Footsteps could be heard coming down the corridor. It was a noise
like a discipline officer.

Three doors above that of the room occupied by our midshipman friends
were opened, one after the other. Then a hand rested on the knob of
the door to Dave and Dan's room. The door was opened, and the rays
of a pocket electric light flashed into the room.

Dan lay on one side, an arm thrown out of bed, his breathing regular
but a trifle loud. Dave Darrin had again found recourse to a snore.

In an instant the door closed. Any discipline officer ought to
be satisfied with what this one had seen.

"Safe!" chuckled Dalzell.

"An awfully close squeak," whispered Dave across the intervening
room.

"What if he had started his rounds ten minutes earlier?"

"He didn't, though," replied Dan contentedly.

Now another set of footsteps passed hurriedly along the "deck" outside.

"What's that?" questioned a voice sharply. "You say that you saw
some one entering a room from the upper end of the terrace?"

"Oh, by George," groaned Dan Dalzell, now beginning to shiver