"I've no idea, sir," was Ned's reply.
"Guess they were crazy, or had been drinking, or something."
"Possibly that was it, Mr. Shrike." But in the Dreadnought Boy's mind he had reached a far different conclusion. The shots that whistled about them had not been aimed by any irresponsible hand, of that he was sure. They had been aimed to do harm. That they had not succeeded was due to good fortune more than anything else. There were only certain men whom Ned could think of who could be guilty of such an outrage. Those men were the implacable enemies of himself and Herc.
"Better cruise about a bit till I get dried out," said the middy presently. "If they ask us why we dropped like that, I'll say we were trying out the pontoons, eh?"
Ned agreed. He did not countenance untruths or an approach to them, as a rule, but in this case he felt that to tell the whole story might get Midshipman Shrike in trouble, as well as involve him in some difficulties. However, he resolved that if questions were asked, he would tell the truth, as he would then have no other recourse. But, to his relief, no interrogations were put to him, and he supposed that the midshipman had explained the case, as was, indeed, the fact.
Soon after their return, Ned winged back to the shore. Here he was the recipient of more congratulations, but his mind was busy elsewhere than with his signal triumph in aerial navigation. As soon as he got a chance, he sought out Herc. The astonishment of the freckle-faced Dreadnought Boy, on hearing the news, may be imagined.
"Then you are sure that it was Muller and that crowd?" he asked.
"Practically certain," rejoined Ned. "Who else would have done such a thing?"
"Do you think they have some rendezvous in the neighborhood?"
"I'm sure of it. Their possession of the sloop indicates that. I'd like to unearth their hiding-place and put the rascals to rout."