[CHAPTER XXIX.]
TABLES TURNED—TWICE!
Herc, crouched within the stifling confines of the upturned packing case, heard the recorded conversation with a sinking heart. After all, then, he had been mistaken. Ned was not in the place.
Some casualty of which he had no knowledge had occurred and in the catastrophe in some way Ned, his chum, his shipmate, had been drowned. Right then Herc would not have given a straw for his own life. The thought that Ned had perished, beat into his heart like a death knell.
Careless of what the consequences to himself might be, he was about to declare himself and trust to his fists to fight his way to liberty, when he hesitated.
Kenworth, he knew by this time to be a miscreant and perverter of the truth. Was it not possible, then, that he had purposely aired the report of Ned's supposed death in the hope that he (Herc) might hear him and in a moment of desperation give himself up?
The theory, based on what the Dreadnought Boy knew of the renegade midshipman, was at least tenable. After a moment's reflection Herc, now that the first shock was over, found himself unable to entertain the thought of Ned's death. It was impossible to believe that Ned Strong, the resourceful, the brave, had perished as Kenworth had described. If a weakling like the midshipman had escaped whatever disaster had happened, it was incredible that Ned had not saved himself.
"Give me a leg up, Saki,—quick; I want to be the first to confront that red-headed idiot."