"Young man, you seem to think you know a good deal about torpedoes," sneered Evarts.
"He ought to," Harry retorted quietly. "He's a West Point man and an army officer. Therefore, he's a specialist in some kinds of explosives."
Evarts's face turned somewhat paler at this information of having an army officer on hand as a witness.
"Do you call me a prisoner, too?" asked the man at the tiller uneasily.
"Something like it, I guess," nodded Dick.
"Say, but that's a pretty rank deal against an honest man," protested the skipper hoarsely. "I hired this boat out to that man, the one you call Evarts, but I didn't know what he was up to."
"You didn't know that torpedoes are used for wicked work either, eh?" pressed Lieutenant Dick.
"I'll swear that I didn't know what it was that he brought on board," cried the skipper. "Evarts said it was a new device for killing fish at wholesale."
"You may be telling the truth," Tom broke in.
"I am," declared the skipper eagerly.