"How?" asked the others.
"Perhaps that water was drugged and was given to us to put us to sleep. If we pretend to be overcome it may throw them off their guard, and that will give us another chance to gain possession of the vessel. What do you say if we lie down and pretend to be asleep when they open the hatch?"
"All right, I am willing," answered Tom. "There is no excitement in being cooped up in this hot place. Tell you what I'll do, to force matters. You lie down and begin to snore and I'll pull the whistle. Then, when they come, I'll demand to know what is wrong with you and pitch over myself. Then we can see what happens next."
So it was arranged, and half an hour later Sam, Dick, and Hans stretched out on the engineroom floor as if completely dead to the world. Then Tom gave the whistle half a dozen sharp tugs. This brought Todd, Pold, Jeffers, and Dan Baxter to the hatchway in a hurry.
"What's the row?" demanded Gasper Pold, looking down curiously.
"My brothers," came thickly from Tom, as he reeled around. "What did you—you—do to them? My head—like—top! You—must—must—Oh!" And then Tom sank down on a bench, slipped to the floor, and lay beside Sam.
"He's poisoned!" shrieked Dan Baxter, and his face grew as white as a sheet.
"Shut up!" muttered Sack Todd. "The dose won't kill him."
"Reckon they are all laid out," was Gasper Pold's comment, as he peered down the hatchway. "I'll go down and make sure." And he passed down the iron ladder, pistol in hand.
"How about it?" came from the mate of the Dogstar.