Bob, suddenly lifting his eyes, was surprised to note that one of the men was Cassidy. The other was a white, sandy-whiskered individual in a dingy blue coat and cap and much-worn dungaree trousers.
Both were plainly under the influence of liquor. They came unsteadily up the steps and Cassidy made a bee line for Bob.
Cassidy’s weather-beaten face was flushed and there was an angry, unreasoning light in his eyes.
“I’m next to you, Bob Steele,” growled the mate, posting himself in front of the youth and clinching his big fists. “You’ve pulled the wool over the old man’s eyes in great shape, but you can’t fool me!”
Cassidy, when his mind was clear and when he was not under the delusion of a fancied wrong, was a good fellow. He had cared for Captain Nemo, junior, when he was lying ill in New Orleans, and countless times he had given Bob and his chums proof of his friendship for them. Cassidy was off his bearings now, but Bob felt more like arguing with him than showing authority.
“You are not yourself, Cassidy,” said the young motorist. “Why did you leave the Grampus?”
“That’s my business,” snarled the mate.
“Well, take my advice and go back there. No one is trying to deceive the captain.”
“You’ve wormed yourself into his confidence, and what has he done to me?” There was bitterness in the mate’s voice. “I’m the one that ought to be cap’n of the submarine, and, by thunder, I’m going to be!”
Bob got up from his chair, his eyes flashing.