“You bet,” nodded the other driver.

“Just got back from taking the tall woman in gray somewhere.”

“Yep.  But do you call it ‘somewhere’?  I’d call it most anywhere.”

“How far was it?” asked Jack.

“What do you want to know for?” demanded the Jehu, looking with sudden sharpness at his questioner.

“Because we’d like to go to the same place that you took the woman,” returned Benson, promptly.

“Huh!  I took her for three dollars.  I wouldn’t go over that trip again for less’n five.”

“We’ll pay the five, and be glad to,” proposed Jack Benson, displaying some money.  “More than that, if you play right fair with us, we’ll put another five on top of the first, just as a little present to your horses.”

“You’d better use the young gentlemen right, Jim,” advised Medway.  “They’re good fellows, and they pay well.”

“Why do you want to go where I took that last party?” questioned Jim, with a shrewd look.

“One of the things that the second five-dollar note pays you for is asking no questions,” retorted Jack.  “Do you want to take up our offer?”

“Yes; if you’ll give me fifteen minutes to rest and water the horses,” agreed Jim.

“That’ll be all right,” nodded Jack.  “And now, Medway, have we paid you enough?”

“Plenty,” cheerfully responded the first driver, taking the hint and leaving.

“Where did you take that woman?” questioned Jack, while the new driver got out a bucket for watering his horses.

“Away down by the sea-coast.  Know where the Cobtown fishing shanties are?”

“No.”

“Well, Cobtown is made up of three or four little villages of rickety old houses.  Some are occupied by fishermen, and some ain’t.  There’s three or four coves down that way fishing craft anchor in.  It’s a lonely, wild bit of country, and some rough characters ’mong them fishermen.”

“Did you take your fare to any particular house or shanty down at Cobtown?”

“Nope; she got out on the road, in sight o’ Cobtown, an’ walked along, toting her old grip.”

“What kind of a ‘grip’ was it?”

“An old brownish suit case.”

“That’s the one,” nodded Eph.

As the driver busied himself over his team, the submarine boys drew aside to talk over their new information.

“I reckon we’re going to be too late,” grumbled Captain Jack.

“What makes you think so?” Hal inquired.

“Fishing villages, smacks and fishermen,” answered Jack, gloomily.  “Fishermen are a daring, reckless lot of fellows.  They’d take a craft anywhere, in any kind of weather, for money enough.  Fellows, I’m afraid Millard has hired a smack and started up or down the coast.”

“Then we’ve got a craft that can chase any smack on the Atlantic coast,” declared.  Eph, stoutly.

“Of course; if we knew which craft to overhaul, and had the authority to do it.”