The men on board set up a horrified shout. So short was the distance between the two craft that between the launching of the torpedo and the dreaded impact of its "war head" against the side of the destroyer seemed but an instant. It was a fearful instant, though, and lived long in the recollection of those who endured it.
The torpedo struck the side of the destroyer with a metallic clang. But no explosion followed. Instead, the implement floated harmlessly off.
"Phew!" exclaimed the officer, wiping his forehead. "What an escape! I thought we were all booked for Kingdom Come. Come, lads, man the oars quickly. We'll get those anarchistic rascals out of their rat-holes and make them suffer for this outrage. But what the dickens was the matter with that torpedo?" he muttered.
"I think I can explain, sir," rejoined Ned.
"By Jove, you can? Let's hear your explanation."
"You see, sir," said Ned, "while Herc and I were exploring that cabin, we found those torpedoes. Well, when an opportunity presented itself, I unscrewed the head of each, and withdrew the gun-cotton. But I was afraid that, after they marooned me, the anarchists might have examined them and found out what I'd done and reloaded them. But I'm confident now that they haven't."
"No, you've drawn their teeth with a vengeance. I tremble to think, though, what would have happened if they had had an opportunity to use one of the loaded ones. They're a sharp outfit of tricksters, too, with their disguised sloop."
"But not sharp enough to fool Uncle Sam," exclaimed Ned, as the boat was run alongside.
As it scraped the disguised sloop's side, a figure suddenly appeared on the deck. It was Herc. He made a flying leap for the boat, and landed in a heap in their midst.