"I guess so, sir," said the sailor respectfully; "must have got the wrong craft, sir."
"So it would seem. However, my man, here's a dollar for your trouble." The sailor touched his forelock and stuffed the bill into his pocket. As he did so, he exclaimed suddenly:
"Beg pardon, sir. Somebody on deck is calling me. Back in a minute, sir."
With monkey-like rapidity, he sprang toward a ladder, and in a flash was on deck.
"I guess I might as well go, too," thought the inventor, and was preparing to follow when a startling thing happened.
The hatch by which they had entered was suddenly clapped to.
"Here! Here!" shouted the inventor, thinking a mistake had been made. "Let me out. I'm——"
"You'll get out when we're good and ready," came a harsh voice from the other side of the hatch. At the same time the rasping sound of a bolt being secured on the outside came to the crestfallen inventor's ears.
While this scene was transpiring on the tug, Captain Rangler and two of his men had slipped from the stern of their craft down upon the deck of the submarine. Tiptoeing forward, as softly as cats, they gained the conning tower.
A sharp, metallic clang was the first intimation that Tom and his companions had that Captain Rangler once more held the upper hand. The hatch of the conning tower had been slammed to by the ruffian, and the outside fastenings—used when the submarine was in port—had been locked.