"look here!" exclaimed broadmayne, in a low voice, "are you game? now's our chance."

he pointed to the mendez nunez.

"steady on," replied vyse cautiously. "supposing we get on board without being spotted: what then? can you speak spanish; i can't. the blighters will take us for pirates—i don't blame them if they do—and there'd be a deuce of a rumpus before we could explain. they'd probably knife us out of hand."

the two chums were standing close to the poopladder while the plundering of the tanker was in progress. their "passive resistance" was now tolerated without any interference on the part of the pirate captain. provided they stood their trick in the ordinary work of the ship, they were not called upon to take any part in actual acts of piracy. they certainly earned their keep. captain cain had not to pay them. on the other hand, he still hoped to get a substantial sum for their ransom. on that account, coupled with the fact that already they knew too much to be released, they were retained on board the alerte.

"risk that," rejoined the sub laconically. "it's better than being sent to the bottom for good and all, and that's what will happen if we don't clear out."

"right-o," agreed rollo vyse. "wait till old pengelly's looking the other way and then shift like greased lightning."

"and get spotted directly we gain her deck," objected the sub. "no; our best way is to drop overboard, swim round under her stern, and hang on to the falls of the boat they tried to lower. as soon as the alerte backs clear, then up we shin."

"beastly dirty job," remarked vyse, objecting in turn, as he glanced at the oil-smothered water. "all right. lead on, macduff!"

awaiting their opportunity, for pengelly was kept fairly busy in shouting orders to the men tending the warps and transferring the plunder to the alerte, the chums made their way under the bridge. here, secure from observation, unless any of the crew of the quick-firer came aft, they clambered through the gap in the stove-in bulwarks and dropped into the sea.

for the first time they realised the extreme difficulty in swimming in oil-covered water. it was a hard struggle to keep their heads above the surface, and quite a strenuous effort to make progress. to add to the peril, they were liable to be crushed by the hull of the ship as she drifted to lee'ard, while when they reached the wind'ard side they might find that the drift was so considerable that they would be unable to keep pace with it.

"dog-stroke," gasped broadmayne. "better than breast-stroke in this muck. we're all right."

it seemed a fearfully long time swimming under the tanker's squat counter. then foot by foot they struggled along the spanish vessel's starboard quarter to where the jagged timbers of the crushed boat still hung from the for'ard falls.

with a gasp of relief the sub stretched out his hand and grasped the débris. he waited until vyse had obtained a hand-fast and then cautiously hoisted himself out of the water and gained a temporary refuge by sitting on the edge of the boat's bow-thwart, where his chum soon joined him.

so far so good. they were roughly fifteen feet below the tanker's stanchion-rail. the boat's bows were practically intact as far as the second thwart, and hanging in a vertical position formed a screen from the sight of any one who happened to look over the tanker's side. but their plight was far from enviable. owing to the swell, the wreckage of the boat was thudding steadily against the tanker's side and turning dizzily as the falls twisted and untwisted. the chums were smothered with black oil from head to foot. some of the vile stuff had found its way into rollo's eyes, making them smart exceedingly. yet in spite of the various discomforts he could not refrain from remarking that they looked like a pair of blackbirds in a cage.

"there's the recall," exclaimed the sub, as above the hiss of escaping vapour from the mendez nunez's steam-pipe came the shrill notes of a whistle.

for a few minutes longer the chums listened intently. they could hear nothing more to indicate that the pirate submarine had parted company with her prize.

"don't move," cautioned vyse suddenly. "look!"

the stern of the alerte was beginning to be visible as the vessel backed. if she carried sternway much farther, the fragments of the boat with the two fugitives clinging to it would be exposed to the view of the pirate crew.

more and more of the after-part of the pirate submarine's hull showed until the end of the mainmast derricks came into view. then, at first almost imperceptibly, the sternway movement diminished. a smother of oily foam from the alerte's twin propellers was flung astern. her engines were going ahead. for a brief instant the relative position of the pirate craft and her prize remained unchanged; then, gathering way, the alerte forged ahead and disappeared from the view of the two chums.

"think she'll be put about if we're missed?" asked vyse anxiously.

