hrowing
an arm about her. It was then that Mrs. Launce understood. She turned
pale, but did not cry out.

Perhaps a full minute passed before the submarine began to move forward.
Dave Darrin, familiar with the sounds from below, knew that the rumble of
machinery coming to his ears was caused, not by the engines used in
surface running, but by the electric motors employed when running under
water.

"The brutes are going to drown us, as they did the hapless sailors they
took from our boat!" gasped the Englishwoman.

"Yes, my dear," replied her husband, "and you have said that you would
prefer drowning to being a prisoner in Germany."

"I still say it," she answered quietly.

"We are to have our wish," said her husband.

Dave Darrin remained immobile; Captain Kennor shrugged his shoulders
without speaking.

The prow of the craft dipped into the water, which soon came creeping up
around their ankles. The forward deck was now out of sight, the water in
which they stood rising toward their knees.

CHAPTER XIII

FACING THE PLANNED DEATH

TURNING to Darrin the Englishman held out his hand.

"Good-bye" he said, simply. "You have been a good comrade. I trust you
have not been disappointed in us, either."

"Let's not say good-bye yet," urged Dave cheerfully. "Surely we are not
going to give up and drown, merely because a lot of German rascals so
will it."

"But we cannot last long in the water," protested the Englishman, mildly.

"At least, sir," Dave suggested, "we shall not die until we have to. You
swim?"

"Once I did."

"Then you can swim now. The sea is nearly smooth. Let us try to keep
together. And you, Captain Kennor? You swim?"

"Yes."

"Good. We'll keep together as long as we can."

At this moment the Englishwoman, the shortest of the quartette, gave a
little cry as she found her footing giving way beneath her.

"All together!" cried Darrin, with a cheeriness he did not feel, as he
gripped the woman's left arm.

Another drop of the deck sent them all adrift. The Englishman supported
his wife on her right. Captain Kennor, nearly silent, but undaunted, swam
slightly behind the others that he might offer aid wherever needed.

Strangely enough, though the swimmers spoke to each other occasionally,
none now referred to the dastardly conduct of the enemy in setting them
thus adrift to drown.

"You are cold, my dear, I know," said the Englishman to his wife. "Are
you suffering otherwise?"