“What was funny?” demanded Harry.
“Oh, nothing;” replied Frank, almost shamefacedly, “I suppose it was fancy—must have been in fact. But as that match died out I am almost certain I saw a face part the creepers and peer at me out of the mangroves.”
“Who could it have been?” asked Harry.
“I have no idea,” rejoined Frank, “that’s why I put it all down to imagination.”
Both boys ran the boat alongside the gunboat’s gangway a few minutes later.
A sharp “Who goes?” spoken with a marked German accent, showed that good watch was kept aboard the ship. As soon as the boys had announced their identity satisfactorily and been allowed on board, the sentry hurried to arouse Captain Scheffel, who, although he was in pajamas and his eyes heavy with sleep, showed truly Teutonic unconcern in the presence of his midnight awakening.
“Der keys for der magazine—hein?” he remarked placidly. “All right, I get dem for you in a minud.”
He shuffled off to his cabin, the boys hardly keeping from laughing at the queer aspect he presented. In a few minutes he was back with a bunch of keys.
“Dis is him,” he said, selecting a Yale key, “and, boys, vun vurd—no schmoking in der magazine—hein?”
“We don’t smoke at all, captain,” replied Frank with a laugh, “and if we did we wouldn’t take our first lesson in a magazine.”