Joy gave an extra blast on his bass horn, then sprang to his feet and began to caper around as if it were part of a grotesque dance.
“Good boy!” applauded Clif. “That’s right. That will catch the audience. Now give us the long slide and that will wind it up.”
Joy did give the “long slide,” and it brought him to the port. He was lean and lank and agile, and in the twinkling of an eye had reached out and grasped the spy by the hair.
Clif sprang to his aid, and the two dragged Judson, yelling and struggling, through the port where he was dangling from a rope leading to the top of the forecastle. The rope was cut and the end used to make Master Greene secure.
“Now, you confounded traitor!” cried Clif, “we’ve got you in a place from which you won’t escape in a hurry. You will spy on us, eh?”
“I’ve got the right to look in a port if I want to,” sullenly retorted the prisoner. “Let me go, or I’ll tell the captain.”
“Let him go? Not much!” chattered Nanny, excitedly. “He’s in the pay of the upper classes. I know it because I saw him talking to Ferguson and his gang. Let’s lick him.”
“No. A whipping would be altogether too good for him,” replied Clif, sternly. “We’ll gag the traitor and stow him under the stage until the performance is over.”
Judson set up a yell, but he was effectually squelched by Trolley and Toggles. A couple of towels were brought into use and he was speedily gagged and thrust into a corner.