"He is far more clever than the men I have met. I can do nothing with
him. I must turn him over to Lemaire--to see if that prince of spies,
as he has often been called, can find the flaw in this submarine boy's
armor."

With that Mlle. Nadiboff leaned forward, murmuring a few words to the
chauffeur, who nodded slightly. Then the young woman leaned back,
turning a smiling, friendly but no longer coaxing face to Jack Benson.

"If I have amused you," she smiled, "I am glad. We will say that much
and forget the rest, eh, Captain Benson."

"I am glad to agree to anything that will please you," responded the boy,
gravely.

Mlle. Nadiboff shot a covert look at his face, then decided to say
nothing. She began to have a suspicion that this sixteen-year-old boy
was far more clever than she, despite all her years of strange
experiences.

A mile further along the automobile branched off the main road, running
down a shaded lane at much reduced speed.

"What is this--some short cut back to the beach?" asked Jack, trying
to conceal his astonishment.

"Yes," replied the young Russian, falsely.

Soon the big car stopped. The chauffeur thrust a whistle between his
lips, blowing a trilling blast.