Submarine Boys Omnibus

by

Victor G. Durham

Book Index

Book 1

The Submarine Boys On Duty

Life on a Diving Torpedo Boat

Book 2

The Submarine Boys' Trial Trip

"Making Good" as Young Experts

Book 3

The Submarine Boys and the Middies

The Prize Detail at Annapolis

Book 4

The Submarine Boys and the Spies

Dodging the Sharks of the Deep

Book 5

The Submarine Boys' Lightning Cruise

The Young Kings of the Deep

Book 6

The Submarine Boys For the Flag

Deeding Their Lives to Uncle Sam

Book 7 (*)

The Submarine Boys and the Smugglers

Breaking Up the New Jersey Customs Frauds

Book 8 (*)

The Submarine Boys' Secret Mission

Beating an Ambassador's Game

(*) This book is not currently available as an e-Book. It will be added to the omnibus if it subsequently becomes available.

The Submarine Boys on Duty

or

Life on a Diving Torpedo Boat

First Published 1909

Contents

I. Two Boys Who Planned to Become Great

II. The Fighting Chance

III. Josh Owen Starts Trouble

IV. The Trick of the Flashlight

V. One Man's Dumfounded Face

VI. Along the Trail of Trouble

VII. When Thieves Fall Out

VIII. A Swift Stroke for Honor

IX. The Submarine Makes Its Bow to Old Ocean

X. Under Water, Where Men's Nerves are Tried

XI. The Try-Out in the Depths

XII. The Discovery From the Conning Tower

XIII. A High-Sea Mystery

XIV. An Up-To-Date Revenge

XV. The Courage That Rang True

XVI. The Last Second of the Nick of Time

XVII. In the Grip of Horror

XVIII. The Last Gasp of Despair

XIX. Jack Strikes the Key to the Mystery

XX. "One On" the Watch Officer

XXI. The Man Who Dropped the Glass

XXII. A Dive That was Like Magic

XXIII. Wanted, Badly—One Steward!

XXIV. Conclusion

I. Two Boys Who Planned to Become Great

"So this is Dunhaven?" inquired Jack Benson.

"Ye-es," slowly responded Jabez Holt, not rising from the chair in which he sat tilted back against the outer wall on the hotel porch.

"It looks like it," muttered Hal Hastings, under his breath.

"Doesn't look like a very bustling place, does it?" asked Jack, with a smile, as he set down a black, cloth-covered box on the porch and leisurely helped himself to a chair.

The box looked as though it might contain a camera. "Tin-type fellers," thought Holt to himself, and did not form a very high estimate of the two boys, neither of whom was more than sixteen years of age.

Just now, both boys were dusty from long travel on foot, which condition, at a merely first glance, concealed the fact that both were neatly enough, even if plainly, dressed.

"Huh!" was all the response Jabez Holt made to Jack's pleasant comment.

Hal, however, not in the least discouraged by a reception that was not wholly flattering, set down a box not unlike Jack's, and also something hidden in a green cloth cover that suggested a camera tripod. Hal helped himself to one of the two remaining chairs on the porch of the little hotel.

"Takin' pictures?" asked Jabez Holt, after a pause spent in chewing at a tooth-pick.

"Yes, some of the time," Jack assented. "It helps out a bit when two fellows without rich fathers take a notion to travel."

"I s'pose so," grunted Jabez. He was not usually considered, by his fellow-townsmen, a disagreeable fellow, but a hotel keeper must always preserve a proper balance of suspicion when dealing with strangers, and especially strangers who follow callings that do not commonly lead to prosperity. Probably "Old Man" Holt, as he was known, remembered a few experiences with the tribe of itinerant photographers. At any rate he did not mean to make the mistake of being too cordial with these young representatives of the snap-shot art.

"Is there any business around here?" asked Jack, after awhile.

"Oh, there's a Main Street, back uptown, that has some real pretty homes," admitted the hotel keeper, "an' some likely-lookin' cross streets. Dunhaven ain't an awful homely town, as ye'll see after you've walked about a bit."

"But is there any business here?" insisted Hal Hastings, patiently.

"I guess maybe you're business photografters, then?" suggested the hotel keeper.

"What kinds of business are there here?" asked Jack.

Jabez Holt cast away a much-mangled toothpick and placed another in his mouth before he replied, with a chuckle:

"Well, I reckon about the only business here that the town is doing any talkin' about at present is one that don't want no photografters around."

"And what may that business be?" persisted Jack.

"Well, down to Farnum's boatyard they're putting up a craft that's known as 'Pollard's Folly.'"

"And why wouldn't they want that photographed?" demanded young Benson.

"Because it's one of them sure-death boats they hope to sell the Government, and the United States Government don't care 'bout havin' its war craft secrets snap-shotted," replied Jabez Holt.

"Didn't you speak of Pollard's boat?" demanded Jack, his eyes agleam with sudden interest.

"Ye-es," admitted Mr. Holt, slowly. "A boat that'll drown its score of men, I reckon, an' then lay somewhere an' eat itself out with rust."

"A submarine boat, isn't it?" continued Jack, quickly.

"Yep; submarine torpedo boat: One of them crazy craft that men will build against all sense of what's decent on salt water."

"Why, I've read about that boat;" Jack ran on, eagerly. "And, from what the newspapers said, I've gathered the idea that David Pollard's boat is going to put the United States completely ahead of all other nations at sea."

"That's the way Dave Pollard talks," returned Mr. Holt, grimly. "But folks 'round Dunhaven, I must say, don't think over an' above of him or his boat. They—"

"Oh, bother the folks around Dunhaven!" broke in Jack Benson, impatiently. "If the place is the best they know how to do in the way of a town, I don't care a heap about their ideas of boats. And—but I beg your pardon, Mr. Holt. My tongue's running a bit ahead of my manners, I guess. So this is where that famous submarine torpedo boat is being built? And she's a diving boat, at that?"

"Well, I guess mebbe she'll dive, all right," chuckled Jabez Holt. "But as to her comin' up again, I reckon the 'Pollard' ain't goin' to be so certain."

"Where are they building her? Farnum's shipyard, you said?"

"Right over yonder," explained Mr. Holt, pointing to a high board fence that enclosed a space down by the water front. Farnum's "boatyard," as thus seen, was about an eighth of a mile from the little hotel, and looked as though it might be considerable of a plant.

"Who's in charge of the boat?" was Jack's next question.

"Well, now, that's a conundrum," replied Jabez Holt, pondering. "Jake Farnum owns the yard. Jake is a young man, only a few years out of college. He inherited the business from his father, who's dead. Jake is considered a pretty good business man, though he don't know much 'bout boats, an' can't seem to learn a heap, nuther. So Jake leans on Asa Partridge, the superintendent, who was also superintendent under old man Farnum. However, old man Farnum's line was building sailing yachts, small schooners, and, once in a while, a tug-boat. That's in Asa Partridge's line, but he won't have nothin' much to do with new schemes like diving torpedo boats."

"Then—" hinted Jack.

"I'm a-comin' on with the yarn," replied Jabez Kolt, patiently. "Now, Dave Pollard, the inventor of the boat, is a powerful bright young man, on theory, some folks says, but he ain't much use with tools in his hands. But he an' young Jake Farnum hang 'round, watching and bossing, and they have a foreman of the gang, Joshua Owen, who knows he knows most everything 'bout buildin' any kind of boat. So, barrin' the fussing of Farnum and Pollard, I guess Josh Owen is the real boss of the job, since the riveters' gang came an' put the hull together, an' went away."

"Then I suppose Mr. Owen—" began Jack.

"Ja-a-abez! Jabez Holt! Come here!" rang a shrill, feminine voice from the interior of the hotel.

"Must be goin', for a few minutes, anyway," grunted Jabez, rising and leaving the two boys. But no sooner was he out of sight than Jack Benson turned upon his chum, his eyes ablaze.

"Hal Hastings," he effused, in a low voice, "I had forgotten that Dunhaven was the home of the Pollard boat. But, since it is, and since we're here—why, here we'd better stay."

"Do you think we can get in on that job?" asked Hal, dubiously.

"Not if we just sit around and wonder, or if we go meekly and ask for a job, and turn sadly away when we're refused," retorted Jack Benson, with a vim that was characteristic of him. "Hal, my boy, we're simply going to shove ourselves into jobs in that boatyard, and we're going to have a whack at the whole game of building and fitting out a submarine torpedo boat. Do you catch the idea? We're just going to hustle ourselves into the one job that would suit us better than anything else on earth!"

"Bully!" agreed Hal, wistfully. "I hope you can work it."

"We can," returned his chum, spiritedly. "Team work, you know.

We've worked around machine shops, and at other trades, and we know something about the way boats are handled. Why shouldn't we be able to make Farnum and Pollard believe we know something that will be of use to them?"

"I guess the foreman is the one we want to see, first of all," suggested Hal.

"Well, we'll camp right down here and go at the thing," almost whispered Benson. "And, as this hotel is right at the water front, and within two jumps of the boatyard, I guess we'd better stay here until we get settled."

While the two chums were discussing the whole matter in eager, low tones, a few things may be told about them that will make their present situation clearer. Jack Benson, an only son, had been orphaned, three years before, at the age of thirteen. With the vigor that he always displayed, he had found a home and paid for his keep and schooling, either by doing chores, or by working at various occupations in his native seaport town of Oakport. He had kept at school up to a few months before the opening of this narrative. With marked genius for machinery, he had learned many things about the machinist's trade in odd hours in one of the local shops. He was remarkably quick at picking up new ideas, and had shown splendid, though untrained, talent for making mechanical drawings.

Hal Hastings, of the same age, had a stepmother who did not regard him kindly. Hal, too, had worked at odd jobs, almost fighting for his schooling. His father, under the stepmother's influence, paid little heed to his doings.

For two summers both boys had done fairly well working on yachts and other boats around Oakport. Both had learned how to handle sail craft, to run motors and small marine steam engines.

During the spring just passed Hal Hastings had worked much of his time for an Oakport photographer who, at the beginning of summer, had failed. Hal, with a considerable bill for unpaid services, had taken some photographing material in settlement of his dues.

At the beginning of summer both boys decided that Oakport did not offer sufficient opportunity for their ambitious hopes in life. So they had determined to take Hal's newly acquired camera outfit and "tramp it" from town to town, earning their living by photographing and all the while keeping their eyes open for real chances in life. Both had some money, carefully saved and hidden, from the previous summer's work, so that in point of attire they presented a creditable appearance.

During these few weeks of tramping from place to place they had made somewhat more money than their expenses had amounted to. Jack Benson, who was the treasurer, carried their entire hoard in a roll of one and two-dollar bills.

"I tell you, Hal Hastings," Jack now wound up, "this submarine torpedo boat business is already a great field. It's going to be bigger and bigger, for a lot of inventors are at work. If we can hustle our way into this Dunhaven boatyard, we may be able to—"

"Earn a very good living, I guess," nodded Hal, thoughtfully.

"Earn a living?" sniffed Jack, rather scornfully. "Hal, I've got faith enough in both of us to believe that we could make our fortunes in a few years. Look at some of the poor young men who had sense enough to get into the automobile business early. The prizes go to the fellows who get into a field early and have ability enough to build up reputations."

Jabez Holt came out upon the porch at this moment.

"Still here?" he asked, looking at the boys.

"We're going to be here a little while, I guess, if it's agreeable to you, Mr. Holt," Jack answered; with a smile.

"What d'ye mean? I don't want no tin-types taken."

"We haven't asked you to have any photos made, Mr. Holt," Benson ran on. "We're just talking about becoming guests here."

"For twenty-four hours," supplied Hal Hastings.

"For at least two days," Jack amended.

"But, see here," explained Landlord Holt. "Rates here are two dollars a day. If ye hain't got no other baggage I'll have ter look into them camera boxes before I take 'em as security for board."

"You can't have them as security, Mr. Holt," Jack laughed. "I'm going to pay our charges two days in advance. For two persons it's eight dollars, isn't it?"

Then young Benson carelessly produced the young partners' roll of banknotes. He quickly counted off eight dollars, handing the money to Mr. Holt.

"Come right in an' register," said Landlord Holt, springing up and leading the way. The hotel sometimes prospered when yacht owners or boat designers came this way, but at any season eight dollars were eight dollars. The boys were now in high standing with their host.

When matters had been settled in the office Holt led them to the wash room. Here the young men dusted themselves off, washed, polished their own shoes, donned clean collars and cuffs, and, altogether, speedily made themselves so tidy that they looked quite different from the dusty travelers who had trudged into Dunhaven.

Jabez Holt then conducted them back to chairs on the porch, remarking:

"It's after four o'clock now, and supper'll be ready sharp at six."

"What time do they knock off work in the boatyard?" queried Jack.

"Five, sharp," the landlord informed him.

"Does that foreman on the submarine boat job ever come along this way?"

"Goes right by here on his way home," Mr. Holt informed the boys.

"I'd be glad if you'd introduce us to him," Jack suggested.

"I sartain will," nodded Jabez Holt. "An', ye know, Dave Pollard is stoppin' at this hotel."

"Oh, he is, eh?" Jack snapped up, eagerly. "Then we'll certainly try to make his acquaintance to-night."

Hal, too, looked pleased at this prospect. Mrs. Holt again calling, from the depths of the kitchen, the landlord was forced to hurry off.

He left behind two boys who suddenly fell to planning their futures with all the rosy enthusiasm of youth. The longer they talked about the submarine boat, the more both Jack and Hal felt convinced that they were going to succeed in getting into the work. In fact, both planned to become great in that special field.

It was a bright July day, one of the kind when the world looks at its best to young, hopeful minds. Absorbed in their vague but rosy plans, both boys forgot the flight of time.

They were roused out of their talk, at last, by hearing heavy footsteps on the gravel close at hand. Looking up, they saw a heavy, broad shouldered, dark-complexioned youth of about eighteen years. He had a swaggering way of carrying himself, and undoubtedly considered himself of much importance. His clothing proclaimed him to be a workman. As he caught sight of the two happy looking boys this older and larger youth looked them over with a sneering expression which soon turned to a scowl.

"Strangers here, ain't ye?" demanded the scowling one, as he halted on the edge of the porch.

"Yes," nodded Jack Benson, pleasantly.

"Thought so," vouchsafed the other. "Any body but a stranger hereabouts would know ye were in my chair—the one I sit in when I come along this way."

There was something decidedly insolent both the tone and manner of the stranger. But Benson, not quick at taking offense, inquired:

"Are you a guest of this hotel."

"None of your business," came the rough retort.

"Oh!" said Jack.

"Did ye hear me say ye were sitting in my chair?"

"Yes."

"Going to get up out of it?"

"Not until I know your rights in the matter," replied Jack. "You see, my board is paid in advance at this place."

"Huh!" growled the other, sneeringly. "Reckon ye don't know much 'bout Dan Jaggers's way of doin' things."

"Who on earth is Dan Jaggers?" demanded Benson, curiously.

"That's me! It's my name," rejoined the swagger. "An', sense ye're so fresh—"

Jaggers didn't finish in words, but, taking a firm hold on the back of the chair, he suddenly pulled it out from under Benson. So swiftly was the thing done that Jack went down on all fours on the porch. But, thoroughly aroused, and his eyes flashing indignantly now, that boy was quickly on his feet. Dan, however, with a satisfied grin, had dropped into the chair.

"Going to get up out of that, Jaggers?" challenged Jack Benson.

"Not as I know of," rejoined Dan, with a broader grin. "Why?"

"Because I'd hate to hit you while you're sitting down," replied Jack so quietly that his voice sounded almost mild.

"What's that?" demanded Jaggers, with a guffaw of laughter.

"You heard what I said," Jack insisted. "You'd better get up."

"Spoiling for a fight, are ye?" questioned the bully.

"Not at all," Jack replied, still keeping his temper in check. "I never go about looking for trouble. I suppose you didn't know any better than to do what you did."

"What's that?" scowled Dan Jaggers.

"If you want to apologize, and get out of the chair, I'll let it go at that," pursued Jack, coolly.

"Hey?" demanded Dan Jaggers, aghast. "Me—apologize?"

He sprang up suddenly, resting a broad paw heavily on Jack's shoulder.

But Benson, without flinching, or drawing back, returned the ugly look steadfastly.

"You're behaving like a pretty poor grade of tough," spoke Jack, in deep disgust.

"I am, hey?" roared Dan. He drew back, aiming a heavy fist for Benson's chest. It was a mistake, as he quickly realized, for Jack Benson, from much practice in boxing, was as agile and slippery as a monkey and an eel combined. Jack dodged, then came up under with a cleanly aimed though not hard blow on Jaggers's chin.

"I'll learn ye!" roared Dan, returning two ponderous blows in quick succession. To his intense astonishment Jack wasn't in the way of either blow, but came in with a neck blow on Jaggers's left side that sent the bully reeling to the gravel beyond the porch.

"Come right down here!" challenged the bully, hoarsely. "We'll find out about this."

Jack Benson hesitated. He did not care about fighting. Yet, seeing that Jaggers meant to have a final encounter, Jack dropped nimbly down to the gravel.

Dan Jaggers rushed at him, both fists up on guard, his whole attitude more cautious since he had had a taste of the smaller youth's quality.

Jack was about two inches shorter and fully thirty pounds lighter, but he made one think of a dancing master as he skipped away before the big fellow's rushes.

"Stand still, won't ye, drat ye?" roared Dan, driving in another heavy blow.

But Benson dodged, then came in under the bully's guard, landing a stinging blow on the tip of his nose. Under punishment Dan let out a noise resembling the bellow of an angry bull. Glowering, he stood uncertain, for a moment, but Jack was tantalizingly just out of his reach, smiling confidently. Then Jaggers leaped forward, hopeful of winding his arms around this foe and crushing him into submission.

A second later, however, Dan fell backward, yelling with pain, for Jack Benson had landed a left handed blow just under his opponent's right eye, partly closing it. Dan bent over double, still groaning.

"Well, I swan!" said the astonished Jabez Holt, in the doorway of his hotel.

Jack stood his ground a few moments, watching until he felt sure that his enemy did not intend to carry the affair further. Then the younger boy stepped lightly back to the porch, standing just before the chair from which he had lately been evicted.

"Just bear in mind, I'll git square with ye for this!" uttered Jaggers, wrathfully, glaring at young Benson with his undamaged eye. Then he turned and stalked away, muttering under his breath.

"Well, I swan!" remarked Jabez Holt again, now stepping out onto the porch. "I guess that sartain done Dan Jaggers some good. He needs some of that medicine, friends. An' say, here's Josh Owen coming up from Farnum's boatyard."

Jack and Hal both turned quickly to gaze down the road at a man just coming out through the gate of Farnum's yard.

"He's the man we want to meet," cried Jack Benson, breathlessly.

"I dunno," replied Mr. Holt, shaking his head, ominously. "I dunno as it'll do ye much good, now. Dan Jaggers is Josh Owen's nephew and favorite!"

II. The Fighting Chance

"My type of torpedo boat is going to rule the seas in naval warfare," declared David Pollard, his eyes a-kindle with the enthusiasm of the sincere inventor.

"I'm sure of it," replied Jack Benson, quietly. "That's why, Mr. Pollard, Hal and I are so anxious to get into this work. Mr. Pollard, when your type of submarine diving torpedo boat is understood by the United States Government you'll need some reliable and intelligent experts. Take us in now. Let us learn the work with you. Let us go ahead, keeping pace with the progress in Pollard torpedo boats, and you will never be sorry you have two young fellows you can depend upon."

"That's so, if you can come near to making as good as you promise," admitted the inventor, thoughtfully. "But you're pretty young."

"And that's the only fault with the Pollard submarine boat," rejoined Jack Benson, artfully. "You've got to buck your boat against all the older types that the Government already takes an interest in. Yet you feel sure that you can do it. You don't believe the Pollard diving boat is too young. Give us the same show you ask for your boat."

"Well, I've never seen any of your work—except these drawings," replied Mr. Pollard, indicating some sheets that lay on the table before them.

The chums had succeeded in making the inventor's acquaintance through the aid of the landlord. It was now eleven o'clock at night. Jack and Hal had been in the inventor's room for the last three hours. Benson had done most of the talking, though Hal had now and then put in some effective words.

David Pollard was now thirty years of age, tall, lean and of pallid countenance. He was a graduate of a technical school. Though not a practical mechanic, he had a rather good lot of theory stored away in his mind. He had inherited some money, soon after leaving school, but this money had vanished in inventions that he had not succeeded in marketing. Now, all his hopes in life were centered in the submarine torpedo boat that was nearly completed. Pollard had had no money of his own to put into the craft. Jacob Farnum was his friend and financial backer.

No one could grasp how much success with his submarine boat meant to this wearied yet hopeful inventor. For years all his schemes had been laughed at by "practical" men. It was success, more than mere fortune, for which David Pollard hungered. The officials of the Navy Department, at Washington, had promised to inspect and try the boat, when finished, but that was all the encouragement that had come from the national capital.

If the "Pollard," as the new craft was at present named, should prove a failure, then the inventor felt that he would be "down" indeed in the world. Also, he must feel that he had buried one hundred and fifty thousand dollars of the money of his loyal friend, Farnum.

In his present anxious, worried frame of mind, with few real believers in the possible success of his boat, it was little wonder that David Pollard was grateful for any intelligent interest or faith in his plans.

These two friends were but boys, nor had they had any experience in submarine boat construction. Yet they had shown the inventor that they knew much about machinery and marine engines in general, and Jack, with his handy knack of sketching machinery, had made a decided hit with poor Pollard.

"Just put us in as apprentices," begged Benson. "We'll be just the plainest sort of helpers, fetching and lifting, and that sort of thing, until we learn how to do more."

"Well, you see, for one thing, boys," replied Pollard, "this building of a submarine boat is very important and confidential work. Now, while I like the looks and talk of you both, I really don't know a thing about either of you."

"Of course you don't," Jack Benson admitted, frankly. "And it's highly important that you should. I know that. But you can telegraph the principal of the school we attended in Oakport, and you can telegraph the minister of our church, too. We'll abide by just what they say about us. And"— here Benson brought his little roll of bills once more into sight—"we'll pay for the telegrams and the answers."

"That looks right," nodded Mr. Pollard, with a slight smile. "There is just one more point. The superintendent of the yard, Mr. Partridge, isn't having anything to do with the building of the 'Pollard.' After the steel workers and the riveters had finished on the hull, then the inside work, including the fitting of the machinery, was turned over to Mr. Owen, our present foreman. Sometimes he's a crotchety fellow, and he might take a dislike to you youngsters."

"I've got to tell you about something that I think will make him take a dislike to us," spoke up Jack Benson, candidly. Then he recounted the afternoon's affair with Dan Jaggers.

"Yes, that certainly will stir up some feeling," replied Mr. Pollard.

"In fact, it will make it very difficult for you to get along with Owen, for he thinks a lot of that disagreeable, bullying nephew of his.

Yet, Benson, I like you a whole lot better for your honesty."

The inventor was silent for some moments, puffing slowly at a pipe, and then he removed the stem from between his teeth and continued:

"You've made a good impression upon me, both of you, and particularly with what you say about giving young fellows and young boats a chance to prove themselves. You talk like youngsters with some experience and some ideas in the matter of machinery. I admire your honesty. I also like what you say about the need Farnum and I will have, in the future, of young men who will understand our boats thoroughly. I don't know what you can do until we try you out."

He took a few more thoughtful pulls at his pipe and resumed: "See here, you come to the yard at eight o'clock in the morning, ready to do anything that's wanted of you. I won't wire, but I'll write, to-night, to the references you've given. If we find you're not of much use we'll drop you. If your references don't turn out to be unusually good, out you go! But, if you make good, you'll have your chance. It's just your fighting chance, you understand. I'll fix the matter with Mr. Farnum."

"And the foreman?" smiled Jack, wistfully.

Mr. Pollard looked grave as he answered:

"Look out not to invite any trouble with Joshua Owen, and avoid trouble with Jaggers, who works in the boat-fitting crew. I think we can get over the effects of your little trouble this afternoon. And now, boys, give me the addresses of your references, and I'll write at once."

A few moments later the chums bade the inventor good night, then hurried to their own room, though not to retire at once.

"Well!" demanded Jack Benson, his face radiant, as he thought of their "fighting chance."

"It was the way you put the whole matter to Pollard," replied Hal Hastings. "Jack, you're a wonder with your tongue. I believe you could talk a hole through a thick board fence."

"We've got our chance, anyway. And, oh, Hal! I believe it's going to be our real chance in life!"

"You'll soon be as wild about the 'Pollard' as the inventor himself," laughed Hastings, good-naturedly.

"It isn't going to be just the one boat, Hal," urged his chum, seriously.

"It's the whole big problem of submarine warfare. It's going to be the warfare of the future, old chum! And, starting this early, we may become Pollard's real experts—his leading men when he's famous, successful and rich! We may even become his partners, through getting up improvements on his ideas. Hal, boy, we may even put through our own design of submarine boat one of these days."

"It'll be huge fun, anyway, if we can get a chance to cruise on a submarine boat-under water and all!" glowed young Hastings. "Say, there must be a wonderful thrill to going down deep in the ocean."

Thus they talked for another hour. It was very late when the two turned in, nor did they go to sleep at once. Yet, when the half-past six call came in the morning, both boys turned out in a jiffy. Excitement took the place of rest with them. They breakfasted with appetite.

Shortly after half-past seven, though the yard was so near, Jack and Hal set out for their first day's work at boat building.

The gate was open, though the yard, as they stepped inside, had a deserted look. The partly finished hulls of two schooners lay on the ways down by the water front. There were half a dozen sloops in various stages of completion. There were two houses, close to the water's edge in which, as the boys afterwards learned, motor boats were built. But it was a rough shed, more than twenty feet high, and at least one hundred and twenty feet long, running down to the shore, that instantly caught Jack Benson's glance.

"There's where they must be putting the 'Pollard' in shape," he cried, eagerly, as he pointed. Both youngsters hurried toward that shed. As they reached it the inventor came into sight around the end. He was hollow-eyed, though alert; he looked even more worried than he had looked the night before.

"Ah, good morning, boys," was his greeting. "Early on hand, I see."

