“Sing away while you’ve got the chance,” muttered Stanley grimly. “You’ll sing a different tune before long.” Suddenly out of the blackness ahead something flashed from a low point of land. “A red light!” exclaimed Ned. “Red light ahead, sir!” warned Stanley hoarsely. “Ay, ay, I see it,” breathed the middy. “We’re on the old fox’s hole now.” All at once the speed of the launch, which had been as steady as an automobile, suddenly checked. She began to drop behind. “Consarn it! what’s the trouble now?” growled Stanley, while the middy skipped aft. “What’s the matter, my man?” he asked of the solitary figure bending over the engine. “Don’t know, sir. The motor’s slowing down.” “Well, fix her, and fix her quick. We can’t afford to lose time now.” “Sorry, sir,” muttered the engineer, “but it may take some time to locate the trouble.” He bent over the engine and appeared to be deep in efforts to adjust it. But Ned’s quick ear had caught a sound which sent him leaping back along the length of the launch’s cockpit. Hastily he bent over the engine and felt a bearing. It was hot to the touch, and he withdrew his hand sharply, but some substance clung to it. In the light of the single lamp illumining the motor he extended his palm for the officer’s inspection. “Sand, sir!” “You scoundrel, were you trying to cripple the motor?” shot out the middy, his eyes flashing. The engineer turned up a white, scared face. As the light of the lantern illumined it Ned could not suppress a cry of surprise and recognition. The man was the same who had dived overboard for the letter from the fishing boat, and who had aroused the boy’s suspicion on other occasions. “Why, no, sir!” exclaimed the man in an injured tone. “You see, we keep sand to extinguish a fire in case one starts from the gasoline. I guess some of it got sprinkled on the bearing.” “And I think you’re lying,” muttered Ned, as he rapidly cleansed the bearing and the launch once more shot ahead. Now the red light was swinging to and fro on the point as if it were a signal. “I guess the revolutionists are camped there as thick as flies round molasses,” hazarded Stanley. “What are we to do, sir--keep on?” “Yes, keep on!” ordered the middy in a tense voice. Though he strove to keep them calm, his accents were vibrant with suppressed excitement. “Cut in there, Stanley, cut in!” he exclaimed suddenly, as the launch in the lead began to turn her nose toward the shore. By this time the naval launch had forged up into an inside position, and lay between the revolutionaries’ craft and the point. If there was shoal water there should be no difficulty in cutting the gun-runner off. “Full speed ahead, and no monkeying with those engines,” grated out the middy, with so fierce a look that the engineer instantly obeyed.