"If I can get out of here they'll never put this boat into the River Izaral."
"That's my game old raggie for you!" exclaimed Dick. "But what could you do, matey? There are four against us, counting the don—two to one."
"I'll do my best. As for Gaines, Speake and Clackett, they wouldn't dare lay hands on me. I can take care of the don, I guess!" and Matt's gray eyes flashed dangerously.
"They'll not let us out of here, old ship," said Dick. "Gaines and the rest know their business."
The steel room was as solid as a prison cell. There were small ventilators for admitting fresh air, but these were no larger than loopholes. Apart from the ventilators there were absolutely no other openings in the metal walls except the closed doors.
Matt laid down on the cot again and continued turning the situation over in his mind.
The thing that worried him was the possibility of the cruiser Seminole putting in at Belize with orders for the Grampus—orders which might have something to do with the sale of the boat to the United States government.
Matt, who was in Captain Nemo, Jr.'s, confidence more than any of the others, understood that such a sale was the object for which the captain was striving—that it was that, and nothing else, which had led him to bring the submarine into Central American waters. And now to have the captain run the risk of losing a sale through the misguided and utterly unwarranted action of Speake, Clackett and Gaines was a hard thing to bear.
Yet Matt could see no way out of the difficulty. Gaines and his two shipmates were determined to help the don, and the boat was well along toward the Izaral.
For three or four hours Matt lay sleeplessly on his cot, listening to the hum of the motor and rolling back and forth with the rough swaying of the boat.