The tug's engine-room telegraph bell clanged, the water churned under her squat counter, and, as she slowly forged ahead, the strain on the after-rope swung her stern close to the "Aphrodite's" deck.
Simultaneously Hythe and O'Shaunessey vaulted over the low bulwarks and leapt upon the submarine, Jenkins making a good third. Before Captain Restronguet and his companions could grasp the situation the three men gained the open hatch. They were not a second too soon, for the water was rising over the deck and lapping against the coamings of the hatchway.
With a clang the metal covering fell. The "Aphrodite" was heremetically sealed, with her captors safe within.
"Start the motors, Jenkins," exclaimed the sub triumphantly. "O'Shaunessey, bring that lever hard down."
Seven fathoms deep the submarine sank, then as her motors began to purr rhymically, Hythe pointed her head due east.
* * * * *
Early next morning, before it was light, Sub-Lieutenant Arnold Hythe dexterously brought the submarine into Portsmouth Harbour, and, confident that the importance of his errand would justify the unearthly visit, boldly called upon the Commander-in-Chief.
Forgetting his dignity in his anxiety to hear what had actually occurred to the "Aphrodite"--for, as usual, vague rumours had been floating round--Sir Peter Garboard made his appearance clad in a dressing-gown.
"You're back again, Mr. Hythe? Tell me, is it right that Captain Restronguet has scuttled the 'Aphrodite'?"
"Hardly that, sir; she is at this moment alongside the North Railway jetty. You see, sir, I stole her."