“What’s wrong?” he demanded, awakening to a luxurious comprehension of where he was and what he had escaped. Then he sat up in the narrow berth, for it began to dawn on him that the engines of the Trunella were not in motion. “Why aren’t we under way?”
“They’re having trouble up there, with the Commandante. We can’t get off inside of an hour—and anything’s likely to happen in that time. That’s why I’ve got to get you out of here!”
“Where’ll you get me?” asked Blake. He was on his feet by this time, arraying himself in his wet and ragged clothing.
“That’s what I’ve been talking over with the Chief,” began the young engineer. Blake wheeled about and fixed him with his eye.
“Did you let your Chief in on this?” he demanded, and he found it hard to keep his anger in check.
“I had to let him in on it,” complained the other. “If it came to a line up or a searching party through here, they’d spot you first thing. You’re not a passenger; you’re not signed; you’re not anything!”
“Well, supposing I’m not?”
“Then they’d haul you back and give you a half year in that Lazaretto o’ theirs!”
“Well, what do I have to do to keep from being hauled back?”
“You’ll have to be one o’ the workin’ crew, until we get off. The Chief says that, and I think he’s right!”