into
the bunk. There was something so peremptory in the action that Ross
lay still and closed his eyes. All his will power seemed to have
deserted him.

"Make a dash for it, old man!" exclaimed a muffled voice that Trefusis
hardly recognized as his chum's. "Make a dash for it. Don't let them
collar us."

It was Vernon rambling in his sleep. The words were sufficient to give
Ross a key to the hitherto baffling problem.

Like a flash he recalled the episode of their adventure on St. Mena's
Island. He remembered himself being held in the grasp of the powerful
Ramblethorne until unconsciousness overcame him. He was still a
prisoner, but with the qualifying knowledge that he was not alone.
Vernon Haye was sharing his captivity, wherever it might be.

"We're afloat then," he muttered. "What has happened?"

Moistening his lips, Ross leant over the side of the bunk and called
his chum by name. His voice sounded strangely unfamiliar. He could
only just hear himself above the clamorous noise of the engines.

It was not long before another man appeared at the end of the corridor.
As he did so he switched on a lamp almost above the lad's head. For a
few seconds Ross was temporarily blinded by the sudden transition from
artificial twilight to the intense brilliancy of electric light.

"So! You are now awake, hein?" asked a guttural voice. "How you vos
feel?"

"Rotten!" replied Ross emphatically. His reply was brief and to the
point. It summed up his sensations during the last ten minutes.

The man laughed.

"So you look. You better soon will be. You know where you now vos?"

"On board a ship," answered the lad. He was still hoping against hope
that his questioner was anything but a German. There was a small
chance that he had by some means been picked up at sea by a Dutch or a
Swedish vessel.

The man's announcement "put the lid on" that possibility.

"Sheep--goot!" he chuckled. "German unterseeboot--vot you vos call
submarine. No danger to you boys if you yourselves behave. Much to
see--ach! plenty much."

The lad's eyes had now become more accustomed to the light. He could
see that his visitor was a broad-shouldered, muscular man of average
height, florid-featured, and with light-yellow hair and a fair
moustache. He was dressed in a uniform that was apparently a bad copy
of that worn by executive officers of the British Navy. On the breast
of his coat he wore an Iron Cross.

"Me Herman