The Japs were noted for self-sacrifices of that kind, and Ah Sin was not a Chinaman, but a little yellow man from the land of the mikado.
How long Matt had remained unconscious he had no means of knowing.
Resolved to discover what had become of the supposed Chinaman at all hazards, Matt climbed laboriously up the ladder. The cool, salt air, pouring down the hatch, served still further to revive him and bring back his strength.
At last, when he braced himself in the opening and was able to cast a sweeping glance over the waves, the sight unrolled before him brought a startled exclamation to his lips.
A cable's length from the submarine was a dory manned by smartly uniformed yellow sailors. Hove to, half a dozen fathoms beyond the dory, was the steamer with the black funnel and the red band, her port rail lined with figures that were evidently watching the Grampus. Between the dory and the submarine was a swimming figure, which Matt had little difficulty in recognizing as being that of Tolo, otherwise Ah Sin.
Tolo was swimming and looking behind, and the eyes of those in the dory were on the Grampus, the men at the oars turning their heads to look over their shoulders.
It seemed plain that they were expecting an explosion, and that they were hurrying to get Tolo out of the way of it.
Matt's blood ran cold as he thought of the heinous plot that had so nearly been carried out by the disguised Japanese. Policy was back of the murderous plan, but was it a policy dictated by a powerful nation, or merely by a set of misguided men, acting on their own accord?
The young motorist had no time to debate this point. A shout of consternation greeted his appearance at the conning-tower hatch. The officer in the dory spoke to his men, and all turned their faces the other way and bent their backs to the oars.