The officer coolly affixed the sealed document in his hand to the mainmast.
Captain Broadbeam wriggled, fumed, groaned. He was too thorough a seaman to mistake his predicament. His brow grew dark and threatening.
"Bob, quick, come here."
With a violent jerk Dave Fearless pulled his startled chum to one side.
"Quick as you can," he spoke rapidly, "rush to the purser. Tell him to instantly send me up a rag that has been well saturated in turpentine."
"Why, Dave----"
"No questions, no delay," ordered Dave peremptorily.
Bob shot away on his mission, Dave set his teeth, breathing hard. In a flash a sinister suspicion had arisen in his mind. Like lightning memory flew back to the overheard interview on the porch of the native pilot between that crafty individual and the tricky Schmitt-Schmitt.
"He said he could delay the Swallow, he hinted at spots, some paint, at washing them off," mused Dave. "Good for you. Hold on."
Dave snatched the rag soaked with turpentine from Bob Vilett's hands. He ran forward now to where his friends were depressedly watching Tompkins arranging his shirt to replace it.