"YOU ARE A PRISONER OF THE GOVERNMENT!"

He found it without much difficulty. It was located in a building in the centre of the town. The Stars and Stripes hung from the doorway. Ned saluted the flag as he passed under it. His heart beat more hopefully, and his step lightened and quickened. Already he felt as if his troubles were over.

A rather gruff-looking, red-faced quartermaster was in charge. He looked up sharply from a paper-littered desk as Ned entered.

"Well," he said quickly, "what can I do for you?"

"A good deal," rejoined Ned, and launched into his story forthwith.

"Humph!" said the man, when he concluded, "and so you want money to rejoin the fleet at Blackhaven?"

"Yes," said Ned. "I have, as I hinted, a good reason for my request. If I had had the money, I should have lost no time in communicating with Lieutenant De Frees."

"Humph! By the way, just tell me your name, young man."

"Strong—Ned Strong," rejoined Ned.

The red-faced man grew redder than ever, and burrowed among his papers like an industrious rabbit. At last he unearthed what he wanted and scanned it closely. He kept glancing from the paper to Ned, and from Ned to the paper, till the lad felt quite embarrassed. At last he finished.

"Humph!" he said, with his usual preparatory clearing of the throat, "so you are Ned Strong. It's a lucky thing you came in here, Strong."

"How is that?" asked Ned, with a smile. "Of course, I hope it's lucky for me," he added quickly.

"Humph! No, it's lucky for me," insisted the other.

"Is that so?" asked Ned, not knowing just what else to say.

The red-faced man rose to his feet, and, without another word, went into an adjoining room. Ned could hear him telephoning, but could not catch the words. He came back presently and sat down at his table once more.

"Can you advance me the money?" demanded Ned. "It's very important, you know, that I should start as soon as possible."

"Oh, yes; humph! by all means; humph! the money is on its way from the bank now."

"Thank you," said Ned simply.

"It must be a large sum," he thought to himself.

He picked up a paper that lay near at hand. Idly, to pass the time, he scanned it. Sandwiched in amidst the sensational news—for which Ned's wholesome mind did not care—was a headline that caught his eye:

"Fleet Sails for Blackhaven."

Ned's heart pounded violently. The recollection of that fluttering wireless message he had caught came back to him. With it, also, came a vivid remembrance of the torpedoes under the floor of the anarchists' craft.

Suddenly another item caught his eye:

"Mysterious Happening at Naval Aero Station—Two Navy Aviators Missing With Sum of Money."

All at once Ned caught his own name and then Herc's. The type swam before him for an instant, but he steadied his vision and read on. The paper gave a sensational account of their mysterious disappearance from the hotel in Bartonville. It also stated that Herc had drawn some of the money intrusted to their care just before he left.

"The men are being sought for by the department," the despatch added, "and when arrested will be summarily dealt with. Every recruiting office and naval station in the country, as well as the police, have been notified."

Ned looked up from his paper with startled eyes. He caught the gaze of the red-faced quartermaster fixed accusingly on him.

"So you've read it?" said that dignitary.

"I've read a lot of sensational rubbish," was the hot reply.

"Not half so sensational or rubbishy as what you've told me," sniffed the quartermaster.

"That being the case," said Ned hotly, "I shall not bother you further. Good afternoon."

"Hold on there! Humph! humph! Not so fast!" exclaimed the other, rising and stepping swiftly between Ned and the door, "you've to wait here a while."

"Wait!" echoed Ned. "I can't wait. Why, man alive, the safety of the fleet depends on my reaching there."

"Oh, nonsense! You don't mean to say you've brooded over that story so much you believe it yourself?"

Ned was first thunderstruck and then horrified. In living through the extraordinary events of the recent past, it had never struck him how fantastic and impossible they would seem to the average man.

"But it's true, I tell you! I can prove it, every word!" he burst out.

"How?"

"Why, by my shipmate, Hercules Taylor."

"Where is he?"

"A prisoner on that sloop."

"Come, come, young man. You've been reading too many dime novels. Why, there isn't a court martial in the land that would believe such a cock-and-bull story. I'll wager that your chum Taylor is hiding some place around town while you came up here to try and raise some more money. I must say it was a nervy thing to do."

"Good heavens!" cried Ned. "Do you mean to say that you don't credit a word of my story?"

"Nary a word. A wilder yarn I never listened to, and I've served on all kinds of craft, man and boy, for a good many years. Now, let me give you a bit of advice, young fellow. When you are on trial, don't spring any such gammoning as you've told me. Just stick to the plain truth and you may get off lighter than you otherwise would."

