The ocean wireless boys of the iceberg patrol
sound of a man’s voice demanding attention broke in on Jack’s sad reverie at this juncture. It came from a circular grating, made for ventilation in the door of the cabin. Jack looked up and saw the face of one of the seamen looking in at him. The hard lines of the mariner’s countenance were illumined by the electric light within the cabin.

“Well, what’s the matter?” demanded Jack, rather petulantly.

The man, it was the one who had been addressed as Andrews by Captain Briggs, began speaking rapidly and cautiously.

“This here Captain Briggs,” he began, “we don’t like him no more than you do. I’ve sailed with him before. There’s a plot on foot to——”

The heavy footsteps of an officer approaching caused the face to vanish and the voice to cease. Outside, Jack recognized Mr. Mulliner’s voice giving an order.

“Andrews, you can get forward, you too, Jenks. There’s no need to stand on guard here. Give me the key.”

Jack listened and heard the men clump off in one direction. Then he heard the sound of Mr. Mulliner’s footsteps die out. He was left to his own reflections once more. His mind dwelt on the mysterious hint dropped by Andrews.

“There’s a plot on foot——” the man had said.

Jack wondered to himself if there was a mutiny brooding on board the Cambodian. There had been a seaman’s strike in New York when she sailed, and the crew was made up of all sorts of water-front riff-raff. Some of them were desperate-looking characters.

The young captive struggled with his ropes as these thoughts ran through his mind, But the knots had been tied by seamen, and try as he would he could not loosen them. The bonds began to impede his circulation and grow painful in the extreme.

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to reconcile myself to my fate till morning,” said Jack to himself resignedly. “Something tells me that this voyage is going to turn out to be not quite so tame as I thought. From what that fellow Andrews said, mutiny is afoot among the crew, and we are not yet forty-eight hours out of port.”

His reflections were startlingly interrupted.

The sharp crack of a revolver split the night from somewhere forward. Then came hoarse shouts and the sound of trampling feet.


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