"Yes, sir."
Eph hurried below to the port stateroom. Jack lay in the lower berth, Hal
in the upper. The two seamen, after feeling for pulse, stood by looking at
the unconscious submarine boys.
"What's been done to them?" demanded Eph.
"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?"
"Drugged, sir."
"Hm! Mr. Terrell and his detachment will return to this vessel."
The boat took them away. It was five minutes later when the boat returned,
bringing the lieutenant commander, Doctor McCrea, the surgeon, and a
sailor belonging to the hospital detachment aboard the "Hudson.
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