the man’s eyes as he stared after Jack Benson.

“You’re a slick young man, or else a wise one,” muttered Truax. “But I
think I’m smart enough to take it out of you!”

Nor did Sam Truax go to the hotel. He had his own plans for this
evening—plans that boded the submarine boys no good.

The three boys strolled easily about town, getting a hot soda or two, and,
finally, drifting into a moving picture show that had opened recently in
Dunhaven. This place they did not leave until the show was over. They were
half-way home when Captain Jack remembered that he had left behind him a
book that he had bought earlier in the evening.

“You fellows keep right on down to the yard. I’ll hurry back, get the book
and overtake you,” he proposed.

Jack ran back, but already the little theatre was closed.

“I’m out that book, then, if we sail in the morning,” he muttered, as he
trudged along after his friends.

On the way toward the water front Benson had to pass a vacant lot
surrounded by a high board fence on a deserted street. He had passed about
half way along the length of the fence, when a head appeared over the top
followed by a pair of arms holding a small bag of sand. Down dropped the
bag, striking Jack Benson on the top of the head, sending him unconscious
to the ground.