Young Benson eased his hold on Millard's wind-pipe. Yet all three of
the submarine boys watched their prisoner, cat-like, for any new
outbreak.
"Now, roll over on your face, if you want us to believe you're going to
be good," ordered Jack.
Though he swore, under his breath, Millard obeyed. Then something
flashed in the night--handcuffs that Jack had brought away from his
meeting with Lieutenant Ridder at the hotel.
Click! The steel band snapped into place around Millard's right wrist.
"Hold on--not that!" protested the prisoner, hoarsely.
"Yes; even that!" mocked Eph, picking up a fragment of rock. "And keep
quiet, unless you want me to batter your head in!"
It was this rough, vigorous sea-talk, backed by a belief that young
Somers would prove equal to his threat, no doubt, that made Millard
allow his left wrist to be brought over to meet the right.
"You've got those things on too tight," complained Millard, sullenly.
"No-o-o, I don't think so," retorted Captain Jack, after looking. "We
need 'em as tight as we can have 'em, without causing pain, when we
have a fellow like you to deal with.
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