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Apparently the frogmen had returned from their first dive and were changing tanks. Zircon stopped swimming and lay motionless in the water. Rick drew abreast of the big scientist, and Tony and Scotty stopped behind them. As they watched, suited figures with belt lights and back tanks climbed down a ladder into the water. A third man, on deck, lowered something to them.
Instead, Cox went on, the mysterious craft had proceeded to a point about ten miles offshore where it rendezvoused with another submarine. "And get this, skipper!" Mack Avery put in. "The other sub was undetectable! We were close enough to get a peek at it, but we couldn't ping it on the sonarscope." "That figures," Tom said grimly. "Those frogmen were apparently Brungarians."
For all he knew, the frogmen might be right overhead. He backed down into the cabin and pushed his camera into a corner. He could get it later. Right now he preferred to have both hands free. He wished for a spear gun, to double their armament. But the other guns were on the Water Witch. The wrecking bars were useless, too.
He and Scotty plunged in, too. Working with the frogmen they rapidly assembled a treasure trove of cannon, more cannon balls, cutlasses still in good condition, and useless ship's gear. Fifteen minutes later a frantic hooting brought them in a rush to where Jonesy was holding something. Zircon and Tony got there at the same time, and soon all work had ceased while Jonesy's find was examined.
"What's going on here?" said one, who was wearing a sergeant's stripes. The jeep had the words BEACH PATROL stenciled on it in white paint. "We just nailed these two Brungarian frogmen," Bud explained. "A sub put them ashore probably as spies or saboteurs. They won't talk to us, but maybe you can pump them at headquarters." The startled sergeant turned a cold eye on the two prisoners.
"Na, na; what Frogman here? Frogmen ha' skinny shanks, and larks' heels, and holes down their bodies like lamperns. No sign of no frog aboot yon bairn. As fair as a wench, and as clean as a tyke. A' mought a'most been born to Flaambro'. And what gowd ha' Crappos got, poor divils?" This opened the gate for a clamor of discourse; for there surely could be no denial of her words.
The lieutenant finished a glass of orange juice and rose. "Time's up. Let's get back to the wreck." Hobart Zircon asked, "Don't you want to take your camera, Rick?" "Good idea." He hurried to get it. One of the frogmen had picked it up, along with the rest of the equipment they had left behind. The water had settled enough for thorough inspection of the entire aft portion of the wreck.
"Now we steal the brass ball. Didn't Steve's message say to get more information?" "Apparently the pictures turned out well, if I understood that reference to snapshots correctly," Tony said. "Be serious, Scotty. What can we do next?" "Keep an eye on the frogmen, I guess, and play it by ear. I can't see anything else to be done.
There was another scraping sound, and he knew the frogmen were still around. Were they actually searching the wreck? If so, they might find the entrance. And then Rick suddenly discovered a new danger! Their air bubbles had been floating to the top of the cabin, forming a pool under the ceiling.
He pointed to two tiny figures, barely visible in the distance. "Wow! They're sure not wasting any time!" Mel muttered. "Let's step on it, Bud! They'll be ashore in a minute!" A darting school of sea bass screened the figures briefly from view. As the fish flickered past, Mel and Bud saw the frogmen breast-stroke up toward the surface and break water. Bud and Mel followed.
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