THE FELLOW WHO SHOWED THE WHITE FLAG


Hal lay face down, and subjected to all the brutal fury of the
Frenchman's assault.

For a few seconds young Hastings did all in his power to fight back.
He was rapidly losing consciousness, however, and poor Jack lay unable
to lend as much as a finger's weight to the defense of his chum.

Then, with an oath in a foreign tongue, Gaston forced Hal's hands back,
snapping handcuffs on the engineer's wrists.

"Now, then, you young pest!" snarled Gaston, springing to his feet.
"Instead of one of you, I have two. But two shall give me no more
trouble than one. So you thought you could subdue me--_me_, did you?"

"I'd have thrashed you all right," muttered Hal, his senses returning
under the storm of taunts, "if my foot hadn't caught and thrown me.
You wouldn't dare to free my hands and let me to my feet, just to see
what would happen to you! You can't fight--unless all the advantage
is handed to you. You're a coward--not a fighter!"

"Careful, my young firebrand, or I'll teach you to be more polite to
me," sneered the Frenchman.

"Polite to you?" jeered Hal. "Polite to a spy--to a thief of nations!
Polite to a scoundrel who wants to steal the biggest secret of defense
that the United States Navy has!"