Setting the automatic steering apparatus, Jerry took up a telescope, and once more gazed through it at the balloon. As the craft came into focus, the youth uttered a strange cry.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Ned, running toward his chum.
“Look,” answered Jerry hoarsely, passing over the glass.
“They’re all dead!” gasped the merchant’s son, as he focused the telescope. “All dead!”
For the sight that came to him through the glass was that of a number of men lying in various positions in the after or open cabin of the Manhattan. Men were stretched out on the floor, some were humped over in chairs, and one could be seen half in and half out of an open door that led into the cabin.
“They’re all dead!” cried Ned again. “We’re too late!”
“Maybe they’re only unconscious,” suggested Jerry hopefully, though his heart misgave him. “We’ll go closer and see.”
Bob came from the galley to join his chums. As he reached them he sniffed the air suspiciously.
“What’s that funny smell?” he asked. “It’s like gas. Have you started our gas-machine, Jerry?”