“Great Scott,” cried one of the other officers. “Mutiny on the high seas! It’s our clear duty to quell the disturbance and capture the rascals.”
“Right you are, Conover, and we’re going to do it,” spoke up Captain McGill. “Mr. Lockyer, will you manage the searchlight, please? Mr. Parry, please pass the word below for your capable young men. Send them on deck, and tell them to station themselves there waiting orders.”
“Aye, aye, sir!”
“This certainly is the eventful night,” exclaimed Ned, as he and Herc, with old Tom close behind, emerged on deck and saw what was going forward.
“It looks like a big night to-night,” hummed Herc blithely. The prospect of a fight was always a delight to the red-headed youth, and things certainly seemed to be “freezing up for one,” as old Tom put it.
Inside the conning-tower, excitement ran at high tension now. As they drew near and the white pencil of the searchlight shot out, bathing the yacht in its white brilliancy, the vessel began to slip through the water.
“Ha! Those scoundrels are trying to slip away, but they don’t know what they’re up against,” said Captain McGill, his lips compressing grimly. “More speed, please, Mr. Stark.”
The middy’s hand shot out and touched the telegraph lever. Instantly, down in the engine room, cranks began to revolve faster. A quiver ran through the Lockyer as, like an unleashed greyhound, she leaped forward.
But as they neared the yacht, overhauling her in leaps and bounds, it began to look as if they might be too late. The old gentleman was seen to raise a pistol and fire. At the same instant a sharp, crackling volley burst from the mutineers. They saw the girl, who wore a white yachting suit, turn despairingly, her face set toward the oncoming submarine, as if in mute appeal. As the searchlight bathed her features, Lockyer gave a sharp cry.
“Great Heavens! It’s Miss Pangloss and her father!” he cried.