Frank went over to the bunk and peered in. At that moment Captain Harwood’s voice broke upon his ear.

“Looking at my little long lost chum, are you, son?” he said in a low, gentle voice. “Well,” and his voice grew suddenly harsh, “don’t do it! You keep away from there! You hear me? You keep away or I’ll feed you to the little fishes!”

He aimed a vicious blow at Frank, which the lad avoided only by a quick backward leap. The captain took a step forward as though to continue his attack; then changed his mind and said:

“I don’t want to hurt you, son, but you’ll have to keep away from my property.”

The captain turned on his heel and went on deck.

In spite of the captain’s warning, Frank once more approached the man in the bunk; but he kept a wary eye on the door. Putting his foot on the edge of the captain’s bunk, he pulled himself up.

The bound man was still moaning feebly. Frank removed the gag from his mouth.

“Thanks,” said the man in a low voice in English. “I didn’t think I could stand that thing in my mouth another instant.”

“What’s the matter, anyhow,” demanded Frank. “Why are you kept a prisoner here?”

“It’s a long story,” was the reply, “and I haven’t time to tell you now. But I can say this much, for I don’t believe you will repeat it. I’m in the English diplomatic corps and am on an important mission. My capture must be the work of treachery. I suppose I am to be turned over to the Germans.”

“I thought diplomacy was a thing of the past,” said Frank. “Of what use is diplomacy now that practically the whole of Europe is at war?”

“That’s just it,” was the reply. “The whole of Europe is not at war. Italy is still neutral, but unless something happens she is likely to throw in her fortunes with Germany.”

“But what have you got to do with that?”

The man in the bunk was silent for a few moments.

“All I can say,” he replied finally, “is that I am supposed to see that something happens; or rather, I should say, I am to help.”

“But how did you get here?”

“I was trapped. There is a traitor somewhere. It looks as though I am done for. The Germans know me. They will show me no mercy.”

“Surely, it’s not as bad as all that!” exclaimed Frank.

“Worse, if possible,” was the reply.

“But I can’t believe Captain Harwood, an American, would be engaged in work of that sort.”

“Harwood!” exclaimed, the man in the bunk. “A more villainous pirate never lived. I know him of old. I don’t know how he happened to be sailing at this exact time. He certainly is not making this trip on my account alone. He’s up to some other game.”

Frank was struck with an idea.

“But the crew,” he exclaimed. “Can’t we get some help from them?”

“Don’t you bank on that,” was the reply.

“But——” began Frank.

The man in the bunk interrupted.

“Sh-h-h!” he cautioned. “Footsteps!”

Frank listened a moment; then with a quick spring jumped into his own bunk just as Captain Harwood again appeared. The captain approached him. To all appearances Frank was sleeping soundly. The captain grunted and then approached the man in the bunk.

“So!” he exclaimed. “I’ve got you again, eh! Well, this time you won’t get away. You don’t think I’ve forgotten I spent two years behind the bars on your account, do you? I haven’t. You hear me!”

He struck the helpless man a blow with his fist.

“Why don’t you answer me?” he demanded; then smiled to himself. “Oh, I forgot. Guess I’ll remove that gag and let you say something.”

He climbed up and leaned over the occupant of the upper bunk, then started back with a cry.

“How did you remove that gag?” he demanded; then continued, “O-ho I see. Little Willie boy, eh! Well——”

He turned toward Frank and at the same moment the man in the bunk let out a cry of warning.

But Frank was not to be caught napping. As the captain turned toward him he sprang to his feet and placed himself in an attitude of defense. He knew that he was no match for the giant captain, but he determined to give a good account of himself.

“Well, well,” cried the captain advancing, “little Willie is going to fight! What d’ye think o’ that?”

He doubled his huge fists and took another step forward; but at that instant there came a fearful cry from on deck.

The captain paused, and Charlie’s voice came down the hatchway in a loud wail:

“Help!”

Captain Harwood sprang toward the door, and as he went through it he hurled back over his shoulder:

“I’ll 'tend to your case when I come back, son!”

A moment later there came cries from above and the sound of a furious struggle. Frank rushed up the hatchway to the deck, where a terrible sight met his eyes.

Surrounded by all six of the crew. Captain Harwood was battling desperately for his life. Time after time he struck out with his great fists, but his blows failed to land. The nimble Italians skipped back, then closed in again. By the wheel, Frank saw the unconscious form of Charlie.

Long, wicked-looking knives gleamed in the hands of the Italians. Bleeding from half a dozen wounds, the giant captain continued to fight off his enemies.

“Great Scott!” exclaimed Frank. “I can’t stand here and see him killed!”

He sprang forward and, before his presence was noted, struck down one of the Italians with a blow of his fist.

The captain noted with a nod this aid from such an unexpected source.

“Good work, son!” he exclaimed.

Frank turned to another of the Italians, but as he did so the man he had knocked down arose, stooped and picked up a belaying pin that lay nearby, and struck Frank a heavy blow on the head.

The lad dropped to the deck unconscious. At the same moment the other Italians sprang upon the captain with even greater ferocity. In vain he tried to fight them off. Two he knocked down with hammer-like blows of his great fists. Then, seizing a descending arm, he twisted sharply and a knife fell clattering to the deck.

At the same moment another Italian sprang upon his unprotected back, and buried his knife to the hilt. Three times the captain spun around on his heel, then fell to the deck on his face. Instantly half a dozen knives were buried in his back. The captain gave a great sob, shuddered, and lay still.

Roughly the Italians picked up the great body, carried it to the rail and threw it into the sea. The body of Charlie was treated in a similar manner. Then the Italians approached Frank.

As they picked him up he groaned. Consciousness was returning.

“He’s still alive,” came a voice. “What shall we do with him?”

“Overboard with him anyhow,” came the reply.

“No,” said another voice. “Let him live. Tie him up and put him below with the other prisoner. There is a good price on the head of one, according to what the captain said. The other may be worth something.”

It was now dark; but suddenly the little schooner was the center of a dazzling light and a shot rang out over the water. Dimly, could be made out the outlines of a battle cruiser. A second shot rang out—a command to heave-to.

“Quick!” cried one of the mutineers, apparently the leader of the gang. “We must make a run for it. Tie this dog up and throw him below!”

Swiftly Frank was bound hand and foot and tumbled down the hatchway. In falling the knot that bound his feet became unloosened and he freed his legs with little difficulty. But try as he would he could not release his hands. He made his way to his bunk and lay down.

“What’s the matter?” came the voice of the man in the bunk.

Frank explained matters to him.

“Good!” was the reply. “They can’t get away from the cruiser. It is undoubtedly a British ship.”

But both were doomed to disappointment. A heavy wind had sprung up and now was blowing a gale. With all sails set, the little schooner soon lost itself in the darkness, and when morning dawned there was not the sign of a sail as far as the eye could see.