“The man is still drugged,” said Mr. Temple. “We found not only one revolver, but two and a knife besides.”
“Was the doctor there?” asked Jack.
“No.”
“Mr. Murphy, where is the radio room?” Frank demanded.
“On top av this cabin,” replied the recumbent man. “But little good it’ll do ye. MacFinney, the engineer, is the only wan aboard who can operate it, an’ till the engines git goin’ there’ll be no juice if it’s callin’ for help you mane to do.”
They looked at each other in dismay. Here was a contingency that had not occurred to them. Jack groaned aloud. But ere any of them could speak, the stamp of the engines suddenly began. MacFinney had gotten them repaired, whether his Chinese had tried sabotage or not. The engines seemed to gain confidence. A slight quivering shook the trawler.
“There’s your juice, lad,” Matt Murphy said gruffly, reaching out his sound hand to pluck Frank’s sleeve.
Frank whirled, a broad smile on his face.
“Look here, Mr. Murphy,” he declared, “I believe you are on our side at heart, aren’t you?”
Murphy sat up on the berth, swinging his legs over the side.