“Too late!” he whispered hoarsely. “But perhaps there is still something we can do. Come! We will call on the American consul; we will tell him what we fear!”
Carl was in a daze. That serenade of his, which had proved a farce, seemed to be leading up to something tragic.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE SHADOW OF TREACHERY.
“What’s our next move going to be, Bob?” inquired Dick Ferral, sprawling out comfortably on top of the long locker in the periscope room.
Bob was just coming down the ladder after putting the riding lights in position.
“Wish I knew, Dick,” he answered, switching on the incandescent in the periscope room and dropping down on a low stool.
“I had a dream last night,” Dick resumed, giving a short laugh as he spoke. “I was doing as sound a caulk as ever I did in my life when that dream jumped in on me, and it was so blooming realistic that it brought me up in my bed with a yell.”
“You must have been eating some of the hot stuff they have down here, before you went to bed. The peppery grub they give you in Belize would make a wooden Indian have the nightmare! But what was it, old chap?”
“It was about Fingal.”