‘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 so,’ said Mr. Macrae; ’I am a man of my word.  Come on deck if you doubt me and look for yourself.’

‘Not me, and get shot by a rifleman,’ said the voice.

‘It is very distressing to be distrusted in this manner,’ replied Mr. Macrae.  ‘Captain McClosky,’ he said to the skipper, ’pray request all hands to oblige me by going below.’

The captain issued this order, which the yacht’s crew rather reluctantly obeyed.  Their interest and curiosity were strongly excited by a scene without precedent in the experience of the oldest mariner.

When they had disappeared Mr. Macrae again addressed the invisible owner of the voice.  ’All my crew are below.  Nobody is on deck but Captain McClosky, the Earl of Bude, and myself.  We are entirely unarmed.  You can see for yourself.’ {406}