"Keep yer orders fer ther navy. I'm constable uv this taown, an' I say this prisoner don't wear 'em."
"I'll report you to—to the president," was the tremendous threat of the pompous quartermaster, who had turned as red as an angry turkey cock.
"Even ther president of this United States ain't a-goin' ter say ha-ow things is to be run in Dundertown," snapped the constable. He laid a hand on Ned's elbow.
"Come on, young man," he said, "you promised to come quietly, remember."
Ned turned imploringly to the quartermaster.
"You have taken the oath of allegiance to the navy," he said passionately. "Now act up to it. Find some means to warn the fleet at Blackhaven that anarchists are going to try to torpedo some of the ships. Warn them against a black sloop with a red line round her bulwarks."
"Warn them against a fiddlestick!" sniffed the quartermaster. "Who ever heard such nonsense? Humph!"
Ned almost groaned aloud as he was ushered out, with a deputy on either side of him. But he managed to control himself. The lad had been in many tight places in foreign lands, and in active service. But not one of them had been more trying to bear up under than this disaster that had befallen him in a peaceful country town in his native land.
"When will my case be heard?" Ned asked, as they reached the street. He was in hopes that if it was to come up immediately he could convince the magistrate, or whatever dignitary he was tried by, that his arrest was absolutely unjustified.
"Wa-al, squire won't be back to ta-own till day arter ter-morrer," was the reply that dashed his hopes. "Anyhow, he couldn't do nuthin' fer yer. We're only holding yer here. You're a prisoner of the United States government."