"Is there another 'terror' in the _Titian_?" I asked as I stepped into the boat and pushed off.
"Under the stern seat," she replied, without taking her face from the gunstock.
I started the motor of the little boat, swung around and came boldly down upon the sunken bow of the Boche boat, fastened to it, and took a position just in front of the cabin. There was no sound of life inside.
I called to them to surrender and come out with hands up or I would dynamite the wreck and send them to Hell there and then.
This order started muffled voices inside, but with no apparent inclination to obey.
I repeated the order, and added, "I will give you just one minute to line up or be blown up."
This last information produced animation.
I looked back to the _Sprite_. Little Jim's eyes were gleaming down the rifle barrel like an avenging angel. The game was big and I was after it.
The man of big girth came first, having to wriggle his way out of the tiny cabin door, and stood facing me with his hands elevated as far as his fat would allow. Then appeared another middle-aged, medium-sized man, of a business-like appearance, who looked like a decent person caught in bad company.
"He's dead," instantly replied the man with the bandaged hand.
"I want to see him," said I, far enough away to use the rifle.
"I say he is dead--inside," the fat man replied in rather a surly tone.
"Bring him out where I can see him," I demanded, not moving. "You bring him out," I added, looking at the thin man.
Frightened and craven, he let his arms down, went in the cabin. He returned soon, dragging out a body covered with blood. My shot must have hit him fair.
The thin man then took his stand beside the fat one, and elevated his hands again without an order, and both looked across at little Jim and her deadly rifle.
"Who are you?" demanded the pudgy man with the bandaged hand. "What right have you here?"
"An American citizen arresting a criminal caught in the act," I said, proceeding to put the "Yankee Bridle" on his wrists behind him.
"You needn't tie us up like slaves. We are gentlemen," he urged stoutly, but I ordered him to keep his mouth shut, which he did.
I then ordered the two men into the stern of the motor boat and applied the same "Yankee Twist" about their ankles, fastening the two of them together. The other man appeared dead.