Ham suddenly gave a bound that took him out of Tremaine’s clutch. He darted to the forward end of the passageway, then halted, crouching, his eyes rolling almost as fast as the propeller shafts could revolve.
Unquestionably there had been a sound. Henry Tremaine, far from superstitious, thought he had heard the same sound. As he halted, rooted to the spot, he heard a distinct knocking.
“There’s something at the other side of this closet door,” spoke Tremaine, with a positive air. Reaching out, he drew out the hook by which the door was secured in place. As he pulled the door open, Tom Halstead, looking more than half dead, lurched out of the little compartment in which he had been a prisoner. Tremaine caught him and steadied him.
“What’s the matter, lad?” demanded the charter-man.
“Air,” whispered Halstead, hoarsely. “Nearly died in there!”
“Your fans—quick, ladies,” cried Mr. Tremaine.
Out where the ventilators were working, the youthful sailing master was quickly revived. Then Mr. Tremaine led him back to the cabin, and dropped him into a seat, while the ladies plied their fans vigorously.
“Oh, I guess I’m all right, now,” protested Skipper Tom, looking up with a smile.
“But how came you in that place?” questioned Mr. Tremaine.