"When a fellow's whole heart is set on a thing, he isn't likely to lie abed until the last moment, is he, Mr. Pollard?" inquired Benson.

That speech impressed the inventor most favorably. He could appreciate enthusiasm.

"Come inside, and I'll show you something," he said, producing a key and leading the way to a door in the side of the shed.

Through the long, high windows of the shed an abundance of light fell.

But Jack, once inside the door, halted, looking with lips parted and eyes wide open.

"O-o-o-oh!" he murmured.

"What is it?" inquired the inventor, curiously.

"The very, wonder of the thing," replied Benson, frankly, looking over the whole length of the "Pollard" as she lay propped up on the sturdy ways.

Nor did that simple speech make the inventor think any less of the boy. Though Hal Hastings remained silent for some time, his fascinated gaze rested steadily on the strange-looking outlines of the cigar-shaped bull of the boat.

The outer hull was of steel plates, carefully riveted into place.

The entire length of the boat was about one hundred and ten feet, which in point of size placed her just about in the class of boats of this type which are being constructed to-day.

Near the center of the boat, on the upper side, was the conning tower, about nine feet in outside diameter, and extending some four feet above the sloping deck of the craft. Around the conning tower extended a flat, circular "platform" deck.

At the bow of the boat the torpedo tube projected a short distance. At the stern the rudder was in place, and all was in readiness for placing the propeller shaft and the propeller itself. On the floor of the shed, near the middle of this strange, dangerous boat, lay miscellaneous small pieces of machinery and fittings.

At the starboard side of the boat stood a ladder that ascended to the platform deck. In the top of the conning tower a man-hole cover stood propped up. It was through this opening that the workmen entered or left the boat.

From outside the shed several wires ran in. In dark weather these wires carried the current for electric lights in shed and boat.

"I won't ask you aboard until the foreman and other workmen arrive," explained Mr. Pollard. "It'll be only a few minutes to wait."

While they were still examining the outer hull, and discussing the submarine, Dan Jaggers, in his workman's clothes, reached the open doorway of the shed. One look inside, and he halted short. He gathered from the talk he heard that Jack Benson and Hal Hastings were to be added to the "Pollard's" working gang.

"Not if I know myself—and the foreman—and I think I do!" growled the Jaggers youth, backing away unseen.

The next of the workmen to arrive was Michael O'brien, red-haired and about twenty-eight years of age. He was good-humored and talkative, and the two boys took an immediate liking to him.

Through the gate of the yard came Joshua Owen, a man of forty-five, of medium height, broad-shouldered, black-haired and with a frame that spoke of great physical power and endurance. Yet he had restless, rather evil-looking eyes. He did not look like the sort of man whom a timid fellow would want for an enemy.

"Hold on there, Unc," greeted Dan Jaggers, motioning his foreman-uncle aside. "Say, you know that cheeky young fellow I told ye about—the tricky one that played the sneak on me, and gave me this black eye?"

"Haven't you met him and paid him back yet?" demanded Mr. Owen.

"Hadn't seen him again, until just now," complained Dan. "What do you think? Pollard has engaged that feller and his friend to work on the submarine."

"Has, eh? Without speaking to me about it?" demanded Joshua Owen, looking anything but pleased.

"Of course you'll let Pollard know that you're foreman and take on and lay off your own gang," hinted Jaggers.

"Now, you leave me alone, Dan, boy, to know what to do," retorted Mr. Owen. Then he stepped on toward the long shed, a very grim look on his face. Going inside the shed, the foreman looked the two boys over briefly.

"If you young men haven't any business in here," he ordered, "get out and on your way. Work is about to begin here. I'm the foreman."

"Oh, Mr. Owen," hailed the inventor, "these are two very bright young chaps, with some experience, that I've engaged to help us out with installing the machinery in the boat."

"Couldn't you have consulted me, sir?" asked the foreman, again looking keenly at the youngsters.

"When you've found out what they can do, Mr. Owen," replied Pollard.

"I believe you'll be rather pleased with them. They're hired only on trial, you understand."

"I can tell whether we want 'em before we start work," grunted the foreman. With that he began to fire all manner of machine-shop questions at both boys. Yet Jack and Hal, paying respectful heed, answered in a way that showed them to be quite well informed about this class of work.

"They won't do Mr. Pollard—won't do at all," announced Foreman Owen, turning to the inventor. "I know their kind. They're glib talkers, and all that, but they belong to the know-it-all class of boys. I've had a lot of experience with that kind of 'prentices, and I don't want 'em bothering our work here. So I say, sir, the only thing for you to do is to send them about their business."

Foreman Owen spoke as though that settled the matter. Jack Benson and Hal Hastings felt their hopes oozing.

"I've told the boys they shall have a chance Mr. Owen," replied Pollard quietly, yet in a tone of authority. "So of course my word must be kept with them."

"But I'm the foreman," exclaimed Joshua Owen, irritably, "and I'm supposed to—"

"Exactly," interposed David Pollard. "You're supposed to obey all instructions from your superiors here, and to give your advice when it's wanted. I have much at stake in the success of this boat, and when I find what looks like good material for our working crew I'm going to try out that material."

"But I don't want to be bothered with boys, like these young fellows," retorted the foreman, angrily. "This is no job for amateurs!"

"The boys remain until they've been well tried out," retorted Pollard, firmly. "If they can't do our kind of work, then of course we'll let them go."

"I'll speak to Mr. Farnum about this business," muttered Foreman Owen, turning on his heel. Three other workmen had arrived during this talk.

Now, at the order from Owen all climbed the ladder to the platform deck, thence disappearing through the manhole. Electric light was turned on inside the hull by the time that Jack and Hal appeared at the manhole opening.

Owen looked upward, from the floor of the boat, to scowl at them, but, as Mr. Pollard was right behind them, the foreman said nothing at that moment.

Last of all came Dan Jaggers. As he caught sight of the two newcomers he shot at them a look full of hate.

"I thought ye said those fellers couldn't work here," he muttered to his uncle.

"Keep quiet and watch out," whispered Joshua Owen. "They're not going to work here. I'll fix that!"

III. Josh Owen Starts Trouble

"Knock off!"

As the deafening din of hammers lessened David Pollard shouted that order through a megaphone.

Confined in a limited space, inside that bull of steel, the clatter, which outdoors would have been barely noticed, was something infernal in volume and sharpness. Human ear-drums could not stand it for any very great length of time.

By this time Jack Benson and Hal Hastings had had a good chance to see exactly what the interior of a submarine torpedo boat was like.

A level floor extended throughout the entire length of the "Pollard."

Below this floor, reached by hatchways, were various small compartments for storage. Under the level of this floor, too, were the "water tanks."

These were tanks that, when the craft lay or moved on the surface of the ocean, were to contain only air. Whenever it was desired to sink the torpedo boat, valves operated from the central room of the boat could be opened so that the water tanks would fill, and the weight of the water would sink the boat. In diving, the forward tanks could be filled first, and then, when the desired depth was reached, the other tanks could be filled entirely, or partly, in such a way as to control depth and position.

With the boat below the surface, and the commander wishing to return to the surface, compressed air could be forced into the water tanks, expelling all the water in them, or a part of the water, if preferred.

The valves would then operate to keep more water from entering.

On the surface the "Pollard" was intended to be run by a powerful six-cylinder gasoline engine. When below the surface the boat was to be propelled by electric power supplied from storage batteries. Below the waves the gasoline engine could not be used, as such an engine consumes air and also creates bad vapors.

On the morning when our two young friends went to work the electrical engine was fully installed, and had been tested. The gasoline engine was in place, but the fittings had yet to be finished. In the course of this latter work the necessary connections were to be made between gasoline engine and dynamo.

The many strong-walled receivers for compressed air had been placed, and were now being more securely fitted and connected by the workmen.

The final work on the compressed air apparatus was yet to be done by a special crew of workmen who were soon to come down from New York. A powerful, compact plant for compressing air was a part of this outfit.

Right up in the bow of the "Pollard" was the tube through which a Whitehead torpedo, fourteen feet in length, could be started on its destructive journey by means of compressed air force. One torpedo was to be carried in the tube, six others in special lockers on either side.

Back of the torpedo room was the rather cramped engine room in which were the gasoline and electric motors, other machinery and work-benches.

Then came the central cabin, some twenty feet long and about ten feet wide. Here was a table, while the seats at the side could be arranged also as berths. Out of the cabin, aft, led a narrow passageway. Off this, on either side, were a narrow galley, cupboards, ice-box and toilet room. Nearer the stern were two compact state-rooms, one intended for two "line" or "deck" officers, the other for two engineer officers. There were other features about the "Pollard" that will be described as need arises.

For more than an hour the entire gang had been at work, though Joshua Owen had seen to it that Jack and Hal had nothing more to do than lift or hold heavy articles, fetch tools, etc. Still both boys stood this good-humoredly, paying strict attention to orders. David Pollard, watching them at times, and guessing how they might feel under such treatment, found his good opinion of the two newcomers still rising.

Stopping their work, when the order came, the workmen lighted their pipes. Jack and Hal, not liking the clouds of tobacco smoke, ran up the spiral staircase to the manhole, stepping, out upon the platform.

As they did so they encountered a man of about thirty years of age who had just reached the platform deck from the shed flooring.

"Hullo, what are you two doing here?" questioned the new arrival, looking the boys over keenly.

"Are you Mr. Farnum?" asked Benson.

"Yes. Well?"

"Mr. Pollard put us to work here, Mr. Farnum."

"Oh! That's all right, then," replied the owner of the yard, amiably, and entered the conning tower.

"Tumble down here, you two lazy young roustabouts!" sounded Owen's voice a few minutes later.

"We seem to have made a hit with our foreman, don't we?" chuckled Jack to his chum.

"Mr. Owen," Pollard was saying to the foreman, as the boys rejoined the crew below, "we can't stand the ringing of hammers all the time, so, for the next job, I think you'd better fit some of the feed pipes connecting the gasoline tanks with the motor."

"All right, sir," replied Josh Owen, briefly. He turned to order Jaggers and O'brien to bring forward one of the longer pieces of feed pipe. This the foreman helped to fit in place.

"Mr. Pollard," reported Owen, soon, "this pipe is a small botch on the part of the contractor."

"What's wrong" asked the inventor, quickly, springing forward and bending over to examine.

"The pipe is about a half inch too long," replied Owen.

"But one of the superintendent's men over at the machine shop can cut it to fit?" asked the inventor, looking uneasy.

"Oh, he can cut it all right, but there's the new thread to be cut, too," explained the foreman, pointing. "I'm sorry, sir, but if you want a good job, without any danger of botch, you'll have to wire the contractors to rush a new pipe, cut exactly to the specifications."

"But that will delay us at least forty-eight hours, and the launching date is so near at hand," protested the inventor.

"You'd better put your launching off two days, Mr. Pollard, than take any chances of having a bad connection in your fuel feed pipes," argued the foreman.

"Confound such luck!" growled Pollard, turning away. "Well, come over to the office with me, and we'll wire a kick and a prayer to the contractors."

Just as he turned, the inventor barely failed to overhear something that Jack muttered in an aside to Hal.

"What's that you're saying, Benson?" demanded David Pollard.

"Oh, nothing much, sir," replied Jack, quickly. "I'm not foreman here, nor much of anything, for that matter."

"Were you expressing an opinion about this pipe business?"

"Ye-es, sir."

"You agree with me that the pipe can be cut properly at the machine shop of this yard?" insisted the inventor. It was strange to ask such a question of a boy helper, but David Pollard, facing a delay in the launching of his craft, was ready to jump at any hope.

Jack Benson hesitated.

"I want a reply," persisted Mr. Pollard.

"Why, yes," Jack admitted. "I don't want to be forward, but I feel pretty sure the pipe can be measured both for its own length and the length it ought to be. If there's a good metal saw over at the machine shop, and a thread cutter, this pipe ought to be ready for safe fitting in half an hour."

"That's the way it looks to me, too," broke in Mr. Farnum. "Send the pipe over, anyway, with the proper measurements, and Partridge can tell you what's what."

"I won't make the measurements. I won't have anything to do with it, or be responsible for a botched job," snarled the foreman.

"You don't have to, then," replied Farnum, taking a spring steel tape from his pocket. "Benson, you seem to have a clear-headed idea of what you're talking about. Take the measurements. This tape has been standardized."

It was not a matter of great difficulty. Jack, with his chum's aid, soon had the measurements taken.

"Since you youngsters know so much about it," growled Joshua Owen,

"you two can carry the pipe over to the machine shop."

Other workmen sprang to help in passing the pipe up through the manhole and down over the side of the hull. When Jack and Hal got the pipe up on their shoulders they staggered a bit under its weight. But they were game, and started away with it.

"That's a shame," growled Mike O'brien. "Boss, leave me go 'an be helpin' the b'yes with that load."

"Go ahead," nodded Mr. Farnum. O'brien went nimbly down the ladder, placing one of his own sturdy shoulders under the forward end of the pipe, while Benson got back with Hal Hastings at the other end. In about three-quarters of an hour the trio were back, with the pipe cut to the right length, and with a new screw-thread cut at the shortened end.

"Now, you can demonstrate your own work, Benson," laughed Mr. Farnum.

"Fit the pipe yourself, and call on the men for what help you want."

At that, Joshua Owen folded his arms as he stepped back scowling. Yet when the crew, under Jack's direction, had finished fitting the pipe in place, not even this angered foreman dared say that it was not fitted properly.

The next work called for fitting some pipe-joints, and in this a red lead cement was used. One of these joint-makings fell to Benson and Hal.

"Here's yer cement," muttered the scowling Dan Jaggers, passing a rough ball of the stuff to young Benson.

"Is this the best you have?" asked Jack, eyeing the cement with disfavor.

"Yes," growled Dan, "and it's plenty good enough."

"I'd call it too dry," replied Jack, quietly.

"Are you bossing this job all the way through?" demanded Joshua Owen, angrily, stepping forward. "Mr. Farnum, Mr. Pollard, if these boys are to have charge of this work, I may as well stop."

"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Farnum, coining forward.

"This younker is grumbling about the red lead cement," snapped the irate foreman.

"What's the complaint, Benson?" asked the boatyard owner.

"No complaint, Mr. Farnum," Jack answered, quickly. "Only, I've got to make the joint fast with red lead cement, and it seemed to me that this stuff is too dry. If I use it, it won't fill out smoothly enough. It's dry and crumbly, and I'm afraid the joint would be very defective."

"Nothing of the sort!" snapped Joshua Owen. "Boy, you've no business trying to do a man's work, anyway. Give me that cement, and I'll make the joint fast myself."

"All right," nodded Benson, stepping back. He started to pass the chunk of cement to the foreman, but Mr. Farnum quickly took it from him, then cast a look upward. Asa Partridge, the yard superintendent, a man past fifty, stood on the platform deck, looking down through the open manhole.

"Come down here, Mr. Partridge," hailed the yard's owner, while Joshua Owen's scowl became deeper than ever. "Mr. Partridge, Benson says this cement is too dry to make a joint tight with. Owen says it isn't.

Who wins the bet?" the owner finished, laughingly.

Asa Partridge, a man of long experience in steam-fitting, took the chunk of cement, examining it carefully, then picked it to pieces before he rejoined dryly:

"Why, the boy wins, of course. Any apprentice ought to know that cement as dry as this stuff can't make a tight joint."

"Isn't there some better cement than this around?" called out Mr. Farnum.

"If there isn't," volunteered the superintendent, "I can send you over plenty. But the use of such stuff as that would leave some joints loose, and make a breakdown of the boat's machinery certain."

"You see, Owen," spoke the yard's owner, quietly, turning to the foreman,

"you're letting your dislike for these boys spoil your value here as foreman."

"I've stood all I'm going to stand here," shouted Joshua Owen, in a tempest of rage, as he snatched off his apron. "You're letting these boys run the job—"

"Nothing of the sort," broke in Farnum, icily. "They haven't tried to run anything. But any workman is entitled to complain when he's expected to perform impossibilities with poor material."

"There ye go, upholding 'em again," roared the foreman. "I'm through.

I've quit!"

"I don't know as that's a bad idea, either, Owen," replied Mr. Farnum, in the same cool voice. "When you don't care how you botch a job it's time for you to walk out. You can call at the office this afternoon, and Mr. Partridge will give you your pay."

Joshua Owen glared, amazedly, at his employer. Then, seeing that his threat had been taken at par, and that he was really through here, the infuriated man wheeled like a flash, leaping at Jack Benson from behind and striking the boy to the floor. But Grant Andrews, O'brien and others leaped at him and pulled him away.

Jacob Farnum pointed up the spiral staircase, as Jack Benson leaped to his feet, hardly hurt at all.

"You can't get out of here too quickly, Owen!" warned the owner.

"If you linger, I'll have you helped out of this boat! Grant Andrews, you're foreman here from now on."

"First of all, see that that fellow gets out of here in double-quick time."

"Come along, Dan!" called Owen, hoarsely to his nephew, as he started up the stairway.

"Yes, run along, Danny," added Farnum, mockingly. "You're no better than your uncle!"

After the pair had departed it took all hands at least five minutes to cool down from their indignation. Then they resumed work, and all went smoothly under the quiet, just, alert new foreman, Grant Andrews.

That afternoon, as Jack crossed the yard, going on an errand from Mr. Pollard to the office, he encountered Josh Owen and his nephew.

The pair had just collected their pay from the superintendent. They were talking together, in low, ugly tones, when they caught sight of the boy.

Though Benson saw them in season to avoid coming close to them, he neither dodged the pair nor courted a meeting. He would have passed without speaking, but Joshua Owen seized the boy by one arm.

"I s'pose ye feel me and you had trouble, and you got the best of it?" leered the former foreman, then scowled. "But listen to me, younker.

Ye're going to run into trouble, and quicker than ye think, at that.

That old cigar shaped death-trap won't float—not for long, anyway.

All I'm hoping is that ye'll go in for bein' one of the crew of that submarine boat. Then I'll be even with a lot of ye all at the same time!"

With which enigmatic prophecy Joshua Owen let go of the boy's arm, and tramped heavily away, followed by his precious nephew.

IV. The Trick of the Flashlight

"Have you seen anything of Owen, since he was discharged?"

It was David Pollard who put the question, while the crew, under the new foreman, Andrews, was busy the next day with more work on the motor fittings.

Then, for the first time, except to his chum, Jack Benson told of his meeting in the yard.

"Making threats against you, and against the boat, is he?" smiled Mr. Pollard. "Well, he can't get near the boat. Partridge took the precaution of getting the keys back from Owen yesterday afternoon, when the fellow went to get paid off. But as for his threats against you—"

"It will be just as well to look out for the fellow, Benson, and you, too, Hastings," put in young Mr. Farnum, who happened to be aboard.

"Owen is an ugly fellow, and a powerful one, and I imagine he possesses a certain amount of rough brute courage."

"I'm not afraid of him, sir," replied Jack, coolly. "At the same time, of course, I'll keep my eyes open."

"Owen probably can't hang around Dunhaven very long, anyway," continued the owner of the yard. "I don't believe he has very much saved. Of course, he can't get any work in his line in Dunhaven, now that this yard is closed to him. So look out for a day or two, and, after that, I guess he'll be gone."

"I'll keep my eye open, but I shan't lose any rest," smiled young Benson, confidently—too confidently, as the sequel proved.

Work was now proceeding at a rapid rate. Andrews was an ideal foreman, quiet, alert, watchful and understanding his trade thoroughly. He was something of a driver, as to speed, but workmen do not resent that if the one in authority be just and capable.

"I wish we had had you as foreman from the start, Andrews," remarked the inventor.

"Well, I was here, and ready to be called at any time," replied the new foreman, with a smile.

"By the way, you don't seem to have any trouble with Benson or Hastings," pursued Mr. Pollard.

"Not a bit. They're good helpers. In fact, young as they are, they are a long way on the road to being real mechanics."

"You don't find them forward, or—well, fresh?"

"They're not the least bit troubled that way," replied the new foreman emphatically. "Owen didn't get along with them, and couldn't have done so, because he's a nagger, and no self-respecting workman will stand for a nagger. There were times when O'brien and I wondered if we hadn't better pitch him out and then leave our jobs."

Thus matters went along most smoothly. Jack Benson and Hal Hastings, with a good general knowledge of mechanics, and willing to work hard and tackle new problems, were learning much. Even before the "Pollard" was launched and sent on her trial trip these two boys showed remarkable proficiency in equipping and handling this wonderful class of craft.

In the meantime the boys had left the hotel, taking up their quarters at a comfortable boarding-house where Foreman Andrews lived. Though Farnum was paying them fair wages, they were thrifty enough to be on the lookout for any outside work with their camera outfit. So it happened that, one evening after supper, Jack and Hal, carrying their outfit, set out on a walk of more than two miles. They had secured an order to go to a wealthy man's summer "cottage," as the great, handsome pile was called, there to make some flashlight photographs of some of the large, expensively furnished rooms.

Time flew, and the owner of the cottage caused many delays by wishing furniture shifted about before the photographs were made. It was after eleven o'clock at night when the two submarine boys left the cottage to tramp back to Dunhaven. As they neared the village they heard the town clock striking midnight. That was the only sound they could hear besides the movement of their own feet. Dunhaven was wrapped in sound slumber.

Their way led the boys close to Farnum's boatyard. As they came around a corner of the fence, Hal, who was slightly in the lead, stepped back quickly, treading on his friend's toes.

"Sh!" whispered Hastings. "Keep quiet and take a sly peep around the corner. Look up along the fence and see what you make out."

Slipping off his hat, Jack took a hasty look, exposing very little of his head, while Hal now crowded close to him from behind.

"Someone trying to scale the fence," whispered Jack. "By Jove, there he goes. He has a good hold, and is going—now he's over in the yard."

Such stealthy prowling could mean little else than mischief brewing.

To both the boys came instantly the same thought:

"The submarine boat!"

"Did you recognize him?" whispered Hal, quivering.

"No; too dark for that, and, besides, he was too quick. But we must hustle to alarm someone."

"There's a watchman in the yard," Hal replied. "He ought to be getting busy."

"I don't hear any hail, or any shot," Jack replied. "Hal, old fellow, we've got to do something ourselves."

"Well, we can climb the fence as well as that stranger did."

"We'd better. Here, take the flashlight gun. Pass that and the camera up as soon as I get to the top of the fence. We can't leave our outfit outside—it's worth too much money."

With that Jack Benson swiftly found a knothole in which he could get a slight foot-hold. With that start he was quickly up on top of the ten-foot fence. Bending down he took camera and flashlight "gun."

Hal hurriedly followed. Down in the yard, they started speedily though softly forward, going by impulse straight toward the submarine's shed, though keeping in the shadow of other buildings.

Arrived at one corner of the office building, young Benson, who was in the lead, signaled a stop. Hal halted just behind him.

"It's the submarine, all right, that the fellow's after," whispered Jack excitedly, as he peeped. "Make him out over there, at the door? Gracious! He's unlocking and throwing the padlock off. And, blazes!

Can't you make out who it is, Hal?"

"Josh Owen! But he gave up his keys."

"He had at least one duplicate, then," declared Jack, in a tremulous whisper. "There, he's gone inside. Come on, Hal—soft-foot! We'll take a near look at what he's doing."

There was some distance to be traveled, and it had to be done with the utmost stealth. Whatever Josh Owen—if it was truly he—was doing in the submarine shed, the young shadows did not wish to put him on his guard until they had caught him red-handed.

"Where's the night watchman while all this is going on?" wondered Jack as he tip-toed forward. It was afterwards discovered that the watchman, who sometimes drank liquor, was at this moment sound asleep in one of the sheds. There was no time to be squandered in looking for him if Josh Owen was to be followed and foiled.

Creeping to the now open door of the submarine's shed, Jack, who was in the lead, took a peep inside.

There was a dim light in there, though it came from the further side of the hull. Benson signaled, and his friend followed him, stealthily, a step or two at a time, around to the stern of the "Pollard" as she lay on the stocks.

By this time a noise that plainly proceeded from the use of tools came to the ears of the boys. Their nerves were on the keenest tension as they reached the stern of the propped-up hull.

Then they came in sight of the quarry. Almost in the same flash they realized what the night's mischief was.

Depending wholly on the light of a dark lantern that lay on the floor of the shed, Owen, with two or three tools, was swiftly, wickedly tampering with one of the sea-valves belonging to one of the forward water compartments of the submarine.

This valve, if leaking badly when the craft lay submerged, would let in enough water to cause the "Pollard" to lurch and then go, nose-first, to the bottom. It was wholly possible, too, that a capable workman could tamper with the valve so that, on casual inspection, the damage would not be detected.

Hal Hastings's heart beat fast as he viewed this dimly illumined piece of cowardly treachery. His fingers itched to lay hold of Josh Owen, uneven though the fight might be with both boys for assailants.

But Jack Benson, though his first impulse was to let out a Comanche yell, and then dart forward into the fray, instantly conceived a plan that he thought would work better.

Gripping his chum's arm for silence, Jack whispered in his ear:

"Can you set the camera for universal focus, here in the shadow?"

"I—I think so," came Hal's low, quivering reply.

"Do it—like lightning, then!"

In his hand Jack held the flashlight "gun." It was one of those patent affairs, arranged to fire a charge of magnesium powder by the explosion of a cap when the trigger was pressed.

Dropping to one knee, Hal set the camera, half by instinct, half by guess. While he did so, Jack fixed a charge of the powder in the firing pan of the "gun."

These preparations made hardly any noise; such as might have been heard in a silent room was drowned by the tap-tap of a small hammer that Josh Owen was at the moment using.

And now, without glancing back at the stern, the ex-foreman half-turned his head, so as to give a profile view of his face.

Hal, kneeling, turned up quickly to nod the signal that the camera was ready.

Pop! Flare!

As the cap exploded, a blinding flash filled that side of the shed for a brief instant. It was as through a lightning bolt had plunged into the place.

Wholly unprepared for any such happening, Josh Owen let out a yell of fear, rose up and leaped back so that he upset and extinguished his dark lantern.

"Wha-wha-what was that?" he faltered.

