Tucked away in the stern, at the end of the floored space, was the motor room. It looked like the tunnel shaft of an ocean liner. At one side there were switchboards for two dynamotors: one of ten horse power to compress air, and a second of two horse power to supply lights and assist the ventilation. The spiral resistance coils were close to the switchboards. The gasoline engine was in the center of the compartment, and back of this stretched the shaft, finally passing out into the water through a stuffing box.
Bob glanced at a clock on the wall. From somewhere in the distance he could hear breakers churning soddenly against a reef.
Clackett, crouching low in the curve of the boat’s side, looked anxiously at Bob. He paid no attention to Clackett, but gave the fly wheel a sharp turn, and listened. It was marvelous how completely he was in touch with the engine.
“Did you strain the gasoline before you put it into the tank?” he demanded of Clackett.
“Always do that, Bob,” was the reply.
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“The carburetter valve is clogged. Lay hold here.”
In ten minutes the valve was clear, the engine “turned over,” and the motor working properly. Bob switched the power into the propeller.
“All right, periscope room!” he called through a tube.
“Bully!” came back the voice of Gaines. “We were almost on the rocks. You’re the boy, Bob!”
“Send Dick Ferral down here,” ordered Bob curtly.
Dick presently appeared.
“Take charge of the engine, Dick,” said Bob.
“What are you going to do?” asked Dick.
“You’ll know in a few minutes.” He turned to Clackett. “Go up to the periscope room, Clackett,” he went on. “I may need you.”
“But say, Bob——”
“You heard what I said!”
There was that in Bob Steele’s voice and eyes that sent Clackett crawling forward along the passage.
Bob followed him. In the battery room they picked up Speake, and Bob sent him trailing after Clackett. In that order all three finally gained the periscope room.
“What the blazes is the matter with you fellows?” shouted Gaines, who was doing the steering himself, and was standing by the periscope table.
“Keep your eyes on the periscope,” said Bob. “Attend to your work, Gaines.”
Bob whirled about to where the don was sitting on a stool. There was a sharp gleam in the Spaniard’s eyes, although he was otherwise cool and perfectly collected.
“This is a good time to give you fellows a lesson in who’s who aboard the Grampus,” said Bob. “Don Ramon, you did a rascally thing when you hired these men to take you south in direct defiance of my orders.”
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“What of it?” The don shrugged his shoulders. “We’ll soon be at the mouth of the Izaral——”
“We are not going to the Izaral River,” cut in Bob. “We are going back to Belize.”
“We are not going back to Belize until we finish our work in the Izaral,” was the insolent response.
“No?” returned Bob coolly. “We’ll see. Gaines?” he called.
“Aye, aye, sir!” answered Gaines, keeping his eyes on the periscope.
“Put about!”
Gaines made no move to shift the wheel.
“You heard what I said, Gaines?” went on Bob, his voice pitched low but carrying an emphasis that lifted it above the hum of the motor.
“I heard you, Bob,” replied Gaines.
“Either obey the order or give up the wheel to Clackett.”
Brought directly face to face with the issue, Gaines hesitated. The sharp eyes of the don noted the effect the masterful young man’s words were having on Gaines.
“Don’t you do it, Gaines,” said the don coolly. “Think of the money you’re to get. Bob Steele has not the courage——”
“Don’t talk foolish!” growled Gaines. “Bob’s got more pluck in a minute than any of the rest of us have in a year. I know him.”
“He hasn’t the courage to go to the Izaral,” growled the don.
“He’s only off’n his course a little about that,” answered Gaines.
“Will you obey orders, Gaines, or leave your post?” asked Bob.
“He’ll obey my orders,” flashed the don, “and he’ll stay right where he is and hold to his present course.”
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As the don spoke he pulled a hand from the breast of his coat. The hand gripped a revolver.
“That’s your game, is it?” asked Bob, peering steadily into the snaky orbs of the Spaniard.
“We have come thus far on my mission,” returned the don, “and we are going the rest of the way.”
“Put up that gun!” said Gaines angrily. “If you try any shootin’, we’ll throw our hands in the air and put back to Belize.”
