Try as he would to bolster his grit, Captain Jack Benson found himself in a fearful plight. At first, he could only stare, with terror-dilated eyes, at that candle—ever burning just a slight fraction shorter!

While the horror-laden moments were dragging by Jack heard a step on the stairs behind his head. Then he realized that some one was looking into the room. Then a voice spoke. It was Millard's, though scarcely recognizable on account of its huskiness.

"It's a fearful thing to do, Benson, but—but I can't help it! If you only knew what it means to me to win!"

Then followed a moment of utter silence. Jack could hear his own heart beating, as he fancied he could hear that of his persecutor. Then there was another sound, as though some light-weight metallic object had fallen to the floor.

"Good-bye, old chap! I—I respect you for your calm grit—that's all I can say."

There was the sound of a quick turn, then soft footsteps. Jack knew that Millard had fled.

"He respects me for my 'calm grit'!" laughed Jack, grimly—almost hysterically. "Doesn't the scoundrel know that I'm all but frozen into the torpor of dread?"

Then, just as suddenly, an anguished "oh!" broke from the boy's lips, to be followed, instantly, by a tremor of hope.

For, except at the time when interrupted by Millard's return, the young submarine captain had been fighting savagely at the bonds behind his back. Now, he fancied, he heard or felt a single strand giving way.

"I've got to get out of this quickly, if at all!" quavered the boy, staring with wavering eyes at the ever-shortening candle-bit. "There won't be anything left to do—except bear it—if I'm ten minutes longer at this all but hopeless task."

After a few frenzied moments of struggle there was another "r-r-rip" behind him—close to his wrists.

Now, young Benson fought with rage and frenzied strength. His gaze was ever toward the candle, burning lower. It seemed as if it must communicate its flame to the paper at any instant.

There came another ripping sound. Captain Jack Benson, though he could not see, felt something giving around his wrists. Frantically he squirmed and twisted with his hands. Then, suddenly, his wrists fell apart—free!

With an exulting throb of gratitude for this well-nigh unexpected boon, Benson forced himself up into a sitting posture. He was shaking, now, from sheer nervousness.

Swiftly, tremulously, he felt in his pockets.

"My long-legged friend never thought to take my knife—probably because he hadn't the slightest idea I'd be able to use it," thrilled the submarine boy, as he forced a blade open.

It didn't seem to take an instant, now, to cut the cords and set his feet free. Jack staggered to his feet. The lighted candle had burned down, now, even more perilously close to the paper—but what did the submarine boy care now? At the worst, he could easily run from this house which, he felt certain, was untenanted save for himself.

As soon as he could steady himself well enough, Benson bent and snatched up the burning candle from the tinder-like bed on which it stood propped.

"Instead of destroying me," he chuckled, "this candle will now light me on my way out."

At the doorway at the end of the room Jack Benson, by some strange chance, happened to remember that slight metallic sound of something falling to the floor while Millard was speaking. Now, Jack bent over, holding the candle to aid him in his hunt. Ah! There it was! Yet how utterly insignificant—nothing but a hairpin!

"Trifles often lead to something big, though," muttered the submarine boy, dropping the hairpin into his pocket. "I've been too much around machinery to despise small things."

Candle in hand, Jack quickly ascended through the rest of the house, after finding, in the lower hallway, a stout stick that he picked up. With this club he felt he had a weapon to be depended upon at need.

But there was nothing in the rest of the little three-story house to throw any light upon the habits of Millard, or the place for which that worthy had departed.

In one upper room Benson found a small mirror hung from a nail in the wall. In this same room was a small trunk, lid up and empty.

Back to the basement Jack returned. At the rear he found a small yard. Beyond that a fence, with a gate in it. The gate was unlocked. On a nail at the edge of the gateway Jack found a fluttering fragment of gray veiling.

"A woman has left here," thought Jack, holding the fragment of veiling in his hand. "Or else Millard got away disguised as a woman. That trunk may have held woman's apparel for the very purposes of such an escape."

This rear gateway opened upon a long, narrow alley that led to a street beyond.

Having satisfied himself on this point, Benson stepped back into the yard.

"Hold on! Here's something that will help," muttered the boy, staring down curiously at the ground.

It was the imprint of a foot in a wet spot on the ground. As Jack bent over it he saw the marks of diagonal criss-crossing such as is found in the soles of rubbers.

"The print is a fresh one. Either Millard wore rubbers away, or some woman has been here who wore them," Jack concluded.

Dropping his cudgel, since he would have no use for it, Benson made his way down the alley to the street beyond. At the corner stood a small grocery store, whose proprietor was in the doorway.

"I wonder," began Jack, "whether you saw a woman came down out of this alley-way lately? A tall woman?"

"About twenty minutes ago I saw a tall woman, in a gray dress and wearing a gray veil," replied the storekeeper.

"Was she carrying anything?"

"Some sort of a grip—a suit case, I guess."

"Did you ever see the woman before?" persisted Jack.

The storekeeper shook his head.

"Which way did the woman go?"

"I don't remember, particularly, but I think down that way," replied the grocer, pointing.

Jack hurried along. It was a quiet part of the town. None of the people to whom he spoke within the next three or four minutes remembered having seen the tall, veiled woman in gray, though some "thought" they "might have."

"I reckon," wisely decided Captain Jack Benson, "that I know just about enough to take my information to Lieutenant Ridder."



CHAPTER VIII

EPH FEELS LIKE THIRTY TACKS

As agreed, the young West Pointer was in a room at the Grindley House. As this room was equipped with a telephone, the young Army man was in touch both with Fort Craven and with the submarine boys, should the latter find anything to report over the talking wire.

Here in the room Captain Jack found Ridder, for the boy had felt it best to go direct to the hotel.

"Surely, you haven't found out anything as quickly as this?" asked the young lieutenant of engineers, looking up in surprise.

"I've learned a few things," replied Jack, quietly.

"Sit down, and let us hear what you've learned."

Jack dropped to the chair, but Lieutenant Ridder, when he heard the news, was so excited that no chair could hold him.

"Jove! and just our luck!" gasped the Army officer. "No policeman in sight! Now, if you three boys had kept together—"

"But, you see, when I dropped from the automobile, I wasn't sure it was Millard. I had had only a glance, and his face was away from me."

"If you see that wretch again, jump on him wherever he is."

"I could have done it, this last time," Benson nodded. "Yet I had an idea that, if I followed him, he might lead me to the place where he kept his maps and his other stolen information. And he did, I guess," added Jack, with a somewhat disappointed smile.

"Wait a moment. I'll try to get Major Woodruff over the wire," muttered Lieutenant Ridder. "He may have some orders for us."

Major Woodruff was at his home. He heard the message and sent his orders crisply.

"The major thinks we had better keep this matter from the police, yet, and do our best to find Millard, either in his own garments, or behind that gray dress and veil," announced the Army lieutenant.

"Then I wish we had the other boys here," muttered Jack, wistfully.

At that moment the 'phone bell rang. It was Hal, reporting, and inquiring whether any word had come from his chum.

"Mr. Benson is here, and I think you'll do well to get here as quickly as you can," replied Ridder.

"Is there any word—" began Hal Hastings.

Ting-ling-ling! The 'phone bell rang, cutting off Hal. The latter had received his orders, and his next concern was to obey them. That was lesson number one in brisk Army discipline.

Hal was on hand in five minutes. While Jack was recounting to him the adventure with Millard, Eph Somers came in. He stood in the background, listening, his jaw gradually dropping until his mouth was wide open.

"You heard how Benson ran into the fellow?" asked Lieutenant Ridder, turning to Somers.

"Yes," muttered Eph, disgustedly, "and I guess I have been enjoying the fool's part of the adventure!"

"How so?" demanded the Army officer quickly.

"I met that same woman, I'll bet a cookie," growled Eph, "and—and—I—"

"Well, sir?" demanded Lieutenant Ridder, briskly.

"I carried that bag for her—carried it nearly two blocks!"

"What's that?" cried Jack Benson, leaping up. "How—"

"No; I don't believe, on second thought, that I'm the prize fool."

"Come, come," directed Lieutenant Ridder. "Talk up quickly, young man."

"If you want to hear what I have to say," retorted Eph, with a slight flash of his eyes, "you'll have to wait until I get around to it."

It was serving direct notice on Ridder that Army briskness wouldn't do in Eph's case.

"Well, what have you to tell?" demanded the young lieutenant, impatiently.

"I was on my way back here," Eph continued. "Guess, maybe, I was eight blocks or so away from here. I had been to the hotels that I agreed to visit, and—"

"Why did you go to the hotel, anyway, after you knew Benson had sighted Millard?" broke in the Army officer.

"Because it wasn't a sure thing that Jack had seen Millard. He thought so, and so did we. But, after we left him, the auto ran along slowly, and we heard no row behind, so we guessed that maybe Jack had been wrong in his guess. At least, Hal and I figured it out that way. So I went to the hotels on my list, just the same, and I guess you did, didn't you, Hal?"

"Yes," nodded Hastings.

"This isn't bringing us, very fast, to your latest adventure," complained young Ridder.

"It's your fault, then," continued Eph, placidly. "You asked a question, and I answered it."

"Well, what about meeting the woman in a gray dress and veil?"

"I met her," retorted Eph.

"Could you see through the veil?"

"No."

"Then how do you know it was Millard?"

"I don't know," Eph rejoined. "But there are mighty few women as tall as Millard. Besides, this one had rather a long foot, and wore rubbers. I noticed that. Huh! This makes me feel like thirty tacks!"

"How did you meet her—or him?" asked Ridder.

"I was crossing a street, maybe eight blocks from here," Eph replied, "and I saw that tall woman, in gray, slip on the crossing. There was a street car coming, and she gave a little yell. I got to 'her' just in time to pull 'her' out of the way of the trolley and to set 'her' on 'her' feet again. Then I picked up 'her' dress suit case. It struck me that the one I supposed to be a woman was on the point of speaking to me when he—she—seemed to see my uniform and then get a look at my face. Then the party, whether it was he or she, made signs to show that he, or she, was deaf and dumb. The suit case was heavy, so I offered to tote it along, as I was headed the same way. I thought it was the least I could do for a woman who had just had a great shock. If that was Millard—and I'd bet a torpedo boat it was—how he must have chuckled over the idea of having one of the submarine boys carry his bag for him."