In the intense darkness that followed the flash Jack and Hal stole away.

Suffering all the terrors of a guilty conscience, increased by the terror of the inky darkness under such circumstances, Josh Owen tremblingly felt for his momentarily useless lantern. It took him some moments to find it. Even then his fingers shook so convulsively that it needed several trials before he got the light going.

By this time Jack and Hal were safely outside. More than that, Jack held in his hand the padlock of the door, with the false key in it.

"Why not slam the padlock shut over the door and lock him in there until we can get someone here?" whispered Hal Hastings.

By this time the two boys were hiding behind the corner of a nearby building.

"I thought of that," whispered Jack, "and I'd like to do it. But Owen has a fearful temper. If we locked him in there, and he knew he had to be caught, he'd do thousands of dollars' worth of damage. As it is, if you watch out, you'll soon see him quitting that shed and getting away as fast as he can."

Not more than a few seconds later Josh Owen appeared at the door of the shed. He shut off the light from his dark lantern, then stole swiftly towards the fence. Going up and over, he vanished from sight.

"Now, we'll lock the shed, take this false key to Mr. Andrews, and let him decide whether to rouse Mr. Pollard or Mr. Farnum," announced Jack Benson.

Grant Andrews, as soon as he was aroused at the boarding house, and had been made to understand, took the false key, saying:

"I'll go over to the hotel and call Dave Pollard. Then I'll do whatever he says."

The inventor was greatly excited over the news borne to him by the new foreman. Together they hurried to the Farnum yard, unlocked the door to the submarine's shed, entered and made a hasty examination.

Thanks to the promptness of Jack Benson and Hal Hastings, Josh Owen had not had time to inflict more damage to the forward sea-valve than could be readily repaired.

"I guess that was what the infernal rascal meant when he told Jack Benson that the 'Pollard' would dive to the bottom and stay there," exclaimed the inventor, in a shaking voice. He smiled a ghastly smile.

"We'll put a stop to such pranks after this," replied the new foreman.

"Until your craft is launched, sir, I'll sleep here nights, beginning with what's left of to-night."

Before the inventor left the yard, he hunted for and found the drunken night watchman, who was still asleep. That worthless guard was discharged the following day.

V. One Man's Dumfounded Face

When the new foreman's gang started on the "Pollard," at eight in the morning, there was no outward ripple to show that anything unusual had happened. True, Jacob Farnum arrived at the shed earlier than he was accustomed to do, but those of the workmen who were not in the secret thought nothing of that.

Half an hour later Josh Owen, a peculiar, gleaming look in his eyes, showed his head at the manhole opening over their heads.

"Good morning, Mr. Farnum," he called.

"Good morning, Owen," answered the yard's owner. "Come right down."

Owen came down the spiral staircase, looking curiously about him.

"I got your note, Mr. Farnum," began the ex-foreman. "What's the matter? Find you need me here, after all?"

"Not for long," replied Mr. Farnum, coldly. "Owen, before you gave your keys in to Mr. Partridge you must have taken an impression of one of them and must have fitted a key to the pattern. Why were you here last night?"

"Me? I wasn't here last night—nor any other night," Josh Owen made haste to answer, though a look of guilty alarm crept into his face. All of the workmen had ceased their toil, and stood looking on at this unusual scene.

"You say you weren't here last night?" demanded Mr. Farnum, sternly.

"And you didn't use any false key to get into this shed?"

"Of course I didn't," retorted the ex-foreman, defiantly. "You wrote a note to me that, if I'd come around here this morning, I'd hear of a job.

I didn't come here to be insulted."

"The job I mentioned in my note," rejoined Mr. Farnum, with a meaning smile, "is over at the penitentiary. Owen, you did come here last night.

You scaled the fence at the west side, crossed the yard, opened the door of this building with this key—"

Here the yard's owner held out the false key, that all might see it.

"—and," finished Mr. Farnum, "you came in here and went to work to damage a sea-valve forward on this craft. The valve shows, this morning, very plain traces of having been tampered with."

Josh Owen was summoning all his courage, all his craft. Instead of looking frightened, he glared boldly at his accuser.

"Who says I did such a thing?" he demanded, hotly.

"Benson and Hastings saw you at your rascally work, my man."

"Humph!" snorted the ex-foreman. "Who? Those boys?"

"Yes."

"Humph! I wouldn't believe those boys under oath, and you'll make a huge mistake if you do, Mr. Farnum," continued Josh Owen, hotly.

"Then you deny that you were here, and that you tampered with a sea-valve last night?" insisted the yard's owner, looking his man keenly in the eyes.

"I'll deny it with my dying breath," asserted the former foreman, boldly.

"As for those lying boys—"

"Do you believe this can lie?" inquired Mr. Farnum, passing the accused man a photograph print.

Josh Owen took the print, staring at it hard. In an instant his eyes began to open as wide as it was possible for them to do. A sickly, greenish pallor crept into the man's face. Beads of cold perspiration appeared on his forehead and temples.

"You see, your face shows up very clearly," went on the yard's owner, in the same cold, crushing voice. "Moreover, it shows you right at one of the sea-valves, and in the very act of tapping with a hammer. You didn't know that Benson and Hastings are very fair photographers, did you?"

"I don't care what they are," cried Owen, in a passionate voice, as before the print to small bits. "That isn't a photograph of me, even if it does look like me, and I wasn't here last night. I—"

"Any judge and jury will believe the evidence against you, my man," cried Farnum, sternly. "As for the boys, maybe you don't like them, nor they you. They've reason enough for not liking you. Besides, they couldn't photograph anything that wasn't here to be photographed."

"Then it was that flash—" began Josh Owen.

He stopped instantly, biting his lips savagely.

"Yes, they took the picture by flashlight, and you've just admitted remembering the flash that interrupted your rascally labor," exclaimed Mr. Farnum, triumphantly. "As for the print you've just torn up, Owen, it doesn't make any difference. There are other copies of it. Now, my fine fellow, you've been trapped just as nicely as the law requires, and, in addition, you know you're guilty of the whole thing. Now—"

But Owen leaped up the spiral staircase, shouting:

"I won't be taken alive! I—"

Andrews, O'brien and another workman sprang forward to seize the fellow, but Mr. Farnum called them back. Josh Owen got down from the platform deck, and out of the shed in a twinkling.

"Let him go," ordered, the yard's owner. "He won't be seen around Dunhaven after this. If he is, I can quickly enough put the law's officers on his track. But he'll vanish and stay vanished."

"I shan't soon forget the absolutely dumfounded look on his face when he saw that photograph," laughed Mr. Pollard. "It was a look of complete, incredulous amazement."

"I'm sorry for the wretch's family," sighed Mr. Farnum. "However, if Owen clears out promptly, and stays away from this part of the country, I'll give him an opportunity for a new chance."

Then the work went on again. Even with the thorough examination of the sea-valve that had been, tampered with, there was not so much to be done, for this was the last day of the work. On the morrow Dunhaven was to be more or less alive, for the "Pollard" was to be launched then. Many visitors, including a swarm of newspaper men, were expected.

An officer of the United States Navy was also booked to be present, to witness the launching, and to note how the "Pollard" might sit on the water afterwards.

Before four o'clock the last stroke of work had been done. Mr. Farnum, the anxious, inventor, the foreman and the others went all over the submarine marine craft, inside and out, locking for any detail of the work that might have been slighted.

"It's all done—finished," cried David Pollard, nervously.

"And, Mr. Andrews, you'll have a real guard here to-night to help you keep watch," announced Jacob Farnum. "We've heard the last of Owen, without a doubt, but we won't take a single chance to-night. Now, men, all be here at seven in the morning, ready for work. The launching is to be at ten o'clock, but at the last moment we may find that something needs overhauling. Now, you've all worked hard and faithfully." "Here's a little present for each of you, with much more to come if the boat proves the success we hope."

As the men passed him, Jacob Farnum handed each a crisp ten-dollar banknote. Even Jack and Hal were thus remembered.

"But we haven't been here, sir, long enough to earn this present," protested Jack Benson.

"You haven't been here long, perhaps," smiled Mr. Farnum. "But think of what you did last night. By the way, Benson, and Hastings, I want to see you at my office at once."

Wondering somewhat, the youngsters followed their employer, and David Pollard accompanied them.

"Now, then, boys," began their employer, seating himself at his desk,

"I want to say to you that my friend Pollard hired you on the strength of your general appearance and the impression you both made. At the same time Pollard was careful to write to the references you gave in your home town. This noon he received letters from your former school teacher and your minister. Both speak in the nicest terms of you both, as honorable, upright, hard-working young men."

"It's fine to know that one is remembered in that way," Jack replied, his face, and Hal's, showing their pleasure.

"Now, to go on," continued Mr. Farnum, "as soon as the boat is in the water there comes up the question of a crew for the 'Pollard.'

Some of our good hands, especially those with families, say very frankly that their taste doesn't run to going down in diving boats, on account of the possible chance that the Pollard might not be able to get up to the surface again. But Pollard tells me that you've applied for a chance to belong to the crew of the boat."

"That's our biggest wish, gentlemen!" cried Jack Benson, his eyes glowing.

"Nothing else could give us half the delight," confirmed Hal Hastings.

"Then we're going to give you the chance," announced Mr. Farnum, while David Pollard nodded. "But, of course, you're not blind to the fact that, even on the most perfect submarine torpedo boat, there's some risk to your lives."

"One isn't wholly safe, either," retorted Jack, coolly, "in crossing a crowded city street."

"Then you're both alive to the danger, but not afraid to chance it?"

"We're ready for anything in the submarine boat line," declared Jack and Hal, in the same breath.

"Then that's settled. You're both engaged to serve aboard the 'Pollard' when she floats—and dives," wound up Mr. Farnum, dropping back into his matter-of-fact tone, and mopping his face, for the July afternoon was exceedingly hot. "By the way, boys, how do you feel about taking a little pleasure trip to-night? How'd you like to take one of my horses and a buggy, after supper?"

"Fine and splendid," replied Jack, with enthusiasm.

"And, by the way, since your references are so good, I can give you a chance to try to make a little extra money, if you like."

"Extra money is highly prized in the town where we come from, sir," laughed young Benson.

"Well, see here, over at Waverly Center, eight miles from here, is a man named George Forrester. Now, Forrester owes me, and has owed me, for some time, eight hundred dollars for a little boat we built him here. Forrester was always considered a safe man, but for some reason he has let this bill run. If you care to, you may take the bill and drive over to see him to-night. I'll pay you a commission of five per cent. on the whole bill, or any part that you can collect. But I warn you that you may find Forrester a bit shy about settling."

No matter! A chance to get in forty dollars in an evening looked extremely attractive to these young submarine boys.

VI. Along the Trail of Trouble

"I wonder if we shall find our man at home?" remarked Jack Benson, as he and his chum drove over the road to Waverly Center in the early evening.

"I wonder if he'll settle the bill!" rejoined Hal.

"If he has the money, and doesn't settle, it'll show what poor collectors we are," laughed Jack.

"Very few men keep eight hundred dollars around the house," objected young Hastings.

"And our man won't have that amount in cash, either. I'd be almost afraid to take that amount of real money, at night. If Mr. Forrester is willing to do something pleasant for us, it will be in the form of a check, of course."

"I'd like to come out all right with Mr. Forrester, of course," Hal admitted. "But, to tell the truth, I haven't been thinking much about Jack, old fellow, all my real thoughts are on our wonderful chance to be part of the trial crew of the 'Pollard.'"

"Same here," admitted Benson. "Say, money does look rather small, compared with a chance like ours. Now, doesn't it?"

So they hardly mentioned Mr. Forrester on the rest of that cool, delightful drive. Arrived at Waverly Center, however, they had to inquire the way to the Forrester house. They found it, a comfortable though not pretentious house. The owner was at home, and saw them at once.

"May we see you alone, Mr. Forester?" asked Jack Benson, respectfully.

"Is it as bad as all that?" laughed their host, I a pleasant-faced, rather bald man past forty. "Come into my little den, then."

He conducted them to a small room that looked as though it served partly the purposes of library and partly of office.

"Now, what can I do for you?" inquired Mr. Forrester.

"We represent Mr. Farnum, of Dunhaven," began Jack, slowly.

"Farnum? Oh, yes, the boat-builder. He must know that I don't want anything new in his line, and on any other business I imagine he would have sent someone—er—older."

"Mr. Farnum believed you would find it wholly convenient, now, to settle the account for the last bill," Benson went on, slipping the statement from an inner pocket and laying it on the desk before Mr. Forrester. That gentleman frowned slightly.

"I trust we haven't called at the wrong time, and that it will be wholly convenient for you this evening," Jack continued.

"But, see here, young man, I know nothing about you. You have the bill, true, but it is not receipted."

"I will receipt it, in Mr. Farnum's name."

"All well and good," replied Mr. Forrester. "But—pardon me—how do I know that you have any authority to receipt for this account?"

"Then I think you will appreciate my painstaking care to make everything regular and satisfactory," laughed Jack, very quietly. "Here is a paper, signed by Mr. Farnum, authorizing me to receipt this account in his name. You may keep this authorization along with the receipt.

Mr. Forrester, it is growing late, and we are obliged to be at business early in the morning. You will oblige us by letting us have your check, won't you?"

Benson spoke as though he had not a doubt of immediate settlement. Yet his tone and his manner were such as not to give the least offense to the man who was being "dunned."

"Why, this—er—is rather a late time in the day to collect bills," hinted Mr. Forrester, in an uncertain voice.

"Had the matter not been just a little pressing we wouldn't have ventured over as late," Benson replied, softly. "However, you understand what I would say, don't you, Mr. Forrester?"

There was something about the young speaker's manner, his tone, the look in his eyes, that proclaimed him to be anything but a "quitter."

Mr. Forrester began to feel that, if he succeeded in evading payment this evening, he would only have to see these young men frequently.

"Well, you see, Benson," he said, at last, "I don't want to draw for such a sum against my check account before to-morrow."

"I think we could come again to-morrow, if we have to," responded young Benson, as though thinking it over.

"I am going to make a deposit in my bank in the morning," continued the man.

"Then we are to come again to-morrow evening?" insisted Jack.

"Why, hang it, no. If you'll take cash, instead of check, I can let you have the money to-night."

But that gentleman added, under his breath:

"I may as well settle to-night as have them coming again to-morrow."

"Why, certainly we'll take the cash, to-night," replied young Benson, his face beaming at thought of how easily a fine commission was to be earned as part of an evening's pleasure.

Mr. Forrester, having made the offer, began secretly to regret it. He was a man who meant to pay his debts, but just now he felt that he would really like to have the money to use in other directions.

Jack, however; began to suspect that some such thought was in the other's mind.

"With your permission, Mr. Forrester," said the boy, reaching over the desk, "I'll borrow one of your pens."

In a firm, clear hand Jack Benson promptly receipted the bill, dating the receipt as well, and affixing his own name as the collector.

"Now, that's all done," smiled Jack, pleasantly, putting back the pen, blotting the fresh ink and passing the paper half forward.

Stifling a sigh, Mr. Forrester rose, going to his safe. A few turns of the combination lock and he pulled the steel door open.

"Nine hundred and fifty dollars that came in this afternoon. I intended to bank it in the morning," he said, then began to count "If a burglar broke in to-night and cracked the safe," he added, with a laugh, "I'd be glad, in the morning, that I had settled this bill with cash."

Jack received the bills with a rapidly beating heart. He counted them, found the amount correct, and passed half the money to Hal Hastings.

"For safety, Hal," he suggested, "I think we'd better divide the money, and then each of us put half of his own pile in each shoe."

Mr. Forrester watched with something like an amused smile as the two youngsters crossed the room, removing their shoes, and putting small packets of bills down inside.

"I suppose that's in order that a hold-up artist would pass the money by," he chuckled. "Well, boys, I wish you a safe journey back with your money. We don't often have any hold-ups on these quiet roads, anyway."

Before leaving, Jack took pains to thank his host again, very courteously, for the settlement of the account. Then the boys went outside, untied the horse, got into the buggy and drove away.

"Well, that's a pretty smooth profit for one evening," laughed Jack, as he turned the horse's head into the highway.

"Forty dollars you make, in one evening," commented Hal.

"Twenty apiece, you mean, old fellow. You were with me in this."

"But I didn't have to do any of the talking, or anything else."

"Just the same, Hal, you know we're still partners."

"Whew!" said Hastings, uneasily. "I shall be nervous until we reach Mr. Farnum's house and hand him the money. Hold up a minute, Jack, while we're near houses."

"What's the game?" inquired Benson, as his chum leaped down into the road and began to rummage about.

"These may be of some use to us in the buggy; just possibly," replied Hal, returning with a half dozen stones, the size of hens' eggs, which he placed on the seat between them. "It's the only form of arms we have, Jack," he whispered, "and we're carrying a heap more money than we could make good in a long time."

"We've got only a few miles to go," laughed Jack, easily. "Besides who'd ever think of holding up boys? And no one but Mr. Forrester knows that we have the cash."

In the first five miles that they drove from Waverly Center the boys passed only two other horse-drawn vehicles and one automobile. Then, suddenly, the keen ears of both boys heard a sound as of some human being wailing in acute distress.

A moment later they came in sight of the cause of the sounds. A hatless, dirty, illy-dressed youngster of perhaps ten years stood by the roadside, howling and digging his soiled fists into his eyes as he blubbered. At sight of the horse and buggy this small sample of human misery looked up to call, appealingly:

"Hey! Oh, mister!"

"Well," demanded Jack, reining in the horse, "what's the matter?"

"Oh, mister, mister! It's me mother!"

"What's the matter with her? Where is she?"

"She's in there," pointing under the trees just off the road. "We was walkin' along, an' one o' them otterbubbles must ha' hit her.

She give a yell, then crawled inter them bushes. She hain't said nuthin' lately—an' oh! I'm dreadful scared!"

"Poor little chap!" muttered Jack, handing the reins to his friend.

"I'll go in and see what's wrong."

But Hal also jumped out, hastily hitching the horse. Then they followed their youthful guide in under the trees, to a clump of bushes. There in the dark Jack and Hal saw a huddled mass of something lying on the ground. Benson was the first to bend over, but Hal, also peering intently, was close at his side.

"Why, this isn't anything human," called Jack. "It's just a—"

Thump! A jarring blow fell upon him from behind, knocking the boy nearly unconscious. Hal, struck at the same moment, felt his head reel, and then did lose consciousness for a few moments.

"Ha, ha! Ho! ho!" roared the elfin youngster, his tears suddenly giving place to laughter as he fled.

It was Joshua Owen, aided by his bullying nephew, Dan Jaggers, who had made this sudden, treacherous assault. That both were well prepared for the miserable trick was shown by the speed with which they tied the hands of the helpless boys behind them.

"Now, bring your prize along," directed Owen, jubilantly, as he picked up Hal Hastings, bearing that youth on his shoulder.

Jaggers, though not a giant, was strong enough to do the same with Jack Benson. Further and further into the thicket they bore their captives, pausing only once, to gag their charges as soon as the latter showed a disposition to yell.

At last the rascally pair halted in the depths of the woods, dumping their human burdens on the ground.

"You're not the lightest thing I ever carried," growled Josh Owen, panting somewhat, as he reached for his pipe and filled it.

"Now!" clicked Dan Jaggers, shaking a dirty, heavy fist over Jack's face.

"I can pay you back for that black eye, and all the other mean things you done to me, you sneak!"

"Oh, we'll pay ye both back," gritted Owen, lighting his pipe and puffing.

"An' say! I hear ye're both slated for the launchin' of the 'Pollard' to-morrow, and that ye're to have a try as members of the crew. Well, ye won't be at the launching! Take it from me that, if ye ever git back to Dunhaven, 'twon't be for many a day yet. We've got a fine place to hide ye, near here. Nobody'll ever find ye, even if they take the trouble t'look. And, as the days go by, Dan and me will take plenty of chance t'show ye just how we feel about ye. We'll pay ye back, with loads of interest, younkers, for the mean things ye've done to us!"

As if to emphasize his spite, Owen gave each of them a kick as he stood over the boys, glaring down at them.

In the minds of Jack and Hal, torment was raging. Ordinarily, it would have been bad enough to be certain of missing the launching of the submarine boat, and of possibly losing their places in the crew. But now, a far greater terror assailed them. They had collected the eight hundred dollars. If they failed to appear and to turn it over, Jacob Farnum would have the best reason in the world for believing them defaulters.

"Wondering what I'm going to do t'ye, to square matters, ain't ye?" demanded Dan Jaggers, bending over and glaring into Jack's eyes. "Well, go on guessin'. My hate's that great that I'm goin' ter take plenty o' time to think it over 'fore I do a thing t'ye."

"I guess, first-off, Dan," observed his uncle, "ye'd better go back t' the road an' leave that horse somewheres further off. Probably, if ye do, it'll trot back into Dunhaven, and that'll be good enough."

"Got any money for licker?" demanded Dan. "I can git some an' bring it back."

"Go through the boys' pockets. Ye ought to find some cash there," hinted Owen.

Dan looted a few dollars from the pockets of each captive. Jack and Hal, however, were satisfied that their captors knew nothing of the great sum of money they had collected.

"And, while I think of it, Dan," continued Owen, "ye know where to leave them boys' shoes. Ye know who they'll fit."

Josh Owens started by unlacing Jack's shoes roughly and hauling them off.

As he did so, oven in the darkness, he saw something fall the ground.

"Money!" gasped Josh Owen, in evil delight. "Look at the piles of it!

Hurry with your younker, Dan. Maybe ye'll have the same luck."

Almost in a twinkling, it seemed to the groaning captives, the rascally pair had the whole sum of eight hundred dollars in their greedy hands.

Now, what would going back to Dunhaven be like for these two hapless submarine boys? Even though they returned, manfully, at the first chance, how would their story of having been robbed sound? What a thin, hollow mockery it would seem, backed only by their own word!

To the two chums it almost seemed as though death would be sweeter!

VII. When Thieves Fall Out

"By the great sledge-hammer! Here's a whole bale of money!" gasped Dan Jaggers, after having emptied Hal's shoes.

Wholly unmindful of the one he had just robbed, Jaggers sat down on the ground, passing the banknotes between his fingers.

"I found a small hay-mow of money where I looked, too," observed Josh Owen, with intense satisfaction, though his manner was calmer.

"How much did you get?" demanded Dan, instantly prepared to be suspicious that his rascally uncle had happened upon the lion's share.

Josh Owen thrust his findings deep down in a trousers pocket before he replied:

"No one will see our light 'way in here. Wait till I light the dark lantern. Then we can count up. But—don't you try to hide any on me, Dan!"

So keenly did the older man watch the younger one that the former burned his fingers twice in attempting to light the lantern. Yet at last the lantern was lighted, the wick turned up not too high, and then the older man invited:

"Sit down in front of me, Dan, sociable like, so I can keep track of yer hands."

"D'ye think I'm the only one'll bear watching?" demanded Jaggers, hoarsely. "I ain't taken my eyes off that pocket o' your 'n. Now, pull out that money, an' be sure ye git it all out. Turn the pocket inside out. That's right. Now, you count your money, an' I'll watch. Then I'll count mine, an' you can watch, if ye wanter."

Mutual confidence being thus established between the rogues, the counting proceeded. Josh found that he had just four hundred dollars in his "findings." Dan Jaggers's count proved that that young bully possessed an exactly equal sum.

"Then there ain't no need o' dividing," declared Dan, thrusting his money into a trousers pocket and fumbling for a pin with which to close the top of the pocket. "Now, I'll go back to the road, find the hoss, an' drive him most of the way into town. Then I'll turn the hoss loose, to do his home-findin' an' I'll keep on until I can buy something in bottles."

"But ye ain't goin' t' take all that money with ye inter town?" protested Josh Owen.

"Why not? It's mine," declared Jaggers, with singular ideas of ownership.

"But I know ye, Dan Jaggers. If ye git inter Dunhaven with all that money ye won't be able to keep from showin' it. Then, if these boys ever git loose, an' do their talkin', folks will remember that ye showed such a lot o' cash on this night, an' the law'll have you caught in yer own steel trap. It'd help to put me in trouble, too. No, no, Danny.

Ye can take five dollars, but ye'll have t' leave the rest of the money with me."

"An' then I'd find ye here when I came back, wouldn't I?" sneered Jaggers.

"Yes!" replied Josh Owen, stoutly, and doubtless meant it, for he was really fond of this rough, shaggy young bully of a nephew of his.

"Don't ye see, Danny, it'd be foolish of me to light out with all the money? Then ye'd turn against me, an' help the constables to catch me.

Looky here, Danny, you trust me, an' ye won't come far out. Now, take five dollars, an' leave the rest with me."

"No, I won't," retorted that youth, defiantly.

"Yes, ye will!" suddenly shot from between the lips of Josh Owen. He accompanied the words with a spring, bearing his nephew down to the ground, and holding him there.

"I'm stronger than you, Danny, an' ye know it," growled the ex-foreman, hoarsely. "Now, will ye hand up that money, or will ye make me take it from ye?"

With a reluctant grace, while still pinned down to the ground, Dan Jaggers surrendered his half of the stolen money.

"Now, ye can git up, and go do what's laid out to be done," announced Josh Owen, peeling a five-dollar bill from the roll and handing it to his nephew. "First, get the horse headed right, then go on into town and get the liquor. But don't ye stop to drink in Dunhaven, Danny. If ye do, ye'll be sure to git inter a fight, and ye might do some talkin' too. Hustle in, and hustle back, and ye'll find ye can trust me to hold outer to-night's pickings safe for ye. Don't ye worry a mite on the way to town or back, Danny boy."

If a scowl could have killed, Dan would have triumphed, even now, at the expense of his uncle's life. But Josh paid no heed to black looks. He thought he knew this nephew of his.

"Hurry along, Danny," he coaxed. "My throat is gittin' mighty dry for a bit o' liquor."

"Give me another five-spot," begged Jaggers.

"Not another dollar till ye come back, Danny," rejoined his uncle, firmly. "The quicker ye start, an' return, the quicker ye'll have yer share of the night's business. Now, git!"

Using ugly language under his breath, Dan Jaggers turned and shuffled off through the woods, well knowing that he would suffer from his uncle's heavy hands if he did not.

