“Nobody,” replied the Baron gently, “will use the wireless after we leave, for the simple reason that this ship’s wireless will not be in working order. Now we will go on deck.”
He led the way up the staircase without speaking further. At the entrance to the companionway, they were met by one of the Baron’s men.
“Beg to report, sir, that all decks have been cleared. Passengers and crew are locked in their cabins. The fires have been drawn and the wireless has been put out of commission.”
“Good. We shall shove off at once.”
The officer preceded them toward the gangway where a squad of armed seamen were drawn up.
“By Jove!” cried Osceola. “What’s become of the Flying Fish? She’s disappeared. Surely she can’t have submerged and carried the boats down with her.”
“No such luck,” muttered Bill sotto voce. “There she is, with her blooming boats in tow, off to the westward. She probably got underway about the time we went below. What’s the matter, Osceola? You seem to be in the dumps.”
“Well, I hate this work we’ve been doing, that’s all, Bill. Unless we can act pretty soon—do something to stop this robbing of innocent people, I’ll be so low, I’ll have to reach up to touch bottom!”
“Gosh, I’m with you. I could hardly keep quiet when that interview with the Conways took place. But tonight, we’ll talk. Keep smiling now—here we are at the gangway. Gee, we’re swiping the Orleans launch! I wondered how we were going to get back to the Amtonia.”
“These guys,” said Osceola disgustedly, “snatch everything that’s loose. What’s nailed down they pull up and charge the owners for the nails!”