"Where are we going with him?"
"Keep still!" snapped Shalleg in a tense whisper. "Do you want someone to hear us?"
"Who, him?"
"No, someone on these ships. We're right alongside of 'em yet. Keep still; can't you!"
Wessel subsided, but one of Joe's questions was answered. There were other problems yet unsolved, though. What were they going to do with him? He could only wait and learn.
The bandage was still over his eyes, and he tried, by wrinkling the skin of his forehead, to work it loose. But he could not succeed. He wished he could have some glimpse, even a faint one, in the darkness, of where he was, though perhaps it would have done him little good.
"Take the oars now," directed Shalleg, after a pause. "I guess it's safe to row out a bit. There aren't so many craft here now. But go easy."
"Hadn't we better show a light?" asked the man who had twisted Joe's arm. "We might be run down!"
"Light nothing!" exclaimed Shalleg, who now spoke somewhat above a whisper. "I don't want some police launch poking her nose up here. It's light enough for us to see to get out of the way if anything comes along. I'm not going to answer any hails."
"Oh, all right," was the answer.