Jack Benson returned her glance, almost in, bewilderment for a moment.

Then he leaned back, trying to stifle the impulse to laugh, but he did not wholly succeed.

"You are amused?" cried the young Russian, half angry.

"Amused--yes, at the idea of my falling in love, if that was what you meant to suggest," replied Jack, again speaking very candidly.

"And why should that amuse you, my Captain?"

"Why, do you know how old I am, Mlle. Nadiboff? Or rather, how young?

I am only sixteen. At my age, if I formed any notion of being in love, it would be sensible to have me spanked and put on a short diet for a few days."

He laughed merrily, now, and Mlle. Nadiboff turned away her head to conceal the tears of vexation that started to her eyes.

"Bah!" she thought to herself. "I have been wasting time--at Lemaire's orders. The only way to induce this boy to betray his trust will be by offering him presents of marbles, tops, kites--bah! _Bah!_"

Mlle. Nadiboff settled back in her seat, looking straight ahead, her att.i.tude as frigid as could be. For some moments she did not attempt to speak. When she did open her lips she said, icily:

"I find that I have been wasting my time."

"Wasting your time, Mademoiselle?" echoed Jack Benson, coolly, for he was much more fully alive to the situation, thanks to Mr Graham, than she had any chance to know. "May I ask what you have been trying to do?"

The question made the young woman bite her lip. Mlle. Nadiboff had been a spy quite as long as Mr. Graham had stated. As she looked back over the years she was able to recall man after man whom she had flattered and lured by the witchery of her eyes. Secret after secret she had coaxed from men entrusted with guarding such mysteries. The rewards of the work had kept M. Lemaire and herself both bountifully supplied with money by the foreign governments that they had served as spies. Most men whom she had tried to win into her service the young Russian woman had found easy enough victims. But now, here was a sixteen-year-old boy laughing at her attempts at "cleverness."

"I was wrong to think Jack Benson a fool," she said to herself, angrily.

"He is far more clever than the men I have met. I can do nothing with him. I must turn him over to Lemaire--to see if that prince of spies, as he has often been called, can find the flaw in this submarine boy's armor."

With that Mlle. Nadiboff leaned forward, murmuring a few words to the chauffeur, who nodded slightly. Then the young woman leaned back, turning a smiling, friendly but no longer coaxing face to Jack Benson.

"If I have amused you," she smiled, "I am glad. We will say that much and forget the rest, eh, Captain Benson."

"I am glad to agree to anything that will please you," responded the boy, gravely.

Mlle. Nadiboff shot a covert look at his face, then decided to say nothing. She began to have a suspicion that this sixteen-year-old boy was far more clever than she, despite all her years of strange experiences.

A mile further along the automobile branched off the main road, running down a shaded lane at much reduced speed.

"What is this--some short cut back to the beach?" asked Jack, trying to conceal his astonishment.

"Yes," replied the young Russian, falsely.

Soon the big car stopped. The chauffeur thrust a whistle between his lips, blowing a trilling blast.

Jack Benson changed color somewhat. This sounded suspicious--a signal in the woods. It was doubly suspicious after the hints that Mr. Graham had given the young submarine captain.

"Do not jump--do not be afraid," laughed Mlle. Nadiboff, rather maliciously. "Nothing in the way of danger threatens."

Almost immediately the chug-chug of another auto was heard, just ahead up the narrow road. Then into sight glided a small runabout, which sat M. Lemaire, all by himself. That Frenchman stopped his car, next waving one hand gayly to those in the larger car.

Then, lifting his hat most courteously to the young woman, M. Lemaire stepped over to the other car. The Russian woman spoke in some tongue, the like of which Benson had never heard before. It was Arabic, a language that both of these spies understood perfectly. What she said was:

"The boy is yours. Do what you can with him. I admit that I have failed. I have no hope of being able to do anything with him."

M. Lemaire's eyebrows contracted briefly, in a slight frown. Then, forcing a pleasant look to his face, the Frenchman asked, in a tone easy enough with courtesy:

"Captain Benson, will you step out and talk with me a few moments? I have much to say."

"I can listen," nodded Jack, looking steadily, shrewdly into the eyes of this male spy. "At the same time, sir, this whole proceeding, meeting, request and all are so unusual that I think you cannot do better than to give me a frank explanation of what this all means."

"Means?" murmured the Frenchman, as though not comprehending.

"Yes," retorted Captain Jack Benson, disdaining to beat about the bush for an instant. "If you pretend that you do not understand me, sir, I shall feel obliged to have a poor idea of either your honesty or your intelligence."

"Are you trying to insult me?" asked the Frenchman, a warning flash in his eyes.

"Not at all," Jack answered, unhesitatingly. "I am asking you for a direct statement. Why am I brought here in this fashion? What is wanted of me?"

The young captain was now paying no attention to Mlle. Nadiboff. She, finding herself not needed in the talk, had slipped out at the other side of the car, and was now strolling slowly some yards away.

"Won't you step out, Captain Benson, so we an walk and talk this matter over?" again insisted the Frenchman.

"Then you have something to say that you don't think quite proper for the chauffeur to hear?" demanded Benson, almost mockingly.

"Oh, our good Gaston is all right," laughed the Frenchman, nodding at the chauffeur.

"The chauffeur, then, is one of the crowd--all spies," flashed through Jack's vengeful mind. "I might have guessed it. And this crowd have me a long way from my friends."

"You are not afraid to step down to the ground, Captain Benson?" asked the male spy, half mockingly.

"Afraid?" flushed Jack, springing down to the ground and confronting M. Lemaire. "No; I am not afraid of a regiment like you!"

"I begin to imagine that you are a brave young man, Captain," a.s.sented M. Lemaire, rather admiringly.

"Brave?" echoed Benson. "There's nothing here that calls for bravery, is there?"

"No-o-o," smiled the Frenchman slowly. "Nothing, Captain, but the courage to do and dare--and prosper."

"You speak like the puzzle page in a mail order magazine," laughed Jack Benson, more easily. "Now, Monsieur, won't you oblige me by becoming more definite?"

"What can I say, then?"

"Why, M. Lemaire, I always like to deal with people who are direct and right to the point. You plainly have some kind of a scheme that you are trying to put through with me. Won't you oblige me by coming straight to the very point?"

"I shall be as direct as you can wish, Captain Benson," replied the Frenchman, regaining his smile. "Let us stroll. Walking often helps the flow of language."

Out of the corner of his eye Jack noted that, though Mlle. Nadiboff refrained from joining them, she none the less hovered at no great distance from them.

"Now, my young friend," began the Frenchman, after a pause of a few moments, "you command the submarine boat, and you know all her secrets.

You are a draughtsman, to, no doubt?"