The question was somewhat of a facer, for how could Dick and Alec then interfere? Carl had as much right to leave the ship as they had. Then, supposing he went by the ordinary route, through the gallery and so into the open, who could arrest him? It would be an outrage, a breach of good manners; worse, in fact.
"Oh, let's leave that question to later," said Dick airily. "He ain't going by the window, that's certain. Then we watch at each end of the gallery, and if he gets up to monkey tricks, why, we bowl him over."
Little did the magnate imagine that three at least of his fellow passengers were waiting for his appearance. Not that the worthy Sergeant showed much concern. Now and again, on his numerous visits to the pantry, he slid that panel aside and squinted into the cabin. But he went on with his duties, prepared the table, set the chairs, and finally rang the gong briskly. As he did so the clock in the saloon chimed eight. It was precisely half an hour after Mr. Andrew's usual hour for dinner, and with soldier-like exactness the Sergeant announced the meal at the very moment for which it had been ordered. He escorted Joe and his uncle, the Commander and the Major, to their places, announced that Mr. Reitberg wished to be excused, and murmured in Joe's ear the fact that Dick and Alec had returned to the ship and had then departed again.
"Then we won't wait," said Andrew brusquely. "Let us go on with the meal."
"Certainly, sir," replied the Sergeant.
At once he served the soup, with the help of an assistant. Then he took his stand behind Andrew, waiting and watching the diners as becomes a well-trained attendant. But had he forgotten the rascal in that adjacent cabin? Had he allowed the matter to escape his mind? It would seem so, indeed, though there was no excuse, for but a matter of ten minutes earlier he had watched the crafty Carl set the hands of his two clocks to eight-fifteen and wind the springs. Why, he must be mad, crazy, for at that very moment Carl Reitberg was preparing to emerge from his cabin. But Sergeant Evans went on with his waiting methodically. He removed the empty soup plates and the tureen, and having placed clean, hot plates before the diners handed the fish to each in turn. There was no hurry about his movements, no sign of anxiety about his face. He did not even bother to observe the clock. Instead, he offered sherry to each of the gentlemen present, put the decanter back upon the sideboard, and motioned to his assistant to hasten to the kitchen for the next course. It was ten minutes after the hour. In five minutes those bombs with which the dastardly Carl hoped to wreck the vessel would explode. In five short minutes——Hark! What was that? Joe turned slowly in his chair. Andrew glanced across at the Major.
"Dick and Alec larking again," observed the Commander dryly. "A little more shipboard discipline is what our Mr. Dicky Hamshaw requires. What a noise the brats are making."
There was indeed quite an uproar in the gallery outside. The voices of Hawkins, Hurst, and Larkin were heard in succession. And then the door of the saloon was burst unceremoniously open, figures appeared outside, and a moment later Carl Reitberg was thrust into the chamber, Hawkins and Larkin gripping his shoulders, while Dick and Alec followed immediately behind them.
"Caught him in the act, sir!" shouted Dick, excitedly, addressing Andrew. "Watched him place two bombs in position along the gallery. Here they are. At least we guess they're bombs, though they're wrapped in paper."
That saloon had never before witnessed such a curious gathering, nor such excitement if one describes the matter fully. Not that Joe and his fellow diners betrayed great concern. Their stern faces merely showed disgust, loathing for this Carl Reitberg, while the well-trained Sergeant looked on with polite indifference, showing just a trace of annoyance, as if he objected to the dinner being so unceremoniously disturbed. But there coolness ceased altogether. Dick and Alec were dishevelled, red-hot with excitement, trembling with the importance of their discovery. Hawkins's broad face showed a righteous anger which was on the point of boiling over, while Private Larkin's fierce face gave one the idea that he was within an ace of exploding. In the centre, pinioned by the arms, pale and wabbling, was the magnate, speechless with fright, his pig-like eyes rolling with terror.