“I begin to imagine that you are a brave young man, Captain,” assented M. Lemaire, rather admiringly.

“Brave?” echoed Benson.  “There’s nothing here that calls for bravery, is there?”

“No-o-o,” smiled the Frenchman slowly.  “Nothing, Captain, but the courage to do and dare—­and prosper.”

“You speak like the puzzle page in a mail order magazine,” laughed Jack Benson, more easily.  “Now, Monsieur, won’t you oblige me by becoming more definite?”

“What can I say, then?”

“Why, M. Lemaire, I always like to deal with people who are direct and right to the point.  You plainly have some kind of a scheme that you are trying to put through with me.  Won’t you oblige me by coming straight to the very point?”

“I shall be as direct as you can wish, Captain Benson,” replied the Frenchman, regaining his smile.  “Let us stroll.  Walking often helps the flow of language.”

Out of the corner of his eye Jack noted that, though Mlle. Nadiboff refrained from joining them, she none the less hovered at no great distance from them.

“Now, my young friend,” began the Frenchman, after a pause of a few moments, “you command the submarine boat, and you know all her secrets.  You are a draughtsman, to, no doubt?”

“A fair draughtsman,” nodded Jack.

“You could draw us a model of the boat you command.  You could make drawings of all the important parts.  You could supply us with explanations.”

“Just what sort of explanations?” Jack asked, coolly.

M. Lemaire shot a swift, sidelong glance at the submarine boy.

“How?” demanded the Frenchman.  “You do not understand yet?”

“You promised, Monsieur, to be very exact and explicit.  What do you want?”

“Why, then, such drawings and such explanations that any skilled shipbuilder, from the plans you furnish us, could build another boat just like, and just as effective, as the boat you now command?”

“What do you want to do with such plans?” asked Benson.

“Why, would you care about that, if I pay you well enough?”

“Perhaps not,” muttered Jack Benson.  “Still, when I go into anything, I like to know all about it.”

“Well, then,” cried M. Lemaire, gayly, “first of all, we will come to the question of a fee to be paid you for your trouble.  Such drawings and such papers you could prepare for us in two or three days, could you not?”

“I think that very likely,” Jack admitted.  He had thrust his hands deep down into his trousers pockets, in order to restrain his very natural impulse to spring at the Frenchman and rain blows in the latter’s face.

“Two or three days’ work, let us say,” continued M. Lemaire.  “And, for that we will pay you handsomely—­ten thousand dollars in the best money of your land!”

They halted, gazing at each other.  For a few seconds Jack Benson did not dare trust himself to utter a word.  When he did speak, it was to ask, calmly: