“Of our former navy, would have been a better way to put it,” thought Ned, carefully flicking an imaginary spot off his uniform to hide a smile. The reader has, of course, not forgotten that the Americans, when they made their dramatic entry on board the destroyer, were equipped with the uniforms of the officers of the craft, which they still wore. The golden stars—the number of which denoted rank—had, however, been ripped off. In all essentials the garments bore a close resemblance to our own naval uniform.
But it was easy to see, despite the fact that Midshipman Stark and the rest were palpably Americans, that the visitors were suspicious and uneasy.
“I say, gentlemen,” went on the other, “that the resemblance is extraordinary. Of course, your boat has four funnels, while ours had but three.”
“Good thing he didn’t take a notion to poke a finger into that fourth funnel,” thought Ned. “The paint is still wet, and that canvas is not really stretched tight enough.”
Suddenly one of the young officers from the Calvo, who had been looking about him, gave a sharp exclamation.
“Why, here is a cushion embroidered with the name of the General Barrill!” he cried in a puzzled voice, “and——”
The sharp voice of his superior cut in.
“There is some trick here. I call upon you to explain it at once, or——”
He halted in amazement. Four revolvers were covering himself and his officers, and from a door opening into a side stateroom suddenly stepped Captain Gomez himself. There was a look of mild triumph on his features as he emerged from the place of concealment, in which he had been posted to watch the progress of events.