The verdict was coffee and Tom’s fork got busy in the bottom of a cup with half an egg.
“Don’t make such a silly lot of noise,” whispered Nelson.
“It isn’t me,” replied Tom, “it’s the egg cackling.”
“Where are we, Bob?” asked Nelson.
“Just passed the Navy Yard,” was the answer. “Hadn’t you better slow her down a bit?” Nelson followed the suggestion.
“We’ll be at the wharf before you get that luncheon ready, Tommy, if you don’t hurry,” said Nelson. Whereupon Tom flew around quite fast for him and the cheering aroma of coffee began to pervade the launch. And with it presently mingled the agreeable odor of corned-beef hash.
Suddenly from the other side of the door came the sound of a loud yawn and Tom dropped the spoon from his hand. Nelson got up from the step and stood ready. They listened intently. For a moment silence held. Then came the thud of boots on the floor and the creak of the berth as its occupant sat up. Nelson pointed over his shoulder and Tom streaked to the stairs and warned Bob, returning to take his place at Nelson’s side. Another yawn followed. Then the door was tried. There was a muttered word from beyond it and it creaked as the person in the stateroom put his shoulder against it. Nelson reached down and possessed himself of the biggest wrench in the tool kit. Then——
“That door’s bolted,” he called. “You stay where you are. If you make trouble it’ll be bad for you. We’re three to one and you’d better give up!” There was a long silence. Evidently the fellow in the stateroom was pondering the advice. At last, however——
“What yer goin’ ter do with me?” asked a deep, gruff voice in which Nelson thought he caught a tremor.
“We’re almost at New London and when we get there we’re going to give you up to the police and let you explain, if you can, why you ran off with our boat.”