"Great guns, Matt!" exclaimed Gaines. "Are you hurt?"
"A scratch, nothing more," Matt answered. "The bullet simply left a mark and then went on. I brought you up here, friends," the young motorist continued, "to tell you where we are. We're anchored, broadside on to the current, in the middle of the Izaral River, our periscope ball some three or four feet above the surface of the water. We are going to stay here and wait for something to happen."
"What's to happen?" asked Clackett.
"Well, we've got news that a motor launch is coming down the Izaral loaded with prisoners. If possible, we must intercept the launch. Dick says we've a chance in ten of winning out, but we can't neglect even so slim a chance as that, inasmuch as it happens to be our only one."
Gaines, Clackett and Carl were even more deeply puzzled than they had been.
"Who are the prisoners?" inquired Gaines.
"Coleman, for one—the man we came to rescue. Then there are Jordan, Speake, and, I hope, Tirzal."
"Jordan and those with him were really captured?" demanded Clackett.
"Yes."
"Ach, du lieber, vat a luck!" wailed Carl. "Ve come afder vone Amerigan consul und lose anodder! Dey vas hootoos, dose consuls."