Josh now extinguished the light by shutting off the slide of his dark lantern. Then, after taking a look at the boys, he seated himself near them, filling his pipe once more while he muttered:

"Subsequent happenin's clean drove them shoes outer Danny's mind. An'

I don't wonder!"

Having gotten his pipe comfortably lighted, Josh could not resist the temptation to open the slide of his lantern ever so little; in order that he might have another look at the money.

"Wonder how ye came to have it?" he muttered, looking at the boys, who, being gagged as well as bound, could not have answered anyway. "I guess likely Farnum must ha' been fool enough to let ye do some collectin' for him," grinned Josh. "In that case, younkers, Danny an' me are makin' it pretty hard for ye all 'round, ain't we?"

That thought appeared to bring Owen around into a state of good humor.

He looked at the chuckling, and two or three times broke out into a hearty guffaw.

Jack Benson's mental torment grew as the time passed. Hal Hastings was in no more enviable frame of mind.

"And we brought this upon us by being sympathetic. We wanted to help that infernal little boy out, and carry relief to his injured mother!" thought Jack, squirming. "Confound it, I feel, just now, as though I would never caught trying to do another kind act! All this fearful luck just because we had to have more sympathy than brains! What fools we are!"

Later came this terrifying thought:

"Mr. Farnum won't believe us, of course. The story will sound altogether too absurd." "What will he do—have us sent to jail as common thieves?"

"Ain't very comfortable in yer mind, are ye, younker?" leered Josh Owen, hearing the muffled groan that escaped the boy.

Though Josh Owen smoked many pipefuls, time soon began to drag on that worthy's hands. Hours slipped by.

"I'd no business to let Danny go," growled Owen, uneasily, time after time, often rising and pacing about, though never straying away from the two boys. "That young feller thinks a heap too much o' liquor for one so young. He's spendin' time, as well as money, over in Dunhaven. It won't be so bad if he don't take too much, and get talkative."

Two or three times Josh thought he heard someone moving in the woods.

Each time he called softly, or signaled, but there came no response.

Despite his inward suffering, Jack Benson dozed at last. So, as he afterwards learned, did Hal. Yet these drowsings must have been short.

They were filled with horrible dreams of disgrace, imprisonment, and all the misfortunes that healthy young minds in torment could bring up.

At last Jack awoke, with a start, to realize that it was daylight.

Josh Owen was on his feet, his taste for tobacco gone. He was listening, peering between the trees, and making many impatient remarks under his breath.

"Hullo, uncle! Gettin' weary, carryin' 'round my share of the money?" chuckled the voice of Dan Jaggers. Then that shaggy young bully stepped out from behind a tree.

"Ye've been long enough," growled his relieved uncle. "But I'm glad t' see ye're in good enough shape."

"Oh, I'm all right," admitted Jaggers, serenely, as he came forward.

"I've been back here for hours."

"What are ye telling me?" demanded Josh Owen.

"The facts. Ye see, Uncle Josh, I wanted to know whether ye'd forgit ye had my money, an' stray off. So I've been watchin' round, 'thout making no noise, for hours." Josh Owen had no means of knowing whether this statement was the truth or not, but he growled:

"Then ye must know for sure, now, lad, that I'm square with my own nephew.

What'd ye bring back with ye?"

"Something to eat."

"And something to drink, hey? I guess we'll eat first."

Dan retraced his way through the woods a few paces, returning with packages.

"You younkers can see us eat, if you want to," said Josh Owen, with a malicious leer, as he spread a piece of paper on the ground and began to lay out the meal. "When are you two going to eat? I don't know.

Maybe not for a few days yet. Ye see, it ain't so easy to make an enemy of a man by sneaky tricks, and then get on his right side again."

This picnic breakfast lasted a long time, it seemed to watchful Jack Benson. But at last it was over. Josh brought out his ill-smelling pipe once more, settling himself, with his back against a tree-trunk, to enjoy himself.

"Bring anything to drink, Danny boy?" inquired Owen, after a few minutes.

"Here's some beer," proposed Jaggers, passing over the bottle.

Josh opened it, took a long drink, then sat with the bottle poised on one of his knees.

"I don't believe ye'd better have any of this, Danny, lad," declared Owen, with a grin.

"Don't want any," responded Jaggers, in a rather sulky voice.

Dan got up and strolled about, his hands in his pockets, whistling softly but cheerily. Josh Owen finished his unwise beverage, and tossed the bottle a few feet away. Presently the man's eyes closed, but he opened them as though with an effort.

"S'here, Danny," he demanded, thickly, drowsily, "watcher put in that stuff?"

Dan Joggers did not reply, but he turned to watch his uncle, a look of the lowest cunning in the young bully's eyes. For a brief space of time Owen fought against his drowsiness. Then he lurched, falling over on one side, unconscious—drugged.

In a twinkling, then, Dan Jaggers knelt beside his uncle, rifling the other man's pockets until he had brought to light both their shares in the evil-doing of the night.

VIII. A Swift Stroke For Honor

For the space of a few moments Dan Jaggers stared at the money clutched in his hands in a way that betrayed the extent of its fascinating hold upon his mind.

Then he glanced down at his unconscious uncle.

"Ugh!" he grunted, giving that prostrate form a slight but contemptuous kick. "If I hadn't done something like this you would. Oh, ye-eh, there's honor among thieves, but it's no good trusting to that honor.

Every man for himself, in the woods!"

One more gloating look the shaggy young bully took at all that money, before thrusting it deep down in a pocket and pinning the opening securely.

"Don't ye wish ye was me, with all this money to have a good time on?" he demanded, jeeringly, of Jack Benson. "But maybe ye've framed up some kind of a yarn that yer boss, Farnum, will be willin' to believe.

If ye hain't, then mebbe ye'd better never git close to him again."

Dan Jaggers again turned his attention to his overcome uncle, kneeling beside the ex-foreman and watching his face closely.

And then a strange thing happened, or so it would have seemed, had Dan Jaggers possessed eyes in the back of his head. For Jack Benson likewise his chum had striven many times through the night to free their wrists of the cords that bound them. Jack was the first to succeed, at a cost of hours of effort and thinking. He wriggled one hand out from under the knots just as Dan turned for that last look at the prostrate man.

How fearfully numbed Jack Benson's wrists were, after that long spell of being tied up. Yet the boy knew that he must quickly restore circulation there and get his hands ready for use before it was all too late.

It must be one swift, decisive, conquering stroke for honor's sake.

Jack's trembling right hand went into one of his trousers pockets. He found his clasp-knife, yanked it out, opened one of the blades, and Hal Hastings, who had been watching every move with breathless interest, now rolled noiselessly so that his chum could reach the rope that held him captive.

In another twinkling Hal was free. Just then, Jaggers, fancying he heard some noise in their direction, turned slowly. By the time Jaggers had them within his range of vision each boy was lying as before, his hands behind his back.

With a heartless chuckle, Dan turned back for one last look at his uncle.

Jack rose, almost fearing to breathe. Hal started to follow suit.

There was some swift stealthy toe-work. Just as Dan Jaggers turned more sharply Jack Benson hurled himself through the air, catching and clutching at his enemy's neck. Both rolled over together, Dan, with his greater strength, fighting like a panther and bear in one.

It was Hal Hastings's chance. As he darted forward he espied a serviceable-looking stick on the ground. He snatched it up with a single breathless swoop, then poised himself over the struggling fighters, stick uplifted.

Down came that slender cudgel, striking Dan a light blow squarely top of his head.

"O-o-ow! Help! Quit that!" screamed Dan Jaggers.

"Lie still, then," commanded Hal, sternly. "And let go of Jack, or I'll use this stick for I'm worth."

Brave enough while he thought he had a good fighting chance, Dan cowered under the menace of that club. He submitted to being rolled on his back, pleading:

"Don't club me! I'll be quiet."

"See that you are, then," ordered young Benson, kneeling on his opponent's chest. "Remember, Dan, that there are two of us. We mean to win, no matter how ugly a fight we have to put up."

"Want the gag that you threw away when you jumped up, Jack?" asked Hal, with a delighted grin.

"No; we don't need to gag him. Jaggers, roll over on your face, and don't you dare make any attempt to get up," ordered the submarine, boy, rising from his prostrate foe, while Hastings stood ready to use the stick.

Dan obeyed. Jack took the slim cudgel from, his chum, who, at a silent signal, slipped back and picked up some of the slashed cord. There was enough of it to accomplish the tying of Jaggers.

"See here," whined Dan, "you're not going to take me to Dunhaven?"

"We're going to get that money away from you, and take it to its rightful owner," retorted Jack, tersely, as he commenced to tie the knots, while Hal held the cudgel conveniently close to the bully's head.

Dan, however, had hardly a thought of making any fight. Jack, alone, was nearly a match for him. The two churns, acting together, could overcome him easily enough at any time.

"Oh, I'll give up the money," promised Dan Jaggers, willingly.

"Thank you," returned Jack, dryly. "However, we'll take it ourselves—and right now," he added, as he finished tying the knots about Dan's wrists.

The rifling of Jaggers's pockets brought to light all of Mr. Farnum's money except the five dollars Dan had spent in Dunhaven the night before.

However, the boys' own money, that had been taken from their pockets, and which was now found in one of Owen's vest pockets, made up the full sum of eight hundred dollars.

"You fellers win, and I lose a good time," muttered Dan, mournfully.

"But say, now you've got the cash again, set me free before ye start for Dunhaven. Don't leave me tied up like this."

"We won't," Jack promised him, grimly. "We'll take you with us."

"Not to Dunhaven!" screamed the bully.

"Even to Dunhaven," mocked Hal.

"But they'll send me to jail," protested the scared wretch.

"Well," insinuated Benson, "can you imagine any other place that would be as suitable for a fellow of your kind?"

"You fellers promised me ye wouldn't take me to Dunhaven, if I stopped fighting," whined Jaggers.

"We promised you nothing of the sort," retorted Jack. "Now, come. Up on your feet with you!"

The two submarine boys raised the now whitefaced bully, who was still pleading and protesting. Dan refused to start at the word, but a few sharp cuts across his legs by Hal made the fellow change his mind.

"I reckon your uncle will stay until he's called for," laughed Jack, as they started. "Anyway, the matter of greatest importance is to deliver the money to Mr. Farnum before it goes through any more mishaps."

"I tell ye, tain't right to make me go along an' be sent to jail," declared Jaggers, earnestly. "Ye've already done me harm enough, and got me outer my job."

"If you haven't head enough to know the difference between getting yourself into all your troubles, and our doing it, there's no use arguing the matter," retorted Jack, quietly. "Get along, now, for we don't mean to have any nonsense. We've got to get through in time to send someone back for your uncle.", Despite the vigilance of both boys, Dan lagged all he could. As he came nearer to the seaport village his despair and rage increased so that he several times halted and flatly refused to stir. At such times Hal had to use the stick with increasing severity.

At last, with a violent wrench, Jaggers, with his strong wrists, managed to snap the cords upon which he had already made many efforts.

"Now, see here," he defied them, waving his fists in the air, "mebbe ye think ye're goin' to take me with ye, but ye won't take me inter town alive!"

Retreating, he crouched against a tree, waving his fists before him.

Jack and Hal lost no time closing in with the bully, but he drove them back. The boys were not prepared to do their enemy serious bodily harm;

Dan, on the other hand, didn't care what he did, so the odds seemed almost in his favor.

"Clear out, an' leave me to take to my heels, an' I'll call it square," he shouted, hoarsely. "But, if ye try to fight, then don't blame me for anything that happens to ye. I won't go to jail, I tell ye! I'll die, sooner!"

Jack, with his fists up, worked in as close as he could, trying to get in under the big bully's guard for a clinch, so that Hal Hastings could finish the work of successful attack. Dan, fighting with the fury and strategy of desperation, kept them both off fairly well.

While the opposing forces were so occupied there came down a path out of the woods, behind the tree against which Jaggers was backed, a third boy. About sixteen years old he appeared to be. He wore patched overalls, a frayed flannel shirt and a much-used straw hat of the field variety. His hair, once brown, had many streaks of reddish tint in it, from long exposure to the sun. His face was brick-red from the same cause. His rather large hands looked rough enough from hard labor. But he had frank, laughing eyes and a homely, honest look. Moreover, he had the air of one who could be swiftly alert.

All this Jack Benson noted as soon as he caught sight of the newcomer.

"Hullo, there!" called Jack, pausing. "This fellow is a thief, and we're trying to get him to town. Help us to get him, will you?"

"Want me to look behind me, an' then ye'll jump me, hey?" leered Dan Jaggers. "That won't work."

The newcomer grinned broadly, then shot forward. Ere Jaggers could change his mind he felt himself clasped from behind, a pair of strong hands joined over his windpipe, his body thus bound securely to the tree.

"He—help!" sputtered the victim of this attack.

"We're bringing it to you," laughed Jack, leaping forward. In a twinkling, now, the three boys had Dan Jaggers down, and held so closely that he could not stir. Benson produced another length of cord, and Dan had to submit to having his wrists lashed, this time in most workmanlike manner.

"Thank you, ever so much," acknowledged Jack, looking up at the new boy.

"Oh, you're welcome," laughed the young stranger. "I know Dan Jaggers, and I'm willing to believe anything against him."

"I'll live to get square with ye for this, one o' these days, Eph Somers!" growled the captive.

"Oh, take your time about it, Dan," laughed Eph, unconcernedly. "I'm patient, you know, about such things. In fact, I come of a patient family."

IX. The Submarine Makes Its Bow To Old Ocean

"Which way were you headed when you happened along?" inquired Jack Benson.

"Dunhaven way," responded Eph Somers.

"Good enough. That's where we're going, too."

"It's me for the submarine launching today," Eph remarked, rather ungrammatically. "I wouldn't miss that for the world."

"Nor would we, either," added Hal. "Especially, as we've helped in the work on her. And, gracious, what time is it?"

"Just about eight o'clock," replied Somers, consulting his watch.

"And the launching is at ten o'clock. Come; we must hustle along. What will Mr. Farnum be thinking of us?"

"He probably believes we stole the money, and he must have officers out looking for us by this time," hinted Jack; with a wry face.

Jack thought, to be sure, of Josh Owen, back there in the woods, but clearly it would be out of place to ask Eph Somers to go back and attend to the ex-foreman. Besides, they could all soon be in Dunhaven, and then a constable or two could be sent out to search.

At first, Dan tried his old tactics of balking, but a few energetic, rough-and-ready punches from Eph caused the bully to change his mind.

After that he went along in sullen silence. It was not long before the quartette turned down into the shore road that led up to the boatyard.

As they came near the big gate, still closed to the public, the boys beheld a crowd of several Hundred people. There were many vehicles and automobiles there, also.

"Here come those boys! Hey, young fellows, the officers are looking for you!" shouted someone.

"I guess so," admitted Jack, dryly. "However, they won't want us. Let us through this crowd, please. We want to find Mr. Farnum without delay."

The new watchman, at the gate, admitted them without question. Eph Somers, being of the party, got into the yard also, without any difficulty.

It being, now, less than two hours before the time set for the launching of the "Pollard," both the yard's owner and the inventor were with the gang of workmen that was busy removing the water end of the submarine craft's construction shed.

"Here come Benson and Hastings," called Grant Andrews, catching sight of the boys.

Jacob Farnum turned to look at them, then came on the run.

"I hear you have put officers out, after us, and I don't blame you," smiled Jack, rather grimly. "However, we didn't run away with your money, and we would have been back last night had that been possible."

"I could hardly bring myself to believe that you had absconded," cried Mr. Farnum, ruefully. "I sent officers out on the trail as much to learn what had happened to you as for any other reason. The horse came in with the buggy last night, and I knew something was wrong. But this fellow, Jaggers—"

"He and Owen tricked us and got us last night," explained Benson. "I don't, believe they knew anything about the money. They just wanted to beat us to their heart's content. But they found the money, and—but I'd better begin at the beginning."

This Jack did, soon putting Mr. Farnum in possession of the whole story.

"I'll send two men with Jaggers, to turn him over to the constable," remarked Mr. Farnum. "I'll also send the alarm out so that Josh Owen may be caught. Both these fellows must have their full deserts."

"Perhaps, first of all, you'll take this money," urged Jack, producing the roll of banknotes. "Count it over, will you please, sir?"

Mr. Farnum rapidly counted. "Just eight hundred," he nodded. "But, according to your story, it ought to be five dollars short, on account of what this rascal, Jaggers, took out to spend."

"We've made that good out of some of our own money that the pair took away from us, and which we got back with yours."

"You won't do anything of the sort," retorted Mr. Farnum, thrusting the money down in one of his pockets. "I owe you that five, besides your commission of forty dollars. And I'll settle with you just as soon as we get our rush off. But now—you haven't had any breakfast.

Rush up to the hotel and get it at my expense. Then be sure to be back here before ten o'clock. And say, boys, you're the right kind of material—both of you. I hope to keep you with us."

Two men being dispatched to convey Dan Jaggers to the lock-up, Jack and Hal hurried away for some sort of a meal. Eph Somers, being inside the yard, and no one paying him any heed, that young man concluded that he might as well remain where he could see the most.

While the two submarine boys were at breakfast a constable and a deputy appeared at the hotel, to get precise directions as to where to find the drugged Joshua Owen. Then they departed in haste.

"There's the band playing over at the yard!" cried Hal, seated at the hotel dining table. "Great Scott! We'll be late."

"I hardly see how that can happen," replied Jack. "It isn't quite nine o'clock yet."

Nevertheless, the martial strains caused both boys to hurry through their breakfast. Then, full of eagerness, they all but ran down the short stretch of road to the yard.

"I wish we had a little better clothes," muttered Hal, regretfully, as they neared the gate.

"What's the odds?" replied young Benson. "We're workmen, anyway."

"But most folks will be dressed up mighty well to-day," objected Hal.

"Even Grant Andrews has his best suit on."

"Well, we haven't any other clothes," murmured Jack, like a young philosopher. "Folks won't be looking at us, anyway. They'll all have their eyes on the boat."

The watchman at the gate had been reinforced by another man, to hold the crowd back. When the would-be spectators found that only work men and invited guests would be admitted to the yard the disappointed ones made a scurry for the nearest portions of the shore outside the big fence.

Inside, the noise of hammers had stopped. The entire front of the submarine's shed had been removed, and much of the underpinning structure that held the "Pollard" in place. All that remained, to send the steel craft into the water, were the command and a few lusty sledgehammer strokes.

The band was playing again, a lively strain. Jacob Farnum was bustling about, although, as far as could be seen, his only impulse was sheer excitement.

David Pollard, silent and more anxious than anyone could know, stood apart with Grant Andrews, while Eph Somers stood solitary at a little distance.

Even the coming of the boys caused Pollard a bit of relief. They were to be of the crew at the launching, and their early arrival showed the inventor that there ought not, now, to be the faintest hitch.

"I thought there was going to be a naval officer here, Mr. Pollard," whispered Jack.

"Looking for a uniform, eh?" laughed the inventor. "There is a naval officer here—Lieutenant Jackson. There he is, over there, in the gray suit and straw bat."

"Does he go on the boat with us?"

"Oh, no. He's simply to watch the launching, and see how the craft sits on the water after she goes in. Some time in the near future there'll be a board of naval officers here, when we're ready to show them what the boat can do."

With everything in readiness, the nerves of all the interested persons present began to suffer from the suspense. Only the tireless band saved the day.

"Come along," said Jacob Farnum, at last. "It's a quarter of ten. We'll get up in our places."

Those who were going made a rush for the shed. The band leader, catching the enthusiasm, led his musicians, with a crash, into a triumphal march.

Eph Somers slid, unobtrusively, into the shed. David Pollard turned to look at him keenly.

"I want to be on hand to help just a bit, if I can," murmured Eph, pleadingly, "and to wish the boat good luck as she strikes the water.

My father used to work in this yard, and I worked here last summer."

"He's all right," nodded Mr. Farnum, so Eph got inside the shed.

The ladder rested against the hull; this was to be the last time that it would be used. David Pollard ascended, first, to the submarine's platform deck Farnum followed Then Grant Andrews went up. Last of all came Jack Benson and Hal Hastings. These were all who were scheduled to slide down the slippery ways with the "Pollard." But Eph was there, close at hand, consumed by an unquenchable desire to go, too. Nor was he wholly convinced that he wouldn't.

Outside, at one side of the shed, stood Lieutenant Jackson and the invited guests. On the other side were the members of the band.

On the platform deck, near the conning tower, were an outside steering wheel and the engine controls. Back of all were the funnels of the ventilators.

"Are you going to take the wheel, sir?" whispered Grant Andrews, to the inventor.

"I—I'm afraid I'm too nervous to," replied David Pollard, in an undertone. "You'd better take the wheel, Andrews."

So the foreman stationed himself there, for the craft might need guidance during the headway that the launching would give her.

Pollard turned to the yard's owner, to whisper imploringly:

"Better give the word and start things, Farnum. The suspense will floor me if it lasts much longer."

So Farnum gave tho first signal, and the workmen below began their last duties. In a twinkling it was known that something was wrong with one of the ways. Grant Andrews moved quickly away from the wheel to look below and give an order.

Jack Benson moved up to the wheel, that there might be someone there in case the "Pollard" made an unexpected leap into the water. In the confusion, just as one of the workmen below was about to remove the ladder, Eph Somers swiftly pushed it back against the hull, ascending almost on the run to the platform deck, where he stood pointing out to Andrews the cause of the trouble below. As he did so, Eph slyly but authoritatively signaled to the men to remove the ladder, which was done. Eph Somers had won his wish. He was aboard—safe unless someone discovered him at the last second and threw him over.

Now, with a fearful clattering, the last supports of the substructure were knocked away by lustily wielded sledge-hammers.

The leader of the band, accustomed to launchings, held his baton aloft.

At the downward stroke of that implement the band would crash out into "See, the Conquering Hero Comes!"

In the midst of the clatter another gang of workmen, at a silent signal, began to push against the hull on either side.

Hats off, the men among the guests began to cheer, the women to wave handkerchiefs.

Farnum was the coolest of all, now. As the "Pollard" might sink to the bottom of the harbor, no woman was aboard to do the christening.

Instead, the yard owner clutched the bottle, ready to smash it over the forward rail of the platform deck.

A creak, a yell, and the "Pollard" started. How the cheering redoubled and made the shed's rafters shake. Lieutenant Jackson, of the Navy, tried to look unconcerned, but he couldn't, wholly. A launching of any kind of important craft is a mighty exciting thing.

Jack's hands took firm clutch on the steering wheel. He was throbbing from head to foot.

Another creak! The "Pollard" began to move in good earnest. All on the platform deck felt the exhilarating thrill of motion.

Down came the baton, the band crashed out, its music almost drowned by the frantic cheers of the beholders. Down off the ways shot the submarine torpedo boat. Oh, the glory of it!

There was a gigantic splash. Everyone on the platform deck was, drenched, yet holding on and happy. For many rods out over the waters, Jack steering straight and true, the boat dashed, then slowly stopped.

The "Pollard" was launched—for what adventures, what fate?

X. Under Water, Where Men's Nerves Are Tried

After that first stop, after that first feeling of exhilaration was over, the anxious thought of all on the platform deck was:

"Is there any fault in her construction? Is she going to sink?"

Not that any of these six human beings would have been in much danger, for all were where they could free themselves and swim.

It was the defeat of months of hopes that would have been terrible.

A few moments of tension, then David Pollard's gaze lighted on Eph Somers, unconcernedly smiling.

"Hullo!" muttered the inventor. "How do you happen on board?"

"Me?" grinned Eph. "Why, you see, I'm the mascot."

But Jack Benson, fearful that, under the strain, something unpleasant might be said to his newly-found friend, asked, quietly:

"Going to drop the anchor?"

Grant Andrews, Hal and Eph quickly attended to this.

The flag at the short pole had become wrapped around its short staff.

Jacob Farnum noted this just in time and hastily shook it out, for the band had suddenly begun to play "The Star Spangled Banner," and on shore the crowd was hushed, hats off and at attention. On board the submarine hats were quickly doffed, all turning with reverent gaze toward the Flag!

For a long time the crowd on shore remained, staring with fascinated gaze at the craft from which wonders were expected. Presently a small boat put off from shore. Mr. Farnum and Mr. Pollard were taken off and went ashore to talk over matters with Lieutenant Jackson.

The "Pollard" now sat jauntily on the water. Only the upper two feet of her oddly-shaped hull were out of water, neither the bow nor stern showing. In rough weather the platform deck would be a wet place, indeed; but now, with little wind, and the water only slightly rippling, the deck was drying rapidly under the glare of the hot summer sun.

"I guess we might as well go below and get on dry clothing," hinted Grant Andrews.

"Is there any such thing aboard?" queried Jack, in surprise.

"Yes, thanks to Mr. Farnum's thoughtfulness. Come on; I'll show you."

So the four piled below, and, in one of the state-rooms aft, Andrews pointed to a goodly store of clothing, much more than would be needed for the present, and of different sizes, even to shoes. There were also rough bath towels with which to rub down dry.

"I wonder do I come in on these?" murmured Eph, doubtfully.

"Well, since nothing has been said to the contrary," laughed Andrews, quietly, "I think I'd be brave enough to try it. You're surely as wet as any of us."

The four were quickly in undershirts and linen. But the outer suits made the boys wonder a bit. These suits were dark blue uniforms, the coats braided, and the front buttons hidden by another band of braid.

The caps were of visored naval pattern.

"Say," asked Eph, looking about him, "I'm only a common sailor, at most.

Ain't there any common sailor togs lying about?"

"I don't know where," smiled Andrews. "I judge, from the togs, that we're all to be captains."

So Eph, with a comical sigh, fitted himself to a uniform and donned it.

"Maybe I'll have a chance to strut about in this for an hour, until the owner comes aboard and throws me into the water, after stripping me," murmured Eph, wistfully.

Then, as young Somers caught a glimpse of himself in one of the state-room mirrors, he stood up unaccountably straight, inflating his chest and bulging it out.

