“What do you want me to do?”
“Well, first, I want you to leave that high explosive right where it is. Then I want you to deposit all your sidearms on the floor, and have your men do likewise.”
The German had had his lesson and arrived at the conclusion that valor without discretion is not good business. He slipped his belt off and let it drop to the floor; at a word from him his men did likewise, whereupon Daniels stood up, threw on the electric switch, and revealed himself and his artillery to the gaze of the invaders.
“Forward; in a bunch, up the gangway!” he ordered.
They obeyed. As the Texan passed the little heap of belts, with the automatics in the holsters attached, he gathered them up and followed. Just before the procession reached the main deck he halted them and whistled—whereupon Michael J. Murphy, Terence P. Reardon and Cappy Ricks came to the edge of the hatch and peered over.
“Well, look who's here!” Cappy exclaimed maliciously. “Five nice little pirates, who would sink my Narcissus without so much as a be-damned to you! Mike, bring the irons. Terence, my boy, restrain yourself. If you use that monkey wrench until I give the word the Blue Star Navigation Company will have a new port engineer. Undress these fellows. Just remove their caps and outer garments—and be quick about it.”
“Tell them to molt—muy pronto!” Sam Daniels ordered the lieutenant, who relayed the order in a voice that had in it a suspicion of tears.
In three minutes they were undressed and handcuffed together; leg irons were put on them, and they were expeditiously gagged and chained to a stanchion.
“Now then, Terence, I have work for you and your monkey wrench,” Cappy continued. “You're about the same size as this officer. Into his dungarees and uniform cap; and don't forget to slip on his belt, with the automatic.”
“In two shakes av a lamb's tail, sor. What next?”