"Yes," conceded Tom, "you have. I'll tell you in a moment."
He consulted a chart, made a few calculations and then spoke.
"I shall land you at St. Thomas," answered the young inventor. "I do not wish to bring my submarine to a place that is too public, as too many questions may be asked. From St. Thomas you can easily reach Porto Rico, and from there you can go anywhere you wish."
"Very well," murmured the malcontent. "But I don't consider that I owe you a cent, and I'm not going to pay you."
"I wouldn't take your money," Tom answered. "And don't forget what I said—that what I find is my own."
The other answered nothing. Nor from then on did he hold much conversation with Tom or any others in the party. He kept to himself, and a day later he was landed, at night, at a dock, and if he said "good-bye" or wished Tom and his friends a safe voyage, they did not hear him.
They were steaming along on the surface the next day, and at noon the submarine suddenly halted.
"What's on now, Tom?" asked Ned, as he saw his chum prepare to go up on deck with some of the craft's officers.
"We're going to 'shoot the sun' again," was the answer. "I want to make sure that we were right in our former calculations as to the position of the Pandora. The least error would throw us off."
Using the sextant and other apparatus, some of which Tom had invented himself, the exact position of the submarine was calculated. As the last figure was set down and compared with their previous location, one of the men who had been doing the computing gave an exclamation.