“Take him,” retorted Jack, dryly, “the assurance of my undying contempt for him and all of his kind.”

“You will be left here another twenty-four hours, without food or drink, if you do not give me a better answer to take,” warned Gaston, leering down savagely into the boy’s face.  “Now, consider!  Will you send word that you will be glad to see M. Lemaire in the morning?”

“Yes; if he’s going to be in state prison,” mocked Benson, “and locked in a cell, as he should be.”

“Will you see him here?”

“I can’t help myself.”

“If M. Lemaire comes, will you be sensible?  Will you tell him all that he wants to know about your boat and your work?”

“Not if I’m in my right mind!”

“If you continue stubborn, Captain Benson, you will die here, of thirst and hunger.”

“Perhaps,” admitted Jack, more soberly.  “But it will be a full-size man’s death, won’t it?”

“Oh, you think, then, that you are not afraid to die of thirst and hunger?”

“Since others have done it,” retorted Jack, “I suppose I can, if I have to.”

“If you have to?” rasped the Frenchman.

“Do you doubt, then, that we would bring such a fate upon you?”

“I don’t believe there’s anything too low and cowardly for your crowd to stoop to it,” admitted Jack Benson, with spirit.

“Have a care, young man!”

“You asked me a question,” growled back young Benson, “and I answered you.  If it doesn’t suit you, don’t ask any more questions.”

Gaston regarded the boy with a still more sinister look.

“I think, Captain,” continued the chauffeur, “that a little pain—­will have a good effect in disciplining you.”

Jack Benson did not reply.

“Come, now!  Let us see if any of your hair will stay in your scalp?” proposed the Frenchman.  “Yet, first of all, boy, have you anything to say that will stop me?”

“If I had, I’d say it,” muttered the submarine boy, ruefully.

“Then you might give me that message I asked for.”

“Is that all that will stop you?” demanded Jack.

“Yes.  All.”

“Then go ahead with whatever you have in mind,” retorted Jack.  “As long as my sane mind stays by me I shall never betray the Pollard secrets to any other government!”

“Let us see, then!”

Once more Gaston fastened the long, sinewy fingers of each hand in the submarine boy’s hair.  He began to tug, gently at first, but gradually increasing the force of the yank.

Jack Benson stood it as long as he could, then at last let out a yell that was dragged from the depths of agony.

“I’m in time, it seems!  Stop that!  Now, turn and fight like a man—­you contemptible hound!”

It was Hal Hastings’s voice that rang through the little cave.  Hal had just crawled in through the tunnel.  Now, the young engineer, his frame shaking with indignation, stood up at nearly his full length, prepared to spring upon Gaston, who, also, had leaped to his feet.