Carl was in a daze. That serenade of his, which had proved a farce, seemed to be leading up to something tragic.
[CHAPTER III.]
THE SHADOW OF TREACHERY.
"What's our next billet going to be, matey?" inquired Dick Ferral, sprawling out comfortably on top of the long locker in the periscope room.
Matt was just coming down the ladder after putting the riding lights in position.
"Wish I knew, Dick," he answered, switching on the incandescent in the periscope room and dropping down on a low stool.
"I had a dream last night," and Dick gave a short laugh as he spoke. "I was doing as sound a caulk as ever I did in my life when that dream jumped in on me, and it was so blooming realistic that it brought me up in my bed with a yell."
"You must have been eating chili con carne, or some of the other hot stuff they have down here, before you went to bed. The peppery grub they give you in Belize would make a wooden Indian have the nightmare! But what was it, old chap? You've got me interested."
"It was about Fingal."