"How far did you go with this 'lady'?" asked the Lieutenant Ridder, with a faint touch of sarcasm.

"Two blocks," replied Eph.

"And you left her—"

"At a cheap hotel where I can find her again. And I guess it's up to us to start right away."

"Yes," nodded Jack. "And we can't start too soon."

It may have occurred to Lieutenant Ridder that he wasn't exactly being consulted. However, he saw that these submarine boys were used to acting swiftly, and he began to believe that they would work better if left to their own devices. So he merely nodded, adding:

"I'll wait here. I'll hope to have a report before long."

Eph led his two comrades back unerringly to the cheap hotel. They went straight to the hotel desk, Jack asking, bluntly, whether any very tall woman, in gray, and carrying a dress suit ease, had registered there.

"No," replied the clerk, very positively.

Then they interviewed the porter. He remembered the "woman" having stepped inside the hotel. She readjusted her veil in the lobby near the doorway.

"Then she went outside, spoke to a driver, got into his cab, and went away," continued the porter.

"She spoke to the driver, did she?" Eph asked.

"Of course, sir," retorted the porter. "You didn't think she made signs, did you?"

From their talk the submarine boys were satisfied that it was the same "woman" whom Eph had so gallantly assisted. They were equally sure that this veiled "woman" in gray was none other than Millard.

"Do you remember which driver it was whose cab she engaged?" Jack asked, turning to hand the porter a dollar.

"Jack Medway's cab, sir," was the quick answer. "And here it comes, now."

The submarine boys hurried out, transferring their attention to Medway.

"I'm just back from taking the lady," replied the driver, after Jack Benson had slipped him, also, a dollar bill. "But say—was it a lady, or a joke?"

"Why?" queried Jack Benson.

"Well," replied the driver, "the voice was pitched high, but there was something peculiar about it. I wondered, at the time, if it was a man rigged and togged out like a woman."

"Where did she tell you to take her," Jack Benson wanted to know.

"To Furnam Square!"

"Did you take her to any address there?"

"No; just to the square. Then I waited to fill my pipe, and I saw the woman, if woman it was, walk across the square and get into another cab."

"If you haven't anything else to do," hinted Jack, "suppose you take us to Furnam Square now."

Within a very few minutes the three friends were gazing out of a cab window upon the square. It looked like a very quiet residence section.

"There was another cab here, you say, that took your last 'fare' from this square?" asked Jack.

"Yes; there is a fellow who has a regular stand here. It's his cab," replied Medway.

"Let us know, then, when that particular driver gets back here," begged Jack. "We'll sit here in your rig and wait."

Medway grinned. Waiting, as well as driving, meant money for him.

Fully an hour and a half dragged by. Jack was beginning to wonder if it would not be better to give up this present clue to the chase, when Medway, leaning down from his box, called quietly.

"That's the other fellow and his rig, coming back into the square now."

"As soon as he stops," directed Benson, "drive us over alongside. Don't say anything to him. Let me do the talking."

In a moment more Jack was out on the sidewalk, talking earnestly with the driver just returned.

"You've had a long trip of it," guessed Jack, noting the warm condition of the horses.

"You bet," nodded the other driver.

"Just got back from taking the tall woman in gray somewhere."

"Yep. But do you call it 'somewhere'? I'd call it most anywhere."

"How far was it?" asked Jack.

"What do you want to know for?" demanded the Jehu, looking with sudden sharpness at his questioner.

"Because we'd like to go to the same place that you took the woman," returned Benson, promptly.

"Huh! I took her for three dollars. I wouldn't go over that trip again for less'n five."

"We'll pay the five, and be glad to," proposed Jack Benson, displaying some money. "More than that, if you play right fair with us, we'll put another five on top of the first, just as a little present to your horses."

"You'd better use the young gentlemen right, Jim," advised Medway. "They're good fellows, and they pay well."

"Why do you want to go where I took that last party?" questioned Jim, with a shrewd look.

"One of the things that the second five-dollar note pays you for is asking no questions," retorted Jack. "Do you want to take up our offer?"

"Yes; if you'll give me fifteen minutes to rest and water the horses," agreed Jim.

"That'll be all right," nodded Jack. "And now, Medway, have we paid you enough?"

"Plenty," cheerfully responded the first driver, taking the hint and leaving.

"Where did you take that woman?" questioned Jack, while the new driver got out a bucket for watering his horses.

"Away down by the sea-coast. Know where the Cobtown fishing shanties are?"

"No."

"Well, Cobtown is made up of three or four little villages of rickety old houses. Some are occupied by fishermen, and some ain't. There's three or four coves down that way fishing craft anchor in. It's a lonely, wild bit of country, and some rough characters 'mong them fishermen."

"Did you take your fare to any particular house or shanty down at Cobtown?"

"Nope; she got out on the road, in sight o' Cobtown, an' walked along, toting her old grip."

"What kind of a 'grip' was it?"

"An old brownish suit case."

"That's the one," nodded Eph.

As the driver busied himself over his team, the submarine boys drew aside to talk over their new information.

"I reckon we're going to be too late," grumbled Captain Jack.

"What makes you think so?" Hal inquired.

"Fishing villages, smacks and fishermen," answered Jack, gloomily. "Fishermen are a daring, reckless lot of fellows. They'd take a craft anywhere, in any kind of weather, for money enough. Fellows, I'm afraid Millard has hired a smack and started up or down the coast."

"Then we've got a craft that can chase any smack on the Atlantic coast," declared. Eph, stoutly.

"Of course; if we knew which craft to overhaul, and had the authority to do it."

"Authority? Then what's the matter with the people at the Fort?" demanded Eph.

"Their authority runs only on the land. Besides, by the time we got through the red tape, and got started, any smart smack, in a good wind, would be forty miles the other side of the horizon."

"Are you going to take this long drive, then?" asked Hal Hastings, rather dubiously.

"Yes," declared Jack Benson, promptly. "Hal, old fellow, any trail is best where it's freshest."

"I reckon you can git in, now, gents, if ye want," called the driver.

Seated in the cab the submarine boys set out to meet whatever might be before them in Cobtown. Had they possessed the gift of prophecy—

However, none of us possess that!



CHAPTER IX

JACK PLAYS WITH A VOLCANO

After something more than an hour's drive the Jehu pulled his horses up, got down from the box and opened one of the doors.

"Here you are, young gents. This is the spot where I put the last fare down. An' now you know as much about her whereabouts as I do."

The district into which the submarine boys had come was well outside of the city, and in a different direction from Craven's Bay and the Fort.

It was bleak and wild here. Even the shanties of the three little villages, with their fish-sheds, their racks with nets spread, the rickety wharves—all looked dismal. It seemed as though here must be one of the spots where only a scanty living is earned and only by the hardest kind of work.

"Well, we're much obliged to you, driver, and here's the money promised to you."

"Obliged to you, gents. Will you want to be going back with me?"

"No," Captain Jack answered. "I reckon we're going to be moored here for a while."

"Now, whereaway? What's the course?" demanded Eph Somers.

Benson glanced at his watch, then up at the sun.

"It'll be dark in about an hour and half," he muttered. "Why not wait until dark? We can't have been seen from any of the villages yet. Looking out over the water you don't see a craft of any sort headed away from here. From this point, looking down, we can see if any of the boats in port get ready to put out. So Millard, if he hasn't already escaped, can't get away by sea without our knowing it. If he tries to get away by land, we're right where we can see him coming."

"Then you think we'd better wait here, keeping out of sight, until dark?" asked Hal.

"Most decidedly. Don't you?"

"Yes," nodded Hal.

"But it'll be a mighty tedious wait," growled Eph, the impatient one.

"Well, youngster, we're not here to consult our own comfort," retorted Captain Jack. "There's something higher to consult—the best interests of our country."

"Oh, if you put it that way!" grumbled Eph, much mollified.

The submarine boys had stepped into a little hollow, just off the road, and barely below a rise in the ground. There were trees and bushes about to aid them in concealing themselves. If they saw anyone coming their way they could easily find better hiding.

No one came, however. Dark found the boys desperately hungry.

"Of course we didn't think to bring anything to eat," uttered Eph, disgustedly. "What are we going to do about it?"

"We've got to each of us take a village, presently, enter it and search," replied Captain Jack. "With only one of us to each village, it will be tough luck if each one can't find some one who has enough food to sell a little of it."

"How soon are we going to start?" asked Eph, hopefully.

"Well, supper time will be the best time to go through the villages," decided the young submarine skipper "If Millard has taken refuge with anyone who lives in one of these villages, he'll be more likely to show himself at supper time than at any other."

"It won't take long to look into each of the houses," muttered Hal. "There aren't many in any one of the villages."

"If we don't espy our man at table," Captain Jack went on, "we'll have to try other means of finding him out. You two will know what to do when you're on the ground. If Millard is anywhere in the village that you go to look through, don't fail to find him—that's all."

Jack chose, for himself, the northernmost village. Hal took the next one, and Eph the southernmost.

"Now, remember, fellows," breathed Benson, sharply, as they parted, "the one great thing is not to fail!"

The night was dark and the sky overcast as the submarine boys parted to go their several ways.

"I think I can understand how Eph feels about his stomach," grimaced Jack, as he strode along. "I don't believe I'd balk, just now, at the plainest food ever cooked. Why, I haven't eaten since this morning!"

The evening being rather warm, most of the houses, as Jack neared the village, proved to have open windows. Lights shone, and the fishermen and their families could be seen at table.

No one appeared in the street, at first. Jack strolled down the principal street, looking into each house without much difficulty. Yet the one face that he sought was not visible.

Down at the further end of the street Benson came upon a tumble-down-looking grocery store.

"What kind of sandwiches can you put me up?" queried the submarine boy, casually.

"Stranger, eh?" asked the man behind the counter, staring curiously.

"Yes; haven't you had any other strangers here lately?"

"Not as I knows on," replied the man, a shaggy, unkempt-looking fellow of forty.

