Leaping past his companions, he disappeared down the ladder leading to the lower deck. Joy and Trolley tumbled after him.
They found themselves in a much larger apartment than that forward. It was not furnished so comfortably, containing only a few benches, a swinging table and half a dozen hammocks.
A pile of broken crockery occupied one corner, and swinging from hooks were several pans, and strings of tin cups.
Forward of the larger apartment was another, also containing hammocks. In this latter room were several chests, one being marked with a name in black letters. It was evidently the name of the torpedo boat. It ran:
“That settles the nationality,” said Clif.
He peered about the apartments, but nowhere could he see a man or anything resembling a man. The voice had surely come from this part of the ship.
“Hello! hello!” called out Joy, stamping his foot. “_Qui, qui, monseer, avec vous_ in here anywhere?”
Clif was compelled to smile at the lanky cadet’s attempt at French. He had studied it at home himself sufficiently to read and understand, but he could not speak it correctly.
“This is certainly strange,” he said, poking behind the chests. “Where in the deuce is the fellow?”
“Maybe he in fire-room,” suggested Trolley.
“That’s so. Let me see, the only way to get in there is by way of the hatch on deck. We’ll try it.”
After another thorough search the three boys started to ascend the ladder. Just as Clif, who was last, reached the conning tower, a shrill, queer voice broke out behind him:
“C’est epatant qu’en Angleterre. Y’ait des Anglais.”
It was a snatch of a recent popular Parisian air!
The cadets stood as if turned to stone. The voice came from almost directly under their feet. And the tone! And the words!
Clif felt his hair tingle, and a cold shiver run down his back. It was uncanny, to say the least.
Trolley, ordinarily jolly, had an expression much like that of a man who had met a ghost in a dark wood. And Joy was not a whit better.
“Guess the d-d-darned thing’s too much for me,” he said, shakily. “Suppose we go on deck and th-think it over?”
“Not much,” replied Clif, but with no great emphasis. “There’s a man down there somewhere, either sick or crazy, and it’s our duty to find him.”