They had to go up on deck again. It all seemed so much like a dream that all hands wanted to get up where they could stare at the hull, the water and at anything else that could make them realize that the "Pollard" was launched and they were aboard.

A boat-load of men soon put out.

"They're special workmen, coming to finish up on the air-compressors," explained Grant Andrews. "We have nothing to do with their work. All we've got to do is to take things easily for the present."

"I'm going to get busy, if they'll let me help at anything," declared Eph. "When the two bosses come aboard I'm mighty anxious to have them think I look natural here."

"Are you going to try to join the crew, Eph?" asked Jack, in an undertone.

"Well, I'm not going to be put ashore, except by force," declared young Somers, wistfully. "I've been dreaming about this old boat for three months back. Say, I'd give anything I had, even if it was a lot, to stay aboard this craft for good and all."

"I know how you feel," nodded Jack Benson. "And I don't blame you.

It's going to be a grand old life, and, Eph, I hope you're to be in it."

As soon as the special workmen were aboard Eph followed them below. He hung about until he saw a chance to help, then joined in the work. He was as industrious as the proverbial beaver when Messrs. Farnum and Pollard at last came aboard and went below.

"Hm! Does that new boy figure that he belongs aboard with us?" asked David Pollard, of Jack, when the pair came on deck again.

"He's frightfully anxious to be of the crew, sir," Benson answered.

"And he seems like a splendid fellow."

"We might as well let him stay aboard, Dave," proposed Mr. Farnum. "He's a good, straightforward young chap, and comes of good water stock. I know what it is to be a youngster and to have ambitions."

"All right, then," nodded the inventor. "Let him stay. I dare say we can use his time."

"May I, as a great favor, go below and tell him he may stay?" asked Jack, eagerly.

"Why, you seem to take a personal interest in young Somers," laughed the yard's owner.

"I do. And he was useful in your interests this morning, Mr. Farnum."

"Run along and tell him, then," nodded the yard's owner.

When Eph heard the news he stopped work long enough to dance an exultant jig on the cabin floor.

"Oh, Jack Benson, if ever you want a favor—a great, big one, with trimmings—come to me!" begged young Somers, imploringly as soon as he caught his breath again.

Then, to keep his rising spirits down, Eph returned, to work as soberly as he could.

Later Grant Andrews, with Eph's help, cooked a meal at the galley fire, and this all hands ate while the special workmen kept at their task.

When they were on deck again Mr. Pollard said, in a low voice:

"Boys, I may as well tell you what Mr. Andrews already knows. Work on the interior of this boat is much further along than we've allowed to leak out. In fact, when the men below finish with the air-compressors, in a few hours, we're all ready to put out to sea on a stealthy trial trip of our own."

"Wow!" sputtered Eph, enthusiastically.

"Now," continued Mr. Pollard, earnestly, "of course we believe most thoroughly in this boat, but, until the actual trial is made, we don't know how she'll behave. If any of you feel like backing out, why, go ashore before we start, but keep your tongues behind your teeth."

"Reminds me of what my Dad once did in the hen-yard," remarked Eph, in a low voice. "He went out with a couple of quarts of corn, looked at the hens, and said: 'Now, biddies, I'm going to toss your supper down. But any of you critters that want can go in and roost for the night before I do it.'"

"Well?" asked David Pollard, a bit puzzled.

"Would you believe it?" asked Eph, with a comical twist of his mouth,

"Every blessed hen stayed. Fact, sir!"

Just before dark the special workmen went ashore. Again Andrews and Eph prepared a meal, which was eaten.

Then followed a restless two hours, waiting until the town was asleep, for the gasoline tanks were filled, and all was ready for the first turn of the drive-wheel below.

It was after half-past ten when Pollard at last said:

"Go below and get the gasoline engines started, Andrews."

The boys followed him below to watch the work. Messrs. Farnum and Pollard, too, were soon below, for they wanted to observe the work of the air compressors and the dynamos. The work had to be started by lantern light, but, within ten minutes, it was possible to turn on electric lights below.

"Everything is working as perfectly as though the boat had been in commission a year," remarked the inventor, hoarsely. His suspense was almost painful to watch.

"Everything is all ready for a start, isn't it. Andrews?" inquired Mr. Farnum.

"Everything appears to be, sir, so far as the power's concerned," replied Andrews. "But I'm going to stay by the engine. I want to be on hand to watch whatever might happen."

Power was applied to raise the anchor.

"You take the wheel, Benson, since you had it during the launching," said the yard's owner. "Somers, stand by on deck. Hastings, you go below and stand with Mr. Andrews."

"Give the go-ahead at slow speed," directed David Pollard, nervously.

So Jack gave the speed wheel a small turn, then rested both hands on the steering wheel. Without an unnecessary sound, and with no outer lights showing, as yet, the "Pollard" was headed for the mouth of the little harbor, Mr. Farnum standing by as pilot.

Just as they passed out on to the edge of the ocean Farnum himself turned on the electric sailing lights.

"She rides the water easily," remarked Pollard, almost in a whisper. "I wonder how she can go at speed?"

"We'll find out, now we've got clear seaway ahead," replied Mr. Farnum.

"Benson, turn on a few miles more."

Quickly obeying the impulse of her twin-propellers, the "Pollard." began to dance over the waves.

"Say, but she's the fine, light-riding boat!" cried the builder, joyously.

"Just as I thought she would be. Give her more speed, Benson."

So the speed was turned on, more and more. The "Pollard," as far as those aboard, could see, had the whole of that part of the ocean to herself. She was still headed due east, and was moving at last at the rate of seventeen of the twenty-one miles an hour of which she was believed to be capable.

Even at this rapid gait the semi-immersed "Pollard" rode splendidly, with hardly any vibration noticeable.

As he watched, instead of feeling the thrill of triumph that influenced the crew, David Pollard's face was whitening with anxiety. His face, almost ghastly in its look, was deeply furrowed.

"We're doing well enough on top of the water," he muttered, hoarsely, at last, to the builder. "But will the boat dive? How will she run under water? I must—know!"

"Good enough! We'll soon know, then," replied Jacob Farnum. He passed the word for Andrews, who came on deck. The ventilators were quickly shipped. Jack Benson shifted to the steersman's seat inside the conning tower. Sailing lights were turned off; the manhole cover was battened down securely. They were dependent, now, on the air-compressing equipment whenever the air aboard became unfit to breathe.

Wedged on either side of Jack Benson in that little conning tower stood the builder and the inventor.

"You attend to the first submerging, Farnum," begged the inventor.

"I—I'm afraid I'm too nervous."

The gasoline motor had just been shut off, the submarine now running at less speed under power from the electric motor.

Handling the controls in the conning tower, Mr. Farnum, not without a swift, shooting thrill of dread, opened the sea-valves to the water tanks. As the tanks filled the "Pollard" settled lower and lower in the water. They were beginning to go down. All who were aboard felt the keen, apprehensive quiver of the thing, shut in, as they were, as though soldered inside a huge metal can.

The platform deck was quickly level with the water's surface, though Jacob Farnum was not rushing things. Then the deck outside, as shown by the steady glow of the lights in the conning tower, went out of sight, the water rising around the tower.

They continued slowly to sink until the top of the conning tower was less than three feet above the waves.

"Now, just a little dive!" pleaded David Pollard. "Oh, merciful heaven!"

"Pass the word to brace yourselves for the dive!" bawled Mr. Farnum below, and Eph, stationed at the bottom of the spiral stairway, yelled the word to the engine room.

Now, the sea-valves of the forward diving tanks were opened. As the water rushed into them, changing the balance of the boat, the bow shot downward, making it difficult for all to keep their footing. It was as though they were sliding down an inclined plane.

Another lurch, and down they shot under the water, where men's nerves may well be tried!

XI. The Try-Out In the Depths

Pollard clutched at the stairway railing with both hands, his face hard-set, his eyes staring.

He was not afraid. In that supreme moment he could not know physical fear. It was the inventor's dread of failure that possessed him.

Jacob Farnum stood as one fascinated as he felt the boat plunging into the depths.

"Aren't you going to put us on an even keel, sir?" Jack called.

The warning was needful. In the exhilaration of that plunge Farnum was in danger of forgetting.

In a twinkling, now, however, he threw open the sea-valves of other tanks, amidships and aft, until the gauge showed that they were running on an even keel and forty feet below the surface. Their speed was now about five miles an hour, but could be increased.

Gradually, the ghastly lines on David Pollard's cheeks began to soften.

His eyes gleamed.

"There's nothing wrong! We can run anywhere!" he shouted.

Yet there was something of hysteria in his voice. Nor was it long before the others began to feel themselves similarly affected.

It was an eerie feeling that all hands had, running along like this, blind and guessing, in the depths. Pollard was the only one aboard who had ever been below before in a submarine boat. Though the rest had faced the chances coolly enough, they now began to feel the strain.

Even when it is broad daylight on the surface, with the sun shining brightly, the submarine boat, when a few fathoms below, is simply a blinded, groping monster. There is no way of illuming the depths of the ocean. Naval officers have suggested the placing of a powerful electric light at the bow of the submarine craft, but, when tried, it has been found quite useless. The light will not project far enough ahead, through the dense water, to do any more than make the surrounding darkness all the more trying to brave men's nerves.

"Take the wheel, Dave; it will steady you to have something to do," spoke the builder to the inventor. "As soon as you get the wheel, turn the course to due south. Follow it to the line."

Jack Benson slid out of the helmsman's seat, giving way to the inventor, and stepped down the stairway.

At the foot he came upon Eph and Hal, standing there, their faces presenting a strange look.

"How do you find it?" asked Benson.

"Startling," replied Hal Hastings.

"Yet nothing is happening to us," contended Eph Somers, somewhat shaky in his tones. "It's just thinking what might happen—if we were to strike a water-logged old hull of some vessel, say."

"Or collide with a blue-fish," suggested Hal, with a short, nervous laugh.

"I suppose we'll be used to this, after a few more trips," laughed Jack, with an effort.

"Are you scared, too?" asked Eph, keenly.

"Well, I can't say I feel wholly comfortable," admitted Jack Benson, candidly.

"Then you're sitting down on your fears pretty well," declared young Hastings, with an admiring look at his chum.

"We've got to," returned Jack, stoutly. "If we're to go into the submarine boat line we've got to learn to look as though we liked anything under water."

"Let's take a look-in and see how Andrews likes it," proposed Eph.

Peeping through the door of the engine room they beheld the man there sitting bolt-upright on one of the leather-cushioned seats, staring hard at the wall opposite. He turned his head, however, as soon as he became aware of the presence of the submarine boys.

"Rather creepy, ain't it?" hailed Grant, his voice not as steady as usual.

"Think you're going to learn to like it?" demanded Benson.

"Well, I may get so I'll think this sort of thing the greatest going," drawled Andrews, "but I'm afraid a good, soft bed on land will always be a close second for me."

"Wonder how far the bosses are going to run under water?" pondered Eph, sliding into the engine room and seating himself on the cushion opposite Andrews.

"Till they've tried the boat out all they want to under water, I guess," ventured Jack.

"I'll slip back, so I can pass any order that may come," proposed Hal, who, truth to tell, felt an undefinable something that made him too restless to like the idea of sitting down.

As the "Pollard" continued to glide along, almost without perceptible motion at that depth, these members of the crew became somewhat accustomed to the feeling. They began to have a new notion, though, that they would take it all much more easily after they had once seen proof of the new craft's ability to rise.

"Say, I wonder if it would be too fresh of me to ask Mr. Farnum when he means to try the rising stunt?" wondered Eph, aloud.

Grant Andrews looked up with interest, then shook his head.

"Better not," he advised. "We knew what we were coming to, and took all the chances. Now, we'd better keep quiet. Any nervousness might bother Mr. Pollard or Mr. Farnum."

"Well, she's a dandy boat, anyway," declared Eph, a bit jerkily. "So far, she's done everything she's been told to. So I reckon she can rise when the time comes."

"Who's below?" cried Mr. Farnum.

"Hastings, sir," Hal answered.

"Tell the crew we're going to run below the surface until the air becomes noticeably bad. We want to test out the compressed-air devices for purifying the atmosphere."

So Hal stepped forward with the message.

"Don't you think the air begins to smell queer already?" demanded Eph, looking up. "I'm willing to have some compressed air turned on right now."

The others laughed, which was all they could do. Jack Benson, of them all, probably, was getting most rapidly over the first bad touch of "submarine fright." He was now almost as well satisfied as he would have been on the porch of the little hotel at Dunhaven. Only he was anxious to know just how the boat would behave when it became time to rise. That was all.

"How would you feel if we were running along like this, bent on driving a torpedo against the hull of a big battleship?" questioned Eph.

"Curious," Jack answered.

"What about?"

"Wondering if we were going to succeed in the job."

"Put it another way," laughed Grant Andrews, shortly. "How would you feel about being aboard a battleship in wartime, and suspecting that a boat like this was nosing down in the water after you?"

Jack Benson made a little grimace.

"Serious business, this fighting on the ocean, isn't it?" he replied.

"It's stranger to think about than it is to be doing it," replied Andrews, musingly. "I know. I was in the war with Spain."

"How did you feel?" asked Eph, quickly.

"Tired, most of the time," replied Andrews. "Sick some of the time, and hungry the rest."

"But about being scared?" insisted Eph.

"I was kept too busy, generally, to have any time to give to being scared. I was a soldier, and a soldier is a good deal like any other workman. He does his work by habit, and soon gets over thinking much about it."

There was a long pause, broken by Eph, saying:

"I wonder when they're going to let the boat rise?"

"When they're going to try to make it rise, you mean," corrected Jack Benson.

"Same thing, I hope," muttered Eph Somers.

After some minutes more Jacob Farnum stepped down below.

"Why, it looks cozy here at night, doesn't it?" he called.

At sound of his voice the boys stepped out of the engine room into the cabin.

"Mighty comfortable sort of place," continued the yard's owner, looking around him. "We'll have to put in some books, won't we, so you young men can read when you're doing nothing under water?"

"Maybe the time will come when we can read," laughed Hal. "Just now, sir, I'm afraid we're too busy with thinking and wondering."

"I'll confess to being a bit nervous myself," responded Mr. Farnum.

"Somehow, there's something uncanny about rushing through the depths of the ocean in this fashion, not having any idea what danger you may be close by."

"Such as running into the hull of some big liner that draws more than forty feet of water," hinted Jack.

"We're fifty-eight feet below, now," remarked Mr. Farnum. "You didn't guess that, did you? We sank eighteen feet more, on an even keel."

"Gracious! You meant those eighteen feet, didn't you? It wasn't accident?" gasped Eph.

"We meant it," smiled the builder. "But say, the air is getting a bit foul here, isn't it? We'll have to try the compressed air equipment, now."

By an ingenious mechanical contrivance the present air was forced, by compressed air draught, into compartments from which the bad air was expelled through sea-valves. An instant change for the better in the atmosphere was noted.

"That's another thing about this good old new craft of ours that works all right, so far," remarked the builder. "Boys, I'm beginning to have confidence that we're going to see the surface again all right. Hullo, there's Pollard hailing us."

"The air purified all right, didn't it?" called down the inventor.

"Yes; couldn't have been better," declared the builder heartily.

"Then I'm going to make the supreme test," came down from the man at the wheel. "We'll proceed to find out whether we can rise to the surface and stay there."

XII. The Discovery From the Conning Tower

"Go up slanting, or on an even keel?" called up Mr. Farnum.

"On the even keel," came the answer.

"All right, then; we'll know soon."

For this purpose the largest compressed air container of all was to be employed. It distributed great volumes of compressed air to all the water tanks, forcing open the valves and driving out the water.

"Any of you youngsters know where the proper wrench is?" inquired the builder, looking keenly at the boys.

There was an instant start, followed by widespread pallor.

"Oh, it's not right to keep you in torment," laughed the builder. "I have kept the wrench in my pocket, all along."

He drew it out, holding it up before their gaze. Though technically a wrench, it looked more like a very large key. It was of curious construction, intended to supply the greatest amount of force with the least amount of exertion.

"Watch me," commanded Jacob Farnum. "Any one of you may have to use this wrench at any time."

Little did any of them guess the tragedy that was destined to center around that life-saving wrench later on. Now, with the boys gathered about him, Mr. Farnum fitted the wrench with great care and deliberation.

"See how easily it's intended to turn?" asked the builder, giving it a slight turn.

All three of the boys nodded.

"Now, we'll give it more," continued Mr. Farnum. He swung the wrench well around in order to release compressed air with a rush and great force into the water tanks.

Then he stood there, waiting. There was no perceptible motion or other change that the boys could note about the boat.

"Wha—what makes it act so slowly?" asked Eph Somers, in a queer voice. "Or isn't it going to act?"

For some seconds more the four stood there looking at one another.

Andrews came to the doorway of the engine room, looking anxious.

"We've released a lot of compressed air," uttered Mr. Farnum. "More than half of the force in the receiver is gone."

A few seconds more passed. Then restless Eph sprang to the stairway.

"Mr. Pollard," he cried, nervously, "when on earth—under the sea, I mean—are we going up? What's wrong?"

"Going up?" called down the inventor. "This isn't an airship."

"When are we going to strike the surface?" Eph insisted.

"Why, we're awash already. Don't you notice I've just shut off the electric motor?"

That was true, although none of the quartette had yet realized that the propeller shafts were stilled.

"Awash, are we?" cried Eph, in an incredulous voice.

"If you can't believe it," replied David Pollard, calmly, "come up and see for yourself." Eph accepted that invitation with such alacrity that he tripped and barked his shins against one of the iron steps, but recovered and darted up in no time.

"Glory!" he shouted, jubilantly. "It's true. I can see the stars."

At that moment the bell rang for turning on the gasoline motor. Within a few seconds the big engines were throbbing. Again the propeller shafts began to turn. Now, all hands could feel the motion as the "Pollard" skimmed lazily along over the ocean's surfaces.

As Eph came down, Jack Benson stepped up, with a light heart, now that the submarine had responded to the last and most important of its tasks. He stood beside the wheel, ready to take it whenever Mr. Pollard should give it up.

Yes, indeed; there was the sky overhead. And, with this glimpse of heaven's arch Jack Benson found himself forever done with submarine fever in the matter of the ordinary risk and dreads.

As yet only the conning tower was out of water. The platform deck would not emerge until Mr. Farnum, below, employed much of the remaining compressed air for expelling the last gallons of sail water from the tanks.

"What's that off the starboard bow?" wondered Jack. "Stop, Mr. Pollard.

Reverse! I'm sure there's something over yonder worth stopping to look into."

David Pollard stopped the speed, then reversed sufficiently to correct the headway, although he replied:

"I don't see anything, Benson. You've been below so long that up here, in less light, you're a victim of shadows."

But Jack, who had snatched the marine glasses from the rack, and was using them, retorted:

"The shadows I see, Mr. Pollard, are human shadows, clinging to something in the water, and that something must be an overturned craft of some sort."

"Let me have the glasses," requested Mr. Pollard.

After taking a long look the inventor replied, excitedly:

"Benson, you're right. There are some human beings in distress over yonder. Thank heaven, we didn't go by them."

For the first time that night David Pollard turned on the powerful searchlight, projecting abroad, brilliant ray off the starboard bow.

The bottom of a hull about forty feet long, presumably that of a sloop, was what David Pollard now saw. Clinging to it were two men. One of them appeared to be middle-aged, the other much younger. The overturned boat was some three hundred yards distant.

"What have you stopped for? What's up?" called up Mr. Farnum.

"Wreck, sir. Two men in distress," Jack answered.

"We'll go close and contrive to take them off," announced the inventor.

Turning on slow speed, he swung the "Pollard's" prow about, making for the wreck.

"You youngsters had better get out on deck, with lines to heave," suggested Mr. Pollard. So Jack called up Hal and Eph. After Benson had stepped out on the platform deck Hal passed out three long, light lines.

Up to within a hundred feet of the wreck ran the submarine boat, then stopped, lying parallel with the capsized craft.

"Can you catch a line, if we throw it?" hailed Jack.

"Yes," came the answer. The voice was dull. There was no enthusiasm about it.

"They don't seem very glad to see us," muttered the submarine boy to the inventor, who had stepped out to the deck wheel. "I wonder if they're dazed and weak?"

Then to the wrecked ones Jack called:

"How long since you capsized?"

"Since just after sundown," replied the younger of the pair clinging to the hull. Again his voice was sulky.

"There's something queer about this," whispered Benson to Mr. Pollard.

"They don't seem a bit glad to be pulled off that hull. Besides, they must have been the worst sort of lubbers to capsize a boat in any breeze that has been blowing this day. I don't see how they managed it."

"Throw them a line," directed Mr. Farnum, who had just come out on deck.

Jack made the cast, doing it cleverly. The long, light rope lay across the overturned hull. But the younger man of the wet pair, in reaching for the line, pushed it off into the water.

"Clumsy!" muttered Jack, under his breath. "And look there! They have life preservers on. It must have been a leisurely capsizing to give them time for that."

"It does look queer," agreed Jacob Farnum.

Having rapidly hauled in the line, Jack made another cast.

"Try to get that," he shouted. Yet once more, in some unaccountable way, the younger man on the capsized boat managed to bungle so with the line that it went overboard into the water.

"I can put a stop to that," muttered Jack Benson, pulling off cap and coat and dropping them down through the manhole. "I'm going to swim over there. When I get there, Hal, throw me a line."

With that the young submarine boy stepped over the rail, poised his hands at the side and dived. An excellent swimmer, it was not long before he touched the overturned hull. Neither of those whom he sought to rescue offered him a hand. But Jack climbed up out of the water, seated himself on the keel between the strange pair, and stared hard at them, each in turn.

The older man appeared to be about fifty years of age. He wore a closely-cropped beard that had in it a sprinkling of gray. The younger man, who appeared to be about twenty-five years of age, was smooth-faced and sulky-looking. Both were dressed well, and looked like people of means. Jack guessed that they must be father and son.

"Well, have you got through looking at us?" demanded the younger man.

"I guess so," nodded Benson. "I was thinking that your boat must have taken several minutes in doing the capsizing trick. You both had time to adjust life-preservers nicely, and you, sir," turning to the older man, "must have found time to pack the satchel that you're holding so carefully."

The older man's jaw dropped. He looked haggard. But the younger one demanded, fiercely:

"Is all this any of your business?"

"Not a bit," admitted Jack Benson. "All I'm here to do is to rescue you, or help in it."

"Humph!" grunted the younger man.

"Heave a line, Hal!" shouted the submarine boy, signaling with one hand. "Drive it straight. I'll get it."

Swish! Whirr—rr! It was a splendid cast. As Jack leaped to his feet the slender rope fell over one shoulder. Benson caught it with both hands.

"I'll help you," called the younger stranger with startling suddenness, reaching forward. He grabbed at the submarine boy. The next instant Jack Benson lost his footing on that wet, slippery sloop bottom. He pitched, threw up his hands in an effort to regain his balance, then toppled, disappearing beneath the waves.

"They're trying to drown Jack!" rang Hal Hastings's excited voice.

"That was a deliberate trick!"

XIII. A High-Sea Mystery

Splash! Without a word as to his intentions Hal Hastings went overboard.

His head showed above the waves almost immediately, as he swam toward that other craft of mystery.

Jack Benson did not immediately reappear. When he did come up, it was under the over turned hull. He was obliged to make a half-dive in order to come out and up in the open.

By the time he did appear, his chum was close to him.

"Hurt?" hailed Hal.

"Not a bit," responded Jack, after blowing out a mouthful of water.

"Then climb aboard with me, and see what these prize lunatics mean by their behavior," requested Hal, not caring who heard him.

The sulky young man made no effort to oppose their boarding the hull.

Probably he feared to make too plain an opposition, with that dark-hulled, sombre, ugly-looking submarine torpedo boat lying so close at hand.

"Now, heave us a line, Eph!" hailed Hal. The line came, and was caught.

Hal slipped over the further side with it, vanishing under water long enough to make it fast to one of the submerged cleats of the sloop's rail.

"That will hold," he reported, clambering back on to the bottom of the sloop. "Now, sir," turning to the older man, "since you have a life preserver on, you can easily get over to the submarine boat by holding to the line and pulling yourself along."

"I'm afraid I can't get across and keep my satchel," whined the older man, nervously.

"I'll take that and swim over with it," proposed Hal, briskly, reaching out his hand for the bag.

"Oh, no, no!" protested the man. "I'd sooner stay here. The satchel doesn't go out of my hands."

"Better take to the water, father, and do the best you can," advised the younger man in a growl. "These fellows belong to the United States Navy, and they're determined to rescue us. Trust yourself to the water, and I'll keep along with you. These people will take us by force if we refuse any further."

If mistaking the crew of the "Pollard" for members of the United States Navy would make matters move any more quickly, there was no need to disabuse the mind of either of these queer men. But Jack and Hal gave each other a queer, amused look.

The old man took to the water, without difficulty. Buoyed up by his life preserver, he was able to hold to his satchel with one hand, pulling himself along the slightly sagging rope with the other. His son swam along lazily beside him, Eph, outside the rail, but holding to it with one hand, employed his other in helping the father and son up to the deck. When this had been accomplished, Hal threw off the line, after which he and Jack swam back. Eph drew them up to the platform deck.

"Go down below, and hear their account of themselves, if you want to," said David Pollard, leaning against the wheel. "For myself, I'm sick of that pair already."

Jack and Hal had quite enough boyish curiosity to go below. Eph soon followed. The father, dripping wet and still clutching his satchel with one hand, sat on one of the long seats of the cabin, while the son, scowling, paced back and forth.

"It seems to me that I know you," Farnum was saying, to the elder man.

"I—I am very sure you don't," replied the one addressed, uneasily.

"Don't you know who I am?" pursued the boat-builder.

"N-no; I'm very certain I don't."

"Let's see. Did you ever hear of a man named Arthur Miller, of Sebogue?"

The elder man started, paling a trifle. The younger man stopped his walk, his face settling into a black scowl.

"No-o; I don't know Arthur Miller," replied the older man; with an effort.

"Queer," mused Mr. Farnum. "It just came to me that you were Mr. Miller. However, of course you know best about that."

