The three prisoners were hungry and they lost no time in making an attack on the basket. While they ate they discussed the situation in whispers.
“Did Fingal come down the ladder from the conning tower, mate?” asked Dick.
“I thought so,” was the reply, “from the noise he made.”
“Did he go back to the deck?”
“I didn’t wait to listen.”
“If we could git that gang separated,” said Speake, “we could lay ’em out one at a time—an’ I guess the revolvers wouldn’t cut much figure.”
“That would be fine, Speake,” returned Dick, “but Fingal and his gang are not doing the things we want ’em to.”
“If we’re to accomplish anything toward recapturing the submarine,” chimed in Bob, “we’ll have to do it before Don Carlos gets back. He may bring a gang of soldiers with him. Besides, don’t forget what’s to happen to us at nightfall in case we don’t agree to join the revolutionists.”
“I’m not pinin’ to have my name wiped off the articles,” said Speake, with a wry grimace. “For one, I’d rather take long chances tryin’ to run the rebels off the boat. It’s a heap more comfortin’ to get done up that way than by lettin’ Fingal an’ Pitou an’ this Don Carlos do what they please without never liftin’ a hand to help ourselves.”
“I can’t see anything comforting in that proposition, either way,” observed Dick. “All I hope is, justnow, that Ysabel will be careful, and that Pedro will look after her. Everything depends on her.”
“She’s a brick!” murmured Bob admiringly.
“And she’s doing all this for you, Bob, you know!”
“It’s for all of us!” declared Bob.
“Don’t you never think it,” said Speake. “She’s runnin’ a lot o’ risks, an’ I wouldn’t never have thought a girl could have the grit. But Bob Steele was in danger! That was enough for her to know.”
“I wonder how Carl came out with his serenade?” remarked Dick. “Ysabel wasn’t at the house, and it’s a fair guess that Carl got into trouble.”
Carl certainly had tumbled into difficulties—but it was not because he had not found any one at home.
“What do you suppose Carl is thinkin’ aboutus?” said Speake.
“Our disappearance will bother a good many people,” answered Bob.
Speake’s conscience troubled him.
“I feel like an ornery cur,” said he, “over the way Gaines an’ Clackett an’ me acted! Ye remember how mad us three was at Cassidy when he got in such a takin’ because Bob was put in charge o’ theGrampus?Well, to my notion, we ain’t acted any better than Cassidy did.”
“You ought to feel cut up,” reproved Dick. “The only way you can square yourself, Speake, is by doing a lot to help recapture the ship.”
“Jest give me the chance,” answered Speake, his eyes flashing, “an’ I’ll show you what I can do.”
The boys finished the food, took a drink all around from the bottle of cold coffee that Ysabel had put in the basket, and then continued their wait for something to happen. They felt better physically, even if they were not more hopeful.
Dick lay back on one of the cots and went to sleep;Speake pulled his hat down over his eyes and leaned against the forward bulkhead; Bob, flat on his back on the other cot, stared upward at the rounded deck, wishing that he could poke a hole through the steel plates and so gain freedom for himself and his friends.
Speake dozed a little. Something white, poked through one of the ventilator holes above his head, floated downward and landed on his knee. He stared at it drowsily, then brushed at it mechanically with one hand. Suddenly he realized that the falling of a scrap of white paper was rather a peculiar circumstance, and snatched it off the floor.
“Bob!” he called.
“What is it?” returned Bob, rising on his elbow and directing his gaze at Speake.
“This dropped down on me!” Speake held up the paper.
Bob was off the cot in a flash and standing at Speake’s side. “When?” he whispered.
“Just now.”
“It was pushed through one of the ventilator openings. It’s a note—from Ysabel.”
He passed to Dick’s side and shook him into wakefulness.
“What’s the row?” inquired Dick.
“A note from Ysabel, pushed in to us through one of the holes in the forward bulkhead.”
“Fromher?” muttered Dick, smothering his excitement. “Read it! Perhaps she’s captured the revolvers.”
The note was written in pencil on a ragged scrap of paper. Bob, in a guarded voice, read it aloud:
“‘Pedro is asleep at the door. Fingal has gone off on the river bank. The two others are playing cards on the deck. I have Pedro’s revolver and have unlockedthe door. Now is the time! Capture Pedro and tie him—but don’t hurt him. Be quiet—if he makes an outcry all is lost. Hurry!’”
“‘Pedro is asleep at the door. Fingal has gone off on the river bank. The two others are playing cards on the deck. I have Pedro’s revolver and have unlockedthe door. Now is the time! Capture Pedro and tie him—but don’t hurt him. Be quiet—if he makes an outcry all is lost. Hurry!’”
Speake pulled off his coat.
