"He's collared," he announced. "They're bringing him to the guard-room up on the bridge."
"Who's the lucky blighter?" inquired one of the disappointed twain.
"Mike O' Milligan," was the reply. "He put the kybosh on the Tin Hat before he had time to look round."
"Then the spy is feeling sorry for himself," remarked Farrar, who had overheard the conversation. "O' Milligan is the champion heavyweight boxer of the old 'Tantalus,' and there are a few nimble lads with the gloves in our ship's company."
"The blighter gets no pity from me," declared Holcombe. "I remember a yarn my skipper told—— Hullo! here's the dog."
The St. Bernard, with a couple of feet of chain trailing from its collar, bolted straight up to the two subs. Giving Holcombe a preliminary sniff the animal turned its attention to Farrar, thrusting its muzzled head against his hands.
"The poor beast is horribly thirsty," he remarked. "I'll take his muzzle off."
"Better be careful," cautioned Holcombe. "Hanged if I'd like to feel those teeth."
"You see," rejoined Farrar, and bending over the animal he unloosened the tightly fitting strap that secured the muzzle.
The dog barked joyously and, wagging his tail, followed his benefactor to the stream, where it drank "enough water to float a t.b.d.," according to Holcombe.