"Ready to board! Board!"
Making the first leap himself, Dave landed on both feet on the slippery deck of the undersea boat, the marines following eagerly and quickly.
"Lay off and wait!" Dave called back to the quartermaster. Then he stepped closer to the conning tower, through which two holes had been drilled by the two registering one-pound shells.
"Open up, you fellows down there!" Dave called, briskly. "And don't attempt any tricks."
Inside he heard shuffling movements, but there was no evidence of intent to obey his order. So he called again, but this time spoke in French, believing that order might be more easily understood by those inside the submarine.
"Don't shoot! I'll come up and open," answered a voice in broken French, strongly tinged with Maltese accent.
After a few moments the hatch was raised. Then, one after another, eight or ten of Darrin's crew went below.
"No more men below," ordered Dave, who then followed his men in.
It was a miserable spectacle that met his eyes. A heavy body lay face downward in a pool of blood on the steel deck.
"Who was this?" demanded Dave of the other four men who crouched to one side in fear and trembling.