Ned gasped. For an instant he almost lost control of himself. But he realized that, if he was to be of service to the fleet, he must keep his self-possession.

"When I rejoin the fleet," he said, "it won't be as a prisoner."

"Won't, eh? Don't be too sure of that," was the response.

A sudden heavy tramping was heard on the stairs.

The quartermaster flung open the door.

"Here he is now," he called out, "the fellow Strong. Take him into custody and lock him up till I arrange with the naval authorities to have him sent back to his ship."

As he spoke, several heavy-footed men filed into the room. They all bore the unmistakable stamp of the country constable.

Ned's tongue almost stuck to the roof of his mouth, it grew so dry. Every nerve in his body quivered. Was it possible that all this was real? It seemed more like an ugly nightmare.

"Look here," he exclaimed, in a voice he tried to render calm and collected, "this has gone far enough. Everything can be explained. But you mustn't lock me up now. Let me go back to the fleet. There is a conspiracy on foot to destroy some of the ships. I must warn——"

A rough laugh interrupted him.

"What kind er moonshine be that, young chap?" grinned the constable. "Yer don't go ter thinkin' we puts any stock in such talk as thet, do yer? If yer do, yer mus' think we're 'dunderheads' jes 'cos this is Dundertown. Na-ow, come on! Air you comin' quiet, or air yer comin' rough?"

Ned turned to the quartermaster, who stood pompously puffed up, surveying the civil authorities with a patronizing air.

"Remember, officer," he said, "humph! the prisoner is not a civil prisoner. He is only placed in your temporary care by me as a representative of the United States government."

"Ve-ree well," rejoined the constable; "we'll take care of him, by heck! Jes' bin pinin' ter put some 'un in ther new jail. Thet reminds me, we've got another prisoner ter pick up daown ter ther circus grounds."

"His name isn't Taylor, this chap's companion, humph?" demanded the quartermaster.

"No. It's jes' a pickpocket. We'll go by the circus on our way to ther lock-up. It's only a step out'n our way. Come on, young feller."

He extended a pair of handcuffs. Ned burned with shame and mortification. Suddenly he bethought himself of Sam and all the picnic party at the circus. What if they should see him with handcuffs on? What would they think?

"For heaven's sake," he begged, "don't put those things on me. I'll give you my word of honor not to try to escape if you don't."

"Wa-al, I dunno," said the constable doubtfully, "handcuffs is reg-lar, but——"

"Put them on him—humph!" shrilled the quartermaster.

Luckily, this ill-natured interruption turned the tide in Ned's favor.

"Say, quartermaster," snapped the constable, "this man is er civil prisoner, fer the time being, an' what I say goes. Don't you go ter buttin' in."

"Ain't you going to put handcuffs on him?" exclaimed the naval officer.

"No, I bean't."

"I order you to."

"Keep yer orders fer ther navy. I'm constable uv this taown, an' I say this prisoner don't wear 'em."

"I'll report you to—to the president," was the tremendous threat of the pompous quartermaster, who had turned as red as an angry turkey cock.

"Even ther president of this United States ain't a-goin' ter say ha-ow things is to be run in Dundertown," snapped the constable. He laid a hand on Ned's elbow.

"Come on, young man," he said, "you promised to come quietly, remember."

Ned turned imploringly to the quartermaster.

"You have taken the oath of allegiance to the navy," he said passionately. "Now act up to it. Find some means to warn the fleet at Blackhaven that anarchists are going to try to torpedo some of the ships. Warn them against a black sloop with a red line round her bulwarks."

"Warn them against a fiddlestick!" sniffed the quartermaster. "Who ever heard such nonsense? Humph!"

Ned almost groaned aloud as he was ushered out, with a deputy on either side of him. But he managed to control himself. The lad had been in many tight places in foreign lands, and in active service. But not one of them had been more trying to bear up under than this disaster that had befallen him in a peaceful country town in his native land.

"When will my case be heard?" Ned asked, as they reached the street. He was in hopes that if it was to come up immediately he could convince the magistrate, or whatever dignitary he was tried by, that his arrest was absolutely unjustified.

"Wa-al, squire won't be back to ta-own till day arter ter-morrer," was the reply that dashed his hopes. "Anyhow, he couldn't do nuthin' fer yer. We're only holding yer here. You're a prisoner of the United States government."

Those were the bitterest words that Ned had ever heard. They seemed to sear his very being.