"I wonder where they have got Mr. Ironsides confined?" asked Sam disconsolately.
"It must be up in the forecastle. I saw him go down there with one of the sailors, and a short time later the fellow came up alone," volunteered Tom.
"Hullo! I guess they are going to take us in tow!" cried Jeff presently.
The imprisoned party in the conning tower watched eagerly while Rangler's men attached ropes to the bitts on the bow of the submarine, and, this done, the tug steamed ahead.
Presently the ropes tightened, and the submarine began to move through the water after the tug.
"Well! If this doesn't beat a three-ring circus!" exclaimed old Sam. "Here we are, shut up like a lot of babies, while the Huron, the fastest craft in America, is towed over the lake by an old tug."
The old man was boiling with indignation; so were they all, in fact. It was ignominious, to say the least—the ease with which they had been made captives.
"Where can they be going to take us?" asked Jeff.
"Canada, maybe," suggested Tom; "and then turn us loose in the wilds."
"I wouldn't be surprised if some such idea had entered their heads," agreed the professor, "but you must recollect that the Canadian coast is well patroled, and if a strange vessel landed there she would excite comment and investigation. If she hadn't papers, she would get into trouble."