“Wait a moment, then,” said Captain Tom, apprehensively. “I’ve an idea.”
He crept back into the motor room, again striking a match. By the aid of this feeble light he found his way to the passageway that connected the motor room and the cabin under the bridge deck. After a brief inspection he hurried back to his comrades.
“The passage door is padlocked on the motor room side,” he whispered. “Our pirates had no key to unlock that with. Now, can you walk 67 the deck as though your shoes were soled with loose cotton?”
“Yes,” grumbled Hank, disjointedly, “but the snare-drum solo my teeth are doing may make noise enough to give me away.”
“Cram your handkerchief between your teeth,” retorted Captain Tom, practically. “Come along, fellows. But hold your clubs ready in case your feet betray you.”
Stealing along, each holding to the edge of the deck house with one hand, the motor boat boys approached the after hatchway. This, evidently for purposes of ventilation, had been left partly open.
Nudging his comrades to pause, Joe, bending so low as to be almost flat on the deck, prowled further aft.
There, in the darkness, he used his eyes to find out what might be down in the cabin. Then he came back.
“Eight tough-looking men in the cabin,” he whispered, in Tom Halstead’s ear.
“Is Anson Dalton one of them?”