"None here to-day, eh?" asked Jack, taking out a half-dollar and toying with it on the counter.

"Don't remember anybody very special," replied the storekeeper.

"You haven't answered me about the kinds of sandwiches you can put up," Jack reminded him.

"Not very fancy in that line, young feller. Cheese, or sardines; that's all."

"Give me three of each, then," begged Jack. He seized the first sandwich that was prepared and began to eat it.

"Hungry, eh!" asked the storekeeper.

"Yes," Jack admitted; "for want of anything better to do."

"Foller the sea, don't ye?"

"Depends," muttered Jack, his mouth half full of sandwich. "When I'm going before a brisk fair wind, sometimes the sea follows me."

"'Spose so," grinned the storekeeper, passing over the second sandwich. After that, the fellow got in slightly ahead of the submarine boy's appetite, though Benson finished the whole meal in a few minutes.

"Now, if you've got a bottle of soda water, to wash that all down with," hinted Benson. It was forthcoming, also a smoky-looking glass.

"So you haven't had any strangers here lately," hinted Captain Jack.

"Nope."

"Any craft been fitting out to sail to-night or first thing in the morning?"

"Nope."

"Gracious, but this is a dead place," laughed Jack. "Must be a lot of shacks for rent around here?"

"There was one place," stated the storekeeper, "but a dude feller hired it last week. Said some sort o' fishing club'd be down this way to fish, once in a while. That kinder minds me," went on the storekeeper. "I guess maybe some o' that crowd are down, 'cause I saw a light up there at the house, jest come dark."

"If there's a fishing club down here, that ought to make business good for you," suggested Captain Jack.

"Dunno. They can start tradin' as soon as they like. I'm ready."

"Which house has the fishing club hired?" was Jack's next question.

"Why, I guess you can make it out from the door," replied the storekeeper, coming out from behind the counter and going to the front of his establishment. "There, if yer eyes are good, you can jest make out a building over there on the point. See it? Well, there's a little boat wharf in front that ye can't see until you get closer."

Jack had found out just what he wanted to know. He had the very information for which he had been fishing, nor did he believe the storekeeper suspected him of undue curiosity.

"Well, I've got to be moving along, now I'm fed," announced young Benson. "The yacht I belong to is some distance from here. Good night!"

Nor did Captain Jack linger in the village. Had anyone stood still in that street and stared after Benson, he would have seen the boy vanish in the darkness.

Captain Jack, however, had not disappeared from the scene. He was merely shifting to the part of it that interested him most. Cautiously he stole out along the further side of a ridge of land, toward the rickety old house on the point.

"Not a sign of a light, now," breathed the submarine boy. "If Millard was really there, I hope he hasn't had time to get away for good."

All was silent and dark about the old house, as Captain Jack stole closer. At nearer range he made the circuit of the house, only to find every window shuttered, and the place as dismal as the grave.

"I'm afraid the game has escaped," muttered Benson, with a sinking feeling at his heart. "Yet he didn't escape, by sea or land, while we were watching outside the village. And it was just at dark that the storekeeper saw a light here. I wonder if it would be easy to—"

Right there Jack Benson's train of thought broke off. From the opposite side of the house came a sound exactly like that of the opening and closing of a door.

"Can that be our man coming out?" wondered Skipper Jack.

He started cautiously around the house, but soon drew back around the corner of the building. Dropping to the ground, and lying flat, the submarine boy allowed only the top of his head to show as he peeped.

Glory! Jack knew, well enough, that tall figure striding off into the gloom. It was Millard, and under his left arm the fellow carried a large package that might be a bulky portfolio well wrapped.

"He has his drawings—his maps of American fortifications and fortified harbors—the very stuff that we want to get!" throbbed the boy. "And now—we're going to get them!"

Keeping Millard's receding figure zealously in sight, Jack, crouching low, started after the long-legged one as soon as the distance between seemed sufficient to keep Millard from guessing at pursuit.

"Oh, how I wish Hal and Eph were here!" muttered Captain Jack, in keen disappointment.

"I need help on this!"

Within two minutes Millard had struck into a well-beaten path that led northward over succeeding ridges of laud. In a way, it was easier following here, for there were occasional trees and clumps of bushes behind which the young shadow could drop at need.

Two minutes in this path, and Jack Benson's heart gave another quick leap. Some one else was coming stealthily behind him. Jack dodged around a clump of bushes and waited.

"Hal!" breathed Jack, almost wild with joy, as the two chums clasped hands fervently for one brief instant. Then:

"See here, Hal, I've got to dart forward again, or Millard will be out of sight. But I'll tell you what—while I trail Millard, you concern yourself only with following me."

"Good enough," whispered Hastings, nodding. "Now, you start again!"

For just an instant Millard had disappeared. However, by moving forward quickly, Benson was soon able to make out the quarry through the darkness.

For some five minutes more the chase continued. Then, his long body rather sharply defined against the sky, Millard began the ascent of a low hill that ended in a cliff overlooking the broad ocean.

As Millard's course forward could end only in the sea, Jack now crouched low, stealing along a parallel course behind a low ridge of rock.

Then Millard suddenly stepped into a clump of tall bushes. Though his game was now out of sight, Jack did not lose his nerve, for he could hear the fellow.

Spink! spank! clank! The noise came from a shovel, vigorously used.

"Not a hard one to guess," throbbed Captain Jack Benson, exultantly. "He has brought his maps and his stolen records with him, and is burying them in this lonely spot until some other time when he'll feel safe about coming back for them. Talk about luck! Why, Hal and I can pounce on this fellow, when he comes out over yonder, and, after we get him, we can next dig up whatever it is that this foreign agent thinks is worth burying!"

Then, with a shade of curiosity, Benson added to himself:

"I don't know, yet, how it happened that Hal was on my trail. There wasn't time for him to tell me."

Clank! clank! But after a while the noise of the shovel ceased for a while. Captain Jack craned his neck eagerly, trying to pierce the darkness of the night. He could make out nothing, though he heard some one still moving inside the clump of bushes.

Then again the noise of the shovel on the dirt was heard.

"He's filling in, now, beyond a doubt," thought Captain Jack. "He is burying—what? The maps and records? Hiding them here that he may dig them up at some later date?"

Benson chuckled noiselessly.

"If that's Millard's game I reckon some one else will do some digging over yonder before he pays this place a second visit!"

Ah, the noise had stopped, at last. Now, Millard came out of the thicket.

"He hasn't that bundle he brought up here!" throbbed Jack Benson. "And he isn't bringing a shovel out, either, so it must be hidden right handy. Great!"

Mr. Millard could depart, now, if he wanted. Jack trusted to his chum, prowling somewhere about, to have the good judgment to follow the long-legged fellow away. As for Benson, he didn't mean to do another thing until he had found the shovel, and had determined just what had been so carefully buried on this dark night!

So Jack watched, rather indifferently, as Millard slunk off into the darkness. After three minutes or so had passed, Jack rose and ran straight for the thicket.

There it was—new ground, that had just been turned over with a shovel. There was no mound, but the fresh earth showed just where to dig.

"Oh, this is as easy as making change for a blind man!" chuckled the young submarine skipper, rubbing his hands ecstatically.

What about the shovel? Jack turned to feel around in the darkness. Really, Millard couldn't be such a very clever fellow! Jack had no difficulty in finding the shovel. Its handle was sticking out from under a mass of dead brush.

Jack Benson drew out the implement, brandishing it.

"Hal had the good sense to shadow that chap away," decided the young skipper. "Otherwise, he'd have been here by this time. Good haul—rascal and records in the same night. For, if Hal goes on Millard's trail, then Millard is pretty sure to be a prisoner before the night is over. Oh, I wish Eph would turn up."

Then Jack took a good grip on the shovel. Clank! spink! spink!

Having been so recently moved, this dirt was easy to dig.

Yet, suddenly, there came a new note on the night air.

"Jack, O Jack!" sounded in Hal's frantic tones. "Quick!"

"Eh?" called Captain Benson. "What's the row? Come here and see what I can show you!"

"No! You come here—quick!"

"That's queer," pondered Jack Benson, leaning on his shovel, trying to understand what it could all mean.

Then he heard, even at the distance, the sound of Hal Hastings panting, as though engaged in hard physical effort.

Again rose Hastings's frantic voice, though somewhat muffled in its sound.

"If you don't hustle, it will be too late!"

Jack dropped the shovel on the ground, wheeled, and ran down the slope to where Hal's voice sounded.

"I'm coming, old fellow!" quivered the submarine skipper, starting to run.

Boom! A terrific explosion shook the ground. The air seemed full of flying fragments of rock.



CHAPTER X

"MR. GRAY" MAKES NEW TROUBLE

Had Jack Benson started down the slope two or three seconds later he must have been killed.

As it was, the fearful force of concussion sent him sprawling headlong on the ground.

A shower of small fragments of rock and of loose dirt fell about him.

Yet Jack was up again, like a flash, never stopping to inquire whether he had been hurt.

"O-oh!" came the groan, from Hal Hastings.

"There, in a second!" panted Captain Jack, beginning to run again.

A blow sounded, then a fall.

Captain Jack raced into a little, bush-lined hollow, just in time to see Millard leap up and take to his heels.

Hal Hastings lay on the ground, as though badly hurt.

"Oh, you would, would you?" raged Captain Jack Benson, making a swift spurt after Millard.

He caught the long-legged one, too, by the back of the fellow's coat collar.

Yank! Millard was pulled over backward. Down he went, Benson piling a-top of him.

"Down!" cried Skipper Jack, exultantly. He found, however, that Millard possessed strength enough to put up a stiff fight.

"Come on, Hal—if you can!" called Jack Benson, sharply.

"Can't—just yet," came, in muffled tones, from the usually prompt Hal Hastings.

"Let go, you young hound!" ordered Millard, striking out savagely.

Jack hung desperately. Yet the trouble was that the young submarine skipper had tackled a man who was at least fifty per cent. stronger and fully as agile.

While Hal still hung back, Millard gave a heave, then rolled himself over on top of Jack Benson.

"I'll give you just a short lesson!" snarled the long-legged one.

