CLIPPING THE DRAGON'S CLAWS.

"Will it work, matey?"

"It ought to—providing there is anything for it to work with. When you talk by wireless, Dick, you know there has got to be a second instrument within reach of your Hertzian waves. Lucky we were able to pick up that wireless instrument in Buenos Ayres. Lucky, too, that Ensign Glennie knows how to use the key and to talk Spanish."

Just behind a bold headland to the north of Cape Virgins and within the mouth of the River Gallego, the submarine Grampus was anchored. The shore of the little bay lay steep to, the submarine being moored within a jump of the wooded bank.

Wires issued from the conning-tower hatch of the craft, crossed the stretch of water, and climbed a high tree that had been stripped of its branches. From the top of the tree hung the aËrials. Below deck, in the periscope room, was the instrument, with John Henry Glennie, Ensign, U. S. N., waiting at the key.

Motor Matt and Dick Ferral were on deck.

"Are you sure, matey," went on Dick, "that that was the Jap steamer our lookout raised from the headland?"

"We can't be sure of anything where those Japs are concerned. The steamer was of about the same size, although differently painted. But, then, paint is cheap, and it sometimes makes a big difference in a boat's appearance. The suspicious circumstance is that, while she was passing the mouth of the Gallegos, she pulled down the cross of St. George and ran up the Chilian flag."

"And she had two wireless masts!" exclaimed Dick. "These Sons of the Rising Sun are wily chaps, but, seeing that we have come from Para, all down the eastern coast of South America without any trouble, I was beginning to think the Japs had given up, and that they were going to let us finish our long cruise without paying us any more attention."

"Remember what Mr. Brigham, the American consul at Para, told us, Dick—that these fanatical young Japs never turn back once they have set their hands to a piece of work. Our business is to get the Grampus around the Horn and into the hands of the commandant of the navy yard at Mare Island, and collect a hundred thousand dollars for Captain Nemo, Jr. The Sons of the Rising Sun came near winning while we were on the way from Port of Spain to Para, and the mere fact that we got the best of them isn't going to cause them to throw up their hands and haul off."[A]

"If there's a wireless machine on that steamer," observed Dick speculatively, "it doesn't seem to me that she can belong to the Japs."

"It was probably easier for the Japs to install a wireless apparatus than it was for us. Undoubtedly they had every part of the machine in the hold of their vessel when they left their own country. As for us, we had to pick up a second-hand instrument at Buenos Ayres. I don't know that wireless telegraphy is going to help us any; but there's a chance that it may, and we can't neglect any chance if we want to clip the claws of the dragon."

"Right-o, old ship! Brigham told us not to let any one know what ports we were to call at, or what course we were going to take. If that steamer belongs to the Japs, those aboard won't know whether we're going through Magellan Strait or around the Horn."

"Our orders," said Matt reflectively, "carry us around the Horn, but those orders were given when it was not known that the Sons of the Rising Sun were after us."

"It was a good scheme putting in here and sending a lookout up on top of that headland," and Dick peered up toward the high point where Speake was sitting with a glass to his eyes. "If you hadn't done that, you'd never have seen that steamer, or——"

Dick was interrupted by a blue flash from the top of the tree.

"Strike me lucky!" he broke off, grabbing Matt's arm in a tense grip. "What does that mean?"

"It means," answered Matt excitedly, shaking off Dick's hand and hurrying toward the conning tower, "that Glennie is in communication with somebody. Stay here and watch, Dick, while I go below."

In the periscope room all was excitement. Clackett, Gaines, Carl, and Glennie were grouped about a table which, loaded with sending and receiving apparatus, completely filled one end of the chamber. Ensign Glennie, stripped to his shirt, was humped over the key, cramming the ear phone to the side of his head and listening breathlessly. Matt pushed close and looked on with deep interest.

"What is it?" he asked, as Glennie leaned back on his seat.

"I can't make out," was the ensign's disappointed answer. "This old second-hand instrument don't seem to be keyed properly, or else we're out of the zone of the ether waves and only catch snatches of—— Ah!" he finished, jumping for the table again.

After a few moments he lifted his head.

"I caught that," he said. "It was Spanish. 'This is the Chilian war ship Salvadore,' ran the message; 'what do you want?' It was clear as a bell, and was sent from some 'station' fairly close. There comes the answer, and I can't make head or tail to it—the sending instrument is too far away."

"It must come from Punta Arenas, in the strait," averred Matt. "That's a Chilian settlement, and the station there is talking with the war ship."

