ted his gaze, he looked
towards the submarine, on the deck of which the crew were busy, beginning
to lower the bullion into the interior.

To Bude's extreme and speechless amazement, another periscope arose from
ocean at about fifty yards from the further side of the submarine! Bude
spoke no word; the father and daughter were absorbed in each other; the
crew had no eyes but for them.

Presently, unmarked by the busy seamen of the hostile submarine, the
platform and look-out hood of _another_ submarine appeared. The new boat
seemed to be pointing directly for the middle of the hostile submarine
and at right angles to it.

'_Hands up_!' pealed a voice from the second submarine.

It was the voice of Merton!

At the well-known sound Miss Macrae tore herself from her father's
embrace and hurried below. She deemed that a fond illusion of the senses
had beguiled her.

Mr. Macrae looked wildly towards the two submarines.

The masked captain of the hostile vessel, leaping up, shook his fist at
the _Flora Macdonald_ and yelled, 'Damn your foolish treachery, you money-
grubbing hunks! You _have_ a consort.'

'I assure you that nobody is more surprised than myself,' cried Mr.
Macrae.

'One minute more and you, your ship, and your crew will be sent to your
own place!' yelled the masked captain.

He vanished below, doubtless to explode the mines under the _Flora_.

Bude crossed himself; Mr. Macrae, folding his arms, stood calm and
defiant on his deck. One sailor (the cook) leaped overboard in terror,
the others hastily drew themselves up in a double line, to die like
Britons.

A minute passed, a minute charged with terror. Mr. Macrae took out his
watch to mark the time. Another minute passed, and no explosion.

The captain of the pirate vessel reappeared on her deck. He cast his
hands desperately abroad; his curses, happily, were unheard by Miss
Macrae, who was below.

'Hands up!' again rang out the voice of Merton, adding, 'if you begin to
submerge your craft, if she stirs an inch, I send you skyward at least as
a preliminary measure. My diver has detached your mines from the keel of
the _Flora Macdonald_ and has cut the wires leading to them; my bow-tube
is pointing directly for you, if I press the switch the torpedo must go
home, and then heaven have mercy on your souls!'

A crow of laughter arose from the yachtsmen of the _Flora Macdonald_, who
freely launched terms of maritime contempt at the crew of