Chapter 24 COUNTERPLOT

To one who had been more than forty-eight hours drifting in a scuttle-butt in mid-Atlantic, the sight of almost any kind of craft would have been welcome. Tom Cameron hailed first the plume of drifting smoke, then the mast and stacks, and then the high, camouflaged bow of the Admiral Pekhard with a joy that increased deliriously as he became assure