The cabin was plainly furnished. An electric light was burning, but the porthole had been previously closed and locked. Overhead an electric fan was buzzing, while fresh air was admitted by means of ventilation pipes communicating with the open air.
"We might do worse," remarked O'Hara as he proceeded to undress. "The rotten part of it is, we can't see what's going on outside. The beggars have cooped us up pretty well."
"They are evidently busy," said Stirling, as the bustling of some hundreds of men was plainly audible above the hum of the fan. "Perhaps they do the worst of their dirty work during the hours of darkness."
The three officers proceeded to make an examination of their quarters. The walls were of pitch-pine, but upon O'Hara sacrificing one of his razors, it was found that the woodwork merely formed a casing to a thin steel bulkhead. The ceiling, too, was of steel, coated with a patent cement to preserve the metal and to prevent "sweating". The door was of steel, and was fitted with a "jalousie" or latticed shutter; but their captors had taken the precaution of bolting a solid metal plate over the opening.
"Not much chance for anyone who happens to be a somnambulist," said Denbigh. "Well, it's no use kicking against the pricks when you're barefooted. I'm going to turn in. By Jove, I do feel horribly sleepy."
"And so do I," added Stirling, unable to stifle a terrific yawn.
"I believe I'm asleep already," muttered O'Hara drowsily.
A moment later the three chums were lost in oblivion. An opiate secretly administered by the doctor had been mixed with their food. So soundly did they sleep that they were unaware of a terrific crash that took place during the middle watch—the explosion of a torpedo launched from the supposed Dutch liner at a large French vessel.
Von Riesser had risked an example of frightfulness. The huge, heavily-charged missile—powerful enough to sink the largest battleship afloat within a couple of hours from the moment of impact—had literally torn to pieces the lightly-built hull of its victim. Before the luckless passengers and crew rushed for the boats—and these were for the most part shattered—the French craft sunk like a stone.
It was not until the sun was almost overhead that Pat O'Hara awoke. The deadlight of the porthole had been unshipped and the cabin was flooded with dazzling sunlight.