“Brick top’s in trouble again,” whispered the boat’s crew.
“I can’t make out how he could vanish on board a small ship like this,” exclaimed the ensign in a puzzled tone. “Confound that boy, he’s always getting into some mischief or other.”
“Had we better scatter and look for him, sir?” inquired Ned.
“Yes, do so. Carry on, and be as quick as you can. The commander will be seriously annoyed if we don’t hurry back on board.”
The men followed Ned below. All sorts of conjectures were made as to what had become of their ship-mate. In the meantime, Herc was shouting his head off in the cell and realizing to the full the horrors of solitary confinement in such a place.
But the door was thick and his voice hardly penetrated outside. It was by the merest chance that one of the men caught a faint echo of his yells. He reported to Ned at once and they traced the sounds to the door.
“Is that you, Herc?” shouted Ned through the door.
“Yes, what’s left of me. Wow! Let me out of here quick, if you ever want to see me again before I’m melted.”
The skipper of the Victory was summoned and the door was soon opened. Out came a very red-faced, perspiring Dreadnought Boy.
“Well, you’re a nice specimen,” exclaimed Ned. “How in the world did you get into such a fix?”