Ned’s eyes burned as they swept the room.
“Schmidt and his friends are prisoners on the roof of that outer room,” he announced. “Within half an hour they will be in the hands of the police. Outside this place I have a patrol. Are you men willing to surrender, or shall I have to call in the picket to take you back shackled to the ship?”
There was an instant’s hesitation while the men stared at the calm-spoken Dreadnought Boy as if they could hardly believe their eyes. Then old Harness Cask spoke up:
“We’ll go with you, sir. Will you make it easy for us when we get on board?”
“I’m not committing myself,” spoke Ned grimly. “Forward march!”
Like lambs the stragglers formed in twos, looking foolish and crestfallen. Out they marched with Ned behind them, while the loafers in the place cowered in corners, meditating instant escape as soon as Ned and his prisoners vanished.
Before they reached the street, Ned blew his whistle and sounded the shrill summons to his patrol which he had notified them would be the signal for them to join him. As they appeared at the top of the steps, reënforced now by the two men who had taken Sharp and Manners to the steamer, Herc shouted out:
“It’s all right, Ned. We’re coming to your rescue. Hold fast, old fellow!”
“All right, boys,” hailed Ned; “it’s all over but the shouting. Just take these fellows in charge and march them down to the steamer and wait there for me. I’ve a little more work to do yet.”
To say that Ned’s patrol was astonished as they saw the sheepish captives file out of the Fair Wind to the street, would be to put it mildly. As Herc might have said, they were completely flabbergasted.