“Say,” said the marine, “I wish you’d look at the feller in the brig.”

The hospital man showed his face at the grating and looked at Truax keenly.

“Wow!  The sawbones officer has got to look at this chap!”

Sam Truax sprang to his feet, but his legs wobbled.  He felt his heart-beats racing and his face flushing.

“I felt all right a little while ago, but I certainly feel queer now,” he muttered.

Doctor McCrea soon hurried below.

“Sentry, unlock the door!  Let me in there!”

Doctor McCrea made a brief examination.

“How long have you been feeling ill?”

“N-not long,” faltered Truax.

“Hospital man!” called Doctor McCrea.

“Aye, aye, sir!”

“Have the stretcher brought here at once.”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

The stretcher was brought, and the attendants put Truax on it.

“I can walk, Doctor,” he protested feebly.

“Can’t risk it!  To the ‘sick bay,’ men.”

“What’s wrong, Doctor?” Truax asked, when he was lifted from the stretcher and placed in one of the berths.

“Don’t talk, my man.  Just lie quietly and let us get you on your feet—­if we can,” he added under his breath, but not so softly but that Sam Truax heard him.

The attendant came with a glass of liquid.

“Drink this,” ordered the surgeon, “and in a few minutes you’ll feel better.”

“I—­I feel awful,” Truax groaned.

The dose was repeated, but the patient continued to grow worse.  His nausea was overwhelming and he vomited over and over.  In an interval of quiet the doctor leaned over him.

“Have you anything on your mind, man?  Any wrong you’d like to set straight before—­before—­”

A look of fright came into Truax’s eyes.

“Doctor, I—­I wonder if Jack Benson would come to see me?”

“I’ll see,” replied the doctor, rising and leaving the “sick bay.”

Ten minutes later the naval surgeon returned with Benson.  Hal Hastings, Mr. Mayhew and Ensign Trahern followed Jack and the doctor.

“Here’s Mr. Benson, Truax,” announced Doctor McCrea.  “If there’s anything you wish to confess, the rest of us can bear witness and help straighten matters out if you’ve done any wrong that you now regret.”

Sam Truax feebly stretched out a hand that was hot and dry.

“Benson, will you give me your hand?”

“Certainly.”

“Can you ever forgive me?” moaned the man.

“Why, what have you done?” asked Jack.

“That assault back in Dunhaven—­”

“Was it you who knocked me out there?” demanded Benson sharply.

“Yes.”  In a shaking voice Truax confessed the details of the affair and from that passed to Jack’s trip to the suburbs of Annapolis.

“I found the mulatto in a low den.  I told him you carried a lot of money and that he could have it all if he’d decoy you somewhere, keep you all night, and send you back to the Naval Academy looking like a tramp.”  He then added the name of the mulatto.