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 vessel. Apparently the submarine intended to remain at the surface for some time, for she had opened her hatches and an officer had come out on the slender deck, and stood looking at the Vulcan through a telescope.

At the distance, Madden could see the fellow plainly, and even the inky shadow he threw on the deck. The officer perused the tug for several minutes, then allowed his glass to wander around the horizon.

“They've come up for air,” observed Caradoc, who had approached his friend from behind. “I believe we'd best stop that. Good air is a luxury with those fellows.” He turned to Galton, who was steering. “Swing her into the northwest, my man.”

The tug answered to her helm with a quiver, and in twenty minutes more was nosing her way again through the ooze of weed. The German officer calmly completed his survey, folded his telescope, then disappeared down the hatch. A few minutes later the submarine dived and the ocean lay empty in the burning sunshine.

From below came the clanging of Gaskin's gong announcing dinner. It was odd how the