"Thank you," nodded the older man, with an attempt at a smile. "I started to tell you that my son started out late this afternoon, in the sloop that lies overturned yonder, intending to put me aboard the yacht of friends who are passing down the coast. I have most pressing business with those friends. The business is to be finished on the coming trip. It seems that our friends are late; still, I know they must be on their way down the coast."

"As they haven't shown up, at least, not close enough," proposed Jacob Farnum, "we'll put you ashore at Dunhaven, and doubtless you can catch up with your friends in some way."

"Dunhaven? Then you must be Mr. Farnum," cried the older man, eagerly.

"This must be the torpedo boat you were building. And these young men belong to the Navy? Midshipmen, no doubt?"

"There are no Navy men on board," replied the builder. "These young men are my employes. But we are losing time drifting about on the high seas. We will put back to Dunhaven, and you can tell us your story, if you choose, on the way."

"But my father does not care to go ashore," interposed the son. "It is vitally important to him that he find the schooner and join his friends aboard. In fact, I may add that a very considerable sum in the way of a profitable business deal depends upon his going aboard the schooner."

"But as that craft isn't here, how can we put your father aboard?"

Mr. Farnum asked.

"We are right in the path that is to be taken by our friends' yacht," replied the son. "Since this is not a naval vessel, and you are not under Government orders, I take it you can as well wait here for two or three hours, if need be. My father will pay suitably for your time, and the service, if you will consent to wait until the yacht appears."

"I do not need any pay for extending the ordinary courtesies of the sea to those who have suffered wreck," replied Mr. Farnum, a bit stiffly.

"Whether you take pay or not, sir, will you wait and put my father aboard the yacht?" demanded the son eagerly. "A vast interest, believe me, sir, is at stake."

"Oh, there is a very great stake in this," cried the older man, tremulously. "I appeal to you, Mr. Farnum, since that is your name, to help me out in this. And, if you will accept handsome compensation, I shall be very glad to offer it."

David Pollard, who had heard some of this talk through the open manhole as he lounged by the wheel, now called down to report: "There's some kind of a craft on the northern horizon throwing up searchlight signals."

"That's our friends' yacht—it must be!" proclaimed the young man, darting forward and resting one hand on the rail of the spiral stairway.

"Now, you see, if you will be good to us, we shall not very long trespass on your patience."

"A schooner—a sailing craft—equipped with a searchlight?" asked Jack, wonderingly.

The son flashed upon the submarine boy a look in which there was something of a scowl, but he explained quickly:

"The boat has auxiliary power, and a complete electric light plant. Mr. Farnum, you'll steam toward that searchlight, won't you? I tell you, I am positive it is the boat of our friends."

"Well, I'll put you where you want to be, of course," agreed the boatbuilder, though he spoke with some reluctance, for he realized that some great mystery underlay this whole affair.

"Come up, Benson, and take the wheel," called Mr. Pollard. So Jack went up and out on the deck, Eph following him, while Hal went to the engine room to watch more of Grant Andrews' work there. Jack threw on the speed wheel, then steered north, while Eph threw the searchlight skyward in the path of the approaching vessel.

Within fifteen minutes the two craft were in sight of each other.

Five minutes later they were within hailing distance. The other craft was a schooner of some eighty or ninety tons, and was using an auxiliary gasoline engine.

It was Jack who sounded a signal on the auto whistle for the other craft to lay to. Then Benson steered in closer, the two who had been rescued standing not far from him on the platform deck. The older man still clutched his satchel.

"Submarine, ahoy!" came a hail from the schooner's deck. "Is that you, Mr. Miller?"

"Ye-es," hesitatingly admitted the older man, at which Jacob Farnum smiled grimly, though he said nothing. "Put off a boat and send it alongside, will you?"

In a trice a boat was lowered from the schooner. Manned by two sailors and steered by a deck officer, the boat came alongside the sloping hull of the torpedo boat.

"You weren't expected in such a craft as this, Mr. Miller," called the deck officer in the stern of the small boat, touching his cap.

"Never mind any conversation, my man," broke in young Miller, testily.

"Lay right alongside, and help get my father into your boat."

Hal and Eph helped in piloting Mr. Miller over the side and getting him into the boat alongside. Immediately afterwards the younger man jumped into the small boat.

"Oh, you're going with your father, are you?" hailed Mr. Farnum.

"Yes," replied the son, coolly, though with another scowl. "A thousand thanks for your kindness to us. Good-bye!"

The small boat put off, making rapidly for the schooner.

"Well, full speed ahead for Dunhaven," muttered Jacob Farnum. "But that's the queerest crowd I ever ran into. It's uncanny, all the way through. Somehow, I can't shake off the impression that I've been engaged in some stealthy or nasty work."

The run back to port was without incident, the submarine behaving perfectly on the surface. Indeed, all aboard were highly delighted with the new boat. Jack was still at the wheel as they glided into the little harbor. Anchor was dropped and power shut off for the night.

"You three boys may as well stay aboard for the night," suggested Mr. Farnum, as the night watchman of the yard appeared, coming out in a row-boat. "In fact, you may as well live aboard, and use the pantry and galley for all your meals."

"Shall we keep watch through the night, sir?" asked Jack.

"No need. Let the yard watchman do that. It isn't far from daylight.

Get yourselves some coffee in the galley, have a good rub-down, spread your clothing to dry, and turn in in the state-rooms."

Grant Andrews went ashore with the builder and the inventor. The first thing the submarine boys did was to start coffee in the galley.

Next they rubbed down, got into dry underclothing, then sat down over their coffee.

For some minutes they discussed the mystery of the night, making all manner of guesses. At last, however, they lay down in the berths of the state-rooms, and were soon sound asleep.

Nor did any of them wake until Jack opened his eyes in the forenoon, when he heard someone coming down the spiral stairway.

"You boys awake?" bellowed the wrathful voice of Mr. Farnum. Instantly, almost, two state-room doors were yanked open, while the builder went on:

"Oh, that was a fine trick that was played on us last night. As soon as I opened my eyes this morning I telephoned to Sebogue. I got the whole story. Arthur Miller is a defaulter to the tune of a very large fortune. He must have had the cash in that satchel. And he made us tools of his! Made us aid him in his flight, and put him beyond the reach of the law! Oh, if I should ever get my hands on that rascal again!"

It was plain that the boatbuilder was angry all the way through. He stamped in a temper. As quickly as the boys could get on their clothing they came out to hear the rest of the story.

"Arthur Miller," resumed Mr. Farnum, angrily, "was supposed to be a rich man, and at one time no doubt he was. But he got into speculation.

He was guardian of the fortune of his orphaned niece, Grace Desmond, a very sweet girl whom I've seen. Miller must have lost some of her fortune in his mad speculations. At any rate, he tried fearfully hard to marry his son, Fred, to her. I suppose he felt that if Miss Desmond became his daughter-in-law she couldn't very well prosecute her faithless guardian. But Miss Desmond, who will be of age in a few days, would have none of her Cousin Fred for a husband. She must have suspected much, too, for she had engaged lawyers and accountants to go over the state of her affairs. The whole party were at the house yesterday, when Miller and his son slipped out and got away in the son's sloop. It is believed that Arthur Miller converted all the rest of his niece's fortune into cash, and arranged with the schooner to pick him up in the night."

"Then I think I understand, sir," broke in Jack, quietly, "how that sloop came to capsize. I couldn't understand that before. But the Millers, father and son, must have figured that the overturned sloop would be found, and that they would be believed to have drowned. That would shut off pursuit. So whichever of the pair is a good sailor—"

"That's the son, Fred," interposed Mr. Farnum.

"Then Fred Miller, after fixing life preservers on both of them, must have watched for his chance at a good puff of wind, close-hauled on the sheet and sent the boat over. That explains why they weren't very cordial with us last night. Our overhauling them prevented their being reported drowned accidentally."

"Oh, confound them! Drat them!" roared Mr. Farnum. "Making me, and the rest of us, accomplices of a dastardly defaulter. If I ever run afoul of that crowd again—if I ever get my hands on them—won't I make them smart for their trick!"

Nor were the submarine boys much less angry over the part they had all been made to play.

XIV. An Up-to-Date Revenge

In the days that followed, the need of work drove away thoughts of the trick played by the Millers.

Trip after trip was made out to sea, and under the sea, in the "Pollard."

That fine little craft was tested under every condition that could be imagined, except that, of course, no torpedoes were fired through her business-like bow tube. The firing of torpedoes at sea belonged to the Navy exclusively. Such a test could not be made by a civilian trial crew.

By degrees the submarine boys outgrew every trace of dread at finding themselves well under the surface of the sea. Their confidence in the abilities of the "Pollard" made them daring to the point of recklessness.

Just once the boys did have strong occasion to remember the Millers.

That was when they were ashore one night. Grace Desmond, the despoiled heiress, who, as events proved, was left without a dollar of her own, came to Dunhaven to live with friends until she could plan what she was to do to earn her living.

The three boys were walking, in uniform, with Mr. Farnum when that gentleman suddenly asked them, in low tones:

"Do you see that young lady in white, walking with the two old people, coming toward us?"

"Yes," Jack answered.

"That's Miss Desmond. I feel like going into a rage every time I see that poor girl. She was heiress to eight hundred thousand dollars. The lawyers believe that Arthur Miller carried off than half a million in cash belonging to Miss Desmond. And we helped start him on his journey.

Confound the rascal!"

Grace Desmond was a beautiful girl, above medium height, slender and dark. The simple white gown that she wore displayed her beauty at its best. Despite her fearful loss, when the boys first caught sight of her, she was smiling cheerily as she chatted with her elderly friends.

Mr. Farnum and his young friends came to a street corner just before they encountered Miss Desmond and her companions. The builder would have turned down the side street, but Miss Desmond called to him. So he was obliged to lift his hat and stand waiting until the girl reached him.

"I want just a word with you, Mr. Farnum," began Miss Desmond. "It has come to me that you are very much upset over having helped my uncle to escape. I want to tell you how foolish it is for you to be unhappy about it. You weren't in the least to blame. You did what any other good-natured man would have done under the circumstances. The only ones who can be blamed for any part in the affair are the two men from whom I had a right to expect the most considerate treatment. But as for you, Mr. Farnum, I beg that you will give my misfortune no further thought."

"That would be impossible," protested the builder.

"At least, never allow a thought of self-blame to creep in again.

Please don't," she added, appealingly. Then, as though to change the subject abruptly, she inquired:

"Are these the young men who handle the 'Pollard?' Present them to me, please."

The boys were introduced, also, to Mr. and Mrs. Scott, the elderly couple.

"Some time, Mr. Farnum, if it could be arranged, I wish very much that you would invite us to take a short trip aboard the submarine boat.

It will be the only chance of the kind we'll ever have."

"I certainly shall invite you," replied the builder. "But," he added, bitterly, "going aboard the boat that played the strong part in your undoing will be the nearest you will ever come, I fear, to a trail of your missing money. Pardon me"—Mr. Farnum choked suddenly—"I can't think of that night with patience."

"And that is just what I want you to forget, please," begged the girl, softly. Then she added, with a laugh: "I'll call a trip on the 'Pollard' settlement in full for any claim you may think I have against you."

"I'll pay," groaned Farnum, "but it won't be settlement even in part."

When Miss Desmond and her friends had gone on again Farnum clenched his hands, muttering:

"The girl's kindness only makes my savage disgust with myself all the greater."

"Why, she's right in saying that you're not responsible in any way," urged Jack.

"Boys, if you ever happen up with that rascal, or his scowling son, and if you choke either one, and give him a sound beating, draw on me for a thousand dollars. If you can ever do anything that leads to the recovery of Miss Desmond's money, draw on me for anything you please!"

Two days later the promise to give Miss Desmond a trip on the "Pollard" was kept. Mrs. Scott would not go, but her husband did. The girl even begged for a brief run under water, and stood it bravely, though with some pallor until she saw the sun once more shining in through the conning tower.

By the time that trip was over the submarine boys would have gone cheerily in the "Pollard?" through a sea of ink, blood or fire to serve the unfortunate young woman.

Very soon after that Miss Desmond plucked up sufficient courage to ask for the vacant position of typewriter in Mr. Farnum's office, and obtained it. She rapidly mastered the machine, and, in the meantime, gave all her spare time to the study of shorthand. She also learned to do much work on the books. Jacob Farnum would've made her post an easy one, but Grace Desmond insisted that she had her way to make in the world, and that she wanted to obtain a business training in the shortest time possible.

Although the "Pollard" went out every day, ever night she lay in the little harbor that formed the sea-board part of the yard. At her anchorage was a depth of seventy-five feet of water.

The three boys now lived wholly aboard, but it was dull there evenings, so after dark they spent much of the earlier hours of the night ashore.

"Going ashore with us to-night!" asked Hal, one evening, after the meal had been disposed of and the dishes washed and put away.

"Not to-night," replied Jack Benson, with a shake of his head. "I'm too much in earnest about wanting to know all about the handling of a submarine to waste all my leisure in fooling. See this book on mechanics? I'm going to stay aboard and study it to-night, and see how much of it I can get into my head."

"Good luck to you," laughed Eph. "If you succeed, maybe we'll stay on board to-morrow night and let you be schoolmaster. But this was pay-day, and the ice-cream soda up in the village fizzes good to me."

As soon as they had gone, Jack placed his book on the cabin table and drew up to it. Until dark he plodded through the pages, then turned on the electric light. Finding the book more difficult of comprehension than he had expected, he crouched over the volume, devoting his whole attention to the first few pages. Nine o'clock came and went.

Half-past nine went by. Had Benson heeded the time he would have concluded that his comrades had found village life unusually alluring to-night.

Through the dark, quiet boat yard prowled a man, pausing and listening every few steps, as though bent on trying to keep out of the sight of the night watchman.

It was Jack's old enemy, Josh Owen, who, so far, had cleverly kept out of the way of the officers seeking him.

In some way Josh had learned that the other two submarine boys were up in the village. The lights shining from the interior of the submarine proved that someone was aboard. Hence it must be Jack Benson.

Down at the water's edge lay the "Pollard's" rowboat tender. A final survey satisfied Josh Owen that the watchman was nowhere about. An instant later the former foreman was in the rowboat, handling the oars so quietly as to make hardly any sound. Two or three minutes later he was alongside the "Pollard," stealthily making the painter fast to the deck rail. Then, in his bare feet, Josh went softly up over the side.

At the manhole he crouched to peer below. He could not see the boy, but the shadow told him that Benson was sitting with his back to the stairway.

A gleam of insane wickedness in his eyes—for brooding had somewhat unbalanced the former foreman's mind—Josh Owen started softly down the stairway.

Fancying he heard some slight, unusual sound, Jack Benson turned. Too late! The powerful ex-foreman leaped, upon him, bearing the boy to the floor and holding him there helpless.

"You little sneak, I've waited for this time!" snarled Owen, hoarsely.

"But now—"

Josh rolled the boy over, yanked a pair of steel handcuffs from a rear pocket, and quickly, despite Benson's struggles snapped them onto the Submarine boy's wrists.

"Now, I've got ye!" he finished, his flaming eyes close to Jack's.

"For a little while," jeered Benson, as calmly as he could force himself to speak.

It was an unfortunate speech.

"Thank ye for warnin' me that the time's short," chuckled the brute.

With that he lifted the boy, bore him back to a stanchion, and swiftly tied him to it in a standing position.

"That's all but the last thing I've got to do," pursued Josh Owen, drawing back. "Boy, ye did yer worst for me, when ye had the chance.

And ye was the means of havin' Danny locked up. Mebbe Dan Jaggers did give me some sleepin' stuff, an' maybe he did worry my own share of the money from me; but, boy, ye never knew how much store I set by Danny in spite o' some things. And now, he's locked up tight, thanks to you, an' the constables are chasin' me from cover to cover, lookin' for me everywhere. Howsomever, this settles the account!"

Jack Benson's heart seemed to stop beating as he realized what the rage-crazed fellow was up to.

Josh Owen deftly handled the mechanism that opened the sea-valves to let water into the diving tanks.

"I'm turnin' the water in slow," he announced. "That'll give me time to git away. This is a divin' boat. Well, Dive in her!"

XV. The Courage That Rang True

In that first awful moment after he was left alone, Jack Benson's first feeling was that it must all be an unbelievable dream.

Yet he knew that it was not. In his frenzy he tugged at the handcuffs, fought with the cords that bound him to the stanchion, but all in vain.

The sea-valves had been opened only enough to let the water in slowly.

Almost at the outset, however, the keel slanted downward, for most of the water was coming into the tanks the bow of the boat.

"Help! Help, quick!" roared Benson at the top of his voice. The side ports were not open, but the manhole was, and the ventilators were in place. The submarine boy shouted in the hope that the night watchman might hear and reach the scene in time to effect a rescue.

The keel was still more slanting. At the instant when the diving tanks held water enough to overbalance the buoyancy of the craft the "Pollard" was bound to take a sudden lurch and go below.

Still fighting uselessly though frantically at the bonds that held him helpless in this terrible crisis, Jack also kept up his yells.

The watchman did not hear. He was not near enough. Josh Owen, having gained the shore and hauled the rowboat up, fled a short distance, then crouched in hiding, waiting to see the effects of his terrible deed.

Only one other person was in the yard. Grace Desmond, unknown to her employer, had come to the office in the evening, bent on posting up a set of books that were in her care.

She had finished her work, and was stepping out into the yard, adjusting her hat, when she heard one of those muffled appeals for help.

At the first sound she was not even sure of the word, but something in the faintly-heard accent claimed her attention. She stopped short, listening intently.

"Help! Aboard the submarine!"

This time, though the appeal seemed to come from a great distance, she distinguished the words.

"Something wrong with the diving boat, and someone aboard!" she thought, with a tugging throb at the heart. Turning, she sped down to the water's edge.

"Help! help! The boat is sinking, and I'm helpless aboard."

She could see the bow slanting forward in the water, and realized that all was wrong with the torpedo boat, and with some hapless human being aboard. In that instant Grace Desmond's courage rang true.

Espying the rowboat, she bounded into it, snatching up an oar and pushing off. At home on the water and skilled with oars, she pulled a strong, rapid stroke until she lay alongside the "Pollard."

"Keep cool. Help is coming!" called the girl, as she ran alongside.

She caught at the lower portion of the deck rail and drew herself up.

It was but an instant later when she went gliding down the spiral stairway.

Then, all in a flash, she caught sight of Jack Benson, lashed to the stanchion. She comprehended, also, that whoever had tied the boy in this fashion must have thrown the sea-valves partly open. That floor was fast becoming an unsteady platform.

"You turn on the compressed air with a wrench, don't you?" she demanded, swiftly.

"Yes," nodded the submarine boy. Then added, instantly:

"But you're a woman. These risks are not for you. Rush up through the manhole and escape. There may be time."

"Where's the wrench? Tell me quickly," commanded Grace Desmond. "I can turn on the air more quickly than I can set you free to do it."

"Yes," breathed the boy, rapidly, "because I'm manacled, anyway.

But save yourself, Miss Desmond."

"We must both go down if you don't tell me quickly where to find the wrench," cried the girl, stamping her foot with impatience.

Then Jack told her, only when he realized that she would not save herself at his expense. Fortunately, Josh Owen had overlooked securing that wrench and throwing it overboard. In another moment Miss Desmond had the implement.

"The forward compressor, first," Jack directed.

With a quick comprehension that asked only bare details, Miss Desmond fitted the wrench just where it should go.

"A hard turn forward," called Benson.

The girl gave the twist, as directed, as hard a turn as she could make.

To her horror she fancied the muscles of her wrist not quite equal to the need of that dread movement. The floor was slanting so that she was obliged to throw out her left hand to clutch at a support in order to hold herself up.

"Don't try it any longer. Get overboard, Miss Desmond, if there's yet time. In heaven's name do!" begged Jack, in a horrified tone. "I can stand going to the bottom if I don't have to drag you down with me.

Escape!"

"Not and leave a fellow human being here in your plight," retorted the girl quietly, though with sublime heroism.

"But you can't save me, anyway."

"Then I'll go down at my post, just as a man would," she retorted, throwing all her frantic strength into her task. How she blamed herself that her muscles were so weak!

"Please go! There may be time."

"I'm not thinking of that. Oh, for a man's strength!"

Jack's breath was bated. His dread for himself was forgotten now, as he watched the efforts of this splendid girl.

"We'll take the last plunge at any instant, now!" screamed Jack Benson.

"There may be time for you—"

"Then there'll be time for us both," came the undaunted answer. Grace Desmond did not turn her head as she spoke, but Jack, his intense gaze upon her, knew the light that was flashing in her eyes at this moment.

A sound above told the submarine boy the worst. The water was gently rippling against the edges of the platform deck. That told him, all to plainly, how near the diving boat was to doing the work for which it had been built.

Could Jack have been close enough to see just why Grace was failing in her effort he might have told her better just what to try to do.

Now, he tried to explain, rapidly. The fault was not with her strength; there was an exact knack needed in the use of the wrench.

On shore, in the yard, Josh Owen crouched low in his place of concealment. He had failed to prevent Grace from starting in the rowboat because, until it was too late, he did not believe the plucky young woman had any such intention.

"It's too bad for the gal to go to the bottom, too," half sighed the raging one. "But she shouldn't meddle."

Hal came swinging along down the street, having left Eph Somers behind in the village. Through the yard came young Hastings, whistling. By instinct he turned to look at the boat, and what he saw made him gasp, then leap forward in the start of a sprint.

Straight down to the harbor's edge he raced. Then, seeing the rowboat adrift, Hal, after one more look at the sinking submarine, leaped into the water without stopping even to shed jacket or cap.

Splash! In the same instant that he sprang, Josh Owen jumped up.

"Come back here, or ye'll wish ye had!" raged the ex-foreman.

Hal Hastings heard, though he did not even take the trouble to answer, but struck out frenziedly, for his chum's calls for help now rang in his ears.

There was the sound of a discharge, a sharp split of fire from a weapon that Owen held in his hand. A bullet struck the water just before Hal's nose, dashing the spray back in his face.

"Come back here, I tell ye!" raged the ex-foreman.

"Josh Owen's voice!" throbbed Hastings, but he swam on with the strongest strokes of which he was master. Then a succession of shots rang out.

Hal Hastings was in the gravest danger he had ever been in.

XVI. The Second Trick In the Nick of Time

Despite the whistle of lead, minding only the spray that dashed into his eyes, Hal Hastings swam on.

His one idea, at present, was to reach that submarine boat if it were within human power to do so ere the boat, now nearly all submerged, took the final plunge below the waves.

Grace Desmond did not quit her post, nor cease her heroic efforts to turn on the compressed air. Yet she added her shrill shrieks to Jack Benson's lusty yells for help.

The sounds of the shots from the shore gave them a momentary hope that help of some sort was really on its way.

"It's the last second or two, if you mean to save us!" yelled Jack, at the top of his voice.

Bang! bang! Josh Owen fired two more shots from his dangerous automatic revolver as Hal caught at the rail of the boat.

"The last chance to save us!" repeated Jack.

"I know it," came, breathlessly, as the dripping Hal dropped down the manhole. He did not even wait to make use of the stairs.

By a fortunate impulse Grace Desmond fell back as young Hastings appeared.

Hal's right hand shot out, gripping the wrench. The "Pollard" gave a surge that all aboard believed to be her final one.

Yet Hal hung to his post, resolved to go down trying.

There was a hiss of compressed air. The "Pollard" didn't quite make the death plunge. Then she seemed to go, ever so little, toward a more level keel.

"I—believe—I've got her!" cried Hal Hastings.

A moment or two later he felt sure of it. He gave a cheer to ease his pent-up feelings, then suddenly gasped:

"Jack, do you know how much compressed air there is?"

"No," replied Benson, blankly.

"Heaven grant there's enough for what we must do," prayed Hal, aloud.

There were two shots over in the yard just now. The three young people heard the discharges, though they paid no heed to them at this critical instant.

Slowly the "Pollard" continued to regain evenness of keel.

Then Hastings, shifting the wrench to another part of the compressed air apparatus, opened the sea-valves of the amidships water tanks to expel water.

Briefly, now, they knew that the "Pollard" had risen. Also, she was resting on an even keel. Hal, bedewed with cold perspiration, darted up the stairs to the conning tower. He looked out, and the first glance told him the "Pollard" was riding the water as she should.

"It's all right—now," he called down, with a strong effort at calmness.

"Jack, what on earth happened that you had to call for help!"

Then he caught sight of his chum, lashed to the stanchion. Hastings's mouth went wide agape with astonishment.

"Jack—how on earth—did Josh Owen—"

"Yes," nodded Benson, quickly. "This was his work. Get me free from this stanchion, won't you?"

Despite his elaborate effort at calmness Hal Hastings shook so that it was some seconds before he could get his knife from a pocket.

"Wait till I steady down," Hal muttered, grimly. "I'm afraid of stabbing you."

At last, however, Hastings controlled his right hand enough to feel safe in slashing the cords. Jack, weak-kneed, stepped away from the stanchion, though he was still handcuffed.

"Thanks, old fellow. That's enough for the moment," said Jack, whose face was still ashen gray. "Miss Desmond—"

Both boys wheeled together to speak to that splendid young woman. They paused with their lips open. Grace Desmond could not have heard them; she had fainted, lying inert across one of the seats.

"She's a brick—a wonder—clean grit," broke from Jack, softly, admiringly.

When Josh Owen saw Hal drop through the manhole, and then saw the submarine's dive arrested, he realized that it was time for instant flight. Yet, as he turned to dash away, he found himself confronting the muzzle of a revolver held by the night watchman, who had been outside the yard at a little distance, but whom Josh's firing had brought back on the run.

"Throw up your hands, Owen. You're my prisoner," said the watchman, crisply.

But the ex-foreman much preferred being shot to taken. Flourishing his weapon, he turned, making a dash for the street gate.

Then it was that the foreman fired the two shots heard by the young people on the "Pollard."

Both shots missed. Thereupon, the watchman lowered his weapon and dashed after the fugitive.

Eph Somers, coming down the street to go aboard, heard, the shots.