He raised a fist, intent on bringing it down like a sledge-hammer across Benson's face.

That blow, however, wasn't the one that landed. Biff! whack! Two sturdy, hard fists registered on Millard's head from behind. Then a boy shot himself forward, battering-ram fashion, hurling Millard over to the ground. The boy went with the fellow, landing on top of him.

And that boy was Eph Somers!

"Come on, Jack, if you want some of this!" offered Eph, generously.

Truth to tell, there was need of both the submarine boys, for Millard now fought more fiendishly than before.

Millard was a powerful fellow, when aroused, but he had pitted against him two of the doughtiest, gamest boys to be found along the Atlantic coast. He was pretty well beaten up, in fact, by the time that Hal came limply upon the scene.

"Want any help?" demanded Hal, in a still somewhat breathless voice.

"Nope!" answered Eph, sturdily. "Not unless you want exercise."

As Somers spoke he landed another blow, this against the "wind" at Millard's belt-line. In the same instant Jack Benson managed to knot his hands in the fellow's coat lapels, and to press the backs of his hands against the wretch's throat.

"I sur—ug-g-gh!—er—render," gurgled the long-legged one, weakly.

"You'd better, unless you want to discover that we haven't yet started in with rough handling," retorted Eph valiantly.

Young Benson eased his hold on Millard's wind-pipe. Yet all three of the submarine boys watched their prisoner, cat-like, for any new outbreak.

"Now, roll over on your face, if you want us to believe you're going to be good," ordered Jack.

Though he swore, under his breath, Millard obeyed. Then something flashed in the night—handcuffs that Jack had brought away from his meeting with Lieutenant Ridder at the hotel.

Click! The steel band snapped into place around Millard's right wrist.

"Hold on—not that!" protested the prisoner, hoarsely.

"Yes; even that!" mocked Eph, picking up a fragment of rock. "And keep quiet, unless you want me to batter your head in!"

It was this rough, vigorous sea-talk, backed by a belief that young Somers would prove equal to his threat, no doubt, that made Millard allow his left wrist to be brought over to meet the right.

"You've got those things on too tight," complained Millard, sullenly.

"No-o-o, I don't think so," retorted Captain Jack, after looking. "We need 'em as tight as we can have 'em, without causing pain, when we have a fellow like you to deal with. Now, what was that explosion?"

"Wait a second!" broke in Eph, in a low voice. "Millard had a pal here. It was the pal I shadowed here. And that pal is running, now, with a fair-sized bundle that he came here to get."

"He was running when you jumped into this business?" demanded Benson.

"Yes."

"Then the pal is too far away, by this time, for us to catch him by running after him," decided Skipper Jack. "Now, about that explosion!"

"This wretch had a mine planted up on the hill," explained Hal Hastings. "I was watching, at the rear, you know, and it happened that I stopped right close to the hollow where you found me. Then I saw Millard drop into that hollow, and I took a look-in. I was just in time to see him bending over to reach for the handle of a magneto battery. Now, I happened to know that magneto batteries are made for the purpose of touching off explosives at a safe distance. So I jumped in on him. Just at that second I heard you, Jack, old fellow, striking with the shovel up above there. I had to guess fast, so the whole thing struck me like a flash. Millard had been digging, up there, just to lead on anyone who might be shadowing him. While you were bent over the spot where he had been digging, he meant to touch off a mine that must have been planted and laid days ago. Millard, you rascal, if you suspected that you were being watched, it was your idea to lead the shadow out here, get him over that mine and touch it off!"

The prisoner's eyes flashed.

"That was your game, wasn't it?" demanded Benson, angrily.

"Find out, if you can," growled the prisoner.

"You've guessed it, Hal," nodded Jack, then shuddered. "Had I followed this villain out here alone, and then gone to digging, unwarned, where I had seen him digging, my remains would have come down in four counties. But, you mean scoundrel, you never happened to think that you'd be trailed by three different fellows, all at different points along your trail."

"This is where my account comes in," interposed Eph Somers. "You remember the village you sent me to, Jack? Well, all I could find out was that, a few days ago, a chap named Gray had come along and hired a little schooner that's about twice as fast as any other sailing craft in these parts. He hired two fishermen to sail it for him—when he got ready. His crew have been wondering, since, when he'd be ready. Since he made the deal, Gray has just been hanging around and doing nothing."

"My informant pointed out Gray to me. Right after that, I vanished. But I kept an eye on Gray. When he left the village, so did I. The trail led up here. Gray went to a pile of dead brush that had been heaped up. He prowled under the brush, brought out a wooden box that had been hidden there, and, from the box, took a bundle. He started off with it. I figured that bundle was what we wanted. I didn't want to take the chance of tackling him and having him get the best of me, so I started to follow. Just then I heard the rumpus up here. Maybe I did wrong, but I figured we could get Gray again, so I hustled up here to help."

"This wretch, Millard, and I had a pretty rough-and-tumble time of it," Hal broke in. "At last, though, he gave me a blow in the wind that put me right down and out, for a little while. Then he got the handle of the magneto and pumped it."

"Glad I started down the slope just when I did," nodded Skipper Jack, dryly. "If I hadn't—well, what's the use of talking about it?"

Forcing Millard to get upon his feet, the boys inspected, first the magneto battery, to which was attached wire buried in the ground. Then up the slope they went, to find a miniature crater, some ten feet deep and at least fourteen feet across, where the mine had been exploded.

"Say, it's hard, even yet, to understand why I wasn't killed," muttered Jack Benson. "But here we are, standing here, thinking about ourselves, when that fellow, Gray, is getting away with a package that we ought to have. Come along, fellows! And you, Millard, if you try to bold back on us, you'll learn some new things in the way of discomfort!"

Thus warned, and realizing that his determined young captors were in a savage frame of mind, the long-legged one didn't try to lag. All four appeared in the village in which Eph had prowled for information. The appearance of the handcuffed prisoner stirred up a lot of curiosity. Eph, however, showed his written authorization for taking Millard in the name of the United States government, so no one offered the captive any aid or sympathy.

But the submarine boys met with disturbing news. They heard that a little more than a half an hour before, Gray, still carrying a big package, had embarked on his chartered schooner, and had put to sea.

"Had we better charter something and go in chase?" wondered Hal.

"What's the use?" demanded one of the fishermen. "The 'Juanita' is four miles or more out to sea, by this time, and the night's dark you couldn't see her. And there's no craft hereabouts fast enough to catch the 'Juanita.'"

"Besides," whispered Jack, in his chum's ear, "we have no power to overhaul a craft at sea."

So, making the best of the situation, the submarine boys hired a driver, horse and wagon at the village, and started on their return to town.



CHAPTER XI

FACING THE SECRETARY OF THE NAVY

Jack was the first to enter Lieutenant Ridder's room at the hotel. The young engineer officer jumped up out of his chair, looking somewhat angry.

"Look here, Benson," expostulated the lieutenant, "what sort of way is this to use me? Here I've been loafing about here for hours, and you haven't sent or brought me word of any kind. You—"

"We've brought you something better," smiled Jack Benson, throwing the door further open. "Here is Millard, himself."

Millard came in, a policeman at his side, for the submarine boys had hailed the first policeman they met inside the city limits, and had explained to him.

"This man is wanted as a United States prisoner, is he, sir?" inquired the policeman.

"Yes, if his name is Millard," replied Lieutenant Ridder.

"Oh, this is Millard, all right," confirmed Jack Benson.

"Then shall I leave the fellow with you, sir?" inquired the policeman.

"Yes, of course; and thank you."

"You'll give me a receipt for the fellow, as a United States prisoner?" hinted the policeman.

"As a United States suspect," corrected Lieutenant Ridder, going to a table on which were writing materials. The policeman was handed the desired document, then withdrew. Then Ridder went to a telephone, calling up Major Woodruff.

"The major will be here in about ten minutes," announced Ridder, hanging up the receiver. "In the meantime we will do no talking in the presence of this suspect."

It was just a little less than ten minutes later when Major Woodruff, accompanied by a corporal and two private soldiers, entered the room.

Millard was at once taken away, under guard.

Then the boys told their stories, quickly, comprehensively.

"I'll have to get a clear wire all the way through to Washington," declared Major Woodruff, promptly, going to the telephone. In a minute more he had arranged matters, and hurried to the table to write his despatch. Ere the major had finished writing a messenger boy was at the door.

"Boy, you'll find my automobile at the hotel entrance," stated Major Woodruff. "Give this card to my chauffeur, and he'll take you on the jump to the telegraph office. Then come back in the automobile, and wait for more work."

"Do you expect anyone in Washington to get that message now, after ten o'clock at night?" Jack asked, wonderingly.

"To-night?" repeated Major Woodruff. "Yes, sir! You haven't much idea, I take it, Mr. Benson, how fast government business travels. Within five minutes the first part of my message will be ticking out on a receiver in the War Department. The Army officer in charge will get the Secretary of War over the telephone. Why, my answer will very likely be here inside of twenty minutes!"

It was thirty minutes, exactly, when a messenger placed a telegram in Major Woodruff's hands. As soon as the messenger had gone outside, the major read this telegram.

"Keep prisoner Millard close confinement pending further orders. Have communicated Secretary of Navy. Latter official says sea chase shall be made to catch fellow Gray on 'Juanita.' If submarine boys will accept sea service, briefly, for Navy Department, have them come to-night's train and report Secretary Navy at nine to-morrow morning. Their expenses borne by government." (Signed) "Secretary of War."

"What does that mean, sir," cried Jack Benson, rising, "about if we will accept sea service, and reporting in the morning to the Secretary of the Navy at Washington?"

"Why, I belong to the Army," replied Major Woodruff, hauling out his watch, "and this is a Navy matter. However, since one of you youngsters knows Gray by sight, and you're all of you familiar with this business, I imagine the Secretary of the Navy wants to put you out to sea on one of the country's gunboats, to aid in the chase. For any real information, however, you'll have to apply in person to the Secretary of the Navy himself. Are you going to Washington?"

"Are we going—" Jack started to repeat, with mild irony, when a knock at the door interrupted him. Major Woodruff opened the door, to receive another telegram.

