"They'd hardly dare to do that," he rejoined; "this is the twentieth century, and such things as law and order prevail. No, I guess they have some sort of trickery on hand with which we might interfere, and they mean to keep us locked up here till they have carried out their rascally plans."
"Talking of plans, did they take back the ones of the pontoon aeroplane?"
"No," exclaimed Ned, brightening, "thank goodness that's one thing they seem to have forgotten. Anyhow I suppose they know they have us at their mercy and can get them any time they want them."
"Reckon that's it," agreed Herc.
Silence ensued. The two boys sat side by side in the pitchy blackness of their prison, for Ned, anxious to reserve it for emergencies, had extinguished the electric torch. Neither of them was a nervous sort of youth, but the long vigil in the dark was enough to get on anybody's nerves.
"This is certainly a tough situation," remarked Ned after a time. He spoke more for the sake of hearing his own voice than for any novel idea the words might convey.
"Not giving up, are you, Ned?" inquired Herc.
"Giving up?" grated out the elder Dreadnought Boy, "I'm like Paul Jones—I've just begun to fight."
"When did Paul Jones say that?" asked Herc.
"Why, that time that the British captain, Pearson, peered through the smoke surrounding his majesty's ship Serapis and the little Bonhomme Richard.