“How vas dis?” he asked. “Miss Harris, is it you, sure enough?”
“Not Miss Harris,” answered the girl, with a flush, “but Miss Ysabel Sixty.”
“Oh!” returned Carl, slightly abashed. “Miss Sixdy, dis vas a surbrise. I hat no itee dot you vas in dis part of der vorld. How id vas——”
“Slow down your motor, Gaines!” shouted Bob, through one of the tubes. “Make ready the bow anchor, there, Clackett—you don’t need to bother with the tanks, because we’re going to anchor under the surface. Carl, go below and make ready to let go the stern anchor when I give the word. Sharp on it now!”
Carl jumped for the bulkhead door leading to the afterpart of the ship.
Every one on board, with the exception of Dick and Ysabel, were astounded at these maneuvers of Bob Steele’s. However, Bob was in charge, and all hands obeyed him without question.
With his eyes on the periscope, Bob stood and watched, now and then calling a direction to Dick, at the wheel.
When the Grampus shot from the Purgatoire into the Izaral, she went broadside on against the current of the larger stream. The steel hull heaved over a little, under the mass of flowing water, but the screw and the rudder held her stiffly to her course.
“Now,” shouted Bob into the speaking tube, “let go your anchors!”