"A prisoner on that sloop."
"Come, come, young man. You've been reading too many dime novels. Why, there isn't a court martial in the land that would believe such a cock-and-bull story. I'll wager that your chum Taylor is hiding some place around town while you came up here to try and raise some more money. I must say it was a nervy thing to do."
"Good heavens!" cried Ned. "Do you mean to say that you don't credit a word of my story?"
"Nary a word. A wilder yarn I never listened to, and I've served on all kinds of craft, man and boy, for a good many years. Now, let me give you a bit of advice, young fellow. When you are on trial, don't spring any such gammoning as you've told me. Just stick to the plain truth and you may get off lighter than you otherwise would."
Ned gasped. For an instant he almost lost control of himself. But he realized that, if he was to be of service to the fleet, he must keep his self-possession.
"When I rejoin the fleet," he said, "it won't be as a prisoner."
"Won't, eh? Don't be too sure of that," was the response.
A sudden heavy tramping was heard on the stairs.
The quartermaster flung open the door.
"Here he is now," he called out, "the fellow Strong. Take him into custody and lock him up till I arrange with the naval authorities to have him sent back to his ship."