“This is bully!” he whispered. “Now we’ve got a chance.”
“It’s an opportunity I wasn’t expecting,” said Bob, pulling off his shoes carefully. “In our stocking feet, fellows! We must not make any noise. While Speake and I are binding Pedro, Dick, you go down and let Gaines and Clackett out of the torpedo room. If we work this right we may be able to get away from here and down the river.”
All three of the prisoners were excited, as well they might be. An opportunity offered to save themselves and the boat—success or failure hanging on their quickness and silence.
Advancing to the door, Bob laid his hand on the knob. Slowly he twisted the catch out of its socket, and then inch by inch forced the door open.
Yet, slight though the noise was that accompanied the click of the catch, Pedro heard it. With a startled exclamation he leaped to his feet.
Bob and Speake sprang at him, Bob catching his wrists and Speake throwing an arm about his throat and clapping a hand over his lips.
The odds were against Pedro, and he was helpless; yet, for all that, he managed to squirm about and make considerable noise.
There was a drone of voices overhead, coming down the open hatch. The voices suddenly ceased, and some one was heard floundering over the deck to the top of the tower.
The electric light was not burning in the periscope room, and the only light that entered the chambercame from the hatch. Any one looking downward would not have been able to see anything distinctly except in the immediate vicinity of the bottom of the ladder. Bob, Speake, and Pedro, as it chanced, were close to the locker.
“Anythin’ wrong down there, greaser!” called a husky voice.
“No, señor,” answered Bob, trying to imitate the rough voice of the Mexican.
“Thought I heard you movin’ around,” said the man above, turning away from the top of the tower.
Pedro was forced down on the locker, and Ysabel glided forward with a piece of rope for bonds and a piece of cloth for a gag. Pedro turned his wild eyes on the girl with startled inquiry and suspicion.
“You will not be hurt, Pedro!” whispered the girl; “don’t make a noise—please.”
She followed this with some soft words in Spanish. But Pedro, loyal though he undoubtedly was to the girl, continued to struggle. Bob and Speake, however, managed to get him bound and gagged.
“This is only the beginning, Bob Steele,” breathed Ysabel, her cheeks flushed with excitement and her eyes bright as stars. “Here is Pedro’s revolver—take it.”
Bob took the weapon and thrust it in his pocket.
“We can’t use firearms,” he whispered, “for they make too much noise. Our hope lies in capturing our enemies one at a time, then cutting the cables and dropping down the river. If possible, we must do this before Fingal gets back.”
“Where did Dick go?” asked the girl.
“To release Gaines and Clackett. The torpedo-room door is fastened by a bolt on the outside, so he’ll have no trouble in getting them out. We’ll wait till they come before making our next move.”
Bob had hardly finished speaking before Dick came in through the forward door of the room. Clackett followed him—but Gaines was not along.
Bob lifted a warning finger as Dick was about to speak, pointed upward toward the deck and then motioned for Dick and Clackett to come closer.
“Where is Gaines?” he whispered.
“He got out through the torpedo tube, half an hour ago,” said Dick.
Bob, as will be remembered, had already thought of this maneuver. But it was unfortunate that Gaines had put it into effect, in view of what was transpiring.
“What was Gaines going to do?” asked Bob of Clackett.
“He reckoned he’d go up the river an’ try an’ find General Mendez,” replied Clackett. “We sort o’ figgered it out between us that some of the soldiers under Mendez could come here and capture the boat and release the rest of us.”
Here was an awkward situation, and Bob wrinkled his brows over it.
They could not leave without Gaines. He was taking chances and doing his best to be of service to his comrades, and dropping down the river without him was not to be thought of.
“What shall we do now?” asked Dick.
“Keep on with our plan,” answered Bob. “There are two of the scoundrels playing cards on deck. We must get them as safely as we have got Pedro.”
“Shall we make a racket and bring them down?”
“They’ll both come, if we do that. We can capture them with less noise if they come one at a time.”
Ysabel started forward.
“I’ll go up the ladder,” said she, “and say that Pedro wants one of them. After you capture him, I’ll go up after the other.”
“Good!” exclaimed Bob. “Get ropes, boys,” he added to the others, “and stand ready for some swift and noiseless work.”
Ysabel glided to the ladder. Before she could mount, however, some one was heard climbing over the top of the conning tower. As those below looked upward, a pair of booted feet swung down.
“Fingal!” gasped Ysabel, drawing away fearfully.
Bob motioned her out of the room. “Stand ready for him,” he whispered, “as he reaches the bottom of the ladder. The smallest mistake now means failure. Ready!!”
Scarcely breathing, Bob, Dick, Speake, and Clackett stood waiting for the burly ruffian who, jointly with Don Carlos, was responsible for all their troubles.