“The same old knockout drops, sir, that sailors in all parts of the world know so well, sir, I think,” answered one of the men, with a quiet grin.
“Humph!” gritted Eph, bending over Jack's face. “Smell his breath.”
“Yes, sir,” said the sailor, obeying.
“There's no smell of liquor, there, is there?”
“No, sir,” admitted the sailor, looking up, rather puzzled.
“There is some infernally mean trick in all this,” growled Eph. “I am mighty sorry we didn't bring those rascals back with us.”
When he went on deck again the submarine boy relieved Mr. Terrell at the wheel, completing the run in to moorings.
“Did you find your comrades aboard the sloop, Mr. Somers?” hailed the lieutenant commander, from the gunboat.
“Yes, sir.”
“Are they all right?”