"Washington wakes up quickly," he laughed. "Here you are, Mr. Benson—a despatch from our other fighting department at the Nation's capital."

Clearing his throat, Major Woodruff read:

"Send description of schooner 'Juanita,' and of suspect, Gray, as mentioned in your telegram Secretary War. Are submarine boys leaving to-night to report in morning? Secretary of Navy."

"Here you are, and you see you've got to make up your minds quickly," said the major. "The night train south for Washington leaves in a little more than an hour from now."

"Why, there's only one answer possible, sir," cried Captain Jack Benson, his eyes shining. "Of course we'll take to-night's train and report to the Secretary of the Navy in the morning. When it's for the Flag I don't even have to consult my comrades, or look their way. I know their answer as well as I know my own."

"Good enough, young man," applauded Major Woodruff, while Lieutenant Ridder gave Jack a hearty slap across the shoulders. "But, to go to the Navy Department, you'll want citizen's clothes—not your present uniforms, which are not official. I can send my auto to your boat, and you can be back here in forty minutes, if you dress quickly."

"Ready for the word, 'forward,' sir," responded Captain Jack, saluting. Hal and Eph also raised their hands to their foreheads.

It was a swift trip, with some hurried dressing on board the "Spitfire," but Major Woodruff landed them at the railway station ten minutes ahead of train time.

"Good fortune, gentlemen," wished Major Woodruff, pressing the hand of each when the train was ready. "Don't be scared when you find yourselves face to face with so big a man as the Secretary."

It is not to be wondered at if the minds of all were in a bit of a whirl as they made for their berths in a sleeping-car.

"After all," muttered Jack, to himself, as he undressed in his berth, "it's strange how some fellows get the cream of things. Here we get the trip to Washington, while Lieutenant Ridder will have only the fun of going out to the cliff above Cobtown to-morrow to have a look at what is left of Millard's mine."

Their train brought the submarine boys into Washington just before seven in the morning. There was time for a good breakfast. Then, being strangers at the national capital, the youngsters engaged a cab to take them to the imposing building that shelters the State, War and Navy Departments.

Jack Benson sent in his card. Five minutes later the three submarine boys were ushered into the presence of the Secretary of the Navy.



CHAPTER XII

NAVY OFFICERS FOR AN HOUR OR A DAY

"So you're really the three famous submarine boys?" inquired Secretary Sanders, rising from his chair and extending his hand.

"We're submarine boys; that's all I ever heard about it, Mr. Secretary," replied Captain Jack, as he introduced his friends.

"Now, be seated, young gentlemen, and tell me all you know about this matter that has brought you over to Washington."

Jack Benson acted as spokesman, telling the whole tale clearly, yet using up no more time in talk than was absolutely necessary. It was a good, concise, business statement.

"Now, of course," pursued Mr. Sanders, "you wonder what the Navy Department wants you to do. Well, in the first place, we've been asking, by wireless, through the night and early morning, to have all craft on the lookout for a schooner answering to the description of the 'Juanita'."

Secretary Sanders paused, but none of the three boys asked any questions.

"You will wonder, of course, what success we've had so far, and I may say that our success has been ample," resumed the Secretary of the Navy, with an amused smile. "In other words, we've been able to pick up news of three schooners, all of which answer to the general description of the 'Juanita'—but it happens that that isn't the name of any one of the three."

Jack Benson nodded, but did not speak.

"Of course," pursued the Secretary, "it may be that the skipper of the 'Juanita' has tried an old trick, through the night. He may have set a man to painting another name at the schooner's stern."

Again Skipper Jack nodded.

"The schooner that we think most likely to be the 'Juanita' is about fifty miles out at sea, now, according to a report received twenty minutes ago. Evidently she is headed for one of the British West Indies. Now, if the wind continues the same, and the suspected vessel keeps to her present course, she will, at five this afternoon, be off the Norfolk Navy Yard, and some sixty-two miles out at sea. Now, unless we are otherwise advised, we want a gunboat, the 'Sudbury,' now at Norfolk, to overhaul the suspected schooner and ascertain whether she is really the 'Juanita,' and whether the man, Gray, and his bundle of documents are still on board. The suspected vessel is to be searched, and Gray and the documents, if found, are to be seized, and the schooner then released. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly, sir." Jack answered quietly.

"One of you young men will know Gray at a glance. The other two are familiar with the whole case. Otherwise, it would not have been necessary to have called you into this matter. Yet, to overhaul a vessel, or to make an arrest or a seizure, you require authority. Such authority can be vested only in naval officers. Hence, for the present, it will be necessary to give all three of you appointments as officers in the United States Navy."

At this announcement Jack Benson lost, for the moment, some of his cool composure.

"Officers of the Navy, sir!" he gasped, but his eyes glowed at the mere thought.

"You will be officers only temporarily," returned the Secretary. "You are not of age, any of you, I take it."

"We are all just about the same age, sir—seventeen, nearly eighteen," Jack replied.

"Just so. Now, none of you could legally bold officers' commissions, except by a special act of Congress. However, with the approval of the President, it is legal for me to give you special, temporary appointments under which you have the title, rank, pay and command of officers. These appointments I am going to give and, for a brief while, though you will not have commissions, you will nevertheless be as actually officers of the Navy as are any admirals on the list."

This astonishing statement almost took away the breath of the submarine boys.

"You are familiar with navigation, Benson, and are a capable enough sea-pilot along this coast. I learned that much, early this morning, through Mr. Farnum's answer to my telegram."

"Then Mr. Farnum knows what we are going to do?" asked Jack, quickly.

"He doesn't," replied Secretary Sanders, with a shake of his head. "Mr. Farnum knows, only, that you have a chance to be of some service to the Navy. He seemed to be much pleased by our inquiry."

The Secretary had just touched an electric button on his desk. Now a clerk entered the room.

"Telephone the secretary of the President," directed Mr. Sanders, "and ask him whether the President has examined and approved the special appointments that I sent over a while ago."

The clerk was quickly back, to say:

"The special appointments, Mr. Secretary, are duly approved, and are now on their way over from the White House."

Two minutes later, a messenger entered, handing a sealed envelope to the Secretary of the Navy.

Breaking the seal, Mr. Sanders drew forth three heavy, folded sheets of parchment.

"Here you are, Mr. Benson," resumed the Secretary, handing over one of the parchments. "This document confers upon you, for the time being, the rank, pay and command of a lieutenant, junior grade, in the United States Navy. You, Mr. Hastings, and you, Mr. Somers, will rank as ensigns under your special appointments."

Jack's head swam a bit as he thanked Mr. Sanders; then he started to glance over this marvelous document.

But the Secretary of the Navy now cut in, briskly:

"That is all, gentlemen. You know your instructions, in general, Lieutenant Benson. You will now go to my chief clerk, who will swear you into the service. He will also give you an order on a local tailor for the uniforms of your ranks. In one hour and twenty minutes your train starts south. On arrival at Norfolk you will report without an instant's delay at the Navy Yard. Aboard the 'Sudbury' you will receive all further instructions, wired from this Department. Good morning, gentlemen."

Then, indeed, things moved fast. At the desk of the chief clerk of the Navy Department the three budding naval officers stood with their right hands raised while the official at the other side of the desk administered to them the oath binding them to loyalty to the government and to obedience to all lawful orders of their superiors.

"And now, gentlemen," continued the chief clerk, "I will send for Ensign McGrath, who is on duty here, and present you to him. He will go with you to the tailor's, and will see that you are properly rushed to the train that you are to take. Remember, you are not to pay for your uniforms or equipment. The bill will be sent here."

Ensign McGrath looked sleepy, but proved to be a hustler. One of the Department's autos was out in the grounds, and into this McGrath bundled the three submarine boys. Five minutes later they were in the tailoring establishment, where a good many ready-made uniforms were kept for sale.

What a whirl it was. Yet, in twenty minutes, each submarine boy found himself in the duty uniform of a United States junior naval officer, each uniform adorned with the insignia of the wearer's rank. In the meantime, dress-suit cases had been procured from a store near by.

"All right and proper," nodded Ensign McGrath. "And—I'm not throwing bouquets, gentlemen, but you really look as though you had been born for the uniforms. Now, only one thing is missing—the swords."

"Are we to wear swords?" asked Jack, his face flushing with pleasure.

"Under certain conditions, on duty, naval officers wear swords. You will need them as parts of your equipments."

The dealer brought these side-arms at once. The naval sword is a handsome one, vastly more natty than the infantry side-arm of a junior officer.

What a thrill each submarine boy felt as he was shown how to adjust his sword to the belt!

"They're really nonsensical jewelry in these civilized days," declared Ensign McGrath, dryly. "But the regulations call for swords at some times. Now, gentlemen, you will need to get your uniforms off as quickly as you can, and the tailor's helpers will pack them in your suit cases. You travel in citizen's clothes, and don your uniforms as soon as you get aboard the gunboat."

Ten minutes later each proud submarine boy picked up his suit case and sword, the latter, in each instance, being inside of a chamois-skin carrying case.

In single file they made their way to the street.

"Now, for the last leg of the race in Washington," announced Ensign McGrath, as they entered the automobile once more.

"I wonder if it will happen on the way, or at the station?" laughed Jack, as the government gas-wagon whirled them down Pennsylvania Avenue.

"Will what happen?" inquired McGrath.

"Why," laughed Benson again, "I know we've got to wake up out of this trance, but I can't figure when it's going to happen."

"I suppose all of you do feel excited," nodded Ensign McGrath, understandingly.

"Not excited," declared Jack. "I'm just simply unprepared to believe that any part of this has really happened."

At the railway station they were met by a messenger from the chief clerk's office, who handed each of the submarine boys a small parcel.

"Copy of the Regulations, sir" stated the messenger. "It is required that each officer of the Navy possess a copy."

"You'll want to scan the book good and hard most of the way down to Norfolk," advised Ensign McGrath. "You'll find much between the covers that you'll need to know right at the first jump-off. And now, for the tickets."

These McGrath bought, including parlor car seats. The ensign then saw them safely to their seats.

