"I'll do nothing of the sort," blurted the astounded Englishman
"You'll go all the same," warned Mr. Trotter, first of all displaying his Secret Service badge, next running a hand back briefly to a revolver that rested in a hip pocket. "I don't much care, Drummond, whether you walk with me, or whether I have to send for an ambulance to bring you along. But you'll go just where I want you to."
The Englishman was too much terrified to reply. Two or three times he opened his mouth as though to speak, but, instead, merely swallowed.
"Come, now—forward march" advised Mr. Trotter. Drummond, without allowing himself to hesitate, went away at the side of the Secret Service man.
"Don't you want your cane?" called Jack Benson. Drummond did not condescend to answer, so the submarine boy slipped back to the tree, where he found the stick. It was a handsome piece of polished partridge wood, surmounted by a handsomely wrought head of gold.
"This will make an interesting souvenir to keep aboard the boat," mused
Benson, swinging the stick as he continued his walk.
At the veranda Jack came face to face with Mlle. Nadiboff, just returning from an unaccompanied stroll down by the water front. To the submarine boy's astonishment the handsome Russian greeted him most amiably.
"You have not forgotten old friends, I hope, my Captain?" she added, smiling and with a pretty little coaxing way.
"There are some old friends," replied Captain Jack, lifting his cap, "whom it is impossible to forget."
"I hope you will continue to regard me as a friend," responded Mlle.
Nadiboff, more seriously, looking him fully in the eyes.