The young motorist had no time to debate this point. A shout of consternation greeted his appearance at the conning-tower hatch. The officer in the dory spoke to his men, and all turned their faces the other way and bent their backs to the oars.
It flashed over Bob, in a twinkling, that the crew from the steamer were still of the opinion that they could destroy the submarine, and that they were hastening to get aboard the craft in order to carry out their nefarious designs.
Without losing a moment, Bob drew back into the tower and closed and barred the hatch. Lurching down the ladder he called desperately to his companions. Speake and Dick were sitting up, staring blankly at each other. When Bob appeared they fixed their bewildered eyes on him.
“Wake up!” cried Bob, springing to Dick and shaking him vigorously. “Get your wits together, Dick, and be quick about it.”
“There was dope in that coffee,” mumbled Dick.
“That’s right,” seconded Speake, rubbing a hand across his forehead.
“Never mind that now,” went on Bob hurriedly. “Enemies are upon us! That steamer you saw in the periscope, Speake, is hove to a little way from us, and our motor is slowed until we have scarcely steerageway. A boat is coming toward the Grampus, and we shall be boarded before you can say Jack Robinson. We’ve got to make a dive for safety. Rouse yourselves, both of you! To the motor, Dick! Speake, attend to the tanks—fill them for a twenty-foot submersion. You——”
Something struck against the side of the submarine, and a jar followed as of some one springing to the deck. “There they are!” shouted Bob. “Below with you—quick!”
Speake and Dick got unsteadily to their feet. Bob’s ominous words alarmed them, and did more than anything else to clear the fog from their minds. Making their way stumblingly through the door, they lowered themselves down the hatch.
Several more ringing thumps on the deck proved to Bob that others had come aboard. Presently there was a banging on the hatch cover.