For some reason Gilbert had a headache, and retired early. As was usual, he slipped off only his coat and shoes, placing the former under his pillow.
Although he did not know it, his movements were closely watched by Nuggy Polk, who had made up his mind that he must obtain possession of the letter, were such a thing possible. As the hour was early, there were but few soldiers below. So the coast was comparatively clear.
Almost holding his breath, for fear of awakening the sleeper, Nuggy approached Gilbert on tiptoe, and made certain that the young lieutenant was in the land of slumber. Slowly he pulled the coat from under the pillow, and inserted his hand in the pocket.
The letter was there, along with several unimportant papers, and with a skill worthy of a better cause the young man brought them forth and thrust them into his own pocket. This done, he left the berth deck silently and swiftly, and made his way to his state-room.
“By Jove! Nuggy, you look scared,” cried Jerry Nickerson, as he entered. “What has happened?”
“Hush!” Nuggy held up his hand warningly. “I just got that letter away from Pennington.” And in a whisper he related how the deed had been accomplished.
“That was slick. But I’m afraid, when Pennington finds his letter missing, he’ll write another in its place.”
“He won’t find anything missing,” answered Nuggy, with a grin.
“Do you mean to say you are going to put the letter back?” demanded Nickerson, in astonishment.
“I’m going to put the envelope back—after I have refilled it with several sheets of blank paper.”