talk. If they talk fast enough, they'll begin to tell some truth."

The buggy rolled along again.

"You didn't tell them a word about Mlle. Nadiboff's threats to you,"
muttered Hal.

"I didn't mean to," Jack replied, simply.

"Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, I couldn't swear that she did threaten me. She
may have meant it all for nonsense."

"Yes," mocked Hal Hastings. "That, would be just like her!"

The submarine not being due to go out that day, the chums decided to
remain on shore, in order to keep in touch with the march of events.
The day was so balmy that Mr. Farnum dropped into a chair on the porch,
Pollard occupying the chair next to him. Hal, buying a magazine at
the hotel news stand, sat on the edge of the porch, his feet touching
the ground. Jack, his mind too full of problems to permit him to
read, paced up and down the grounds. Finally he strolled, out past
the gate, crossed the road and began to stroll along the shingle of
bench.

Jacob Farnum removed his cigar from between his lips long enough to
remark:

"As long as the lad keeps in sight, Pollard, it will be worth our while
to keep an occasional eye on him."

"And when he goes out of sight--? asked the inventor, slowly.

"It will be high time to call him back. Somehow, Dave, I'm growing
uneasy over the boy. I can't help the feeling that he's running into
a good deal of danger that's likely to explode under him at any moment,
just as that mine was intended to last night."

"It makes one feel uncanny to be at Spruce Beach," growled the inventor,
savagely.

"Well, we can't run away," retorted Jacob Farnum, blandly.

"Why not, if we feel like it?"

The shipbuilder laughed.

"Why, Dave, a spirited lad like Jack Benson would be furious over
anything that looked like a retreat. He'd be savage. Now, Dave, we
can hardly afford to put such a slight on the boy who has had so much
to do with our success."

"I suppose not," grunted Mr. Pollard, settling back in his chair.

"The odd part of it," said Farnum, presently, "is, that while we're the
center of an international cyclone, so to speak, the rest of the folks
at Spruce Beach don't know a word about it. Look at the crowds of
folks around us who haven't even a breath of an idea of what has
happened, or is, likely to happen. Not a soul around here, except our
own few, have any idea that an attempt was made, last night, to blow up
that mysterious-looking little submarine craft