"Don't let that snake-in-the-grass Frenchman get away, mates," begged
Jack, earnestly.
"Jerry, I reckon you can hold the only gang way that opens in on this place, can't ye?" demanded the big sailor, turning to his sturdy looking shipmate.
"I reckon, Hickey," said the other.
"This Frenchman is one of a gang of foreign spies, who have taken this means to force us to furnish plans, drawings and all information about the Pollard submarine boats," Jack continued. "You see how he has us ironed down here."
"Got the keys to them irons, Frenchy?" demanded the big sailor, turning upon Gaston.
"Yes," shivered the fellow, looking yellow with fright.
"Then turn our shipmates loose. Not too much delay about it, either," ordered Hickey.
Gaston obeyed as meekly as a lamb. There was a look in Hickey's steady eyes which would lead one to suppose that the big sailor might be able to use his strength in tearing a worthless human being apart.
"I hope you can understand all the thanks I feel like giving," remarked the young submarine captain, as he rose to his feet, then offered his hand to the big sailor.
"Oh, stow the thanks, anyway," laughed Hickey. "But Jerry and me ain't in for what we thought might be coming to us."