CHAPTER XII
IN THE POWER OF THE SPIES
Something had, indeed, "happened" to Jack Benson, and much more was likely to happen.
The young submarine captain lay on a pile of dried grass that had been thrown on a board floor. His hands were still manacled. Worse, one of his feet now had an ankle-ring fastened securely, and this was chained to a stout staple driven in the floor.
It was a curious place in which young Benson lay, a place with a strange history.
Years before a tunnel had been bored into the side of a hill. After the tunnel had been lined with a masonry of stone it was not more than three feet in diameter. This tunnel led into an artificial cave some eighteen feet square and nine feet high. This cave had been shored up and boarded as to ceiling, floor and walls.
A great deal of labor had been expended in building this curious place under a low hill. Yet the original builders had figured that their time so spent would yield large returns. This part of the Florida coast lay conveniently near to Cuba. On moonless nights a small sailing craft would put in along the coast, laden with smuggled Havana cigars. There being no safe place along the shore in which to store the cigars, this place, hidden well in a forest, had been constructed as a safe depository. For some time the cigar smugglers had prospered. Then, as was to have been expected, Uncle Sam's sharp eyed customs men ran the illegal business down, arresting the smugglers, all of whom were subsequently imprisoned.
For a while afterwards this cave had been visited by the curious. All this smuggling, however, was now a thing of many years past, and curiosity-seekers had come to leave the place alone.
M. Lemaire, however, in studying the surrounding country, had heard of the artificial cave. He visited it. At need, he saw that it would suit his purposes. And now Jack Benson lay there, having been brought hither in Mlle. Nadiboff's automobile.
The young submarine captain was now not gagged. He had yelled for help perhaps two hundred times in the long hours since his enemies had left him there. Yet there had been no response. Benson was now willing to believe that there was now no likelihood whatever of his being able to summon help.
Unable to consult his watch, and lying there in complete darkness, the submarine boy had lost track of time. It was now nearly two in the morning. He had not eaten since early the morning before. He was famished, and, what was much worse, was parched for want of a drink of water.
"I wonder if they intend to leave me here to die?" thought Jack Benson, for perhaps the five-hundredth time. "It would be fiendish. Yet looking for mercy in Lemaire would be like looking for a lake of pure water in the Sahara."
Jack shifted, as much as the chain at ankle would permit. He groaned with the discomfort of it all.
As if in answer there came another groan, low, hollow, yet unmistakable. Captain Jack raised himself on one elbow, listening keenly. The groan was repeated.
"Who's there?" he called.
By way of answer there came still another groan. It was hollow, gruesome, and suggested the grave itself. But Jack Benson was a healthy, intelligent boy, with sound digestion and well tuned nerves.
"If you're trying to work any ghostly trick on me," called Benson, derisively, "try something else!"
Again the groan, a bit louder, but Jack's answer was a merry, ringing laugh, in which there, was not a trace of dread.
"Thank you for the company, Mr. Groan," he called cheerily. "I was beginning to feel a bit lonely. But say! Can't you bring a light—even a ghostly one?"
"I am the spirit of Paul Jones," breathed a low, wailing voice.
"Oh nonsense!" jeered Jack. "Paul Jones never spoke with a cheap
French accent."
"I come to—to warn—you," sounded the same sepulchral accents.
"Bring the warning right in and let's have look at it," begged Jack, heartily. Some convulsive sobs sounded out by the passageway.
"Oh, say," chuckled Jack, "as a vender of blood curdling noises you're in need of repairs. Listen! I'll sound a much better line for you!"
With that, and in a deep, blood curdling voice, Captain Benson started in on the first verse of "Down among the dead men."
He was interrupted then by a more tangible sound. Beyond, a match was scratched. Then a lantern was thrust in from the low tunnel, followed by the appearance of the rather long body of Gaston, the chauffeur.
"I thought my singing would bring something," chuckled Jack. "In a large town it always brings the police. Well, how are you? I'm really glad to see anything human, and I suppose you'll answer to that description, eh?"
In silence the chauffeur stepped forward resting the lighted lantern on the floor a few, feet from the boy. Then the Frenchman seated himself on the boards, next bringing out a paper package from one of his pockets. As he untied the string Jack watched with lively interest.
"Sandwiches, eh?" chuckled Jack. "Thank you. I'm ready."
"This is my supper," answered Gaston, taking a bite of one of the sandwiches. "You don't get any."
"Oh, I don't?" demanded Captain Jack, feeling the pangs of hunger worse than ever.
Gaston's next move was to take a bottle from another pocket, uncorking it.
"As you're a Frenchman, I suppose that's wine," muttered Jack. "I don't use that kind of stuff, but water—"
"This is water," replied the Frenchman, pouring a few drops onto the floor before the submarine boy's eyes.
