Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 11, 1925 — page 28: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

mA = is a lost + Sea ete = F 182 hundred men leaped as to a call to battle. Every one responded except the navigating and engineering forces. The pantry was as neatly housekept as a model bungalow in a home show expo- sition. Cyrus stood at sailorly attention by the door. In a few minutes the executive officer poked in his head, glanced quickly about, and passed on. With him were the officer of the deck and a quartermaster. Cyrus moved to the door and watched the three inspectors disappear into the first oblique passageway. There they would go down two decks to the railing over the wheelpit of the turbines. It would take them ten minutes, or twelve, to inspect the seven turbine decks. In that ten or twelve minutes Cyrus had ample time to slip along the port rail, back through the next passageway, sidle up to the door in the rear of the starboard six- teen-inch turret, thrust it open, step inside, and pull the steel carefully behind him. It seemed very simple. He was safe, and alone. “The round space, lit only by the light drifting in the aperture through which protruded the two sixteen-inch rifles, held all he wanted to know. If he could learn it all in thirty minutes! For a moment he stood still, accustom- ing his eyes to the dark. Gradually from before him the gaunt, huge paunches of ~ the enormous rifles became eloquent of personality. Before he could see anything more he reached out and patted the near- est. It seemed almost like a human entity— this shiny steel center of Titanic intensity, launcher of a projectile that could go ten miles and sink a battleship. Then, even before he could see else, be- fore he could profit one iota from his fool- hardy venture, the door behind opened, and he turned, apprehensively, to greet the en- trance of a man in uniform. . “Who are you?” snapped a terse voice. Cyrus stepped back promptly, saluted, and informed him of his identity. “Well, out of this.” | Cyrus went back on deck, feeling like a boy caught stealing apples in a yard from which he had been previously warned. The officer closed and locked the turret page and eee ae faced him. —f > =" et, a8. ~ e = ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. It was Ensign Tenflair. His eyes gleamed coldly and a smile of quick con- tent came to him as he recognized Cyrus. “Who gave you permission to enter the turret?” he demanded. “No one, sir. I—” ‘“‘ Are you aware that no one could give you permission except the captain of the ship?” “No, sir. I—” “ Did the captain give you permission?” — “No, sir. I—” Evidently sure now that he had no un- known asset with which to deal, Tenflair proceeded with decisive design. “Reserve your explanations,” he said severely, “for the executive officer. You are cited for quarters. I place you under arrest, but release you on your own recog- nizance until two bells of the morning watch, when you will appear on the quar- ter-deck. Meanwhile return to your pantry and remain there.” CHAPTER IX. THE BRIG. T the stroke of two bells the follow- ing morning a sorry dribble pro- ceeded toward the fore part of the port quarter-deck. Six bluejackets from the forecastle wended their way along the main deck with an attempt at brazen rail- lery. They had been apprehended the night before, playing penny ante. A petty offi- cer, coxswain of the junior launch, came along to explain why he had neglected to report a missing tackle. Two jackies were up, charged with maltreating the tame bear who was the ship’s mascot. Another was charged with being absent from fire drill without leave. A stoker came, charged with sleeping during his watch. Among this flotsam in the ebb tide of battleship discipline floated the commis- sary yeoman, chagrined, apprehensive. The executive officer, Lieutenant-Com- mander Middleton, was pacing back and forth studying the report sheet just handed to him, and which contained a recital of the cases brought for his disposal. He was to be sole judge and jury in this police court. cS a8 comicboo cons