Dave Darrin had again found recourse to a snore.
In an instant the door closed.

Any discipline officer ought to be satisfied with what this one had seen.
"Safe!" chuckled Dalzell.
"An awfully close squeak," whispered Dave across the intervening room.
"What if he had started his rounds ten minutes earlier ?" "He didn't, though," replied Dan contentedly.
Now another set of footsteps passed hurriedly along the "deck" outside.
"What's that ?" questioned a voice sharply.

"You say that you saw some one entering a room from the upper end of the terrace ?" "Oh, by George," groaned Dan Dalzell, now beginning to shiver in earnest.

"Some meddling marine sentry has gone and whispered tales." "Keep a stiff upper lip," Dave whispered hoarsely, encouragingly.
"If the officer returns don't give yourself away by your shaking." "But if he asks me ?" "If you're asked a direct question," sighed Dave mournfully, "you'll have to give a truthful answer." "And take my medicine!" "Of course." That annoying discipline officer was now on his way back, opening doors once more.

Moreover, the two very wide-awake midshipmen could hear him asking questions in the rooms further along the "deck." "He's questioning each man," whispered Dave.
"Of course," nodded Dan gloomily.
"It'll be our turn soon." "D-D-Dave!" "What ?" "I---I'm feeling ill---or I'm going to." "Don't have cold feet, old fellow.