“Open!” cried a muffled voice with a queer foreign intonation. “Open so that we can talk!”
“Who are you?” roared Bob, his voice sounding like thunder in the confined space.
“Young Samurai, patriots of Nippon, Sons of the Rising Sun, Independent Protectors of the Kingdom. Open!”
Bob forced his way up the ladder again. Slant eyes were pressed against the lunettes and met his.
Already, however, water was entering the ballast tanks, and the Grampus was beginning to settle.
“Our flag is the Stars and Stripes,” yelled Bob, shaking his fist at the eyes on the other side of the thick glass, “and you dare not lay a hand on us! If your mikado knew what you were about——”
“Our mikado knows nothing,” interrupted a voice. “We——”
The fact that the submarine was diving came suddenly home to those on the deck. Already the waves were creaming over the curved plates, drawn into a flurry by the suction as the boat went down.
The eyes disappeared from the lunettes, and the Japanese scrambled for their boat. Another moment and the conning tower was submerged and Bob could hear the waters gurgling over the hatch cover.
Sliding down to the periscope room he looked into the periscope. Some of the sailors were in the water, and others, in the boat, were desperately busy getting them aboard. For a moment only Bob was able to use the periscope, and then the waters closed about the ball, the valves protecting the ball from the inrush of water closed, and the Grampus was more than fifteen feet down.