"I'll help you catch him," volunteered Jack, springing to the cook's
aid, while Professor Henderson laughed, and a bandaged figure, looking
from a stateroom port, wondered at the delay in starting the
projectile.
CHAPTER XII
MARK'S ESCAPE
Mark Sampson was alone in the deserted house. Bound hand and foot,
stripped of his clothing, and attired in some old garments that the
tramps who made a hanging-out place of the old mansion had cast aside,
the unfortunate lad was stretched on a pile of bagging, his heart
beating partly with fear and partly with rage over a desire to escape
and punish the scoundrel responsible for his plight.
The man who had captured him, after taking away Mark's clothes, had
chuckled, as though at some joke.
"You may think this is funny," spoke the lad bitterly, "but you won't
be so pleased when my friends get after you."
"They'll never get after me," boasted the man. "This is a good joke. To
think that I can pass myself off as you; that I can join them in the
projectile, and they never will be the wiser!"
"They'll soon discover that you are disguised as me," declared Mark,
"and when they do they'll have you arrested.
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