He passed to Dick’s side and shook him into wakefulness.
“What’s the row?” inquired Dick.
“A note from Ysabel, pushed in to us through one of the holes in the forward bulkhead.”
“From her?” muttered Dick, smothering his excitement. “Read it! Perhaps she’s captured the revolvers.”
The note was written in pencil on a ragged scrap of paper. Bob, in a guarded voice, read it aloud:
“‘Pedro is asleep at the door. Fingal has gone off on the river bank. The two others are playing cards on the deck. I have Pedro’s revolver and have unlocked the door. Now is the time! Capture Pedro and tie him—but don’t hurt him. Be quiet—if he makes an outcry all is lost. Hurry!’”
Speake pulled off his coat.
“This is bully!” he whispered. “Now we’ve got a chance.”
“It’s an opportunity I wasn’t expecting,” said Bob, pulling off his shoes carefully. “In our stocking feet, fellows! We must not make any noise. While Speake and I are binding Pedro, Dick, you go down and let Gaines and Clackett out of the torpedo room. If we work this right we may be able to get away from here and down the river.”
All three of the prisoners were excited, as well they might be. An opportunity offered to save themselves and the boat—success or failure hanging on their quickness and silence.