"Lieutenant Mackinson," the message began to come back. "Locked in closet off engine room. Can't make self heard. Can you help?"
"This is Slim," the youth rapped back upon the pipe. "Caught your message on deck. Am coming with help at once."
And he dashed down the deck toward the captain's quarters, almost bowling over the captain's aide as he hurtled into the sanctum of the ship's commander unannounced.
"Well?" the captain demanded sternly. "Why all the haste?"
"Lieutenant Mackinson," Slim blurted out; "he's locked in a closet down near the engine room."
"Locked in a closet!" the captain repeated incredulously. "How do you know?"
"He gave a telegraphic call for help on the steam-pipe which runs through there and connects with the whistle," the lad explained. "I was on deck and heard it. I talked with him over the pipe."
"There is no time to lose, then. Come with me." And the captain himself hurriedly led the way down through the lower depths of the ship, where it became hotter and more oppressive with every step they took.
They had taken a route by which they escaped the attention of anyone else on the ship.
"It should be right about here somewhere," the captain announced, as they approached a particularly dark passage. For a few steps they felt their way along, and then stopped to listen.