Aboard the airship this unlucky wight received the kindest attention, and indeed was soon snugly curled up in a bunk in the men's quarters. No one suspected he was other than he pretended to be, an unfortunate fisherman from the shores of Nova Scotia. No one aboard recognized the man as Adolf Fruhmann. But it was he, Carl Reitberg's rascally lieutenant, and once more crew and passengers and airship were in imminent danger. CHAPTER XX Adolf Fruhmann's Venture Never perhaps was there a more exaggerated example of base ingratitude, of trickery, of cunning, and of calculated rascality than that instanced by the presence of the ruffian, Adolf Fruhmann, aboard the great airship. Snug in his bunk, feigning exhaustion and illness after exposure and privation, the wretch successfully evaded the ken of Joe and his friends while sending messages of the profoundest gratitude to them. "All so much dust," he sniggered beneath the bed-clothes, for only the top of his head was showing. "Just a little more dust in their eyes to blind 'em. It just makes me roar when I think how the scheme acted, and Carl saying all the while that it wouldn't. Well, he pays, pays all the more handsomely." He went off into a paroxysm of silent laughter, which shook the bunk and brought the tender-hearted Hawkins to his side within a moment. "Eh, mate?" he asked gently enough, for your sailor or your soldier attendant is the very best of fellows, as gentle as any woman, and often almost as clever where nursing is necessary. "Eh, mate? Got the shivers? Fever? Well, I've had it, and it ain't too agreeable. But Mr. Andrew'll put you right. He's the doctor aboard this ship, and a good 'un. I'll send along for him." "Please," gurgled the wretch in the bunk, still keeping his head hidden. "Please, I'm as cold as an icicle at times, and then boiling hot. I'm dying." "Not you, mate," came from the encouraging Hawkins, who hastened away at once so that he might save this derelict fisherman some suffering. And Mr. Andrew was equally solicitous. "Come, let us have a look at you, my friend," he begged, arriving in the men's quarters. "Show your face and so let me judge what is the matter." The crafty Fruhmann complied in a measure. He roused himself on to one elbow, and then fell backward as if the effort had weakened him. Then he pushed the clothes back from his face with one hand, keeping the other firmly across his eyes. "Can't see," he mumbled. "Almost blind after those days and nights in the open. Don't dare to open my eyes." Andrew left him with a draught, and a caution to Hawkins to see that the wide windows of the men's quarters were curtained. "Shade the electric light when it gets dark," he said. "No doubt he is suffering with his eyes. I've known the same with men lost in the backwoods of Canada in the winter. There, my friend, a few days will put you right. You'll be fit to travel back once we get to England."