The boat bearing the boarding party drew up at the floating stage and quickly Lieutenant Summers bounded over the rail, followed by Captain Folsom, Bob and Frank, and the two sailors. The boys drew up in rank with the latter, while the two leaders advanced a few steps. Nearly a score in number, the crew of the strange sub chaser were grouped at the foot of the bridge. None coming forward, Lieutenant Summers said sharply:
“Lieutenant Summers, U. S. N., come aboard. Who commands here?”
There was no response. Instead, a struggle seemed to be going on within the group, as if one of its members were trying to escape and the others were restraining him. At a sign from Lieutenant Summers, the sailors loosed the automatics swinging in 219 holsters about their waists, and prepared for trouble.
“We’d stand a fine chance of getting shot without being able to talk back,” whispered Frank to Bob. “Neither of us armed.”
“Huh,” Bob replied, out of the side of his mouth. “I’d grab me somebody’s gun.”
The flurry, however, was short-lived. Suddenly, a shrinking figure was expelled from the group of men, as if shot from a cannon’s mouth. The searchlight from the Nark was playing full upon the scene.
“There’s your man,” cried a voice, from the group. “Tryin’ to hide, he was.”
The man looked up, fear and defiance in his features. He was Higginbotham.
“Ah,” cried Captain Folsom, sharply, taking a step forward, “so it is you.”
Higginbotham looked about desperately, as if seeking a way of escape. But he was cut off at the rail by the guard from the Nark and the boys, while the others had swung about him in a half-circle, barring the way. Seeing an attempt to flee would be futile, he pulled himself together, not without dignity, and faced Captain Folsom and Lieutenant Summers. It was to the former that he addressed himself.