A FAVORABLE OPPORTUNITY.
The three prisoners were hungry and they lost no time in making an
attack on the basket. While they ate they discussed the situation in
whispers.
“Did Fingal come down the ladder from the conning tower, mate?” asked
Dick.
“I thought so,” was the reply, “from the noise he made.”
“Did he go back to the deck?”
“I didn’t wait to listen.”
“If we could git that gang separated,” said Speake, “we could lay ’em
out one at a time--an’ I guess the revolvers wouldn’t cut much figure.”
“That would be fine, Speake,” returned Dick, “but Fingal and his gang
are not doing the things we want ’em to.”
“If we’re to accomplish anything toward recapturing the submarine,”
chimed in Bob, “we’ll have to do it before Don Carlos gets back. He
may bring a gang of soldiers with him. Besides, don’t forget what’s
to happen to us at nightfall in case we don’t agree to join the
revolutionists.”
“I’m not pinin’ to have my name wiped off the articles,” said Speake,
with a wry grimace. “For one, I’d rather take long chances tryin’ to
run the rebels off the boat. It’s a heap more comfortin’ to get done up
that way than by lettin’ Fingal an’ Pitou an’ this Don Carlos do what
they please without never liftin’ a hand to help ourselves.”
“I can’t see anything comforting in that proposition, either way,”
observed Dick. “All I hope is, just now, that Ysabel will be careful,
and that Pedro will look after her. Everything depends on her.”
“She’s a brick!” murmured Bob admiringly.
“And she’s doing all this for you, Bob, you know!”
“It’s for all of us!” declared Bob.
“Don’t you never think it,” said Speake. “She’s runnin’ a lot o’ risks,
an’ I wouldn’t never have thought a girl could have the grit. But Bob
Steele was in danger! That was enough for her to know.”
“I wonder how Carl came out with his serenade?” remarked Dick. “Ysabel
wasn’t at the house, and it’s a fair guess that Carl got into trouble.”
Carl certainly had tumbled into difficulties--but it was not because he
had not found any one at home.
“What do you suppose Carl is thinkin’ about _us?_” said Speake.
“Our disappearance will bother a good many people,” answered Bob.
Speake’s conscience troubled him.
“I feel like an ornery cur,” said he, “over the way Gaines an’ Clackett
an’ me acted! Ye remember how mad us three was at Cassidy when he got
in such a takin’ because Bob was put in charge o’ the _Grampus?_ Well,
to my notion, we ain’t acted any better than Cassidy did.”
“You ought to feel cut up,” reproved Dick. “The only way you can square
yourself, Speake, is by doing a lot to help recapture the ship.”
“Jest give me the chance,” answered Speake, his eyes flashing, “an’
I’ll show you what I can do.”
The boys finished the food, took a drink all around from the bottle of
cold coffee that Ysabel had put in the basket, and then continued their
wait for something to happen. They felt better physically, even if they
were not more hopeful.
Dick lay back on one of the cots and went to sleep; Speake pulled his
hat down over his eyes and leaned against the forward bulkhead; Bob,
flat on his back on the other cot, stared upward at the rounded deck,
wishing that he could poke a hole through the steel plates and so gain
freedom for himself and his friends.
Speake dozed a little. Something white, poked through one of the
ventilator holes above his head, floated downward and landed on his
knee. He stared at it drowsily, then brushed at it mechanically with
one hand. Suddenly he realized that the falling of a scrap of white
paper was rather a peculiar circumstance, and snatched it off the floor.
“Bob!” he called.
“What is it?” returned Bob, rising on his elbow and directing his gaze
at Speake.
“This dropped down on me!” Speake held up the paper.
Bob was off the cot in a flash and standing at Speake’s side. “When?”
he whispered.
“Just now.”
“It was pushed through one of the ventilator openings. It’s a
note--from Ysabel.”
He passed to Dick’s side and shook him into wakefulness.
“What’s the row?” inquired Dick.
“A note from Ysabel, pushed in to us through one of the holes in the
forward bulkhead.”
“From _her?_” muttered Dick, smothering his excitement. “Read it!
Perhaps she’s captured the revolvers.”
The note was written in pencil on a ragged scrap of paper. Bob, in a
guarded voice, read it aloud:
“‘Pedro is asleep at the door. Fingal has gone off on the river
bank. The two others are playing cards on the deck. I have
Pedro’s revolver and have unlocked the door. Now is the time!
Capture Pedro and tie him--but don’t hurt him. Be quiet--if he
makes an outcry all is lost. Hurry!’”
Speake pulled off his coat.
“This is bully!” he whispered. “Now we’ve got a chance.”