Speake and Clackett moved forward. Bob waved them aside.
“I’ll manage this,” said he. “Gaines, keep your eyes on the periscope. A fine fellow, this don of yours. You men ought to feel proud of the way you hooked up with him, and——”
Bob, while he was talking, had kept covert eyes on the don. At just that moment the Grampus gave a heavy roll. The don’s stool slid back against the steel wall and the point of the revolver was thrown, for the fraction of a second, toward the curving deck, overhead. This was Bob’s opportunity. Quick as a flash he hurled himself upon the Spaniard, bore him from the stool, and they rolled over and over upon the heaving floor.
The struggle lasted only a few moments, and when Bob withdrew from the don and got to his feet, he was holding the revolver.
“I’ll make you answer for this!” cried the don, in a furious temper.
“You are welcome to try—just as soon as we get back to Belize,” said Bob. “If this matter is aired, it won’t sound very well when your government hears of it.”
A mocking light crossed the don’s angry face.
“I’m not afraid of my government,” he exclaimed.
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“Throw it overboard, Speake,” said Bob, handing the revolver to Speake. “We don’t need that thing here. If I can’t have obedience on the Grampus without looking at her crew over the sights of a gun, I don’t want it.”
Speake, without a word, took the revolver and went up the ladder into the conning tower.
“From this on, Don Ramon Ortega,” said Bob, “you will consider yourself a passenger. I will treat you better than your conduct demands, and will not make a prisoner of you unless you attempt to interfere with the management of the boat. Do you understand that?”
The don muttered something under his breath, and before Bob could speak further, a shout came from Speake.
“Small boat off the starboard beam, close in!”
“By Jupiter!” exclaimed Gaines, pushing farther into the hood of the periscope. “Look here, Bob!”
As Bob turned, an evil, triumphant light flashed in the don’s eyes. Bob could not see it, and it escaped Clackett.
In the mirror top of the periscope table, clear and distinct, was reflected a ship’s boat, a yawl, heaving helplessly on the waves. The boat was not over a hundred feet from the submarine, and the periscope showed it with startling fidelity to detail.
Aboard the yawl were five persons—four men and a boy. They seemed to be in difficult straits, for the men were standing erect and waving their hats frantically.
“They’ve been shipwrecked, Bob,” said Gaines, “and they’ve lost their oars.”
One of the men was a burly individual, wearing an oil-skin coat and a sou’wester. All the others were144 roughly dressed, the boy wearing a pea-jacket and a stocking cap pulled well down over his face.
“There’s a sailing craft hull down, off to port,” said Bob. “It’s a wonder that boat didn’t pick those fellows up. But that’s unimportant. We’ll lay them aboard and take them off. Clackett!”
“Here, Bob!” answered Clackett.
“Take two coils of rope and go aloft.” Bob turned to Gaines. “Get as close to the boat as you can, Gaines,” he added.
Clackett rushed up the conning-tower ladder, and followed Speake out onto the curving plates of the deck. Bob went after the two men to direct operations from the conning tower.
Those in the boat—with the exception of the boy—appeared in the last stages of exhaustion. On seeing that their wild signals were to be answered, they dropped sprawling over the thwarts. The boy still stood erect and made gestures—stealthy movements with one hand which puzzled Bob.
“That youngster seems to have stood their hard luck better’n the men,” remarked Clackett, moving toward the bow with a coil of rope.
Bob made no answer, but continued to watch the dancing yawl as Gaines brought the submarine steadily nearer.
“Stand by to catch a rope!” shouted Bob presently, when they were close enough for a cast. “Let ’er go, Clackett!”
The rope left Clackett’s hand, untwined itself sinuously in the air, and the end of it was grabbed by the big fellow in the sou’wester.
“All fast!” he boomed in a voice that was strangely strong for one whose actions showed him to be nearly fagged out.
Speake’s rope was then thrown, and thus, with a145 double cable, the yawl was drawn close against the rounded side of the submarine.
In the periscope room were only the don and Gaines. Gaines’ head was shrouded by the folds of the black periscope hood, and the don, unseen, was rubbing his hands delightedly.