then broke forth, under his breath:

"Of all the prize fools in the world, commend me to Jack Benson! Here,
at the request of a perfect stranger, I've taken a long walk this night,
just in order to place myself wholly in the hands of men who, however
mild they may be in their piracy, certainly wish me no good. Oh, you,
Jack! Oh, you blooming, prize idiot!"

Then he smiled grimly, wondering. From what had happened so far he felt
inclined to believe the smiling rascals above. Had they intended worse
violence, they had had abundant opportunity to show it.

"Of course, they're probably stretching a point when they say I'm to be
here only three or four hours," reflected the boy. "Yet, now I'm here,
I imagine I'll have to remain here until they're pleased to let me out.
But--will I, though?"

Overhead, at that moment, sounded the tinkle of a mandolin. It came,
apparently, from the room nearer the front door. The two foreigners
began to hum softly to the accompaniment of their instrument.

"May-be it was a lucky thing it never occurred to the pair to search me,"
murmured the submarine boy. "Probably they wouldn't have left this box
of matches in my possession."

Lighting one of the matches, Jack began to explore. The cellar was much
like any other, and wholly empty. On each side was a little, low window,
probably not large enough for the submarine boy to crawl through. Even
at that the openings had been bricked up and looked as though they would
resist a long assault.