Then, with an oath in a foreign tongue, Gaston forced Hal's hands back, snapping handcuffs on the engineer's wrists.
"Now, then, you young pest!" snarled Gaston, springing to his feet. "Instead of one of you, I have two. But two shall give me no more trouble than one. So you thought you could subdue me—me, did you?"
"I'd have thrashed you all right," muttered Hal, his senses returning under the storm of taunts, "if my foot hadn't caught and thrown me. You wouldn't dare to free my hands and let me to my feet, just to see what would happen to you! You can't fight—unless all the advantage is handed to you. You're a coward—not a fighter!"
"Careful, my young firebrand, or I'll teach you to be more polite to me," sneered the Frenchman.
"Polite to you?" jeered Hal. "Polite to a spy—to a thief of nations! Polite to a scoundrel who wants to steal the biggest secret of defense that the United States Navy has!"
"Oh, we'll have your secret all right," announced the Frenchman, his voice harsh with triumph. "We now have the two boys who know all about the secrets of the Pollard boats!"
"This sounds so good, I reckon we'd better go right on in, Jerry," broke in another voice.
Gaston started, as did the two submarine boys. Then the chauffeur leaped to the mouth of the tunnel, only to draw back in dismay as a big form emerged and loomed up before his startled vision.
The last comer wore the dress and insignia of a petty officer of the
United States Navy.
"Get back there!" warned this big apparition, waving a warning hand that looked big enough to be a ham. "Nobody can't go out until we look into this cargo."