"might," admitted broadmayne. "perhaps they're so taken up with their success that they've forgotten all about us. 't any rate, up we go. we'll lie doggo as long as we possibly can, in case cain has a fancy to renew our acquaintance."

it was no easy matter to swarm up that fifteen feet or so of trebled, twisted rope. their hands, smothered in thick oil, had great difficulty to obtain a steady grip, while, to make matters worse, the tanker was again rolling badly. with every roll the falls with their human burdens bumped heavily against the ship's side.

at last the sub reached the stanchion-rail. crouching, he edged sideways to enable his companion to gain a place of safety. then he gave a quick glance along the tanker's deck.

it was deserted. the two engineers, having completed their forced task of casting off the alerte's warps, had gone below to obtain tools to effect the release of the rest of the crew, who, knowing that the pirate had sheered off, were clamouring loudly for help. doubtless they were under the mistaken though by no means unfounded idea that their vessel was being scuttled, and that they were in peril of being drowned like rats in a trap.

broadmayne's next thought was for the alerte. a roll of the tanker raised the side sufficiently to enable the sub to see right across her deck to the expanse of sea beyond. there was the pirate submarine, stern-on, legging it as hard as she could go in a northerly direction. already she was between a mile and a half and two miles away and momentarily increasing the distance at the rate of a mile every four minutes.

"all clear," reported the sub. "keep down as much as you can in case cain and co. are using their binoculars. now then, we've got to find a place to stow ourselves."

"not in these trousers," rejoined his chum. "we're shedding a trail of oil. deck isn't any too clean, i admit, but look there! a wash and brush up and a change of clothing is what we want."

"and likely to want," added broadmayne. "look alive; let's go aft and see what we can find. i agree as to the clothes. they're not respectable and are decidedly uncomfortable."

the engine-room and officers' cabins on board the mendez nunez were right aft under the poop, which, in her case, was flush with the part corresponding to the waist, except for the deck-house abaft the funnel.

a glance down the engine-room hatchway in passing revealed the fact that the place was deserted. down the companion-ladder broadmayne crept, his chum close at his heels, their progress marked by a double trail of oil.

"no one at home," remarked vyse, stopping outside the open door of a cabin marked with a brass plate "el capitaño." "looks as if our late shipmates have been here before us."

"so much the better as far as we are concerned," added the sub. "we'll borrow from the old man's wardrobe. quick! off with your gear. we can sling our discarded rags through the scuttle."

they stripped, "borrowed" the curtains over the scuttles to remove as much as possible of their coating of oil and then rummaged amongst the lockers under the bunk.

vyse had spoken truly when he remarked that some one had been there before them, but apparently the pirates were sufficiently well found in the matter of clothing to trouble to steal the spanish skipper's wardrobe.

in a few minutes the two chums were "arrayed" in garments of sufficient girth, but sadly lacking in length. evidently el capitaño was a short and very fat individual, for the sub found himself wearing a pair of trousers that reached half-way between his ankles and his knees, displaying an expanse of pale blue shirt between the top of the "bags" and the hem of a coat somewhat resembling a monkey-jacket.

nor was vyse much better off. he had to content himself with a ridiculously short pair of knee-breeches—part of the spanish captain's shore-going "plain clothes"—and a blue dressing-gown edged with scarlet silk.

"look alive!" exclaimed broadmayne. "they are let loose for'ard. this way!"

stopping at what was obviously the officers' pantry and picking up a couple of small-sized loaves from a few that the pirates had considered beneath their notice, the sub led the way to a narrow hatchway whence a steep iron ladder gave access to the steerage flats.

it was broadmayne's intention to seek shelter in the triangular space traversed by the propeller shaft, but as he lifted the steel flap a waft of acrid-smelling smoke drifted up.

"no place for us," he exclaimed.

"have the blighters started a fire?" asked rollo.

