The surgeon placed his head close to Clif’s mouth, examined his pulse and eyes, then reported, briefly:
“He is certainly under the influence of some strong stimulant, but I can’t detect any odor of liquor.”
Captain Brookes turned to the executive officer, and said:
“Place all of them under close arrest. See that they do not——”
He was interrupted by a faint knocking under his feet. A couple of planks were lifted and Judson Greene, perspiring and miserable, was lifted into view.
The rope and gag removed, he explained that he had been brutally set upon by Faraday and the other plebes, and thrown under the stage.
Just as he concluded his doleful tale, the surgeon, who had been poking about, discovered the pail which had contained the lemonade. A few cupfuls still remained in the bottom.
“What’s this?” he exclaimed, excitedly. “Hum! traces of chloral, and gin, and beer. Ye gods! what a combination! I must test the devilish mixture. Hum! no wonder the lads went crazy. Captain!”
That officer hastily joined him. Holding the pail at arm’s length, much as if it were a charge of dynamite, the surgeon continued:
“Here’s the solution to the secret, sir. I can see it plainly. It’s a trick, a dastardly trick to disgrace these poor lads.”