Matt could not have swum faster if there had been a whole school of sharks after him, but before he got to the Grampus lead from the shore was pounding a merry tattoo against the submarine's steel plates. Dick, exposing himself recklessly, was answering with the Marlin. Neither side was damaging the other, but the firing spurred Matt to superhuman exertions.
When the young motorist reached the boat, Carl ducked out from behind the conning tower and gave him a hand up the slope of the deck.
"Now's the time," panted Matt, falling at full length across the curved plates. "Start her—full speed."
"Where are we to go?" demanded Glennie.
"Around the point and take the Pom in tow," Matt answered. "All four of the Japs are ashore, in this cove. Before they can cross the ridge and interfere with us, we ought to be able to pick up the other submarine and make off with her. Look alive, now! We can't turn the trick if you don't hustle."
The daring nature of Matt's scheme dawned on the lads with something like a shock. And it appealed to them, too! It was just such a scheme as they might have expected Motor Matt to set going.
"Hoop-a-la!" jubilated Carl, as Glennie punched the motor-room jingler. "Vat do you t'ink oof dot? Modor Matt goes ashore mit himseluf und coaxes der Chaps to shace him mit rifles, schust to ged dem oudt oof der vay so ve can shteal pack der Pom. Vat a feller he iss!"
"You're giving me altogether too much credit, Carl," expostulated Matt. "I ran onto those Japs by accident, and would have gone a good ways to keep clear of them."
"Vell, vat's der odds aboudt der tifference? Der modor poys iss on dop und——"
A bullet from the shore slapped against the side of the conning tower and whistled off into space, passing so close to Carl's head in its flight that he stopped his glorying and fell flat on the deck.