s in the latter's
face.

"Two or three days' work, let us say," continued M. Lemaire. "And, for
that we will pay you handsomely--ten thousand dollars in the best
money of your land!"

They halted, gazing at each other. For a few seconds Jack Benson did
not dare trust himself to utter a word. When he did speak, it was to
ask, calmly:

"M. Lemaire, who is your master?"

"My master?" repeated the Frenchman. "I do not understand you."

"Every dog, even a dirty one," thundered Captain Jack Benson, "has a
master! Who's yours?"

M. Lemaire's face became livid in an instant. His hands working
convulsively, he sprang at the young submarine captain.

Mlle. Nadiboff, snatching a riding whip from under her automobile coat,
turned and ran toward them. The chauffeur snatched up a wrench, leaping
out of the automobile.

CHAPTER X

M. LEMAIRE PROVES HIS TRAINING

"You insult me!" screamed M. Lemaire, halting right under the face of
Captain Jack Benson, who looked at him undaunted.

"I didn't," denied Jack. "I let you do that yourself. My
congratulations, sir. You certainly know how to insult your own
manhood as well as the most confirmed scoundrel could wish!"

"You insult again!" quivered M. Lemaire, his French accent asserting
itself. "I s'all make you pay for zat!"

He struck wildly, badly, as a Frenchman does who has no knowledge of
boxing. Benson merely warded off the blow, at the same time brushing
M. Lemaire back a couple of steps.

"Now, you keep away--Gaston, or whatever your name is!" warned Jack,
wheeling upon the chauffeur. "If I lose my temper, some one is going
to be hurt."

But that defiance served only to draw the chauffeur on. Raising the
wrench, he rushed swiftly at the young submarine captain, aiming a blow
at his head.

Just as might have been expected, Jack Benson wasn't there at that
instant.

Instead, he dodged nimbly to one side, at the same time driving in a
blow that landed under one of the chauffeur's ears. The fellow went
to the ground. Swift as a flash Jack bent over him, and snatched up
the wrench, hurling it off among the trees.

Then Jack wheeled around to face Mlle. Nadiboff, bowing.

"Don't you attempt to do anything, I beg of you, Mademoiselle," Jack
urged. "It would come fearfully hard to have to make even the signs
of striking at a woman."

Though she did not fear physical violence from him, there was something
in Benson's eyes, at just that mome