A BAD HALF HOUR.
Matt, Glennie, the two captains, and the negroes were stupefied. They
stood as though rooted to the ground and stared across the water toward
the spot where the _Grampus_ had been anchored.
"_Sacre!_" muttered Captain Pons. "Zat was a torpedo, by gar!"
"It was fired at the _Grampus_!" cried Matt, almost beside himself. "I
was afraid an attack would be made--and the boys didn't know anything
about that other submarine, Glennie. If our boat has been destroyed,
if--if----"
Matt staggered against the post to which the painter securing the
rowboat was made fast.
The negroes began talking excitedly between themselves, and Pons and
Arco likewise began to air their opinions.
"Don't lose your nerve, Matt," said Glennie. "That was a torpedo, all
right, and it goes without saying that the Japs discharged it from
the _Pom_, under water. It hit something, and was discharged, _but it
didn't hit the Grampus_."
"No," answered Matt, his moody eyes resting on the spot where the
_Grampus_ had been anchored, "the torpedo didn't hit the _Grampus_, for
the column of water spouted up almost a fathom from the place where
she was moored; but the boat may have been destroyed by the explosion,
for all that. When the geyser dropped, it covered the place where our
submarine ought to have been. But you can see, Glennie, she isn't
there."
Motor Matt had gone through many perils and difficulties since he and
his chums had started for "around the Horn" with the _Grampus_, but he
had never been so greatly cast down as he was at that moment. He was
thinking of Carl, of Dick, and of the three brave men, Speake, Gaines,
and Clackett, who had stood shoulder to shoulder with him through all
the dangers that had met them since leaving British Honduras.
It was a good thing that Glennie, at that moment, was so hopeful.
"We haven't been able to see the _Grampus_ for several minutes, Matt,"
he observed. "In coming down the hill from the casa, the boat was
hidden from us."
"All the same, Glennie, she was in her berth, whether we saw her or
not. If she hadn't been where we left her, the Japs wouldn't have had
any target, and the torpedo would not have been exploded in that spot.
If it comes to that, the fact that we didn't see her goes to show that
she may have changed her position a little, and have been right where
the torpedo exploded."
"I don't think that for a minute," averred Glennie stoutly. "The last
we saw of the _Grampus_ all our friends were on deck. If she had been
torpedoed, we'd certainly see some of the boys in the water. They were
under hatches when that Whitehead went off; and, if they were under
hatches, they may have been safe. I'm inclined to think they were."
"If the bottom plates of the submarine were blown in," proceeded Matt,
"she would sink and go down like so much lead. Let's get into the boat
and row out, Glennie. We can see a good deal more if we're right over
the spot where the _Grampus_ was anchored than we can from here."
Matt, suiting his action to the word, dropped hastily over the edge of
the wharf and into the boat. The wharf was in a bad state of repair.
The planks had been torn from the piles, and a region of semi-darkness
stretched away under the floor.
As Matt dropped into the boat, his face was turned landward and his
eyes rested for a moment on the gloom that lay between the outer piles
and the shore; but, during that moment, he glimpsed something that gave
him a start. Unless he was greatly mistaken, he could make out the dim
shape of a human form crouching in the darkness.
"Cast off the painter, Glennie, quick!" he called.
The ensign lifted the loop over the top of the post and flung it into
the boat.
Grabbing the wharf planks, Matt gave a pull that sent the boat in
between the piles. He could hear shouts of wild suspicion coming from
Captain Pons and Captain Arco. Unable to figure out what impelled Matt
to vanish under the wharf, they jumped to the conclusion that he was
doing something he ought not to do.
Paying no attention to the frantic voices, or the frenzied tramping
on the planks overhead, the young motorist continued to drag the boat
onward toward the shore. Several yards back from the edge of the wharf,
the bow of the boat struck against a timber that had one end imbedded
in the sand, while the other end rose upward, clear of the water.
The human form Matt had seen was lying upon the timber. The man made
no move to escape, or to protect himself, and Matt was not long in
discovering that he was either dead or unconscious.
For a moment Matt's heart was in his throat. His fears, even against
his better judgment, made him apprehensive that this form, lying
helplessly on the timber under the wharf, might be that of one of his
friends.
Close examination, however, proved his fears groundless. The man
was under medium height and had a tawny skin. He was barefooted,
bareheaded, and stripped to his waist. Rolling him into the boat, Matt
drew the light craft back into the daylight at the edge of the wharf.
