You say zat you peek heem out of ze sea, but he is my torpedo, and he is vorth many sousand francs. I am to have him, eh?"

Matt looked at Glennie.

"We might need that torpedo, Matt," suggested the ensign, "for the Grampus has only one. If it comes to a fight with the French boat that extra Whitehead would come in handy. I think we had better keep it."

"So do I," agreed Matt. He turned to Captain Pons. "The torpedo was fired at us, captain," he went on, "and it was by a happenchance, and at a considerable risk to myself, that I was able to save it and tow it in."

"He is mine, by gar!" cried the Frenchman.

"What good is the torpedo to you without the submarine?"

"Ma foi, I can sell heem. I save zat much."

"Any way you figure it," insisted Matt, "we're entitled to salvage on the torpedo."

"Nozzing, not one centime!" screeched Captain Pons, jumping up and down and flourishing his arms.

"Suppose I pay you the difference between the salvage and the cost of the torpedo?" asked Matt, willing to adjust the matter in any way that would secure peace.

"Non! I want ze torpedo, and zis talk of ze salvage is w'at you call boosh; oui, zat is all, nozzing but boosh."

There seemed no amicable way of settling the dispute. Matt, feeling that the Whitehead was of prime importance to the Grampus, was determined to stick to his contention.

He and Glennie stood up, and all on the steps of the casa turned their eyes downward to where the Grampus lay on the placid waters of the harbor, the long, black cylinder of the Whitehead some forty or fifty feet back of the stern.

While they looked, a most astounding thing happened. The torpedo seemed suddenly to become imbued with life. It shivered, jerked sidewise like an animated log, whirled around frantically, and then, with one end leaping into the air, it darted downward, out of sight!