Finally, as a last resort, Bob examined the gasoline that was being fed into the carburetor. A few drops in the palm of his hand aroused his suspicions. The next moment the hydrometer test was made and water was found in the gasoline.
“How did it get there?” demanded Dick. “The gasoline has worked well enough all afternoon and so far during the night.”
“None of the gasoline you bought in Port of Spain has been used as yet?”
“Not a drop.”
“Well, connect up the carburetor with the storage reservoir. If there is a little water in the carburetor, it will soon work out. After that, empty this tank, strain the gasoline through chamoiskin, and then give the tank a compressed-air treatment. I’ll send Clackett to help you.”
“But how, in the name of sin, did water get in that tank?” cried the perplexed Dick.
As Bob turned to crawl away, he picked up a six-inch ebony cylinder, about the size of a lead pencil, from near the tank. It was a chopstick!
“Has the Chinaman been here?” he asked.
“Not that I know of,” answered Dick. “Why?”
“Nothing,” said Bob, but he was thinking as he stepped into the torpedo room, aroused Clackett, and sent him aft to lend Dick a hand.