Dave Darrin on Mediterranean Service | Page 8

strange meeting with Mr. Green Hat, whom
he now knew as Emil Gortchky, a notorious international spy.
Still puzzling, Darrin turned out the light and dropped into his berth.
Once there the habit of the service came strongly upon him. He was
between the sheets to sleep, so, with a final sigh, he shut out thoughts
of Mr. Green Hat, of the admiral's remarks, and of the whole train of
events of the evening. Within a hundred and twenty seconds he was
sound asleep. It was an orderly going the rounds in the early morning
who spoke to Ensign Darrin and awakened him.
"Is the ship under way?" asked Dave, rolling over and opening his eyes.
"Aye, aye, sir," responded the orderly, who then wheeled and departed.
Dave was quickly out of his berth, and dressed in time to join the
gathering throng of the "Hudson's" officers in the ward-room, where
every officer, except the captain, takes his meals.
"Have you heard the port for which we're bound, Danny?" Darrin asked
his chum.
"Not a word," replied Dalzell, shaking his head.
"Perhaps we shall find out at breakfast," commented Dave.
A minute later the signal came for the officers to seat themselves. Then,
after orders had been given to the attentive Filipino boys, who served
as mess attendants, a buzz of conversation ran around the table.

Soon the heavy, booming voice of Lieutenant Commander Metson was
heard as he asked Commander Dawson, the executive officer:
"Sir, are we privileged to ask our port of destination?"
This is a question often put to the executive officer of a war vessel, for
ninety-nine times out of a hundred he knows the answer. He may smile
and reply:
"I do not know."
Sometimes the executive officer, who is the captain's confidential man,
has good reasons for not divulging the destination of the ship. In that
case his denial of knowledge is understood to be only a courteous
statement that he does not deem it discreet to name the port of
destination.
But in this instance Commander Dawson smiled and replied:
"I will not make any secret of our destination so far as I know it. We
are bound for some port on the Riviera. It may be Nice, or perhaps
Monte Carlo. I am informed that the admiral has not yet decided
definitely. I shall be quite ready to tell you, Mr. Metson, as soon as I
know."
"Thank you, sir," courteously acknowledged the lieutenant commander.
During this interval the buzz of conversation had died down. It soon
began again.
"The Riviera!" exclaimed Ensign Dalzell jubilantly, though in a low
tone intended mainly for his chum's ear. "I have always wanted to see
that busy little strip of beach."
The Riviera, as will be seen by reference to a map of Southern Europe,
is a narrow strip of land, between the mountains and the sea, running
around the Gulf of Genoa. One of the most important watering places
on this long strip of beach is Nice, on French soil, where multitudes of

health and pleasure seekers flock annually. The mild, nearly tropical
climate of this place in winter makes Nice one of the most attractive
resorts along the Riviera. Only a few miles distant from Nice is the
principality of Monte Carlo, an independent state under a prince who is
absolute ruler of his tiny country. Monaco is but two and a quarter
miles long, while its width varies from a hundred and sixty-five yards
to eleven hundred yards. Yet this "toy country" is large enough to
contain three towns of fair size. The most noted town, Monte Carlo,
stands mainly on a cliff, and is the location of the most notorious
gambling resort in the world, the "Casino."
"I wonder," suggested one of the younger officers, in a rumbling voice,
"if our Government feels that we officers have more money than we
need, and so is sending us to a place where we can get rid of it by
gambling. What do you say, Darrin?"
"Monte Carlo is one of the noted spots of the world," Dave responded
slowly, "and I shall be glad to see a place of which I have heard and
read so much. But I shall not gamble at Monte Carlo. I can make better
use of my money and of my character."
"Bravo!" agreed Totten.
"How long is that strip of beach, the Riviera?" asked one officer of
Lieutenant Commander Wales, the navigating officer.
"From Nice to Genoa, which is what is commonly understood as the
real Riviera," replied the navigating officer; "the distance is one
hundred and sixteen miles. But, beyond Genoa, on the other side, the
beach continues for fifty-six miles to Spezia. On the strip from Genoa
to Spezia the shore is so rocky that it