The dog obeyed, reluctantly. Already he had his suspicions that there was danger. His instinct prompted him to bound forward and grapple with the foe.
Deftly the fore hatchway cover was drawn aside. A ray of brilliant sunshine penetrating the narrow opening played with a pendulum-like movement into the dark recesses as the vessel rolled from side to side. The Sub deemed it safe to show himself, since the eyes of the imprisoned Huns were likely to be dazzled by the sudden glare.
"Now then!" he shouted sternly. "Do you surrender?"
"Nein," was the guttural reply; "we vos stop here. If you attempt to damage us do, den we der ship sink."
"All right, please yourself," rejoined Webb coolly. "Only remember, you'll be cooped up under hatches, and I need not remind you that it's a mighty unpleasant death, and you have only yourselves to blame for the consequences of your rash decision."
The trapped Huns conversed amongst themselves for some moments. Apparently their spokesman had been impressed by the Sub's view of the situation, and was communicating the news to his fellows.
"Don't hurry on our account," continued Webb cheerfully. "The odds are that we shall get to the Mediterranean before your submarine. But please do make up your minds."
"You vos our lives spare?" enquired the Hun spokesman anxiously.
"Of course; you will be treated as prisoners of war," replied the young officer promptly.
"Every von of us?"