"This candle will burn for thirty minutes yet," guessed the wretch,
noting its unburned length with the air of an expert "That will be time
enough. Poor lad!"

He set the lighted candle down on top of the papers, over the pile of
oil-soaked shavings. It fitted nicely into a place that the wretch
had made ready for it. Then, without a word, the long-legged one
tip-toed softly over and bent beside the submarine boy.

"Open your mouth," he ordered.

Of course Captain Jack didn't propose to do anything of the sort. With
one hand, however, Millard gripped the boy's nostrils, pressing tightly.
Just a little later Jack had to open his mouth for air.

"Thank you," mocked the other, and neatly shoved a handkerchief between
the boy's jaws. This he tied in place, and rising, looked down upon a
gagged foe. Then, with a last look over at the candle, the long-legged
one darted from the room.

Left alone, Jack Benson watched that candle on top of the prepared heap.
His eyes gleamed with the fascination of terror. When that candle
burned down to the right point it would set fire to the paper, and
then--!

Try as he would to bolster his grit, Captain Jack Benson found himself
in a fearful plight. At first, he could only stare, with terror-dilated
eyes, at that candle--ever burning just a slight fraction shorter!

While the horror-laden moments were dragging by Jack heard a step on