Just abaft this compartment was an ash-chute. As the sea was now calm, the ash-hoist had been at work that morning and the trap-door of the chute had not been relocked. This door kicked open outboard, giving vent upon the sea, the opening being about ten feet above the waterline of the Kennebunk.
The two chums were deeply engaged in the compartment for some time while the crew and officers on deck watched the approach of the target boat. The course of that and the battleship would bring the two within speaking distance in an hour or less.
Suddenly Ikey croaked a warning: "Hist! What's that, Frenchy?"
"What's what?" puffed his friend, just then very much engaged in fastening together two joints of pipe. "Don't try to scare a fellow. Nobody's coming."
"Listen!" commanded Ikey.
Michael sat back on his heels, cocking his head to listen. It was no footstep outside the compartment slide. It was not that kind of sound at all. And it was faint—so faint indeed that perhaps the noises of the storm since they had left port had quite smothered the queer sound.
"Funny sounding clock," whispered Ikey Rosenmeyer. "And where can it be?"
"Tick-tock! Tick-tock! Tick-tock!" The emphasis upon the second division of the sound was unmistakable. It did not seem like any clock the boys had ever heard.
"That's never a ship's chronometer, you know, that," declared Frenchy.