"Me for a high roost, if there's trouble," uttered Somers, dryly. He climbed the fence, close to the gate. An instant later Josh Owen darted out. As he passed, Eph, with a fine eye, measured the time, and dropped fairly a-straddle of the fleeing one's shoulders.

"Whoa, you big draft-horse!" chuckled Eph, holding on to Owen's head for grim life. Under the weight and the unexpected shock the ex-foreman sank to the sidewalk.

Had the night watchman continued the chase they would have had Josh Owen then and there. But the watchman, knowing that he was a poor sprinter, and that Josh was a fast one, turned, just inside the gate, to rush to the telephone and notify the constable.

So Josh, on his hands and knees, after he recovered from his first astonishment, found he had only Eph to fight. Young Somers was all grit when aroused, nor was he lacking in muscle. But he was no match for Josh. There was a brief, heated contest. Then Eph, dizzy from a blow in the chest that winded him, staggered back. Owen swiftly vanished in the darkness, but Eph, when he got to his feet again, clutched the empty revolver that he had twisted from Owen's hand.

So much racket of firearms on a still night had aroused many people.

It was not long before there was a crowd at the yard. Mr. Farnum was quickly on the scene. Soon after him came David Pollard.

The rowboat was recovered and those on the submarine brought ashore.

Grace Desmond's faint had been a short one; at the first dash of water in her face she had come out of her swoon. The handcuffs were quickly filed off Jack's wrists.

In the yard office as many persons as were admitted heard a tale that made them feel creepy.

"You splendid, brave girl!" cried Jacob Farnum, patting Miss Desmond's shoulder. Then he sent a man after a carriage to take the young woman to the home of her friends.

That night the yard's owner made announcement of a reward of one thousand dollars for Josh Owen's capture—dead or alive.

"That fellow has proved himself more dangerous than an ordinary lunatic, and he knows too much about submarine boats for my comfort. He's even capable, some dark night, of putting a mine under the 'Pollard' big enough to destroy her at anchorage."

"We'll have to keep deck watch through the night, then," proposed Jack Benson.

"Very well, Captain. I put you in command," smiled Mr. Farnum.

"I can keep a sharp lookout without the title of captain," responded the submarine boy.

"But you are going to be in charge of the boat—at least until she's sold to the Government or consigned to the junk-heap. So why not be captain from now on?"

Thus it was settled, off-hand. Jack flushed with delight. Had it been possible for him to be more loyal, or devoted to the interests of the builder, he would have been from that moment.

Jack took his own first deck-watch that night, dividing the remaining time up to six o'clock between Hal and Eph.

In the morning captain and crew had hardly more than finished breakfast when Jacob Farnum and Mr. Pollard came off from shore in the tender.

Both looked highly pleased about something.

"I haven't mentioned anything about this before," announced the builder,

"but I've been pulling some strong wires at Washington for some time.

As a result I've just received orders from the Navy Department to attend the summer manoeuvres of the fleet at Cape Adamson. We're to have our trial by the Government there."

"How soon do we start?" cried Jack, eagerly.

"We'll start this afternoon, so as to be in plenty of time. It's only about a seven hours' run for us, though, and we're not expected at Cape Adamson before to-morrow evening. Can you be ready, Captain?"

"Why, there's nothing to do, sir, but to take aboard more gasoline and water. We can do that in an hour."

"We'll drop out to sea, then, about five o'clock this afternoon," decided Mr. Farnum, as he and the inventor rose. "Don't get flurried about anything, Captain Benson."

"Be very sure I won't, sir," replied Jack, earnestly. "And we'll be ready to start at the stroke of five. But I've been thinking, sir, and there's one question I want to ask. Does Grant Andrews go with us? "No," replied Mr. Farnum, dropping his voice. "I need Grant for other work. The first hint I get at Cape Adamson that we have a winner in the way of a submarine, I'm going wire Andrews to start laying the keel for another. He has his orders, and knows what may be coming."

"We really ought to have a fourth member of the crew, sir," explained Captain Jack, "if we're to keep watch and perhaps run on long trips."

"I'll see if I can get someone who'll be any good to us," nodded Mr. Farnum, seriously. Then he and the inventor went ashore, leaving the young captain to the leisurely task of fitting for sea service.

The news that the "Pollard" was going to attend the naval manoeuvres at Cape Adamson soon became noised about Dunhaven, for Mr. Farnum saw no reason for holding back the nature of his orders from Washington.

It was not long before groups of people gathered on the shore, on either side of the boat yard, to gaze with increased interest at the grim, mysterious looking submarine.

Before one o'clock Mr. Farnum put off in the tender with a stranger, a swarthy, stalwart, almost gigantic looking man of about forty.

"I've got you just the man you want, Captain," called the builder, joyously, as he came aboard. "Captain, this is Bill Henderson, late boatswain's mate, of the United States Navy. He knows all about our line of work, for his papers show that he has served aboard various submarine torpedo craft belonging to the Government. He's a crack helmsman, a navigator, and knows all about our kind of machinery."

During this introduction Henderson had saluted and scraped. He now stood at attention.

"The youngest captain I've ever sailed under, sir," he said to Jack.

"But I'm satisfied you know the business, or Mr. Farnum wouldn't have given you the berth. At your orders, sir."

After Mr. Farnum had returned to shore Benson put his new hand through a searching quiz. If there was anything Boatswain's Mate Henderson did not know about submarine boat work, then the young captain was not able to find out what it was.

"Bill Henderson ought to be captain, not I," whispered Jack to his chum.

"If Mr. Farnum didn't find that out for himself," replied Hal, dryly,

"don't tell him."

"This man Henderson is certainly a jewel for us," murmured Captain Jack.

At the moment the three boys were standing on the platform deck, while Henderson was stowing his limited baggage away below.

"Now, Cap, take this from me," muttered Eph, with the air of a wiseacre.

"When a man seems a crackerjack at anything, and doesn't have as good a position as you think he ought to have, keep your eye on him."

"For what?" asked Captain Jack, smilingly.

"Oh, just to see what turns out to be wrong with the fellow."

"What can be, wrong with Henderson?"

"I didn't say anything was, did I?" queried Eph Somers.

"And I don't believe anything can be," responded Jack Benson, hopefully.

"Mr. Farnum has looked over the man's Navy discharge papers, and Mr. Farnum isn't an easy one to take in."

XVII. In the Grip of Horror

Before five o'clock that afternoon Dunhaven lined the water front. That is to say, fully five hundred people of the little seaport town were on hand. The "Pollard" was a local enterprise. If the great United States Government expected to buy the boat, the people of the village wanted to be on hand and give a rousing send-off to a homemade craft that might yet be destined to become famous.

Cheer after cheer went up. Hats, parasols and handkerchiefs were waved.

"I don't know," growled one old salt in the shore throng. "If it was a human sort of craft, meant to ride the waves as a good ship should, I'd have more faith in her. I'm afraid that boat'll go to the bottom one o' these days, an' forgit to come up again."

The old salt was promptly voted a croaker. Hadn't the "Pollard" been given abundant tests by her crew? Had she failed to come up yet? So the cheering redoubled when Captain Jack came up on the platform deck, followed by the builder and the inventor.

"Thank you, my friends!" shouted Jacob Farnum, making a trumpet of his hands. "We all thank you! Now, Captain Benson, make as handsome a flying start as you can." Jack already stood by the wheel, where he could reach all the controls. Down below the gasoline motor throbbed, making the hull vibrate. Power had been ready for the last ten minutes.

Captain Jack moved the speed wheel around to the six-mile notch. The twin propellers aft began to churn the water lazily, causing the "Pollard" to slip away from her moorings. Ere they had gone a hundred yards Jack swung on much more speed. By the time that the submarine reached the mouth of the little harbor she was traveling at eighteen miles an hour, her bow nosing into the waves and throwing up a fine spray, some of which reached the platform, deck. Astern, her propellers were tossing the water into a milky foam. Truly, she made a gallant sight!

For half a mile Captain Jack kept out to sea. Then he turned the craft's nose northward. For another hour the "Pollard" was kept at the same speed, behaving handsomely. Then Captain Jack turned the wheel over to big Bill Henderson, going below to have his supper with builder and inventor.

"As soon as the other watch have had supper," proposed Mr. Farnum,

"I think, Captain, we'll drop fifty feet below the surface and run for an hour or more. The Navy men will want an even sterner test than that. We want to make sure that everything about the craft is running at the top notch of perfection. A fortune for Pollard, and another for myself, are at stake on what we show the Navy in the next three days."

"Oh, we can easily show them anything that any submarine craft can do," smiled Jack Benson, confidently. "And I'm certain we can show the Navy officers an ease of handling that isn't reached by any other submarine in the world."

"It's a good thing to have a confident captain," smiled David Pollard.

"A confident captain, aboard a reliable boat, spells victory."

When the meal was over Captain Jack went back above to the wheel. There was no moon this night, but the stars shone brightly over the water.

It was a warm night, with a gentle breeze, and only the gentlest swell to the water. The "Pollard" had been slowed down to twelve miles an hour, but there was still speed enough for the motion to be exhilarating.

"Oh, it's great to be captain of probably the most powerful and dangerous sea-terror in the world!" throbbed the boy, looking up at the stars.

"How little I dreamed of this, a few months ago!"

"Going to be ready, now, for the dive and the hour's run under water, captain?" inquired Mr. Farnum, coming up on deck.

"In about ten minutes, sir," replied Jack, pointing forward over the port bow, "we'll be abreast of Point Villars light. Why not dive just abreast of that light? It will give us a starting point to reckon our run from."

"A good idea," nodded Mr. Farnum, and just then David Pollard came up from below. Both stood watching the young commander for some moments.

"Captain," remarked the inventor, "you handle the boat as easily as though you had been doing this sort of thing for years. You must have had some practice aboard rather goodsized craft?"

"Never anything much bigger than a thirty-foot gasoline boat," Jack replied. "In the old days, sir, a young sailor had to begin with a rowboat, go on to a cat-boat, and so work on up until he could handle a full-rigged ship. That's where the change has come with to-day's gasoline boats. A fellow who learns to run a twenty-foot gasoline launch can just as easily handle a big gasoline yacht of any size. The new style of power saves a heap of time in the learning, sir."

Captain Jack was now nearing a line abreast of the Point Villars light.

He watched keenly. At last, when just abreast, he shouted down through the manhole:

"Shut off the gasoline power. Stand ready to turn on the electric power.

Get ready to dive. Henderson, take the steering wheel in the conning tower."

Less than sixty seconds later the ventilators had been taken in, the manhole cover was made fast, and all were below, save Bill Henderson, who sat at the tower wheel, before him an electric lighted compass.

"Henderson," called Captain Jack, "steer north by northeast, one point off north."

"Aye, aye, sir," came from the seaman in the conning tower.

"Hold fast! Make ready to dive!" called the young captain.

Then, at the signal, Hal Hastings turned open the sea-valves into the diving tanks. Down shot the "Pollard," the young captain standing by the gauge to watch until they were fifty feet below.

"On even keel!" he shouted. Quickly the submarine regained her even keel, and ran along at eight miles an hour. Captain Jack Benson read the gauge once more, to make sure that they were fifty feet below the surface.

"And now, we've nothing to watch but the clock, until our hour is up," he laughed, dropping onto one of the seats and stretching. "Somehow, I notice none of us are as nervous as we were the first time this diving machine went down with us."

With the electric fans running it was cool and comfortable there, and the air, as pure as that above the ocean until the point of diving, would last for some time without renewing.

With no wind or, wave to buffet, and the steady electric power running the propeller shafts, the sensation was almost that of being aboard a boat at rest.

After they had run along thus, for a few minutes, Eph went up to take the wheel. As Bill Henderson came down below the young skipper noticed a bright gleam in the seaman's eyes, though he thought little of it.

Henderson went forward into the engine room, stretching himself out on the leather cushion of one of the seats.

"Ever run on a smoother boat than this below the surface, Henderson?" inquired Captain Jack, looking in through the engine room door.

"All submarines are alike to me, sir," replied Henderson, rather shortly.

"I guess he's been too long at the business to have any enthusiasm left, if he ever had any," muttered Benson to himself, and returned to the group in the cabin.

When one is accustomed to the life, and there is confidence in the boat, the main sensation when running along below the water's surface is one of great monotony. All one can possibly see is the interior of the boat and the persons of his comrades. The longer the run below water is continued the more pronounced does the feeling of monotony become.

A well equipped submarine torpedo craft should be easily capable of running twenty-four hours continuously below the water, but the long continued monotony of such a length of time below would be almost certain to drive the officers and crew to a high pitch of nervous tension. Indeed, it is doubtful whether men of ordinary nervous powers could stand such a strain.

Before fifteen minutes had passed Jacob Farnum began to tell funny stories to make the time seem to pass more quickly. After ten minutes he gave this up, for he realized his hearers were becoming bored.

"Whew!" sighed Pollard. "An hour below the surface is certainly as long as twenty-four hours can be anywhere else!"

"I shall be glad when the hour is up," admitted Captain Jack, candidly.

Yet no one proposed cutting the time short by returning to the surface sooner.

Hal Hastings climbed up into the conning tower to take the trick at the wheel for the last twenty minutes. Indeed, occupation of any sort helped to kill some of the time.

"I believe," laughed Jacob Farnum glancing about him, "we all feel just about as though we had lost confidence in the 'Pollard's' ability to rise when the time comes."

From the engine room came a burst of seaman's song. Bill Henderson was loudly crooning some ditty. Although the listeners could not mike out the words, the song had a gruesome sound that made one's flesh want to creep.

"Shall I tell him to stow that noise?" asked Captain Jack.

"No," replied Mr. Farnum, though he made a grimace. "If it cheers the fellow any let him have his melody."

Presently Henderson was singing another song. Those in the cabin paid little heed until the sailor's voice roared out the couplet:

Down below went the good brig Mary!

She was heard from again—nary!

"Say, that's fine!" muttered Eph Somers, in an undertone loaded with sarcasm.

The seaman's voice reached them now in a hushed undertone of murmured song. Later it swelled out into this gruesome forecastle refrain:

Where the sharks go to pray,

And the dead men lay—

Where the crabs crawl to bite,

And the eels—

"Henderson!" rang the young captain's voice sharply.

"Aye, aye, sir!" came a growl from the engine room.

"Save that song for the deck watch. We want to hear the clock tick."

"Aye, aye, sir."

The seaman was as good as his word. No more of the awesome ditty floated back from him.

The time yet to remain below surface narrowed down to ten minutes, then to five. At last, tick by tick, the time wound by until the full hour of submergence had been finished.

"Henderson!" shouted Captain Jack, leaping to his feet, "stand by to empty the water tanks!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" responded the big sailor, coming out of the engine room. He went to the proper rack, then turned to ask:

"Where's the wrench, sir?"

"Why, there in its rack, of course," cried Captain Benson, leaping forward. "You're looking at it."

"I'm looking at the rack, sir, but I don't see no wrench, sir," replied Henderson, calmly.

"What's that? The wrench mislaid?" demanded Jacob Farnum, also leaping forward and staring with dismayed eyes into the rack. "Oh, it has dropped—somewhere—or—been mislaid."

In another instant there was a frenzied search for that invaluable wrench, without which the "Pollard" could not be brought to the surface.

So frantically did they search that they frequently got in each other's way. Hal Hastings shut off the speed and came tumbling down below to aid.

"Don't get excited, friends," begged Jacob Farnum, in a voice that shook.

"Of course we're going to find the wrench. It's aboard—somewhere—of course it is. Now, let's begin a systematic search."

In a short time every conceivable nook and corner had been explored.

Though it seemed absurd that the wrench should be lost, yet a fearful conviction began to settle down over the startled ones that it would not be found in time.

Even the breathing air of the "Pollard's" interior could not be renewed without the wrench. Though each strove to conceal his feelings from the others, grim horror soon had them all in its grip.

XVIII. The Last Gasp of Despair

"I can't realize it yet, or believe it. It can't be true," shuddered David Pollard.

"We surely did," asserted Captain Jack.

"Could you swear that you have seen the wrench since we sailed?" asked Jacob Farnum, white-faced but cool.

"I—I can't quite say as to that," replied Benson, slowly. "But I will swear that I remember having seen it just a few minutes before we started."

"A few minutes—only?" insisted the builder.

"Yes, sir. I'm positive."

"For that matter," continued the builder, "there has been no one on board to-day save those who belong aboard."

"No; no one but ourselves has been on the boat to-day."

"None of us would throw it overboard, knowing how precious a tool it is," declared Mr. Farnum, glancing about him bewildered. "It was hardly possible to mislay such a thing by accident. Where on earth can it be, then?"

Again all hands started to hunt. Henderson was the first to sink to a seat as a sign that he gave up the search. The others barely glanced at him, so intent were all on the hunt that meant their only chance for life.

Yet at last they all sat down, panting, perspiring.

"Good heavens!" quivered the inventor. "We must soon begin to think of our very breath here. We can't exert ourselves as we have been doing.

Whoever moves now, let him remember that he is using up the very life of others in the act of breathing!"

All but devoid of hope, they all remained sitting. At first they studied the floor, gloomily. At last they looked up, to read each other's faces. No hope was to be seen in any countenance.

"Thank heaven the electric light doesn't eat up air," shuddered Hal Hastings, at last. "It would be fearful to be alive—conscious—after it had become dark!"

"Don't!" shivered David Pollard, convulsively.

"Come, come, old chap," urged Farnum, laying a hand on his friend's arm,

"you are not going to lose your courage?"

"I feel as if I ought to bear the whole punishment," groaned the inventor, covering his eyes with his hands. "It was I who invented this wretched boat!"

"But you didn't lose the wrench, or mislay it," broke in Eph Somers, with the intention of consoling.

"Who did mislay it?" pondered Captain Jack aloud. "If we could only settle that point, it might start us on the right track to finding the thing yet. For, of course, it's on board."

The certainty that the wrench must be somewhere on the boat brought all to their feet, though this time they rose slowly, almost painfully.

After a few minutes the search became listless. At Hal's suggestion, made with a wan smile, each even searched through his own baggage.

Pantry and galley were patiently ransacked.

"I've heard of such things being lost before, in the simplest way, and defying all search for a long time," mused Hal, aloud. "It may be the same with that precious wrench. But the difference, this time, is that we shan't be here long to wait for it to turn up unexpectedly."

Farnum dropped into a seat again, and that started the rest, until all had taken seats. From one to another, dumb, moody looks were passed.

Each was wonderingly asking himself the same question that none would have thought of framing in words. How much longer could the air last in a pure enough condition to sustain six lives? Eph Somers chuckled, absently, then looked up, startled and ashamed.

The others gazed at him, comprehendingly. Each knew that Eph was thinking how idiotic it was for six human beings to sit, in perfect health, waiting until the soiling of the air about them killed them all.

It was a terrible thought; Eph's mirth was of the hysterical kind.

Finally, after some minutes had passed, Jack Benson dragged himself to his feet.

He was amazed, at first thought, to find out how every joint and muscle in his body ached. He felt as weary as though he had been without sleep for a month.

Then he understood. The dreadful lassitude was caused by the withdrawing of the life-giving oxygen from the air. The oxygen was still there, but combined with the carbon from lungs and blood to form carbonic acid gas, which, in large quantities, is fatal to life.

When Jack moved about now, feeling, dully, as though a cane on which to lean would be a great boon, the others got to their feet with evident effort and joined in one more despairing search.

This hunt ended as the others had done, only more quickly. The only places into which they had been able to look for the missing wrench were the same places that had been vainly examined twice before.

This time it seemed to cause pain even to sit down. How much longer could the torment last, ere death came mercifully to their relief? "It seems as though I ought to reach out my hand and lay it on the wrench," muttered Captain Jack Benson, to Henderson, next to whom he found himself sitting.

The former boatswain's mate smiled a ghastly smile, his eyes glowing bright like coals. Jack turned, with a shiver, away from the strange glint in the big fellow's eyes.

"Friends," said Mr. Farnum, presently, "we may as well realize the whole situation, and agree to face it like men. We can't find the wrench. Wherever it is, we are not going to find it. The little breathable air that is left us here is not going to last more than a few minutes. We will not waste any more of that air in getting up to make useless searches. Let us be as calm as possible. Perhaps each man had better look down at the floor, and so continue to look. At the end—the end!—let no one, I beg of you, raise his eyes to witness the final sufferings of any comrade."

There was an awed pause.

"Is that agreed to?" asked Farnum, huskily.

"Yes," came in hoarse whispers. There was another long silence—long as time must now be measured, for a breath, now, was as long as an hour on the surface.

It was big Bill Henderson who spoke next.

"Gentlemen," he announced, "the lord of battles and of spring flowers and breezes is displeased with us. He is taking this method to punish us as we deserve. Yet in that punishment we shall find pardon, too.

Though we suffer now, we shall know joy when this life is ended."

Somehow, the speech stirred up resentment in the minds of the hearers.

"Could any death be more glorious?" demanded the seaman. "We are blessed with the privilege of serving as our own sacrifices!"

"The poor chap's mind is going first," whispered Mr. Farnum, pityingly, to Captain Jack.

"I don't understand what he's talking about," whispered Benson.

"Don't be surprised at that. Neither does he know," muttered Jacob Farnum.

"Are you jesting or mocking," broke in Henderson, half-angrily, "at the very moment when you should be getting ready for the glory of giving the last gasp of despair?"

"Give the last gasp, if you want to," retorted Eph, with savage irony,

"and let us sit here in peace."

"Can anyone think," suggested Jack, "of any possible place in which we have not yet looked for that wrench?"

"I'm—too—tired to—think," drowsed Hal.

His voice startled the others. Now, that they came to examine their own conditions a bit more keenly, they began to understand that they, too, were fast sinking into a drowsy state.

Was the coming end, too, to be painless? "There's no use looking," replied Jacob Farnum, in answer to Jack's question. "There isn't a single place left to explore. We—"

Whether Mr. Farnum thus broke off because he had lost his thought, or whether he dreaded to say the omitted words, none of the others even troubled to guess.

Bill Henderson started in to sing. There were a few angry gasps of protest until the others slowly realized that the air sounded like that of some hymn. The words, however, were in a foreign tongue, picked up in the course of the seaman's wanderings over the world.

Then their resentment softened. If Bill preferred to meet the end with a hymn on his lips, perhaps that was the best thing for all of them.

It crept over them, now, that they felt choking sensations, with pain and buzzing in their ears. Then the end must be near. Unconsciousness, at any rate. That loss of the senses would be the end, so far as any of them could know.

"Now, give thanks with your last real thoughts," cried Bill, hoarsely.

"Gentlemen—this is—glorious! We're going fast! The last—croak—is upon us! Good—bye!"

XIX. Jack Strikes the Key to the Mystery

"Down below! Down, down, down!" croaked Bill Henderson.

He pointed below, with one forefinger, laughing wildly. The others, sure that the seaman had lost his mind under the crushing force of the catastrophe, felt pity for him, though the man's actions and words also helped to increase their own terror.

To cap the climax Henderson got painfully to his feet and tried to dance a jig. That was carrying things too far in the then state of mind of the rest of the company.

"Henderson, confound you," cried Captain Jack, half savagely, as he rose, "keep quiet and sit down! Act like a man. You—"

To emphasize his order the young captain pushed against the seaman's breast, intent on shoving him into a seat. Just as he did so, Captain Jack paused aghast, for an instant. Then he shouted hoarsely:

"Friends, I've found the wrench!"

That brought them all to their feet, while Bill Henderson snarled in sudden rage.

"This man has it hidden away in the inside pocket of his coat!" cried the young captain of the "Pollard." "Help me to take it away from him while we've enough life left to act!"

With another snarl Bill Henderson crouched, in the attitude of a football player, to meet the impending assault.

Five of them swarmed upon him, from all sides. Had not all of them been near to dying from air starvation the conflict would have been a savage one. As it was, the fight, although a relatively weak one, was as strenuous as any of the combatants could make it.

Henderson, ordinarily a powerful brute capable of fighting three or four ordinary men, still endeavored to do his very best.

Back and forth they fought, rolling over each other, and every moment burning up more and more of the air that was left to them.

Yet at last Captain Jack, aided by the others, succeeded in snatching the wrench from the seaman's inner pocket.

"Hold him," cried Benson, getting weakly up, tottering over to one of the compressors. "Give me a minute—and some—strength—and I'll give us a taste—of real air."

Desperately he fitted the wrench, tried to give it a sufficient turn, and could not.

"I'll help you," hoarsely croaked dying Hal, reaching out and getting the weight of his hands also on the wrench. Never before had either boy struggled so desperately hard for anything. At last it yielded, ever so little. There was a hiss of escaping compressed air.

Then they got a taste of it. Oh, how nectarlike that air was! Renewed strength began to course through their arteries and to creep into their muscles. Two deep breaths apiece, and then Jack and Hal succeeded in making a good turn. A moment later they were able to make another twist, that set the pneumatic apparatus in operation to expel the bad air through sea valves.

But Bill Henderson, too, was reviving. Uttering hoarse cries of rage that sounded wonderfully more powerful, now, he fought his three captors to get upon his feet.

There was no help for it. Captain Jack had to dart over and tap the fellow on the head with the wrench. Then Bill was quiet long enough to make it possible, for Mr. Farnum to hurry after a pair of the handcuffs that were a part of ship's stores. These were snapped over the seaman's wrists just before he came to.

"Now, we won't have to hurt him," muttered Jack, compassionately. "He's a maniac, poor chap, or he'd never have done such a thing as try to condemn us all, himself included, to death in the depths by asphyxiation."

"He's a maniac, sure enough," commented Mr. Farnum. "But how on earth did I ever get trapped into hiring such a fellow as one of the crew? Confound him, he seemed sane enough until after we came below the surface."

"And now, sir," nudged Captain Jack, "I think we'd all of us be thankful enough for a glimpse of the surface—for a look at the stars—a breath of real ocean breeze."

"Good enough," nodded the boat-builder. "Travel right to it!"

Though all were weak and trembly from the shock of their late experience, there was strength enough in their combined force to handle the "Pollard" promptly.

While Messrs. Farnum and Pollard sat over the prostrate Henderson, handcuffed on the floor, Hal hurried to the engine room, while Captain Jack climbed up into the conning tower. Eph Somers stood near the two men and their captive, ready to respond to any call.

