“I thought my singing would bring something,” chuckled Jack.  “In a large town it always brings the police.  Well, how are you?  I’m really glad to see anything human, and I suppose you’ll answer to that description, eh?”

In silence the chauffeur stepped forward resting the lighted lantern on the floor a few, feet from the boy.  Then the Frenchman seated himself on the boards, next bringing out a paper package from one of his pockets.  As he untied the string Jack watched with lively interest.

“Sandwiches, eh?” chuckled Jack.  “Thank you.  I’m ready.”

“This is my supper,” answered Gaston, taking a bite of one of the sandwiches.  “You don’t get any.”

“Oh, I don’t?” demanded Captain Jack, feeling the pangs of hunger worse than ever.

Gaston’s next move was to take a bottle from another pocket, uncorking it.

“As you’re a Frenchman, I suppose that’s wine,” muttered Jack.  “I don’t use that kind of stuff, but water—­”

“This is water,” replied the Frenchman, pouring a few drops onto the floor before the submarine boy’s eyes.

Jack’s throat ached at sight of the water.  “I suppose you’ve come here to eat and drink, in order to torment me?” asked Captain Benson.

“It must give you huge pleasure to watch me,” suggested Gaston, taking a swallow from the bottle.

“About the only pleasure I could get from watching you,” retorted the boy ironically, “would be if I could see you swinging from the end of a rope that was tied in a tight noose around your neck!”

“Perhaps that will happen to you—­yet,” hinted Gaston, looking keenly at the boy.

“Humph!” muttered Jack.  “How would that help your rascally crowd?”

It was plain that the chauffeur didn’t really want to eat or drink, but that he had been tormenting the captive.  Now Gaston carefully placed the sandwiches and the bottle of water where young Benson couldn’t possibly reach them.

“You’ve been having too pleasant a time here,” glared the Frenchman, bending over the boy.  “You haven’t yet suffered enough to be ready for the plans that we have for you.”

With that the chauffeur threw himself a-top of the boy, striking him a blow in the face.

“You lean, long-legged coward!” sneered Jack, angrily.  “You know about how much punk you’d have if I had my hands and legs free, and stood before you on even terms.  How you’d beg, you wretched craven!”

For answer the chauffeur clutched with both hands at Jack’s hair, giving a hard pull.  Jack gritted his teeth, panting, until at last the torment forced him to utter a pain-wrung “ouch!”

“Perhaps you will soon learn better than to insult me,” leered Gaston.

“You wretched dog,” shot back the submarine boy, “you’re past insult by any decent man!”

“Careful,” warned the Frenchman, “or I will soon make you shriek your apologies to me.  I can do what I please with you, and sometimes I have an ugly temper.  But listen.  I come for one purpose only—­to find out what answer am to take to my master, M. Lemaire.”