"Now, you've got enough to do, reading your new books," laughed the ensign, "So I'm not going to waste your time by staying here to talk to you. It's ten minutes, yet, to the time of your departure. Good-bye, gentlemen—and good luck!"

When McGrath had gone Jack leaned across the aisle to whisper:

"Eph, can you get at your sword handily—to draw it, I mean?"

"What's up?" said Eph, suspiciously.

"I want you to stick about a sixteenth of an inch of the point of your sword into me, so I can judge how long I've been dreaming."

"What's the matter with using your own sword?" demanded Eph, a trifle gruffly.

"That's just the trouble," smiled Benson, plaintively. "I'm afraid I'll wake up and find I haven't any."

Hal was leaning back in his parlor car chair, his eyes closed. He was dreaming delicious daydreams.



CHAPTER XIII

COMMANDER OF A U.S. GUNBOAT!

"Lieutenant Benson, sir?" inquired a coxswain, saluting.

"Yes," replied Jack, returning the salute.

"The gig is waiting to take you to the 'Sudbury' sir."

This information was punctuated by another salute which Jack, as head of the party of three young officers, again returned.

"Lead the way," directed Jack.

For the third time saluting, the coxswain possessed himself of Jack's suit case and sword, then crossed the wharf to the landing stairs down below, the gunboat's cutter waited, a natty little craft, occupied by a bowman and four oarsmen.

The three young officers seated themselves at the stern of the gig.

"Cast off," directed the coxswain. "Up oars! Let fall! Give way!"

With the long, steady, magnificent sweep of the Navy which the sailors pulled, the little gig seemed to race through the water.

"Is that the 'Sudbury'?" inquired Jack, nodding toward a trim little gunboat some two hundred feet long.

"Yes, sir."

All three of the submarine boys gazed at the gunboat with secret enthusiasm. Had it not been for the guns fore and aft, and at the rail on either side, the "Sudbury" might have been mistaken for some multi-millionaire's yacht.

In another moment the gig was making fast at the gangway. Then Jack Benson stepped out, and, heading his comrades, went up over the side.

At the head of the gangway a corporal and four marines stood drawn up. At a low-voiced command from the corporal the marines presented arms, standing thus until the three new young officers, saluting, passed.

Just beyond the marines, stood an officer of the Navy. He brought his hand to his cap in a smart salute.

"Lieutenant Benson?" inquired this officer.

"Yes."

"I am Ensign Fullerton, executive officer of this vessel."

They shook hands and Jack presented his comrades.

"I think I had better show you to your cabin, sir," suggested Ensign Fullerton.

"As you please," nodded Jack.

The way was actually led, however, by three of the marines, who, at a word from the corporal, had possessed themselves of the limited baggage of the new arrivals.

In Jack's cabin was a broad double berth, two deep wardrobe closets, a book-case, desk and several chairs.

"I had no idea junior officers had such roomy quarters," murmured Jack.

"They don't, usually, sir," smiled Fullerton. "But it's different, of course, in the case of the commanding officer."

"But I'm not the commanding officer," gasped Jack.

"For the purposes of this cruise you are," smiled Fullerton. "But I forget. You haven't received your orders. There they are on your desk. They arrived less than an hour ago by wire."

Like one in a dream young Jack Benson picked up a bulky telegraph envelope and broke the seal. There, before his eyes, danced the words of the latest order from the Secretary of the Navy.

Lieutenant Jack Benson was directed to take command of the United States gunboat, 'Sudbury,' until further orders. Ensigns Hastings and Somers were directed to assume such duties aboard as were assigned to them by Lieutenant Benson.

"I didn't expect this," stammered Jack. "I—I—we thought our temporary rank in the Navy was given us merely that we might have legal standing in making one arrest that is wanted."

"No one ever does know just what is wanted of him, until the order comes," laughed Ensign Fullerton. "At least, that has been the case since Mr. Sanders became Secretary of the Navy. He keeps all officers on the jump. But I guess that is what a good many of them need, sir."

As the Ensign appeared to be at least twenty-five years old that respectful "sir" struck young Benson's ear queerly.

"Pardon me, gentlemen, but be seated," suggested Lieutenant Jack, suddenly, as he realized that his chums and this one sure-enough naval officer were all standing.

"You have been aboard naval vessels before, sir, haven't you?" asked Ensign Fullerton.

"Oh, yes; but never in the present way," smiled Benson.

"Then, no doubt, you understand, sir, that the 'Sudbury' is under steam, only awaiting your order to put to sea."

"The last part of these orders," replied Jack, picking up the telegram, "advises me that sailing orders will be wired soon."

"Then may I make a suggestion, sir?"

"Of course," nodded young Benson.

"At your direction I will have Mr. Hastings and Mr. Somers shown to their cabins. Then I will send for the one other young man left of the gunboat's old equipment of officers, and present him to you. After that I would suggest, sir, that I have the crew piped to quarters for brief inspection by the new commanding officer."

Hal and Eph were quickly made acquainted with their own cabins, which were on the port side of the gun-deck, Jack's being on the starboard.

Ensign Fullerton brought in a slim, very erect young man in a midshipman's uniform—Mr. Drake, just out of the Naval Academy.

"Our engineers are all warrant machinists or petty officers; no commissioned officers among them," stated Fullerton. "Our highest marine officer is Sergeant Oswald. Besides the sergeant we have eighteen other enlisted men among the marines. Here is the ship's complete roster," continued the Ensign, taking a document out of a pigeon-hole over the young commander's desk. "And now, sir, shall I pass the order for piping the crew to quarters?"

"If you will be so good," Jack nodded, rising.

At this moment Hal and Eph appeared at the doorway.

"Pardon me, gentlemen, for suggesting that you had better put your swords on," suggested Fullerton, "Inspection of crew at quarters is about to come off."

Hal and Eph vanished, but soon reappeared, wearing their new swords and trying hard not to look conscious of the fact. Jack was engaged in adjusting his own side-arm to his belt.

"I neglected to state, sir," continued Ensign Fullerton, "that we have no medical officer at present. A hospital steward down in sick bay is our nearest approach, at present, to a medical officer."

"Forewarned is forearmed," laughed Jack. "We'll try not to be ill."

It was time, now, to proceed to the quarterdeck; for, forward, the shrill sound of the boatswain's whistle seemed to fill the air.

Though all the crew, including the marines, had been summoned and formed at the mast, the inspection was but a matter of a moment. Its purpose was more to give the crew a glimpse of their new officers.

Just as the inspection was ending, a marine of the guard approached, announcing in a low tone:

"Telegram for the commanding officer, sir."

Ensign Fullerton received it, returning the marine's salute, and passed the envelope to Jack Benson, who opened it.

"Our sailing orders, Mr. Fullerton," announced Jack, as soon as the former had dismissed the formation at the mast. "This telegram gives, as you see, the latest reported position of the schooner believed to be the 'Juanita,' and her course. You will get under way at once, Mr. Fullerton. Then you and I will work out the course."

"This is the starboard watch, sir," continued the executive officer. "Which officer is to command it?"

"Mr. Hastings. Mr. Somers will take the port watch."

"Very good, sir. And I would suggest, sir, that Mr. Drake is an excellent pilot between here and the sea."

"Then direct Mr. Drake to take the bridge with the watch officer."

"Very good, sir."

"And, as soon as we are under way, Mr. Fullerton, come to my cabin and we will figure out our course more in detail."

"Very good, sir."

It was Ensign Fullerton, who, acting as executive officer, transmitted the needed orders to Hal, Eph and Midshipman Drake.

The three young officers now removed their swords, sending them by a marine orderly to their respective cabins. Hal took command from the bridge, subject to Fullerton's directions, while Jack, as commanding officer, also took his station there briefly. Eph, being free to do as he pleased for the time, went to his cabin to try to figure out whether he were dreaming.

Quickly the "Sudbury" left her anchorage, proceeding downstream. As soon as the start had been fairly made Ensign Fullerton reported at the cabin of the young commanding officer. They worked out on the chart the probable positions that the suspected schooner would take that afternoon.

"We should sight her at about five o'clock, sir, if she doesn't change her course, and if the wind holds the same," said Ensign Fullerton.

"If we get the right craft, first off, it will be a short cruise, won't it?" smiled Jack, rather wistfully.

"I—I—" began Ensign Fullerton, slowly, then paused.

"Well?" smiled Jack Benson.

"On second thought, I believe I had better not say what I started to say," replied the ensign.

"Oh, go ahead, Fullerton," urged Jack. "It isn't easy to wound my sensibilities."

"I was going to say, sir," replied the Ensign, flushing a bit, "that I quite understand how you feel about a short cruise. The sensation of holding a command in the United States Navy is one that you would not care to give up too soon."

"I was thinking of something of the sort," Benson admitted. "But—see here! On one point my orders don't quite enlighten me. If the suspected schooner proves not to be the right are we to come back to report the fact?"

"If you were so to order," replied Fullerton. "Yet you do not need to. This vessel is equipped with wireless, and you are in instant communication, at every moment of the day and night, with the Navy Department at Washington."

"I'm glad of that," admitted Lieutenant Benson, frankly. "It will lessen the danger of my making a fool of myself during my first and last naval command."

"Not your last command, I hope," remarked the ensign.

"The only way I could get a permanent command," retorted Jack, "would be to get appointed to Annapolis, if I could, and then work through the long, long years for command rank."

"There are other ways," replied Ensign Fullerton, quietly. "And especially, if a war should break out. Young men trained as finely as you and your comrades, and showing as great talent, sir, would have no difficulty in reaching important rank in a war of the future, when so much must be risked on the submarine craft of which you young men are masters."

"We have run a few submarine boats, I suppose," nodded Benson. "But none of us has ever had the Annapolis training."

"Not all of the best American sea-fighters have come out of Annapolis, sir," replied Fullerton, soberly. "If a boy gets through Annapolis there's nothing wonderful in his making a fairly good officer. But my cap, sir, is off to boys who can come through the ordinary machine shop and qualify themselves to command submarine boats or anything else afloat!"

Then, dropping back to his ordinary manner, Fullerton saluted, next left the cabin to carry to the watch officer the orders for the course.

