“We were fearfully anxious this morning,” Hal confessed.  “I went to sleep last night, and didn’t know of your absence until this morning.  Then Eph and I decided to come on down to the boat to see if you were here.  We were just planning to send quiet word to the Annapolis police when Eph spotted you coming.”

“And Truax?” inquired Captain Jack.

“He and Williamson are forward in the engine-room, now, at breakfast.”

“Oh, well, Truax wouldn’t know anything about the scrape, anyway,” returned Jack.  “His name was learned and used—­that’s all.”

“Are you going to try to find that place, catch the mulatto and force the return of your money?” demanded Eph Somers.

“I’ve got to think that over,” muttered Jack, as he drew on a spick-and-span uniform blouse.  “I don’t know whether there’ll be any use in trying to find that mulatto.  I haven’t the least idea where his place is.  Even if I found it, it’s ten to one I wouldn’t find the fellow there.”

“‘Farnum,’ ahoy!” roared a voice alongside, the voice coming down through the open conning tower.

Eph ran to answer.  When he returned, he announced: 

“Compliments of Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, and will Mr. Benson wait on the lieutenant commander on board the parent boat?”

“I will,” assented Jack, with a wry face, “and here’s where I have to do some tall but truthful explaining to a man who isn’t in the least likely to believe a word I say.  I can guess what Mr. Mayhew is thinking, and is going to keep on thinking!”

CHAPTER IX:  TRUAX GIVES A HINT

It was a tailor-made, clean, crisp and new-looking young submarine commander who stepped into the naval cutter alongside.

Jack Benson looked as natty as a young man could look, and his uniform was that of a naval officer, save for the absence of the insignia of rank.

Up the side gangway of the gunboat Jack mounted, carrying himself in the best naval style.  On deck stood a sentry, an orderly waiting beside him.

“Lieutenant Commander Mayhew will see you in his cabin, sir,” announced the orderly.  “I will show you the way, sir.”

Mr. Mayhew was seated before a desk in his cabin when the orderly piloted the submarine boy in.  The naval officer did not rise, nor did he ask the boy to take a seat.  Jack Benson was very well aware that he stood in Mr. Mayhew’s presence in the light of a culprit.

“Mr. Benson,” began Mr. Mayhew, eyeing him closely, “you are not in the naval service, and are not therefore amenable to its discipline.  At the same time, however, your employers have furnished you to act, in some respects, as a civilian instructor in submarine boating before the cadets.  While you are here on that duty it is to be expected, therefore, that you will conform generally to the rules of conduct as laid down at the Naval Academy.”