,” whispered Jack, gliding back over the “Pollard’s” hull to the platform deck.  “I don’t think I’ll be caught now until I’m on that other boat’s deck.”

“Good work!  Fine!” whispered Commander Ennerling, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.  “Here’s the note.”

Captain Jack slipped the folded paper in his pocket, then hastened back to the line.  Hal ran the submarine far enough back to leave the double line all but taut.  Seizing the rope with both hands, Jack made his way swiftly up to the gunboat’s stern rail.

In another twinkling he was over.  It was not until his feet touched the deck that the slight noise caught the marine sentry’s ear, causing him to wheel about.

“Halt!” hailed the marine, throwing his gun to port.  “What are you doing there?”

“I’ve a message for your commanding officer,” Jack answered, halting with a click of his heels as he brought them together.

“Where did you come from?” demanded the marine, wonderingly.

“Are you the commanding officer?” questioned Jack.  “If not, take me to him.”

“Corporal of the guard!” bawled the marine.

Almost in a jiffy the corporal was there.

“Corporal,” said Jack, crisply, “I’ve a message, in writing, and an official message, too, for your commanding officer.”

“I’ll take it to him, then,” said the corporal.  “Or shall I conduct you to his quarters?”

“You may take it to him,” agreed Jack, holding out the folded paper.

“Sentry, keep your eyes on this stranger,” ordered the corporal of the marine guard, as he received the paper.

A moment or two later, the commanding officer of the “Massapequa” was reading this brief but astounding communication: 

Commanding Officer, U.S.S.  “Massapequa”:  You are towing the submarine torpedo boat “Pollard” astern.  Technically and theoretically, haven’t you lost your ship? (signed) Ennerling, Commander, U.S.N.

With an explosive remark the gunboat’s commander snatched up his cap, darting aft.  The corporal, whose curiosity was aroused, judged that he was expected to follow, and did so.

“What’s this nonsense about towing a submarine torpedo boat?” demanded the gunboat’s commander, reaching deck aft.

“Wh-what, sir!” stammered the marine sentry, presenting arms.

“Where did this boy come from?” demanded the Naval officer.

“I—­I don’t—­” began the sentry, but his superior, leaving him, rushed to the flagstaff.

“Sentry, what were you doing?  What was everyone else doing?” cried the gunboat’s commander.  “Did you think it a part of our cruise to serve as mooring for stray torpedo boats?  You—­come here, you blockhead!”

The corporal got there ahead of the private, looking down in utter bewilderment at the sight of the “Pollard” riding the waves so saucily just astern of the gunboat’s hull.