“Think of what it would have meant to Mr. Lockyer if you had succeeded in undoing the work of a lifetime,” rejoined Ned. “No, Anderson, I’m sorry for you, but you’ve got to take your medicine. I advise you to take it like a man. In any event, it is not for us to decide this matter. That must be left to Mr. Lockyer.”
“Oh, cut out that preachy-preachy, and tell us what you are going to do with us,” growled Gradbarr defiantly.
Now this was a bit of a problem. They could not very well manage the risky business of marching their prisoners out of the yard in the darkness. Too many opportunities for escape presented themselves. Suddenly the solution flashed upon Ned. There was a heavy bar on the outside, or cabin side, of the bulkhead door. He would drive them into the torpedo room and deprive them of their tools. Then, with the door locked, they could be safely left in there till he summoned aid.
“March into that torpedo room,” he ordered, emphasizing his command by leveling his revolver.
“Confound you, I’ll see you hanged first,” snarled Gradbarr, making as if he was about to dare all and risk a dash for freedom. But something in the glint of Ned’s eyes at that instant stopped him.
“Are you going to get into that room, Gradbarr?” inquired the Dreadnought Boy, quietly and without a quaver in his voice, though his heart was beating wildly. What if the fellow wouldn’t go? Ned would not—could not—shoot him down in cold blood. Fortunately, however, Gradbarr gave sullen acquiescence to the sharp order by turning and reëntering the room in which the lamp still stood on the floor. Anderson, whining and pleading by turns, followed him.
“Pick up their tools, Herc, while I keep them covered,” ordered Ned.
In a few minutes the red-headed lad had the tools gathered up, while Ned kept two unwavering revolvers pointed at his prisoners.
“All ready, Ned,” said Herc, at length.
“Then get that lantern and follow me. Don’t move,” ordered Ned, slowly backing out and not allowing his weapons to deviate an inch.