“Did you come up under that launch by accident, or did you do it purposely?”
“I had that all figured out, Jordan,” laughed Bob.
“It was the greatest play I ever heard of!”
“It was the only one we could make that would stand any show of winning. When you and Speake and Tirzal left the Grampus, you took all the rifles. We were left with only a brace of six-shooters. Of course I knew better than to try to get the best of Fingal, Cassidy, and the soldier with two popguns when they were armed with rifles.”
“Of course you did!” chuckled Jordan. “I’m as wet as a drowned rat, but I’m happy—oh, yes, happier than I ever thought I should be, a few minutes ago. By the way, Bob, that gentleman with the dripping whiskers is Jeremiah Coleman, the fellow we came to rescue, and just missed leaving a few more prisoners to keep him company. Jerry, shake hands with Bob Steele. He was complimented in those messages from New Orleans, and I must say that he fills the bill.”
“Glad to meet you, Bob Steele,” said Coleman, as he leaned to take Bob’s hand. “You’ve done a fine thing for all of us, and it’s something that won’t be forgotten in a hurry.”
“Cassidy and Tirzal seem to have come aboard without gettin’ wet,” remarked Clackett, with a glance of contempt in the direction of the mate. Cassidy sat on the deck with his head bowed, as abject a figure as Bob ever saw.
“Which way now, Bob?” asked Dick.
“Belize,” replied Bob. “Go down the ladder and let Tirzal take the wheel until we all get below; after that, Tirzal can steer from the tower. Go below, gentlemen, with Dick. You’ll feel more comfortable after you dry your clothes, and then we can have a talk. There are a lot of things I’ve got to find out.”
Ysabel led the descent into the periscope room; Coleman followed her, then Tirzal, then Speake, and then Jordan. Clackett and Carl brought up the rear of the procession, both, with their eyes, telling the melancholy Cassidy what they thought of him as they dropped down the tower hatch.