"no. at least, i think not," replied the sub; "they have probably been monkeying with the shaft. hist!"

they listened. footsteps sounded overhead. the stowaways' retreat was cut off.

the compartment was in semi-darkness. a very subdued light filtered through the still-open hatchway. the floor was either level with or just below the waterline, while the walls forming part of the "run-aft" of the ship were unpierced by scuttles.

groping, broadmayne discovered that at one side was a large tank. it was rectangular and not shaped to fit the wing-plates, consequently there was a fair space between it and the curved side sufficient for several people to squeeze into.

it was a freshwater tank. the sub could make out a couple of pipes leading upwards—one for filling, the other communicating with a pump in the officers' pantry.

the trap-hatch fell with a loud clang. the spaniard who had come aft had narrowly escaped falling through the aperture. without troubling to look down he had merely slammed the metal plate into position.

"that's good," said vyse, in a low tone. "cuts off most sounds. we can talk if we want to."

"so we can," added a husky voice, coming from behind the water-tank. "it's all right, chums; it's only me—slogger soames."

"bless my soul, soames!" ejaculated broadmayne, "what are you doing here?"

"thought it about time i 'opped it," explained the ex-stoker. "things were goin' a bit too strong on board the old hooker, even for me. i spotted you two slippin' over the side an' swimming round this 'ere vessel's stern. says i to myself suddenlike, 'well, 'ere goes. they'll want some one to bear a hand afore they're out of this 'ere mess.' an' i knows you won't give me away when we gets on the beach. plymouth gasworks'll suit me down to the ground after this little spree, i give you my word."

"how did you get aboard?" asked the sub.

"i was givin' a hand shiftin' cargo, in a manner o' speaking," replied soames. "in plain english, we wur pinchin' the bloomin' dagoes' duds. then marchant yells out for a sledge-'ammer. i fetches it aft, gives a look over the side to see you wur all right—you didn't spot me, but i saw you a-hangin' on to the nose of that there boat—and then i nips down 'ere. an' 'ere i be."

there were now sounds of great activity all over the ship. judging by the tone of their voices, the officers were rapidly becoming acquainted with the disordered state of their looted cabins. from the engine-room came indications that the staff were preparing to get the machinery in motion.

a bell clanged loudly. a few seconds later the pistons began to move. the engines raced madly, while a disconcerting, rasping, groaning sound immediately underneath the fugitives' hiding-place told its own tale.

"cain fractured the shaft before he left," declared broadmayne. "i had an idea that's what it was."

for some minutes the terrific clatter continued, the deck-officers being unaware that anything was wrong, until they noticed that the ship was not gathering way. then a renewed outburst with the engine-room telegraph gong was followed by the engineers shutting off steam. the discordant metallic clamour ceased, but a babel of excited voices all shouting at once arose in its place.

crouching behind the water-tank, the three stowaways waited. they had not long to wait. the hatch was thrown open and a couple of dungaree-clad men carrying electric inspection-lamps descended the ladder. the dazzling glare seemed to penetrate every recess of that confined space, especially while the newcomers were still on the upper rungs of the ladder. but the spanish engineers did not waste time. they both disappeared through the manhole in the floor, a pair of wavering intermittent beams of light flung upwards through the aperture as they scrambled over the tunnel of the shaft.

presently, talking rapidly and angrily, the two spaniards retraced their way. nothing could be done with the shaft until the mendez nunez was dry-docked. meanwhile the tanker was drifting helplessly, unable to send out a wireless call for assistance.

for the three men hiding in the steerage-flat the time passed very slowly indeed. they could talk in low tones; they were able to leave their cramped quarters behind the tank and stretch their benumbed limbs. they had food of a kind; for liquid refreshment they had to content themselves with the steady drip from a leaky joint, the tank being covered in with a steel lid that could only be removed by the aid of a spanner. they were in cimmerian darkness, for with the closing of the overhead hatch even the subdued light that had previously been filtering in was entirely cut off. the air, too, was none too pure, mingled as it was with the stench from the bilges, the still present odour of burnt gun-cotton, and a penetrating reek of garlic.

broadmayne and his companions had no idea of the time. their watches had long since disappeared. occasionally they heard the bells struck, but the spaniards' method of keeping ship's time appeared to differ radically with that of british-owned vessels. and since the flat was in utter darkness, the fugitives were at a loss to know whether it were day or night.

