At last the power to think returned, and he turned his wan, pain-drawn face to Bob.
“Tell me,” he whispered.
“No, sir, nothing,” cried the doctor. “Here, I have brought you the little draught myself, so as to see that it is taken properly. I don’t know why I should have so much trouble over a pack of lads who are more worry than they are worth. Why, bless my heart, Mr Vandean, you are going backward. Here, Mr Howlett, go to my quarters and send my fellow here.”
Chapter Ten.
In the Doctor’s Clutches.
It was the next day, and, in spite of wind-sails and open ports, hotter than ever. The Nautilus was back off the Palm River, lying at anchor, waiting as usual for news which might end in a more successful expedition than the last, for the nefarious traffic was still being carried on just under the nose of Her Majesty’s little cruiser, in spite of every effort to catch the cunning skippers who set the officers at defiance.
Mark opened his eyes after a long, refreshing sleep, for Bob Howlett had contrived to keep the cabin comparatively cool; and as soon as the lads’ eyes met, the sick middy’s thoughts went back to the last conversation they had held.
“Bob,” he whispered.