"Or with that mysterious steamer that passed here a few hours ago," qualified Glennie.

"Py chimineddy!" muttered Carl. "Schust to t'ink dot all dose t'ings vas t'rown troo der air, und——"

"Hist!" warned Matt as Glennie began to take another message off the sounder.

"The supposed war ship answers," said Glennie, "'All right; anything else?'"

"Try and make out what follows, if you can," returned Matt.

The chronometer on the wall ticked off seven minutes.

"I guess that's the end of it, Matt," said Glennie.

"Our spark won't carry to the land station?" queried Matt.

"If theirs won't come here distinctly, ours won't be able to reach them."

"Then we'll get into communication with the boat. Ask if she's the Chilian war ship Salvadore."

The Spanish words ran crackling up the wires to the top of the tree and jumped off into space.

"The answer is 'Yes,' Matt," said Glennie.

"Now give them this," said Matt: "'The United States submarine, in charge of one Matt King, is going around the Horn. Watch for her, pay her a visit, if you can, and have the craft carefully looked over. The submarine Grampus is a marvel of her kind, and a long way ahead of any other under-water boat yet launched.'"

Glennie stared in blank amazement.

"Vy, Matt, dot's a gifavay!" gasped Carl. "Prigham saidt dot ve vasn't to dell anypody vere ve're going."

"That's my notion, Matt," said Glennie.

"Send the message, Glennie," ordered Matt.

The perplexed ensign bent to his key.

"It's gone," he muttered, "and here's something else coming back."

A few minutes later Glennie translated into English the words that had come to his sharp ears.

"They want to know where the submarine is now."

"Tell them," said Matt resolutely, "that she's three days out from the River Plate, and may be well below Cape Virgins by this time."

"Ach, lisden!" whispered Carl. "Pelow Cape Firgins—und here ve are to der nort', in Gallegos Pay."

"They say they will watch for her," reported Glennie, after sending the message and getting the answer.

Matt smiled grimly.

"Tell them, Glennie," said he, "to try and pick her up before she gets around the Horn."

"They say they'll try," announced Glennie presently. "Now," he finished, removing the ear phones, "I'd like to know what you're trying to do, Matt."

"It's a cinch, I think," replied Matt, "that you've been talking with that steamer that passed the headland, bound south, a few hours ago."

"No doubt about that."

"She hauled down the British ensign and hauled up the Chilian flag as she passed."

"Exactly, and that looks suspicious, although it might be explained."

"She says she's a Chilian war ship," went on Matt, "but she had no guns. If she's not a war ship, she's not Chilian; and if she's not Chilian, she's Japanese; and if she's Japanese, she belongs to the Sons of the Rising Sun, who are trying to lay a trap for us. Here's where we have a chance to clip the dragon's claws—and we've virtually accomplished it by wireless."

Matt whirled away.

"Gaines," said he, "you and Clackett strip those wires off that tree and call Speake down from the top of the hill. Carl," he added, "you help Glennie clear these instruments out of the periscope room. They've served their purpose better than I ever dreamed they would when we took them aboard at Buenos Ayres."

Gaines and Clackett at once shinned up the iron ladder to carry out their orders. Carl and Glennie began carrying the wireless machine into the steel room abaft the periscope chamber. Meanwhile Matt was overhauling some charts, which he had spread out on top of the locker.

Dick, Speake, Clackett, and Gaines—the two latter with the coil of wire and the aËrial points—came down into the periscope room before Matt was through.

"What's the next move, matey?" asked Dick.

"Get up the anchor and cast off the mooring ropes, old chap," Matt answered, getting to his feet. "If that boat we were talking with really belonged to the Japs, then she's hustling for the Horn to overtake us. While she's beating around the southern end of Terra del Fuego, we'll pass through the Strait of Magellan and reach away up the coast of Chili."

"Hoop-a-la!" exulted Carl. "Dot's der vay der king oof der modor poys fools der Chaps! Vile dey look for us von blace, den ve scoot out some odder blace!"

"That's the trick!" cried Ferral; "and it's the trick that wins."

"But our orders carry us around the Horn," demurred Glennie.

"You're aboard as the representative of the United States Government, Glennie," said Matt. "If we try to go around the Horn, there's no telling what will happen. A hundred thousand dollars is trembling in the balance, and ought we to take chances with it? It's for you to say."

"Then go through the strait," answered Glennie.

Motor Matt had reasoned wisely; but the failure of their wireless instrument to catch the messages from Punta Arenas was to cause them a vast amount of trouble.