"You know where the Shark was headed for?" asked Ned.
"She's headed for a place where you can't butt in on her," answered the young man with a snarl. "When are you going to turn me loose? Aw, what's the matter with you?" he continued, assuming an air of good-fellowship. "I never did anything to you. Why can't you let me go, and say nothing about it?'
"Because," Ned answered, "you are a dangerous person to be at large. The next time you attempt to murder the crew of a submarine you may have better luck."
"Well, you keep right on," Moore scowled, "and you'll come to a place where there'll be no such word as luck in your dictionary. You might save yourself now by letting me go."
"You're a snake," cried Ned. "I wouldn't trust you with the life of a rat I cared for. Such people as you ought to be smothered at birth."
"Pile it on, now that you have the inning," said Moore. "Pretty soon you'll be playing second fiddle."
Ned went out of the temporary prison and locked the door without further talk. He had gained the point he sought.
Nothing could be clearer, now, than that the Shark was to meet fellow conspirators there. The boy was up against a tough proposition.
He believed that the Shark had secured the important papers. She would hardly have left the wreck without them.
The gold did not matter so much, yet he did not like the idea of his rival taking it out from under his very nose. He did not believe that all the gold had been secured, and figured that the Shark would go back after the remainder—but not until the important papers had been delivered to the conspirators.