"Ho-ho!" sneered the rascal, "an order authorizing you to cause my arrest? This disposes of your case, then, young Mr. Benson!"
CHAPTER VII
A LESSON IN SECURITY AND INFORMATION
Despite the savageness of his utterance Millard continued to gaze thoughtfully, for a few moments, at the submarine boy's face.
As the rascal gazed, however, a grayness came into his cheeks that, somehow, smote Captain Jack with secret terror.
"I—I don't see how it can be helped," gasped Millard, at last, in an altered tone that came as another dash of ice water over the submarine boy. "Benson, I hate to do it. I'd hate to use a dog in such a way, but—but there's no help for it!"
A long-drawn-out sigh, a still queerer look in his face, then the scoundrel broke forth again:
"It's your own fault, after all, boy, and there's no help for it."
"By and by I suppose you'll enlighten me as to what 'it' means?" hinted Jack, trying hard to bolster up a courage that, none the less, would ooze and drop.
Millard's only answer was to bend over the boy and roll him somewhat in examining the prisoner's bonds. It was through this that Jack discovered what he had not known before—namely, that his wrists, besides being bound behind his back, were also lashed fast to something in the flooring.