Dave listened
and counted. He gave an almost incredulous snort when the total
stopped at eleven.
Then another long period of waiting. Darrin did not grow drowsy.
On the contrary, he became more wide awake. In fact, he began
to imagine that he was becoming possessed of the vision of the
cat. Dark as it was in the room, Dave began to feel certain that
he could distinguish plainly the ghostly figure of the saving
doughface in the alcove opposite.
Twelve o'clock struck. Then more waiting. It was not so very
long, this time, however, before there came a faint tapping at the
window.
Dave Darrin was out of bed as though he had been shot out. Like a
flash he was at the window, peering out. Where, after all, was the
cat's vision of which he had thought himself possessed? Some one
was outside the window. Dave thought he recognized the Naval
uniform, but he could not see a line of the face.
Tap-tap-tap! sounded softly. Dave threw the window up stealthily.
"You, Dan?" he whispered.
"Of course," came the soft answer. "Stand aside. Let me in---on
the double-quick!"
Dave pushed the window up the balance of the way, then stepped
aside. Dan Dalzell landed on his feet in the room, cat-like,
from the terrace without. Then Dave, without loss of an instant,
closed the window and wheeled about in the darkness.
"Hustle!" commanded Dave.
"What about?"
"Get off your uniform! Get into pajamas.
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