"What under the canopy are you about, Matt?" called Glennie, from the
edge of the wharf. Then, seeing the man in the bottom of the boat, he
gave vent to an astonished whistle. "_That's_ what you went under the
wharf for, eh? Where was that fellow?"
"He was lying on a timber, just out of the water," answered Matt. "The
question is, where did he come from, and what was he doing there?"
"He looks as though he was stripped for swimming."
"And he worked so hard in the water, and in getting ashore, that he
gave out and lost consciousness as soon as he pulled himself upon that
timber. The fact that he was under the wharf proves that he didn't want
anybody to find him. He's a Jap, Glennie."
A yell escaped Captain Pons, and he began talking excitedly and
pointing his finger at the Jap.
"What does Pons say, Glennie?" Matt asked.
"He says that that fellow was one of the men who stole the _Pom_. The
captain is very sure he is not mistaken. There were five in the party."
"Gif the r-r-rascal here!" cried Captain Pons, stretching his arms
downward, "gif heem to me! By gar, he is one of ze t'ieves--ve haf
captured one of ze t'ieves!"
Matt lifted the unconscious man, and three pairs of hands caught him
from above and pulled him up on the wharf. Hardly had the Jap touched
the planks than, with amazing suddenness, he jumped to his feet and
tried to run.
"He was shamming!" exclaimed Glennie.
"No," answered Matt, as the two negroes deftly caught the fleeing
Jap and flung him roughly down on his back, "I'm positive he was not
shamming, Glennie. He recovered while we were lifting him to the wharf
and thought he could make a bolt and get away."
As the two negroes held the prisoner down on the planks, Captain Pons
stepped to his side, bent over, and shook a fist in his face.
What the captain said was in Spanish, which he probably used for the
Jap's benefit, and Matt could not follow his words further than to be
sure that Pons was threatening and reviling the man for the treacherous
part he and his countrymen had played.
The prisoner looked up calmly into the Frenchman's face, seeming to
take his capture and his failure to escape as a matter of course.
"We get the torpedo," said he, in good English, the moment Captain Pons
ceased talking.
"How did you get the torpedo?" queried Glennie, pushing the captain
aside and drawing closer to the prisoner.
"I volunteered," went on the Jap, a note of ringing exultation in his
low voice; "they passed me through the torpedo tube, and I cut the
cable that secured the torpedo to the other submarine, and made a rope
fast from our boat. It was hard work, all under water. Then I swim
ashore, but I am weak and faint and try to hide. You have captured me.
Do what you will. _Banzai_, Nippon!"
The Chilian could not understand English, and he was consumed with
curiosity. Captain Pons understood, however, and the calmness of the
prisoner, during his brief recital, filled him with rage. He tried to
strike the Jap, but Glennie interfered.
"Let him alone, Pons!" cried Glennie. "He thinks he has done right.
Anyhow, he's a prisoner, and a prisoner should not be mistreated."
"_Diable!_" ground out the captain. "He make ze brag zat he steal ze
torpedo! S-scoundr-r-el! He should be hang', by gar!"
Glennie turned to Motor Matt.
"You heard, Matt?" he queried. "The Japs passed this fellow out through
the torpedo tube of the _Pom_ while the boat was under water. He made
a line fast, cut the cable securing the torpedo to our submarine, and
then swam ashore. A rare piece of work!"
"Ask him about that torpedo attack on the _Grampus_," said Matt. "See
if you can find out anything about the intentions of the other Japs."
"You are one of the Sons of the Rising Sun?" queried Glennie, again
addressing the prisoner.
A gleam darted through the Jap's eyes.
"I say nothing," he answered. "I have told about the torpedo. But I
tell you nothing more. It is all for Nippon, for my beloved country."
"That's the way with those fellows," said Matt disappointedly. "He
wouldn't speak another word even if he was tortured. I'm surprised that
he said what he did about the torpedo. Turn him over to Pons and the
captain of the port, Glennie, and let's row out into the bay and see if
we can learn anything about the fate of the _Grampus_."
Matt's face was haggard with fear and anxiety. He had had a bad half
hour, since the explosion of the torpedo and the disappearance of the
_Grampus_, and his face reflected the intensity of his feelings.
Glennie turned away from the prisoner and stepped to the edge of the
wharf. He paused there for a moment, rigid as a statue, his eyes
wandering over the surface of the bay.
Motor Matt, wondering at his manner, likewise directed his gaze off
over the water. As he did so, Glennie recovered his wits abruptly and
gave vent to an exultant yell.
"Hurrah!" he roared, jerking off his cap and waving it. "What's the
matter with the motor boys, Matt? We've had our worry all for nothing!"