Jack's throat ached at sight of the water. "I suppose you've come here to eat and drink, in order to torment me?" asked Captain Benson.
"It must give you huge pleasure to watch me," suggested Gaston, taking a swallow from the bottle.
"About the only pleasure I could get from watching you," retorted the boy ironically, "would be if I could see you swinging from the end of a rope that was tied in a tight noose around your neck!"
"Perhaps that will happen to you—yet," hinted Gaston, looking keenly at the boy.
"Humph!" muttered Jack. "How would that help your rascally crowd?"
It was plain that the chauffeur didn't really want to eat or drink, but that he had been tormenting the captive. Now Gaston carefully placed the sandwiches and the bottle of water where young Benson couldn't possibly reach them.
"You've been having too pleasant a time here," glared the Frenchman, bending over the boy. "You haven't yet suffered enough to be ready for the plans that we have for you."
With that the chauffeur threw himself a-top of the boy, striking him a blow in the face.
"You lean, long-legged coward!" sneered Jack, angrily. "You know about how much punk you'd have if I had my hands and legs free, and stood before you on even terms. How you'd beg, you wretched craven!"
For answer the chauffeur clutched with both hands at Jack's hair, giving a hard pull. Jack gritted his teeth, panting, until at last the torment forced him to utter a pain-wrung "ouch!"
"Perhaps you will soon learn better than to insult me," leered Gaston.
"You wretched dog," shot back the submarine boy, "you're past insult by any decent man!"
"Careful," warned the Frenchman, "or I will soon make you shriek your apologies to me. I can do what I please with you, and sometimes I have an ugly temper. But listen. I come for one purpose only—to find out what answer am to take to my master, M. Lemaire."
"Take him," retorted Jack, dryly, "the assurance of my undying contempt for him and all of his kind."
"You will be left here another twenty-four hours, without food or drink, if you do not give me a better answer to take," warned Gaston, leering down savagely into the boy's face. "Now, consider! Will you send word that you will be glad to see M. Lemaire in the morning?"
"Yes; if he's going to be in state prison," mocked Benson, "and locked in a cell, as he should be."
"Will you see him here?"
"I can't help myself."
"If M. Lemaire comes, will you be sensible? Will you tell him all that he wants to know about your boat and your work?"
"Not if I'm in my right mind!"
"If you continue stubborn, Captain Benson, you will die here, of thirst and hunger."
"Perhaps," admitted Jack, more soberly. "But it will be a full-size man's death, won't it?"
"Oh, you think, then, that you are not afraid to die of thirst and hunger?"
"Since others have done it," retorted Jack, "I suppose I can, if I have to."
"If you have to?" rasped the Frenchman.
"Do you doubt, then, that we would bring such a fate upon you?"
"I don't believe there's anything too low and cowardly for your crowd to stoop to it," admitted Jack Benson, with spirit.
"Have a care, young man!"
"You asked me a question," growled back young Benson, "and I answered you. If it doesn't suit you, don't ask any more questions."
Gaston regarded the boy with a still more sinister look.
"I think, Captain," continued the chauffeur, "that a little pain—will have a good effect in disciplining you."
Jack Benson did not reply.
"Come, now! Let us see if any of your hair will stay in your scalp?" proposed the Frenchman. "Yet, first of all, boy, have you anything to say that will stop me?"
"If I had, I'd say it," muttered the submarine boy, ruefully.
"Then you might give me that message I asked for."
"Is that all that will stop you?" demanded Jack.
"Yes. All."
"Then go ahead with whatever you have in mind," retorted Jack. "As long as my sane mind stays by me I shall never betray the Pollard secrets to any other government!"
"Let us see, then!"
Once more Gaston fastened the long, sinewy fingers of each hand in the submarine boy's hair. He began to tug, gently at first, but gradually increasing the force of the yank.
Jack Benson stood it as long as he could, then at last let out a yell that was dragged from the depths of agony.
"I'm in time, it seems! Stop that! Now, turn and fight like a man—you contemptible hound!"
It was Hal Hastings's voice that rang through the little cave. Hal had just crawled in through the tunnel. Now, the young engineer, his frame shaking with indignation, stood up at nearly his full length, prepared to spring upon Gaston, who, also, had leaped to his feet.
"I thought it would be worth while to watch and shadow you to-night," jeered Hal, angrily. "It turns out I was right. The bushes planted before the mouth of the tunnel bothered me, a while, in finding the way in here after you—but now I'm here!"
Of a sudden Hal leaped forward, intent upon pouncing on the chauffeur. But Hal's foot caught in a break in the flooring. He pitched and fell forward.
With a snarl of glee Gaston burled himself upon the prostrate body of the second submarine boy, pounding him furiously.