"think it's safe to go on deck?" inquired vyse

"no, i don't," replied broadmayne, emphatically. "the dagoes have quieted down a bit; but the sight of us would probably be like that of a red rag to a bull. we couldn't explain; they wouldn't listen, if we could. no; we must stick it. the tanker's bound to be picked up and towed into port, and from her position it's an eighty per cent. chance in favour of a british port."

not very long after there were unmistakable signs that the mendez nunez was being taken in tow. the sluggish rolling motion gave place to a succession of jerks. the water no longer splashed against the hull plating. it gurgled as it ran past the rudder, while the clanking of the steam-steering gear announced that the tanker was again using her helm.

"that's good!" commented broadmayne. "who's for a caulk? i'll keep watch if you would like to have a snooze."

this suggestion was acted upon, soames relieving the sub at the end of about two hours, as nearly as he was able to guess the passing of time. then vyse took on, and at the end of his trick all three finished up the remains of the last loaf.

they were feeling ravenous again when they felt the tanker's hull bump against something, and heard the crew running along the deck and the dull thud of wire-hawsers being brought to the winches.

"we're alongside," exclaimed broadmayne. "listen!"

placing their ears to the hull plating, they could hear the sound of an engine shunting trucks, then—to their unbounded satisfaction—a voice shouting:

"all fast! look alive with that brow, lads!"

"time we shifted," declared broadmayne, kicking out to work the muscles of his cramped legs. "we've got to slip ashore quietly and without any of the crew spotting us."

mounting a few rungs of the ladder, the sub with a powerful thrust threw back the hatchcover. there was no one in the alleyway. a cloud of steam issuing through the engine-room fidley cut off the view of the deck; but it was sunlight, not artificial light, that played upon the oil-reeking vapour.

keeping together, the trio made their way for'ard. just abaft the mainmast they could see the inboard end of a brow inclined at a steep angle. close to it stood two of the spanish officers and a couple of civilians. several of the crew were at the guard-rails looking down at the crowd of sightseers on the quay-side.

"now!" whispered broadmayne.

the three made a mad rush for the gangway. one of the spanish officers started when he saw two weirdly-garbed men followed by a third in strange rig making for the brow. too astonished to attempt to bar their way, he could only shout and gesticulate to the spanish seamen standing by.

one of the latter did endeavour to stop the fugitives. broadmayne charged him, sending him crashing against a second spaniard. in a trice the three englishmen were running down the steeply-inclined brow.

"hi—there!" shouted one of the two civilians who were conferring with the spanish captain. "stop those men!"

none of the crowd showed any inclination to obey the peremptory request of the individual who, broadmayne subsequently discovered, was one of the spanish consulate staff. it was not on account of the powerful physique of the three fugitives that the crowd made way. perhaps they guessed that the hurrying trio were in some way connected with the pirate crew who had held up the spanish tanker. at all events, the sympathies of the onlookers were with the fugitives, not the foreigners. had broadmayne and his companions wished, they could have got clean away.

but this was not their intention. apart from cutting ridiculous figures by careering through the streets in garments that, like parallel lines, would never meet on their bulky frames, broadmayne and vyse had no cause for flight or concealment now that they were safely on british soil.

"it's quite all right," shouted the sub reassuringly. "we are not going to take to our heels. is there a policeman about? will some one please fetch a taxi?"

he had no occasion to ask what port they had arrived at. he knew the place well. it was falmouth. the mendez nunez was berthed alongside the quay, almost under the shadow of pendennis castle.

a policeman hurried up and produced a notebook.

"what's all this?" he demanded, looking askance at the nondescript pair.

"pirates! that's what they are!" shouted the consular official from the tanker's gangway.

the policeman put away his notebook and measured the bulk of the two oddly-attired men with his own size. he was a stalwart specimen of the force, but not to be compared in height and weight with his would-be prisoners.

"in the name of the law!" he exclaimed. "i warn you. any statement you may make will be used in evidence against you. now, are you coming quietly?"

"yes," replied broadmayne. "in a taxi?"

he looked round to see where the ex-stoker was, but saw him not. slogger soames had quietly walked off and was well on his way towards the town—the first stage of his journey back to his native plymouth.