But Jack saw something else, too, in that brief instant.
A slim, soldierly-looking man of perhaps thirty, tall and of naturally
good carriage, was skulking along in front of the submarine boy, yet
hidden from the bay by a sand ridge.
Under one arm the stranger carried a draughtsman's board and a book. A
strap over one shoulder held a field-glass case.
"Where in blazes have I seen that chap before?" wondered Captain Jack
Benson, staring hard. "For I have seen him--somewhere. I'd declare
that under oath."
Figure, carnage and face all strangely haunted the submarine boy, who
crouched lower, watching.
"By the great turret gun! He's skulking for a reason!" muttered Benson.
"Is he spying on the mine-planting? I wonder? Yes! That must be his
work! Long-legs, I'll keep my eyes on you!"
The stranger hastened along for perhaps a quarter of a mile further.
Then he threw himself down on the sand, choosing a position in which he
could lie flat, his head fairly well hidden behind a low ridge of sand.
Unslinging the field-glass, the stranger brought it to his eyes, closely
watching the progress of the tug.
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