er as the _Bennington_ came alongside
and a boat was swung out smartly in its davits. But Thorpe knew he was
not alone in his wild surmise as to the cause of the catastrophe.

"Throw your lights around the water occasionally," Brent ordered. "Let
me know if you see anything."

"Yes sir," said the man at the search-light. "I will report if I spot
any survivors or boats."

"Report anything you see," said Commander Brent curtly.

"You go aboard if you want to," he suggested to Thorpe. "I will stay
here and be ready if you need help."

Thorpe nodded with approval as the small boat pulled away in the dark,
for there was activity apparent on the destroyer not warranted by a
mere rescue at sea. Gun-crews rushed to their stations; the tarpaulin
covers were off of the guns, and their slender lengths gleamed where
they covered the course of the boat.

"Brent is ready," Thorpe admitted, "for anything."

* * * * *

They found the iron ladder against the ship's side, and a sailor
sprang for it and made his way aboard. Thorpe was not the last to set
foot on deck, and he shuddered involuntarily at the eery silence he
knew awaited them.

It was the _Minnie R._ over again, as he expected, but with a
difference. The sailing vessel, before he boarded it, had been for
some time exposed to the sun, while the _Nagasaki Maru_ had not. And
here there were slimy trails still wet on the decks.

He went first to the wireless room. He must know the final answer to
that interrupted message, and he found it in emptiness. No radio man
was waiting him there, nor even a body to show the loser of an unequal
battle. But there was blood on the door-jamb where a body--the man's
body, Thorpe was sure--had been smashed against the wood. A wisp of
black hair in the blood gave its mute evidence of the hopeless fight.
And the slime, like the trails on the deck, smeared with odorous
vileness the whole room.

Thorpe went again to the deck, and, as on the other ship, he breathed
deeply to rid his lungs and nostrils of the abhorrent stench. The
ensign in charge of the boarding party approached.

"What kind of a rotten mess is this?" he demanded. "The ship is filthy
and not a soul on board. Not a man of them, officers or crew, and the
boats are all here. It's absolutely amazing, isn't it?"

"No," Thorpe told him, "about what we expected. What do you make of
this?" He touched with his foot a broad trail that shone wet in