“It’s an opportunity I wasn’t expecting,” said Bob, pulling off his
shoes carefully. “In our stocking feet, fellows! We must not make any
noise. While Speake and I are binding Pedro, Dick, you go down and let
Gaines and Clackett out of the torpedo room. If we work this right we
may be able to get away from here and down the river.”
All three of the prisoners were excited, as well they might be. An
opportunity offered to save themselves and the boat--success or failure
hanging on their quickness and silence.
Advancing to the door, Bob laid his hand on the knob. Slowly he twisted
the catch out of its socket, and then inch by inch forced the door open.
Yet, slight though the noise was that accompanied the click of the
catch, Pedro heard it. With a startled exclamation he leaped to his
feet.
Bob and Speake sprang at him, Bob catching his wrists and Speake
throwing an arm about his throat and clapping a hand over his lips.
The odds were against Pedro, and he was helpless; yet, for all that, he
managed to squirm about and make considerable noise.
There was a drone of voices overhead, coming down the open hatch. The
voices suddenly ceased, and some one was heard floundering over the
deck to the top of the tower.
The electric light was not burning in the periscope room, and the only
light that entered the chamber came from the hatch. Any one looking
downward would not have been able to see anything distinctly except in
the immediate vicinity of the bottom of the ladder. Bob, Speake, and
Pedro, as it chanced, were close to the locker.
“Anythin’ wrong down there, greaser!” called a husky voice.
“No, señor,” answered Bob, trying to imitate the rough voice of the
Mexican.
“Thought I heard you movin’ around,” said the man above, turning away
from the top of the tower.
Pedro was forced down on the locker, and Ysabel glided forward with a
piece of rope for bonds and a piece of cloth for a gag. Pedro turned
his wild eyes on the girl with startled inquiry and suspicion.
“You will not be hurt, Pedro!” whispered the girl; “don’t make a
noise--please.”
She followed this with some soft words in Spanish. But Pedro, loyal
though he undoubtedly was to the girl, continued to struggle. Bob and
Speake, however, managed to get him bound and gagged.
“This is only the beginning, Bob Steele,” breathed Ysabel, her cheeks
flushed with excitement and her eyes bright as stars. “Here is Pedro’s
revolver--take it.”
Bob took the weapon and thrust it in his pocket.
“We can’t use firearms,” he whispered, “for they make too much noise.
Our hope lies in capturing our enemies one at a time, then cutting the
cables and dropping down the river. If possible, we must do this before
Fingal gets back.”
“Where did Dick go?” asked the girl.
“To release Gaines and Clackett. The torpedo-room door is fastened by
a bolt on the outside, so he’ll have no trouble in getting them out.
We’ll wait till they come before making our next move.”
Bob had hardly finished speaking before Dick came in through the
forward door of the room. Clackett followed him--but Gaines was not
along.
Bob lifted a warning finger as Dick was about to speak, pointed upward
toward the deck and then motioned for Dick and Clackett to come closer.
“Where is Gaines?” he whispered.
“He got out through the torpedo tube, half an hour ago,” said Dick.
Bob, as will be remembered, had already thought of this maneuver. But
it was unfortunate that Gaines had put it into effect, in view of what
was transpiring.
“What was Gaines going to do?” asked Bob of Clackett.
“He reckoned he’d go up the river an’ try an’ find General Mendez,”
replied Clackett. “We sort o’ figgered it out between us that some of
the soldiers under Mendez could come here and capture the boat and
release the rest of us.”
Here was an awkward situation, and Bob wrinkled his brows over it.
They could not leave without Gaines. He was taking chances and doing
his best to be of service to his comrades, and dropping down the river
without him was not to be thought of.
“What shall we do now?” asked Dick.
“Keep on with our plan,” answered Bob. “There are two of the scoundrels
playing cards on deck. We must get them as safely as we have got Pedro.”
“Shall we make a racket and bring them down?”
“They’ll both come, if we do that. We can capture them with less noise
if they come one at a time.”
Ysabel started forward.
“I’ll go up the ladder,” said she, “and say that Pedro wants one of
them. After you capture him, I’ll go up after the other.”
“Good!” exclaimed Bob. “Get ropes, boys,” he added to the others, “and
stand ready for some swift and noiseless work.”
Ysabel glided to the ladder. Before she could mount, however, some one
was heard climbing over the top of the conning tower. As those below
looked upward, a pair of booted feet swung down.
“Fingal!” gasped Ysabel, drawing away fearfully.
Bob motioned her out of the room. “Stand ready for him,” he whispered,
“as he reaches the bottom of the ladder. The smallest mistake now means
failure. Ready!!”
Scarcely breathing, Bob, Dick, Speake, and Clackett stood waiting for
the burly ruffian who, jointly with Don Carlos, was responsible for all
their troubles.