“We’ve got to find out what’s aft,” he said, after a pause. “Nanny, you remain on deck and keep watch while Trolley, Joy and I go below.”
“Do you think it’s the old Monongahela?” asked the lanky plebe, staring at the distant sail.
“Hard to say. It may be. I wish we could make some kind of a signal.”
“Why not start a smoke?” suggested Nanny, brightly. “We can make a fire on this iron deck and——”
“We’ll do it in the furnaces,” hastily interrupted Clif. “It’s a good idea.”
He ran along the sloping top of the torpedo boat and was soon tugging away at the door of the after conning tower. He knew from previous study on the subject that crafts of that class have the crew’s quarters in the stern.
The hull is too narrow for passage from one end to the other, and all communications must necessarily be made by way of the upper deck. The mysterious noise had come from this part of the craft, Clif reasoned, so if there were any one on board they would be found in the after apartments.
The combined efforts of the three boys finally sprung the door open. As it yielded they hastily jumped aside. Their experience with one dead man was sufficient.
“I guess the supply has run short,” said Clif, grimly, as he peered into the circular room.
“Everything looks shipshape down there,” remarked Joy, pointing to where a glimpse of the lower interior could be seen. “Come on.”