He was close to it. He reached out his hand and touched another hand. It was Fred, all right—no mistaking that hearty squeeze.
“We may only have a minute or two before somebody comes along,” said Bobby hurriedly, forced to raise his voice a little to make it heard above the roaring of the wind. “So let’s get down to brass tacks.”
“Righto!” agreed Fred, crowding close to him against the rail. “You’ve got a plan, Bobby! I thought I read it in your eye this morning.”
For the moment, forgetting the danger of their position, Bobby grinned in the darkness. Same old Fred, he thought, light-hearted even in such circumstances!
“Listen,” he said quickly. “I haven’t any plan—not yet. But I will have soon,” he added, as a sound of dismay broke from Fred. “What I wanted to do was to get word to you and the other fellows that the best thing we can do just now is to lie low and pretend to be as meek as Moses. Captain Garrish—”
“Bad luck to him!” growled Fred, and Bobby saw his fist clench on the rail.
“Is watching us—”
“So I’ve noticed,” again interrupted Fred.
“Say!” came from Bobby impatiently, “if you know what’s good for you, you’ll let me say what I have to say so that we can get back to our bunks before somebody smells us out.”
“Oh, all right, all right,” said Fred contritely. “Go ahead, Bobby.”