That was a blow in the face for Sixty. He staggered back, dropped his rifle, and cast longing eyes at the two boats moored to the brig's side.
"You wouldn't dare do a thing like that!" he cried.
"Why wouldn't I?" asked the captain, casually.
"Well, for one thing, if you blowed us up, Motor Matt's two pards would go with us. You ain't takin' no chances with----"
"The schooner! The schooner!" clamored those on the deck of the brig.
Through the lunette Matt could see the schooner, with all sail set, hustling off across the ocean, showing as clean a pair of heels as any sailing craft could.
"Come back here, blast you!" howled Sixty, trumpeting the words through his hands.
But, if any one on the schooner heard, they made no response. The craft kept to her course, hauling up every stitch of canvas possible.
"We've got her scared," remarked Captain Nemo, Jr., "for her skipper knows that if we could sink you with a torpedo we could also sink her."
"We want you and your men as prisoners," replied the captain. "If Motor Matt's friend on the deck, there, is badly hurt, you'll all be held to answer for it. Not only that, but we want to examine the brig's cargo----"
"No need of that, captain," sung out Dick. "I've got her log and her manifest. There's enough guns and ammunition down below to arm a regiment--and they're not down in the papers."
With a swirling roar of rage, Sixty sprang toward Dick. The latter stepped away quickly.
"Stay right where you are, Sixty!" shouted the captain. "Make another move like that and you'll do it at your peril. If those men with you know when they're well off, they'll help Dick Ferral get his chum into one of the boats and bring him over here to us."
"They'll do nothin' o' the kind!" shouted Sixty. "If you blow us up, you're goin' to blow up Motor Matt's friends along with us."
But the nine men with Sixty were of another way of thinking. Their only hope had been the schooner, and, now that she had mysteriously taken to flight, their next best plan was to fall in with the desires of their captor--the gray-haired man in the submarine.
Together the nine swarthy sailors started toward Carl. Sixty endeavored to drive them back, but they pointed revolvers at him and brandished dangerous-looking knives. Baffled, and held at bay by superior numbers, Sixty could only watch like an enraged panther while Carl was picked up and lowered by means of a rope into one of the boats.
