attend to gettin' ashore yourselves. Can you swim?"

Matt nodded.

"I can't," said Holcomb.

"Well," went on Jurgens, "I don't want to drown you, but the Grampus can't go to the surface just to let you off. You say you can swim," and he turned to Matt. "You'll come up not far from the wharf, and ten to one you'll find quite a lot of people on the wharf. As soon as they pull you in, you tell them to get out a small boat and lay to in her half a fathom off the end of the pier. That's where the officer will come up, and you can fish him in out of the wet. Now, strip."

"Why am I to do that?" demanded Matt.

"Because you'll be able to swim easier with your clothes off."

"I'll not take them off. If we're still alongside the wharf, I can make it without removing my clothes. How are you going to send me to the surface?"

"Come on and I'll show you. Drop in behind him, Whistler, and hold a gun ready in case he tries any foolishness."

Jurgens turned and opened the door through which he and his companion had just come. Matt followed him through the door, Whistler bringing up the rear with a drawn weapon.

Matt was bewildered by the trend of recent events. The quickest way for getting at the nub of the difficulty was by finding Townsend, otherwise Captain Nemo, Jr., and hearing what he had to say.

But how was Matt to be sent to the surface?

That was the point which, just then, was causing him the most wonder.

CHAPTER V.

THROUGH THE TORPEDO TUBE.

Motor Matt was conducted along a narrow steel corridor. Two or three ruffianly looking men were passed. They were all in greasy overclothes and paid the prisoners little attention. A door finally admitted Matt and the two with him into a chamber in the very bow of the boat. Here there were a couple of torpedo tubes, although, so far as Matt could see, there were no torpedoes.

"We'll put him out of the starboard tube," said Jurgens. "Close the bow port, Whistler, and blow the water out of the tube. I'll take the gun while you're busy."

Whistler handed over the revolver and pulled a lever at the side of the chamber. Matt could hear a muffled sound as the port closed. Thereupon Whistler, by means of another lever, turned compressed air into the tube, and there came a stifled swishing sound as the water was ejected. Finally the sound ceased, and Whistler opened the breech door and stepped back.

The cavernous tube yawned blackly under Matt's eyes. He was a lad of grit and determination, but such an experience as he was about to pass through would have shaken even stronger nerves than his.

"Take me to the surface," said Matt, "and let me out of the submarine by way of the deck!"

"And mebby get spotted and captured ourselves, eh?" answered Jurgens. "Not much! Here's the way you're going to get out if you get out at all."

"What did you bring Holcomb and me into the submarine for? Why didn't you leave us on the wharf?"

"It would have been too easy for you to tip us off to the other officers. We needed a little time to get the Grampus submerged. I don't care how much you tip us off now. We'll not come to the surface again until we're well off Cape May." Jurgens snapped his fingers. "That for Townsend!" he added, defiantly; "let him catch me if he can."

"You seem to know as much about submarines as you do about moving pictures," remarked Matt, caustically.

"I know a good deal about a lot of things, and I've found the knowledge mighty handy a lot of times. If you're ready, squeeze into the tube. We haven't much time to spare."

"But——"

"Get in, I tell you!" and Jurgens waved the revolver threateningly. "There's not much danger, but you'd better put your fingers over your ears in order to save your ear drums. The pressure of the air that shoots you out of the tube is rather heavy. But I'd advise you to take off your clothes."

Matt saw that it was useless to argue with Jurgens or Whistler. The two men had some desperate scheme at the back of their heads and they were not resorting to any halfway measures in carrying it out.

Pulling his cap well down on his head, Matt squeezed into the dark tube.

"Ready?" called Jurgens.

"Yes," answered Matt, almost stifled, pushing his hands against his ears.

"Take a long breath—we're going to close the breech door."

The young motorist breathed deeply, and the next moment there was a clang as the breech was closed.

Instantly there followed a grinding sound as the outer port was opened. The chilling water rushed in. For the space of a heart beat Matt felt the water submerging his cramped body and filling the full length of the tube. Two or three ticks of a watch would have told the duration of the experience, but to Matt it seemed like an eternity.

Then there came a shock that nearly made him unconscious. He thought he was being torn limb from limb by the rushing air. In a twinkling—so swiftly that he scarcely realized it—he was shot from the end of the tube and into the water.

He was a fraction of a second in getting control of his limbs; after that, he began kicking and using his hands to propel himself upward.

Half stunned he came to the surface, and the lights of the wharf swam in his watery eyes. He gasped for breath and then sent up a thrilling cry for help.

The difficulty of keeping himself afloat, with all his water-soaked clothing to hold him down, was a good deal greater than he had thought it would be.

To his great relief, above the roaring in his ears he heard sounds of running feet on the wharf, and excited voices shouting something he could not understand. There was a splash beside him. Instinctively he threw out his hands and grasped a rope.

"All right?" cried a voice from the wharf.

"Yes," he answered.

Then those on the wharf began pulling him in and soon had him, dripping and spent, on the planks.

"Where's Holcomb?"

Matt made out McMillan's face bending over him. The question caused the young motorist suddenly to remember that there was something yet to be done for Holcomb.

"Get out a boat," said Matt, "and lay to about a fathom off the end of the pier. Holcomb is coming up—and he can't swim."

"Coming up?" repeated McMillan, blankly.

"Yes; they're going to shoot him out of the torpedo tube, just as they did me."

"Great guns! Can they do that? It ain't possible that——"

"Don't stand there talking, McMillan," put in another voice. "Matt has told you what to do, so go ahead and do it. The scoundrels can use the torpedo tube to get rid of Holcomb, and if Holcomb can't swim he'll be in plenty of danger. Find your boat and get her off the end of the pier. Lively, now!"

The speaker, as McMillan dashed away, came closer to Matt. It was Archibald Townsend.

"You've had a rough experience, my lad," said Townsend. "How do you feel?"

"A little dizzy," replied Matt.

He peered around him. They were alone under the electric light, all the others on the wharf having gone with McMillan to help in the rescue of Holcomb.

"I don't wonder," rejoined Townsend. "Being slammed through a torpedo tube isn't a very pleasant experience."

"Do you call yourself Captain Nemo, Jr., when you're afloat in the submarine, Mr. Townsend?" asked Matt.

"Jurgens has been talking with you, I see," went on Townsend. "Well, he's given it to you pretty straight, scoundrel though he is and with small regard for the truth. Yes, I'm Captain Nemo, Jr., of the submarine Grampus. And Jurgens has stolen my boat and captured two of my men! Losing the boat and that paper makes this a hard-luck story for me."

"Can't you get back the boat in some way?" queried Matt, his excitement growing as his brain cleared and