l with which these miscreants took cover
when pursued by the Marine Police. _This_ explains the subtle art with
which they dodged observation. Doubtless they had always, somewhere, a
well-found normal yacht containing their supplies. Do you not agree with
me, my lord?'

'In my opinion,' said Bude, 'you have satisfactorily explained what has
so long puzzled us. But look! The periscope, having reconnoitred us, is
sinking again!'

It was true. The slim spar gracefully descended to the abyss. Again
ocean smiled with innumerable laughters (as the Athenian sings), smiled,
empty, azure, effulgent! The _Flora Macdonald_ was once more alone on a
wide, wide sea!

Two slight jars were now just felt by the owner, skipper, and crew of the
_Flora Macdonald_. 'What's that?' asked Mr. Macrae sharply. 'A reef?'

'In my opinion,' said the captain, 'the beggars in the submarine have
torpedoed us. Attached torpedoes to our keel, sir,' he explained,
respectfully touching his cap and shifting the quid in his cheek. He was
a bluff tar of the good old school.

'Merciful heavens!' exclaimed Mr. Macrae, his face paling. 'What can
this new outrage mean? Here on our deck is the gold; if they explode
their torpedoes the bullion sinks to join the exhaustless treasures of
the main!'

'A bit of bluff and blackmail on their part I fancy,' said Bude, lighting
a cigarette.

'No doubt! No doubt!' said Mr. Macrae, rather unsteadily. 'They would
never be such fools as to blow up the millions. Still, an accident might
have awful results.'

'Look there, sir, if you please,' said the captain of the _Flora
Macdonald_, 'there's that spar of theirs up again.'

It was so. The spar, the periscope, shot up on the larboard side of the
yacht. After it had reconnoitred, the mirror of ocean was stirred into
dazzling circling waves, and the deck of a submarine slowly emerged. The
deck was long and flat, and of a much larger area than submarines in
general have. It would seem to indicate the presence below the water of
a body or hull of noble proportions. A voice hailed the yacht from the
submarine, though no speaker was visible.

'You have no consort?' the voice yelled.

'For ten years I have been a widower,' replied Mr. Macrae, his voice
trembling with emotion.

'Most sorry to have unintentionally awakened unavailing regrets,' came
the voice. 'But I mean, honour bright, you have no attendant armed
vessel?'

'None, I promised you