Another instant and they were in the cabin lately occupied by the two Italians. Ned thrust an arm under the lower bunk. As he had expected, the box was there—a stout, black receptacle, bound at the corners with brass.
It had a lock on, but drawing his marlin-spike knife, Ned had it burst open in an instant. As he broke the lock there was a loud snap and a queer sound like the ticking of a loud clock was heard.
Tick-tock! Tick-tock!
Ned threw back the lid, and as the contents of the box lay before him, he gave a gasp. At first sight the interior of the thing looked not unlike the works of a clock. It was this machinery that was ticking. In one corner was a tiny hammer, raised above what seemed to be a percussion cap. Below this cap was a thick, gelatinous-looking stuff. As he saw this latter, Ned gave a cry, and thrusting his hand into the box, tore the machinery out of it and hurled it clean across the cabin.
“An infernal machine!” he gasped.
“What!” almost screamed Herc.
“Don’t you see,” shouted Ned excitedly; “this yellow stuff is nitro-glycerine. Enough to blow this boat to pieces. That clockwork, when set going, would, in due time, bring the hammer down on the percussion cap, touching off the diabolical affair, and——”
Before he could utter another word something sprang on him, encircling his neck, ape-like, with long arms. Ned saw a bright thing flash above him. Instinctively, he knew that it was a knife. Swiftly he threw up one arm and caught the descending blade in the nick of time. At the same instant, a scream of baffled rage rang out, as strong arms seized Guiseppi, who had sprung upon him, and dragged him off the Dreadnought Boy’s back.
In the doorway of the engine room Ignacio struggled, foaming and blaspheming, in Engineer Bowler’s grip, but the husky ex-foreman held him fast.
“Don’t squirm too lively, you bloomin’ dago,” he muttered, “or I might get nervous and tap you on the head with a wrench.”