"I think, sir, if you search more closely, you will find some one in this room."
"Very good," replied the officer in charge, turning back.
In truth, Lieutenant Nettleson was already aware that there was a prowler in the room, for he had seen a pair of feet in a dark corner; but he had purposely awaited Midshipman Farley's report.
Now, swift as a flash, Lieutenant Nettleson turned back, going straight so the cupboard in which Dave Darrin's uniform equipment hung.
Pushing aside a dress uniform and a raincoat that hung like curtains,
Lieutenant Nettleson gazed into the face of—Midshipman Henkel!
Henkel had been caught so suddenly, had realized it so tardily, that the grin of exultation had not quite faded from his face by the time that he stood exposed.
In another second, however, that midshipman's face had turned as white as dirty chalk.
"Stand forth, sir!" ordered the O.C. sternly.
Henkel obeyed, his legs shaking under him.
"What is your name?"