“Don’t know, sir. The motor’s slowing down.”
“Well, fix her, and fix her quick. We can’t afford to lose time now.”
“Sorry, sir,” muttered the engineer, “but it may take some time to locate the trouble.”
He bent over the engine and appeared to be deep in efforts to adjust it. But Ned’s quick ear had caught a sound which sent him leaping back along the length of the launch’s cockpit. Hastily he bent over the engine and felt a bearing. It was hot to the touch, and he withdrew his hand sharply, but some substance clung to it. In the light of the single lamp illumining the motor he extended his palm for the officer’s inspection.
“Sand, sir!”
“You scoundrel, were you trying to cripple the motor?” shot out the middy, his eyes flashing.
The engineer turned up a white, scared face. As the light of the lantern illumined it Ned could not suppress a cry of surprise and recognition. The man was the same who had dived overboard for the letter from the fishing boat, and who had aroused the boy’s suspicion on other occasions.
“Why, no, sir!” exclaimed the man in an injured tone. “You see, we keep sand to extinguish a fire in case one starts from the gasoline. I guess some of it got sprinkled on the bearing.”
“And I think you’re lying,” muttered Ned, as he rapidly cleansed the bearing and the launch once more shot ahead.