“Aren’t you going to take those two—body-snatchers?” demanded Eph, glaring
venomously at the pair on the sloop.

“My instructions don’t cover that, sir,” replied the cadet midshipman.

“Then hang your orders!” muttered young Somers, but he kept the words
behind his teeth. Eph veered off, next headed about, while the two seamen
bore Jack and Hal below to their berths.

“Will you take the wheel, Mr. Terrell?” asked Eph, edging away, with one
hand on the spokes.

“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.