As he lay, close to the railing, to recover his wind, he could hear two men talking in low tones and tried his best to catch what they were saying. But they were too far away or were talking in too low a tone, he was not sure which, for him to catch so much as a single word. He had the location of the gun well in mind and knew that it was about a dozen feet from where he was lying and, as soon as he was breathing easily again, he began to hitch his body toward it. There was not a breath of air stirring and the silence was so intense that he knew the slightest sound might betray his presence. But, on the other hand, he realized that haste was important as the fog might lift at any time. Still, as long as it remained calm, he had but little apprehension on that score.
As he worked himself along the voices became more distinct and, by the time his hand touched the base of the gun, he could tell that they were not more than ten or twelve feet away. Fortunately he was familiar with most models of machine guns, having had much practice with them at The Fortress, so he knew just what he was after, provided it was one with which he was acquainted. Carefully he reached up under the canvas and his heart jumped as his fingers touched a familiar thumb screw. Quickly unscrewing it he drew out a bolt without which he knew the gun would be useless. Working quickly but noiselessly he unscrewed and transferred to his pocket several other small parts until, satisfied that the gun was permanently out of commission unless they had a full complement of extra parts, which he doubted, he began to edge his way back.
The thought as to whether he would be able to locate the anchor chain with his feet had been giving him considerable concern but, before he reached the railing, an interruption came with a suddenness that was, to say the least, disconcerting. He thought he must be nearly to the place where he had come over and was reaching out with his hand to feel for the rod when his fingers closed on an ankle.
"What the Sam Hill!"
The man jerked his foot away and Bob held his breath. How he had gotten past him without his knowledge was more than the boy could figure out, but he was there and that was enough for the time being. Should he be discovered and captured it would, he knew, be a most serious matter, not only for him, but for the others as well, as they would doubtless hold him as a hostage to accomplish their ends. All this ran through his mind like lightning as he waited to see what move the man would make. It seemed a long time, but in reality, was only a matter of seconds, before he reached down and his powerful hand grasped the boy by his right shoulder.
"What yer doin' creepin' down thar like a bloomin' snake?" he demanded.
Bob did not dare reply fearing that his accent would betray him but he realized that silence would be a no less sure cause for suspicion.
"Why don't yer answer?" the man boomed in a loud voice which must have been audible all over the boat.
And then Bob acted. Reaching with both hands he grabbed the man's ankle and with a sudden jerk pulled his feet from beneath him and he came down with a loud grunt of surprise. At the same instance another gruff voice boomed out only a few feet away.
"Wot's the matter, Jake?"