A sigh of relief went up.
“Proper move,” muttered the surgeon. “Should have stopped them before. Guess I’ll try a trip to the top and see if I can coax him down.”
He made the suggestion at once, and the commander gave prompt consent. It was a ticklish task for his unaccustomed feet, but he finally arrived within speaking distance of the young fugitive.
The two held a very brief conversation, then the surgeon returned to the deck. His face wore a queer expression.
“That boy is no more crazy than I am,” he reported. “But he’s simply scared out of his wits. He declares he won’t come down until a certain cadet is sent up to him.”
“Who, in Heaven’s name?” demanded the captain.
“Mr. Clif Faraday.”
“Why does he wish to see him?”
The surgeon shook his head.
“I don’t know, sir,” he replied. “He insists on it. Possibly it would be a good idea to humor him.”