“That’s the sentry. Strong’s on deck all right,” whispered Lieutenant Parry. Then, in Ned’s voice, there came from above:
“A messenger from the deep sea. I have a message for Lieutenant-Commander Scott.”
“The explosion is due in about five minutes, Lockyer,” chuckled the naval officer blithely. “Oh, won’t Scott be in a fury,—and he always declared that submarines were useless in practical warfare.”
CHAPTER XIII.
A MESSENGER FROM THE DEEP.
“A messenger from where?” gasped the sentry, as Ned, barefooted and coatless, stood before him with the paper in hand.
“From the deep sea,” responded the Dreadnought Boy, with perfect gravity. “Will you have the goodness to have this note conveyed to Lieutenant-Commander Scott?”
“You be blowed!” rejoined the sentry, now over his first alarm, in which he had conceived Ned to be some sort of sea sprite. “You’re nothing but a blooming sto’away.”
“Oh no,” Ned assured him with unmoved gravity; “see, here’s the note. I’d advise you to have it sent forward without delay if you mean to avoid trouble.”