Lieutenant Jack Benson, briefly of the U.S. Navy, strolled out to the after deck for a short promenade. Here he was joined by Eph Somers, who, in his naval uniform, did not forget to salute before accosting the commanding officer of the U.S.S. "Sudbury."

"I'm really beginning to feel that I'm not dreaming," confided Eph, almost in a whisper. "Whee! but it's fine to be out on a craft so big that you don't get a cramp in your leg from walking! Say, do you know, Jack," he whispered, "I am almost crazy to see one of this ship's big guns fired!"

"You may have your wish," laughed Jack. "Who knows?"

Who knew, indeed?

How was it possible, for that matter, for any of these three young officers to guess what lay ahead of them?



CHAPTER XIV

THE BOW GUN BOOMS AND EPH PUTS OFF

In the nineteenth century, when a vessel left port, her destination unknown, that craft might get away from a pursuing squadron scattered over the seas.

At best, knowledge of a marine fugitive's whereabouts could be gained only from the masters of other vessels that had sighted the fugitive. Usually, such information must be delayed until the informing master of the sighting ship reached port.

In the twentieth century all is greatly changed.

A vessel bound for parts unknown, carrying some fugitive from justice, is sighted by some steamship that is equipped with a wireless telegraph outfit. Hours before, perhaps, the master of the steamship has been asked to keep a weather-eye open for a vessel that answers the name or description of the runaway craft. Now, she is sighted by the master of the steamship. Ten minutes later the authorities on shore know the exact whereabouts of the fleeing craft. Should she change her course wholly, her new whereabouts is soon after reported to land by the master of some other wireless equipped steamship.

Once upon a time the task of finding and overtaking a runaway vessel at sea presented innumerable difficulties. Nowadays, it is often necessary only that the pursuing craft possess sufficiently greater speed to overtake the easily located fugitive.

As the "Sudbury" turned out into the open sea that little gunboat was in instant communication with Washington, and also with any wireless equipped ocean traveler up to nearly half way across the great Atlantic.

At three o'clock the Navy Department at Washington reported to a gunboat out of sight of land that the last sighting of the supposed "Juanita" placed her on the same course as hitherto reported.

At four o'clock came word that the Navy Department had had no new report as to the schooner by wireless.

At five o'clock another wireless despatch was flashed through the air. Lieutenant Jack Benson, reading, discovered that the "Juanita" had again been sighted on the same course, headed for some port in the British West Indies.

At 5:20 Ensign Eph Somers, port watch officer of the "Sudbury," sent a marine orderly to report to Lieutenant Benson that a schooner's topmasts were within sight.

Benson hurried to the bridge, but found Ensign Fullerton there just ahead of him.

"We'll shape our course in straight pursuit of the schooner, Mr. Fullerton," decided Lieutenant Jack.

"Very good, sir."

As yet the schooner's topmasts were visible only from the military top. After a few minutes had passed, however, the vessel's masts were visible from the bridge.

"Does her rig look like that of the 'Juanita,' Mr. Somers?" questioned young Benson.

"I can't say, sir," Eph replied. "I didn't see her, at Cobtown, under sail. I shall have to wait until I can make out the hull, sir, before I can make even a good guess."

Smoke was pouring heavily from the "Sudbury's" two funnels by this time, for the gunboat was being pushed, under forced draught, to considerably better than twenty knots an hour. The schooner apparently was making between seven and eight knots an hour.

In a few minutes more the hull of the stranger began to show. Eph, with a pair of marine glasses to his eyes, studied the stranger long and carefully. Lieutenant Benson, knowing it would be folly to hasten his comrade's judgment, waited in silent patience.

"That craft looks very much like the 'Juanita,' sir," ventured Eph, at last. "In fact, sir, I think that's our schooner."

"Steer up to windward of her, then, Mr. Somers," Jack directed. "Mr. Fullerton, give orders to have the port bow gun manned. When the order is given, be prepared to fire a blank shot toward the schooner. If, after one minute, the schooner shows no signs of heaving to, then fire a solid shot across her bows."

"Very good, sir."

Without leaving the bridge Ensign Fullerton passed the word for the manning of the gun and loading with a blank cartridge.

There was a new, deeper glow in Eph Somers's eyes as he paced the bridge. He was to have, at last, his wish to see the "Sudbury" fire a shot.

In a few minutes more the "Sudbury" was ranging tip alongside the schooner, though a full quarter of a mile away to windward.

"Mr. Fullerton, fire the blank shot at the stranger," ordered Lieutenant Jack Benson.

"Aye, aye, sir."

The order was carried by a simple wave of the executive officer's hand. The petty officer in command behind the bow gun, looking for the signal, saw it and gave a low-toned order.

Bang! Eph was watching for it. His eyes danced as he heard the sharp explosion and saw the cloud of white smoke, with the tongue of fire spitting through the center of it. In most of us there is left some of the spirit of the old Norse pirate; Eph had a lot of it.

"The people on the schooner act as though they were bewildered," smiled Jack, watching the schooner through his glass. "It doesn't look as though they expected any such order from us. I wonder if they mean to obey?"

"Worse for them, if they don't," replied Ensign Fullerton, grimly. "A solid shot across the bows, and a shot through their rigging after that. What schooner has any chance to defy a ship of war?"

"There they go around," cried Jack, barely above his breath, "They'll heave to."

"Of course," smiled Fullerton. "Your orders, sir?"

"Lower the power launch. Send a corporal and four marines, and six sailors, armed, beside the boat-handlers. Mr. Somers will take command, as he's the only one of us who knows the fellow Gray by sight."

Ensign Fullerton accordingly transmitted the orders, also ordering Midshipman Drake up to the bridge to serve as watch officer in Eph's absence. Hal Hastings was asleep in his cabin at the time.

In the meantime the schooner continued "hove to," several men lining her starboard rail.

"Somehow, Mr. Fullerton," muttered Lieutenant Jack, after Eph had departed in the power launch with his boarding crew, "I'm not much inclined to think that's our schooner."

"Somers seemed to think so."

"Mr. Somers said it looked like the 'Juanita.' He's too careful to commit himself to more than that."

"We shall soon know, sir, anyway."

It is probable that Eph was disappointed that the schooner had been stopped by anything less than a round shot through her rigging. Yet, as he stood up in the stern of the launch, as it bounded over the waves, he felt a heap of satisfaction in the thought that he commanded the searching party, and that he did so by virtue of being an officer in the United States Navy. And this, too, was a form of duty in which Ensign Somers wore his sword at his side.

"I hope they're preparing a surprise for us," chuckled Eph, as he looked about him at his armed crew. "I hope the schooner's people will try some mean trick for us, or attempt to put up a fight. Whee!"

Yet none of these aggressive thoughts showed in the young Ensign's face. Eph knew his place, usually, and the amount of dignity that went with any place.

"Make fast alongside!" Eph sang out, as the launch rounded in alongside the schooner.

"What's wrong with the United States Navy, Midshipman?" came the jovial question from a bronzed, broad-shouldered, bearded man of fifty who appeared at the quarter rail, offering Eph a hand to aid him on board.

But Eph, disdaining the proffered hand, seized the rail, vaulting neatly on board. Then he straightened up.

"I am Ensign Somers, from the gunboat 'Sudbury.'"

"Ensign, eh?" muttered the schooner's master, looking in some bewilderment at Eph's boyish face. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Somers."

"What craft is this, sir?" Eph continued.

"Schooner 'Varia,' from New York, bound for Jamaica."

"We saw 'Varia' painted on your stern, of course," smiled Eph. "But was that name painted there during the night?"

"Sir?" demanded the skipper, in some astonishment. "Oh, I see, Ensign. Your commander thinks we may be sailing under false colors. Will you be kind enough to step down into my cabin?"

Here an elderly man, in yachting dress, stepped forward out of a group of sailors at the waist of the craft.

"This schooner is chartered to convey—" he began, but Eph interposed, politely:

"Pardon me, sir, but I am talking with the captain only."

Then, turning toward the launch, Ensign Somers called:

"Corporal, board with your marines, and wait further orders."

Then Eph followed the captain below.

"The gentleman who spoke to you," explained Varia's master, "is Dr. Herman Barnard. He chartered the 'Varia' at New York for a West Indian cruise for himself and his family. Here are my papers, as master. Here is the 'Varia's' license to carry passengers, and here are our clearance papers, from New York to Jamaica."

The papers were all in regular order. Eph looked them over, noting that the master's name was Walford.

"I don't see anything wrong here, Captain Walford," Eph continued. "Where is your list of passengers?"

"Here, sir."

Eph glanced over the list, noting that besides Dr. Barnard, there were five other men passengers, besides Mrs. Barnard, her two daughters and one other woman.

"I shall have to ask you, Captain, to line your passengers up on deck," Eph continued.

"I had hoped to escape that annoyance, sir," protested the schooner's master. "The ladies were alarmed, and took to their staterooms."

"I am very sorry, Captain," Eph insisted, "but I must look over the passengers."

"Very good, then," sighed Captain Walford.

"And muster the crew forward. I must see on deck every person on this craft."

"Very good, sir."

Eph returned to deck, leaning against the starboard rail of the quarter deck. Below, he heard some sounds of remonstrance in feminine voices. Then, as a step sounded on the after companionway, and Eph straightened up, he heard a woman's voice say:

"United States Navy? I would call this a good deal more like piracy!"

"But, mamma—"

"Hush, child!"

Mrs. Barnard, when she stepped on deck, looked as severe as her husband appeared mild.

Ensign Eph doffed his cap quickly to the ladies.

"I know this does not please you," he said, courteously, "but I will ask you to remember that I am acting under orders, and have no choice."

"It is outrageous to stop a pleasure craft in this fashion!" declared Mrs. Barnard, haughtily.

"Do you know why we are making this search, madam?" asked Eph, sweetly.

"Of course I don't," snapped the good lady.

"Then I marvel," replied Eph, with another bow, "that you can have an opinion of something that you don't understand."

One of the girls was so undutiful as to snigger. Thereupon, one of the young men joined in the laugh, which became so general that the severe expression on Mrs. Barnard's face softened considerably.

"Perhaps I owe you an apology, young man, for having spoken as I did of you," admitted the good lady.

