"That's the preparatory," he said enigmatically.
A fragment of band-music reached them faintly. Garth's hand flew, rigid, to his forehead, and Joan, looking toward the ship, saw the signal gliding down, while slowly the Stars and Stripes rose, floated, and straightened out in the fresh wind.
"Eat your breakfast, please, Garth," said Jim, "and don't keep trying to look out at the door, or you'll fall into your porridge. Those destroyers are not going out before you finish your food."
"Joan is nearly as bad," said Elspeth. "I've an idea that the code-book is concealed in her lap."
Joan grew a shade redder than her sunburn.
"Forgive me!" she begged. "I did want to learn a few more of those flags, to be all ready after breakfast."
"I don't believe that she has any notion of what she's eating," said Jim. "She's probably muttering oboe pup quack to herself."
"Is it quarter after eight yet, Fogger?" Garth asked.
Jim pulled out his watch.