"You only called us pirates," smiled Eph. "That wasn't much."

"Perhaps I said more than I should have said, young man," admitted Mrs. Barnard.

"Mamma, wouldn't it be better to address this officer by his title?" asked the elder of the girls. Then, turning to Eph, the same speaker inquired:

"May I ask your title? Are you a captain?"

"Only an ensign, miss," Eph replied, "and only an acting ensign at that."

While this brief conversation had been going on, the cook, stewards and watch below were being routed out. Now Captain Walford came aft to report:

"All hands on board, sir, have been turned out for your inspection."

"All?" insisted Eph.

"All, sir."

"Then, Captain Walford, I am going to do something that may appear very extreme, but I regret to say that I can't help it. I must search this craft. If I allowed one for whom we are seeking to slip through our fingers it would bring a lot of blame down about my head."

Eph now stepped back to the rail, ordering six of the sailors on board. To them he gave his orders. The party spread, going below. Eph, excusing himself to the ladies, went with the sailors.

No more thorough search could have been made. Every nook and cranny of the schooner was searched, but at last Eph was obliged to admit that the man he sought was not aboard.

"My apologies to everyone for all trouble caused," declared Ensign Somers. "I trust you will find it easy to believe that I have only been following my orders; and, therefore, doing my duty."

"You couldn't have done less, Ensign," replied Dr. Barnard, courteously. "You couldn't have been more courteous."

"Are we at liberty to proceed on our way, sir?" asked Captain Walford, as the young acting ensign went over the side.

"I shall have to ask you to take the signal for that from the 'Sudbury,'" Eph answered.

On the gunboat's quarter deck, following Ensign Somers's report, there was an anxious conference.

"If this is the craft we've been following all the time," muttered Jack Benson, "we've a lot of hunting yet ahead of us."

"Shall I signal the schooner permission to proceed, sir?" asked Ensign Fullerton.

"By all means."

Darkness came down over the ocean while Lieutenant Jack was sending a wireless despatch through the air to the Navy Department.



CHAPTER XV

"THE RIGHT BOAT AND THE RIGHT CREW!"

Three hours later, under a new order from Washington, the gunboat's launch stole in alongside of a second schooner that had been pursued, overhauled and brought to a standstill.

This craft, however, proved to be a Nova Scotian vessel, with papers all right, a cargo beyond suspicion and no sign of the fugitive Gray aboard.

When news of this second failure had been flashed to Washington, and twenty minutes more had passed, the instructions came back out of the ether:

"Cruise slowly about where you are. Await new instructions, which will go forward to you as soon as we have fresh, reliable information from any source. See that your own search light is freely used through the night."

"'Puss in the Corner,' at sea," muttered Lieutenant Benson. "And we ain't even find a corner."

An hour later the young commander of the "Sudbury" turned in. Hal was on the bridge.

The gunboat cruised along lazily at about eight knots an hour. For some time Hal paced the bridge indolently, while the sailor lookout, forward, manipulated the searchlight, sending its beam in wide circles over the waters.

It was within half an hour of the time of calling the new watch, in fact, when the bow watch reported:

"Sail dead ahead, sir!"

Barely more than a topsail could be made out, even through the marine glass of the young watch officer.

"Hold the light on her; we'll overtake and examine her, anyway," was Ensign Hastings's quick decision. From the bridge he gave orders for the engine room to go ahead with increased speed. While the gunboat was bounding off after the stranger, time came to call the port watch. Eph Somers came up to the bridge, somewhat sleepy.

"Same old story, I guess," yawned Eph. "Have you passed the word to the executive office?"

"Not yet," Hal replied. "I didn't believe it worth while to break the slumber of Mr. Fullerton, or of the commander, until we got close to see whether the stranger looks in the least like the 'Juanita.'"

"I don't believe the 'Juanita' is anywhere on this wide ocean," muttered Eph, stifling a yawn.

"It doesn't look that way," smiled Hastings.

Down before the wheelhouse a bell began to sound briskly.

"Eight bells; your watch, Mr. Somers," announced Hastings. "But I am going to remain on the bridge with you for a while. I want a look at that mud-hooker over yonder."

Within fifteen minutes more the gunboat was running fairly close, though off to starboard.

"That doesn't look even a little bit like the 'Juanita,'" muttered Ensign Eph, disgustedly. "Why, she's longer than the Cobtown schooner. Besides, the 'Juanita' is a two-sticker, while that hooker yonder has a third mast with a yawl-rig leg-o'-mutton sail."

Hal said nothing, but continued to study the stranger through his night-glass.

"She is a queer-looking hooker," muttered Hastings. "Say, Eph, somehow that boat doesn't look as though she was built to fit her own rig."

"Why not!" demanded Eph.

"Well, look at her length. Then take a peep at the height of her dory-mast. Does it look tall enough for the length of the schooner?"

"I hadn't thought of that," admitted Somers, also taking a careful look through the nightglass. "Jove, Hal, she is an odd-looking piece of hulk."

Eph turned to pass the order to run in still closer to the schooner.

"What's wrong with her stern-hull?" asked Ensign Somers, three or four minutes later.

"Looks like a patchwork affair," declared Hal, more interested than ever.

"Has she a built-on stern?" demanded Somers, half a minute later.

"By Jove, I half believe she has. Eph, without that stern and the yawl mast, would you say the craft looks like the 'Juanita'?"

"I believe she would," muttered young Somers, excitedly. "Marine orderly!"

A sea-soldier came quickly up the bridge stairs, saluting.

"Mr. Somers's compliments to Mr. Fullerton, and will the executive officer come to the bridge?"

Again saluting the marine vanished aft. It doesn't take a naval officer long to report, even when he has to rouse himself out of a sound sleep to do it.

Ensign Fullerton reached the bridge rubbing his eyes, but he listened intently to what the two younger ensigns had to say.

"Marine orderly!" called the executive officer. "Mr. Fullerton's compliments to the commanding officer, and will he come to the bridge?"

Barely a minute later, Jack Benson stood on the bridge, listening to his subordinate officers and staring across the gap of water at the unknown craft.

"Mr. Fullerton," directed the young commander, "prepare to fire a signal shot and to lower the power launch. Make up the boarding party as usual. Mr. Somers, you will go in command of the launch. And I will accompany you this time. Mr. Fullerton, when I leave the bridge, you will assume command."

Both officers, as they received their orders, saluted.

Bang! The signal gun barked out, the flash from the muzzle sending a long tongue of red through the darkness.

But the stranger continued on her way through the night. Ensign Fullerton regarded the young commanding officer of the gunboat expectantly.

"Put a solid shot across her bows, Mr. Fullerton."

Again the order was transmitted, with little noise. The gun-crew then awaited the signal from the executive officer.

Bang! This time the solid shot struck the water a bare fifty feet ahead of the strange craft's bows as she forged on through the waves, her bow stirring up a gleaming white foam.

"That ought to stop her!" muttered Lieutenant Jack Benson, impatiently.

"I don't believe it is going to, though, sir," reported Ensign Fullerton, studying the other vessel through his night-glass. "I don't see a sign of motion on the stranger's decks."

"Load again with solid shot, then," directed the gunboat's young commander. "This time hit her square in the fore-rigging."

"I'll step below and sight the piece myself," replied Ensign Fullerton.

A few moments later the executive officer reported the port bow gun in readiness for service.

"Fire whenever you are ready, Mr. Fullerton," called Lieutenant Jack, in a low voice.

Bang! barked the bow gun, a moment later. Over aboard the stranger there was a crash, a tearing sound, and then her foretopmast toppled, hanging loosely in place by the stays.

"That'll stop her, I reckon." chuckled Jack Benson.

And "stop her" it did. There was no choice but to stop. This gunboat of the United States Navy was in a position to shoot every standing stick out of the schooner, if provoked too far, and the legal right to go to such lengths existed.

"Stranger is heaving to, sir," reported Ensign Somers.

"Very good, Mr. Somers. Order the power launch lowered. Put off as quickly as possible."

"Very good, sir."

Ensign Fullerton hastened back to the bridge, to assume command, while Hal hastings stood by him.

Boat-handlers and armed sailors and marines scampered over the side. Down the gangway followed Jack and Eph, looking very stately as they held their swords clear of their legs. Busily the launch chugged across the intervening water gap.

"Schooner, ahoy!" hailed Eph, as the launch ran in alongside "What craft is that?"

"Schooner 'Malta,' Cooper, master, from Sidney, N.S.," came the reply of a man at the after rail.

"Seems to me I've seen you before, in Cobtown!" suddenly exclaimed Eph Somers, as he leaped over the rail in advance of his marines.

"C-Cob—town?" demanded the schooner's master, falteringly.

"By the great Constitution! We've caught the 'Juanita' in disguise!" bellowed back Ensign Eph, turning to Jack Benson, who was just boarding. "See! There's the false stern structure."

"You're making a huge mistake of some sort, gentlemen!" protested the vessel's master, tremulously.

"Marines, lay aboard," thundered Eph. "Take the deck, Corporal. Round up all the crew you see, and make 'em stand at attention along one of the seams of the deck! Sailors aboard, you down any man who tries to block or balk you. Lively, now! I've seen this master in Cobtown, and I'll take my oath this is the 'Juanita' with a pieced-out, false stern and a faked third mast!"

"We hold you responsible for the deck, Corporal," spoke Jack, in a low tone to the noncommissioned officer of marines. "We're going to take the sailors and go below."

A rush was made for the companionway leading down into the schooner's cabin. A man's white, scared face showed below, for a moment.

"Hurrah!" yelled Eph Somers, drawing his sword and making a bound below "There's Brother Gray. Oh, we've the right boat—and the right crowd, too!"



CHAPTER XVI

THE DUEL THROUGH THE DOOR

Bang!

A stateroom door closed just before the two young officers reached it.

Click! That told the story of a bolt shot into place.

"You may as well open!" called Jack, coolly. "We have ample force for breaking down that door!"

Crack! In that confined space the discharge of a pistol sounded almost deafening. A line of red shot through the stateroom door. The bullet from the weapon whizzed between Jack Benson and Eph Somers, the missile burying itself in wood across the passage.