But Henderson, now that his maniacal rage had passed, was sobbing quietly. He seemed spent, exhausted.

It was with a thrill that the young captain of the submarine touched the control for speed ahead from the electric equipment. Then he looked at his compass, finding that the boat, from a northerly heading, had veered around almost east. As the boat went ahead, softly, Benson put the course around to north. Then he called to Hal and Eph to empty the diving tanks by degrees.

"Going up on even keel!" asked young Hastings.

"Surest thing I know," replied the young captain.

Though there was not much motion, all felt the boat gradually rising.

Then Captain Jack suddenly caught the greater comparative light of the night above the water. Next, he caught sight of the blessed stars. But he did not stop the work of Hal and Eph until the boat rode well up out of the water.

"Now, come up and get the manhole open," called the young skipper.

"Let's all have a notion again of how it feels to stand in the open air."

Messrs. Farnum and Pollard had, by this time, completed the captivity of Bill Henderson by wrapping around him and securing many and many a turn of half-inch rope.

As the manhole was opened Captain Jack stepped out, taking the deck wheel. The others, all except the prisoner, crowed out after him. Thus they ran along for a mile or two, under the slower electric power.

"That crazy fellow," uttered Jacob Farnum, "had some mania on his mind that we were all great sinners, and that he'd save the whole lot of us by killing us under water."

"It seems strange," muttered Hal, "for even a crazy man to have the nerve to destroy himself slowly in such a way."

"Humph, no; nothing new in that line," returned Mr. Farnum.

"What are we going to do with him, sir?" inquired Captain Jack.

"Well, we're not going to turn in at any of the coast towns to give him up," replied the builder. "We'll keep right along until we join the fleet, and then we'll ask the advice of some naval officer."

When, at last, all had become accustomed to the world to which they had returned, Hal and Eph went below, to turn on the gasoline power a short time the "Pollard" was kicking the water at the exhilarating gait of eighteen miles an hour.

"How did it come, sir, that you made it eighteen miles, instead of knots?" asked Captain Jack, after a while.

"Why, that's the basis on which gasoline engines are built," replied Mr. Farnum. "For that matter, captain, when we've had more practice with this boat we'll tune the engine up to eighteen full knots an hour.

In the second boat we are going to try for an assured speed of twenty-two to twenty-four knots."

"It seems to me," said Jack, musingly, "that the ideal submarine torpedo boat ought to have a speed of from twenty-eight, to thirty-five knots."

"Why?"

"So that the speed of the submarine boat shall always be ahead of the speed of any battleship afloat."

"Again, why?"

"Why, so that the submarine can give effective chase to a battleship."

"But submarines are intended only to go with fleets of their own country, or else to remain on station at or near the mouths of harbors to be defended."

"All well and good," argued Captain Jack, nodding. "In future wars a battleship fleet is likely to keep away from any harbor known to be defended by the enemy's submarine boats. But, if a submarine torpedo boat could have speed enough to give chase to a fleeing battleship, and sink when within range of the battleship's guns, yet still be able to pursue, under water, and destroy the battleship, that would mean the day when battleships wouldn't be of any further use, wouldn't it?"

"Undoubtedly," admitted Mr. Farnum. "But you see, captain, so far as present human ingenuity goes, a boat can't be built to sail as fast under water as another can be made to go on the surface."

"But that's the problem I'm going to tackle, as soon as I get our plans a little further along," murmured David Pollard, eagerly. "Benson is right. When we get a submarine boat that can pursue the fastest battleship, on the surface or below it, then the United States, with a hundred such submarines, could defy the combined naval powers of the world. If the United States can own a large fleet of such boats, then we can control the seas of the world."

No more attempts at diving were made on the trip. The horror of that last dive remained with all, safe as they now were.

All the way the "Pollard," though well out from shore, ran within sight of the light-houses.

Shortly before two o'clock in the morning Captain Jack Benson, again at the deck wheel, steered in for the light at Cape Adamson. He was going at slow speed as he rounded the point and headed in for the bay.

"Be careful how you go, captain, and be on the alert to obey signals," cautioned Mr. Farnum. "We've got to thread our way into a perfect hornet's nest of war craft. A dozen battle ships, several cruisers and a flotilla of torpedo boats are at anchor over yonder."

It wasn't long before the searchlight of one of the battleships picked up the "Pollard" with its broad ray. Then, from the flagship the colored lights that blazed out and faded spelled the signal:

"Who are you?"

"Pollard, submarine," replied the little craft's signal lights.

"Expected. Come in close for orders," came the signaled answer.

There was something sombre, grim, awesome about this great fleet of mighty fighting craft as the young captain stole his boat in among them.

These craft represented much of Uncle Sam's fighting strength, a bulwark of safety, to our coasts and commerce.

Close up within megaphone-hailing distance Captain Jack ran his boat.

The watch officer of the "Columbia," the battleship that served as flagship to the fleet, stood with megaphone ready.

"Ahoy, 'Pollard'!" he called.

"Ahoy, flagship!" Captain Jack answered through a megaphone.

"Fleet patrol boat will show you to your anchorage. Are your owners aboard?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then, in the morning, they will hear from the admiral."

"One moment, sir," Captain Jack shouted back. "We have aboard a maniac, a man who tried to destroy us on the trip down. He has naval discharge papers."

"His name?"

"William Henderson."

"Henderson? Wait a moment!" came back from the flagship's rail.

Those on the "Pollard's" deck saw a younger officer leave the watch officer and hurry away. This younger officer soon returned with a paper which he handed to the watch officer.

"'Pollard' ahoy!" came from the latter.

"Flagship ahoy!"

"William Henderson was an inmate of a naval hospital, where he had been sent to be watched on a suspicion of lunacy. A few days ago he escaped. We'll take him off your hands and see he is sent back where he belongs."

"Thank you, flagship."

The fleet patrol boat, which had been hovering near, a small cabin launch, now steamed in alongside the submarine. An ensign and four men came aboard. Captain Jack led them below, pointing out Henderson.

The four sailors lifted him, carrying him up and over the side to their own boat.

"Now, follow us, captain," directed the ensign, "and we'll lead you to your anchorage."

Five minutes later the "Pollard" rode snugly at anchor, with all made trim and secure. But Captain Jack and his two boy friends, despite the lateness of the hour, were in no hurry to turn in below.

It was the first glimpse any of the trio had ever had of such an imposing war fleet, and all wanted to stay on deck drinking in the glory of the sight.

XX. "One On" the Watch Officer

At nine o'clock the next morning Messrs. Farnum and Pollard were sent for to report aboard the flagship, where they had a long talk with Admiral Bentley.

The result was somewhat disappointing. During the manoeuvres a board of naval officers would be sent aboard the "Pollard" to observe what she could do in surface running, diving, etc. The "Pollard," however, was not to be included in any of the deep-sea manoeuvres of attack and defense, as there were already two Government submarines with the fleet, and the work of these had been mapped out.

"However, that's the best we can do, and we must be satisfied," sighed Jacob Farnum to Captain Jack. "We'll find plenty of chance to show what we can do, and I know the Navy officers will see that we get a fair show at Washington."

"Of course," nodded Captain Benson, loyally. "When they see just what a handy craft the 'Pollard' is at all times, they'll be wild to have a few 'Pollards' in the Navy."

"That's the way to talk," beamed the anxious inventor, all of whose hopes of the future were based on the developments of these few days.

"It's the way to talk, sir," replied Captain Jack, "because it's the truth. We'll show these Navy folks so much about the 'Pollard' that, being men of good sense, they'll see the point."

In the afternoon several delegations of naval officers visited the little submarine from the different craft in the fleet. The tiny cabin was crowded with visitors, the air being thick with cigar smoke much of the time. What astounded many of the visitors was the extreme youthfulness of captain and crew, but Jacob Farnum assured the naval callers that these young men had accomplished all that had been done with the 'Pollard' up to date.

"And I'm going to be wholly satisfied, gentlemen," added the builder,

"with the impression that will be made upon you by what my crew of boys can show you."

"Why, your boy crew is your strong point," laughed Captain Carew.

"You're building a type of submarine so simple that any child can handle it above or below water."

All present joined in the laugh at this sally, but Mr. Farnum took it in good part declaring:

"That is just the idea, Captain Carew. We have the simplest, most effective submarine boat that it is possible to build."

All of the visitors were inclined to take this view, from an inspection of the simple running methods of the boat. Of course, none of the visitors had seen the "Pollard" dive or run beneath the surface, but they were willing to accept the statements of builder and inventor.

One naval officer, however, was sceptical on the whole subject of submarine torpedo boats. That gentleman was Lieutenant McCrea, of the huge battleship "Luzon."

"Of course," remarked Lieutenant MeCrea, "there's a whole lot of good theory about what submarine torpedo boats can do. In different naval evolutions, I admit, the submarines have made an excellent theoretical showing. As far as can be determined in peaceful evolutions it looks as though the submarine might really be a source of great danger to a hostile battleship.

"But, in actual war, conditions are different from anything that can be planned during mere evolutions. In war time the nerves of both officers and men are more keenly attuned. So, in actual war, I think it very doubtful whether a submarine could succeed in getting up close to a big battleship, unseen, and delivering the mortal blow."

That started a good deal of lively discussion. A few of the Navy officers present favored Lieutenant McCrea's view. More, however, were inclined to the belief that, as time went on, the more and more perfected submarine torpedo boat would become a greater and greater danger to the battleship, very likely in the end driving the battleship from the navies of the world.

"Humph!" muttered Lieutenant McCrea. "Lying here in the bay I am willing to admit that a submarine can sail under the hull of the vessel I'm stationed on. But I'd like to see the submarine that could creep up alongside, showing ever so little of itself, even on the darkest night, without being detected."

"You think, sir," interposed Captain Jack, quietly, "that, if you were in command of the deck at the time, you'd detect any submarine boat that showed any portion of itself above the water?"

"Think?" retorted Lieutenant McCrea, with warmth. "No; I don't think anything of the sort. I'd detect any such trick in time to turn a rapid fire gun loose on the venturesome submarine!"

"Every time, sir?" asked Jack, calmly.

"Every time!" retorted the lieutenant, with emphasis.

Young Benson was wise enough not to attempt to take too much of a part in the conversation with so many experienced naval officers present.

Yet he remained, listening, for the talk was highly instructive.

"I'll have to go up and signal for my boat," declared Lieutenant McCrea, rising, at last. "I want a bit of sleep, for I'm watch officer on the 'Luzon' to-night, from dog watch to midnight."

After the lieutenant had gone, Captain Jack suddenly rose, hastening to the platform deck, where Hal Hastings stood on watch.

"What's the matter?" demanded Hal, looking keenly at his chum.

"Why?"

"Why, your face is nearly all one broad grin."

"Oh, I'm thinking a bit," Jack answered, evasively.

"Happy thoughts, then," mocked Hastings, amiably. "I can tell by the grinful look of your face."

"Yes, it's something lively that I'm thinking about," laughed young Benson.

Over the supper table, that evening, Captain Jack announced the scheme that had entered his mind while listening to Lieutenant McCrea.

Jacob Farnum listened, at first, somewhat thunderstruck. Then, of a sudden, he laid down his knife and fork, bursting into a roar of laughter.

"It sounds like a fearfully cheeky thing to do, I know," confessed the young captain.

"It surely is," confirmed David Pollard, nervously.

"Yet," pursued young Benson, "if the trick should succeed, how it would take the conceit out of some people who don't believe in submarines."

"Wouldn't it?" rejoined Mr. Farnum, his eyes twinkling with merriment.

"Yet you don't intend to try it, do you?" asked the inventor.

"I don't know," confessed Mr. Farnum. "But I'll admit this much—I'm certainly thinking hard over the scheme that Captain Benson has proposed."

"It would be unfortunate if we did the thing, and only succeeded in offending the officers of the Navy," pursued the inventor, an extremely thoughtful look on his pallid, thin face.

"Oh, of course, as far as the mere expense goes, I'd pay the bill for the trick," Farnum went on. "To tell the truth. Dave, the point I'm considering most now is, whether we can really successfully play the trick that Captain Benson has sprung on us."

"I believe we can; don't believe there'll be any difficulty whatever," declared the young captain, his eyes glowing.

"Well, I'm going to think it over a while," announced the builder, as he finished his meal.

He went directly up to the platform deck, seating himself on a folding chair. From the loud chuckles that came, from time to time, from the platform deck, it was plain that the boatbuilder had had his sense of humor mightily tickled.

Presently, the hail came:

"Benson, come up here, won't you?"

As Jack reported to the builder Farnum stood looking across the bay.

"Captain, how are we going to get at the exact distance between our boat and the 'Luzon'?"

"It's a question of mathematics, isn't it?" asked Jack, slowly. "Mr. Pollard is the expert in that line, isn't he?"

"Oh, I say, Dave," bawled the builder down the stairway. "Come up here, won't you? Now, how far is it from our moorings to those of the 'Luzon'?"

There being still enough daylight for the purpose, Mr. Pollard brought up a small transit. Measuring a base-line on the deck of the submarine, he took two observations, then went below to do some rapid figuring.

"Exactly 1,142 feet, from mooring to mooring," he called up through the manhole, presently.

"If you've got the distance down as fine as that," laughed back Mr. Farnum, "good enough!"

"Are you going to try to play Benson's trick, then?" asked the inventor, reappearing on deck.

"I'm inclined to think," replied the boatbuilder, "that I am. It seems like too good a thing to miss."

On board the "Pollard" the cabin lights burned late that evening. Once the plan invented by Captain Jack was explained to the others all hands turned to, in great glee, to make preparations.

Ships of any size always carry, as a part of the cruising supplies, a stock of paints and brushes. The submarine craft was so provided.

Jack caused to be brought from one of the lockers a can of prepared white paint. This was thinned with oil and tested for the business in hand. Then the best brush for the purpose was picked out. To this was fitted a long handle. Two short sticks had to be spliced to make a handle of sufficient length.

"How are you on lettering, Captain?" guffawed Mr. Farnum, while preparations were thus being made.

"Nothing extra," Jack admitted. "But I guess I can at least make legible letters."

All was in readiness long before need came. At about quarter past eleven o'clock that night the "Pollard" noiselessly slipped from her moorings. At that time none of the searchlights of the fleet at anchor happened to be turned toward the submarine boat.

Ventilators were taken in, the manhole cover was closed, lights were extinguished, and, the next instant, the "Pollard" began to sink.

Only one light burned aboard, and that came from a small lantern in the engine room, where Hal Hastings crouched over the electric motor, keeping strict track of the revolutions. While Jack Benson steered strictly to compass, Hal counted the revolutions until the number had been reeled off to carry the submarine the estimated distance under water. Then Hal shut off speed, while Eph Somers passed word to the young captain.

"Let her come up slowly, until I give the word," called down Captain Jack. "Don't rush with the raising."

So compressed air was turned into the diving tanks, slowly expelling the water therefrom. Very slowly the "Pollard" rose. Jack, watching intently, knew the instant that the conning tower's top was above waves.

"Stop," he called down. Just ahead, about sixty feet, lay the seaward side of the battleship "Luzon's" great gray hull. With his hand on the electric speed control Captain Jack moved the submarine in until she lay alongside the big battleship.

With the greatest stealth the manhole cover was raised by Hal and Eph.

Captain Jack, in the meantime, was rapidly shedding his clothing, until he stood forth in a bathing suit only. Clad in this garment he slipped out over the top of the conning tower. The platform deck was under water, but Benson touched it with his feet.

"No hail from the deck above," he whispered to Hal. "Now, pass me the paint and brush like lightning."

The brush was passed out, the paint can being rested on the edge of the manhole, where Hal steadied it. Taking up a good sopping of paint on the brush, Captain Benson rapidly sketched, on the gray side of the battleship a letter "P" some six feet long.

Then, with rapid strokes, he swiftly finished the entire word:

"Pollard."

As the "Luzon" lay on the outer edge of the anchored fleet, and the submarine lay alongside on the seaward side, there was no danger of any betraying searchlight being turned on the perpetrators of this huge joke.

"It's all done," whispered Jack, chuckling softly, "and that wonderful watch officer above hasn't hailed us or passed the word for the marine guard!"

"That man McCrea will claim it wasn't done during his watch," whispered Eph. "Paint on the exact present time. It's just 11.33."

So Captain Jack, again chuckling, and with a fresh brushful of paint, wrote the present time on the battleship's gray side.

All in a twinkling, afterward, the submarine, her manhole closed, dropped down beneath the waves. She was soon back at her anchorage, lying on the surface of the water as though this handy little craft had not just been engaged in perpetrating the biggest naval joke of the year!

XXI. The Man Who Dropped the Glass

Early the next morning there was, as might be imagined, a big stir of excitement in the fleet.

First of all, one of the fleet patrol launches discovered the legend lettered in white, on a gray background, on the Lizon's side.

As soon as the matter was reported aboard, the executive officer, after ordering a side gangway lowered, and going down close to the water's edge for a look, sent for the different watch officers of the night.

Each was emphatic in the belief that the thing did not happen during his watch. Lieutenant McCrea was one of the most positive.

"But, Mr. McCrea," urged the "Luzon's" executive officer, "the time, '11.33 P.M.,' has been lettered on the ship's side with great distinctness."

Still, that lieutenant was positive that the outrage hadn't been perpetrated during his deck watch. He had kept much too vigilant a watch for that.

While the questioning of the watch officers was going on the "Luzon's" captain appeared. He quizzed Mr. McCrea unmercifully, and that officer of the early night watch began to look and feel most uncomfortable.

"There's but one thing to be done, first of all," stated the "Luzon's" commander, Captain Bigelow. "Send a boat over to the 'Pollard' to ask the people there if they have any explanation to offer."

When the "Luzon's" launch came alongside, Mr. Farnum, expecting the visit, assured the ensign in charge that he would go to the battle ship at once to explain matters. Mr. Farnum did go. Captain Bigelow listened with an intensely grave face. Lieutenant McCrea seemed to be in the depths of mortification, and his face was very red.

"There is but one thing to be done, now, Mr. Farnum," declared Captain Bigelow, severely. "We shall have to appear before Admiral Bentley, on his flagship, as soon as he will receive us. You must repeat your explanation to him."

This Mr. Farnum was quite willing to do. Before the boatbuilder finished with his explanation to the fleet's commander there was a very decided twinkle in Admiral Bentley's sharp old eyes.

"I accept your explanation, Mr. Farnum, that it was all a joke," smiled the admiral.

"Of course," Jacob Farnum made haste to add, "having perpetrated such a hoax, I shall charge myself with all the expense of painting out the objectionable lettering."

"But I am not sure that that will be necessary," Admiral Bentley laughed.

"The truth is, Mr. Farnum, your hoax on Mr. McCrea has taught us a most excellent and valuable lesson about the sort of other work that a submarine might do against a battleship at anchor. The lesson is worth far more than the cost of the paint. Indeed, I shall not have the lettering on the 'Luzon's' side painted out until other officers of the fleet have been able to examine such a striking proof of the value of submarines. Yet I am extremely sorry for the feelings of Mr. McCrea this morning."

In truth, Lieutenant McCrea was in for a most unmerciful tormenting by his brother officers. If there was one thing on which the lieutenant prided himself, it was upon the strictness of his deck watch. So the jest, jibes and quips of his brother officers stung him deeply.

"Was the hoax your idea, Mr. Farnum?" asked Admiral Bentley.

"No, sir; I am sorry to say that I am not often as brilliant as that."

"Then whose joke was it?"

"It was the scheme of Captain Jack Benson, the 'Pollard's' present commander."

"I have heard of your boyish captain," smiled Admiral Bentley. "He must be a very resourceful young man."

"You're right in saying that," replied Farnum, with warmth. "Benson is altogether about the brightest boy I've ever met. For that matter, all three of the boys are unusually keen."

Admiral Bentley consulted a memorandum book that lay on his desk, before he went on:

"Mr. Farnum, if you've nothing in the way, I shall be extremely glad to have Mr. Pollard and yourself at luncheon at one o'clock this afternoon.

But I shall feel much disappointed if you do not also bring with you your youthful captain, Benson."

Farnum promptly accepted, with great delight. This all looked as though the "Pollard" would figure handsomely in the admiral's forthcoming reports to Washington.

Ere the morning was over all the officers and men of the great war fleet were laughing at Lieutenant McCrea. The newspaper correspondents with the fleet got hold of the yarn, of course, and sent stories to their journals that helped to make the fame of the "Pollard" and of those who handled her.

As for McCrea, he kept out of sight all he could. It was months before his brother officers in the Navy would let him hear the last of the joke that had been played upon him.

"Has it hurt us any?" repeated Jacob Farnum, when he returned to the submarine. "It has helped us wonderfully. And, Jack, my boy, you're to lunch with the admiral to-day!"

In fact, that joke of Jack's was heard of in the halls of Congress later on. The significant fact of it all was that, while the "Pollard" had been manoeuvred for the successful perpetration of the joke, neither of the other two submarines with the fleet was "handy" enough to be used in quite such a neat trick.

When a United States rear-admiral entertains guests at luncheon aboard his flagship, the affair is a stately one. When our three friends appeared at table there were several naval officers in attendance.

"I have been laughing a good deal to-day, Captain Benson, over the joke sprung on us last night," was Admiral Bentley's greeting. "It was cleverly carried out, and with a great deal of skill in seamanship as well."

"It wasn't intended, sir, to be so much a joke as a demonstration of what our boat can accomplish," Jack replied, modestly.

"I haven't lost sight of the practical side of the affair, I assure you," rejoined the admiral. "But I am afraid I have wounded one heart—McCrea's."

"Then I am very sorry," replied Jack, quickly. "I had hoped he would feel as much like laughing as anyone."

"Mr. McCrea might feel more like laughing, if it weren't for the fact that his brother officers insist on doing his laughing for him," chuckled the admiral.

The talk now turned upon the "Pollard's" construction, which the inventor explained, while Jacob Farnum threw in a few words now and then.

Captain Jack had the good taste to remain silent during this discussion.

Admiral Bentley asked many questions, appeared deeply interested, and promised to make a thorough trip of inspection aboard the submarine.

"The time may come, of course," said the admiral, musingly, "when a flag officer will have to make his headquarters aboard such a little craft, for the day may not be far distant when battleships will be too cumbrous and too costly to be risked any more at sea when a nation is engaged in war."

"That's our captain's view of the possibilities," nodded Mr. Farnum.

"It will be a sad blow to some of us old salts," laughed the admiral.

"It isn't likely to strike me, of course. I shall be retired, and done with the service, before the big battleship becomes as useless in war as a ferryboat. But you, Captain Benson, will very likely live to see the day when the battleships will be sold for freight steamers. By the way, my young friend, what is your age? Sixteen. Why, you are young enough to enter Annapolis. With your bent for things naval, why don't you try to interest your home Congressman in appointing you as a cadet?"

"If the battleship is to go, sir," replied the youngster, "or even if the submarine is to become a vastly more important craft, it seems to me that I shall be seizing the biggest chance by staying right with Mr. Farnum and Mr. Pollard. The greatest naval man of the future may be the all-around submarine expert."

"There, again, I am inclined to think you are right, Captain Benson," nodded the old admiral, thoughtfully. "My, but I often wish I could look forward, as you may, to being alive fifty years from now—living to see what sea warfare will be like then!"

While Jack Benson was listening or talking, he became conscious that one of the noiseless stewards waiting at table was eyeing him keenly, even if covertly, at such times as he approached.

The steward in question was brownhaired and smoothly shaven, a man of about fifty years of age who carried himself with much dignity. When Jack got his first good look at this man, the submarine boy felt certain that the steward's hair was dyed to its present color. There was something altogether familiar about the man's look, too, that puzzled young Benson.

Now, during a lull in the conversation, and between courses, this steward approached the table to replace young Benson's water-glass, which he had just filled.

As the steward reached out to set the glass down Jack wheeled, looking straight into the man's eyes.

The steward returned the look and paled, then— Crash! The glass dropped from the man's fingers, breaking to fragments on the cabin floor.

With a softly-muttered word, the luckless steward bent, picked up the pieces of glass and beat a hasty retreat, followed by a heavy frown from the chief steward.

Then, all of a sudden, it flashed through the boy's mind where he had seen this man before.

Leaning toward Jacob Farnum, the submarine boy whispered:

"You've been trying hard to find Grace Desmond's fugitive guardian."

"I don't know what I wouldn't give to come up with that rascal!" muttered the boatbuilder fervently, his eyes blazing.

"Then I guess you're going to have your wish," continued Jack Benson.

"The man who dropped the glass is—Arthur Miller."

Uttering an eager cry, his fists clenched, Jacob Farnum started up from his chair.

XXII. A Dive That Was Like Magic

"What's wrong?" demanded Admiral Bentley, looking up quickly.

"I—I beg your pardon, sir," cried Mr. Farnum, though lowering his voice, "but I want a good look at the steward who has been attending to this end of the table."

"Nothing will be more simple," replied the admiral.

Just at that moment another steward entered the room.

"Ask that new steward to come here," directed the admiral.

The man hastened away in search of his mate.

"Pardon me, but is there any unusual reason why you wish to see that particular steward?" asked the admiral, in a low voice.

"The only reason, sir," replied Mr. Farnum dryly, "is that my friend, Benson, is certain the fellow is identical with the defaulting guardian of a young woman at present employed in my office. He is believed to have taken the last half-million dollars remaining of her fortune away with him into hiding."

"A half million dollars!" gasped the admiral.

"If this steward is the man we think he is, then his right name is Arthur Miller," finished the boatbuilder.

"Why, I remember that case. I read of it in the newspapers," replied Admiral Bentley. "Jove, gentlemen, but I hope your guess is a correct one. There must always be a satisfaction in catching so great a rogue so easily."

Only those at the admiral's end of the table had heard this dialogue.

Other guests present continued eating, or chatting with their neighbors.

Other stewards were entering and leaving in the discharge of their duties.

Some time passed. Farnum was fidgeting, though he strove to conceal the fact. Jack looked quiet, but his heart was thumping.

"Steward Dugan!" called the admiral, rather sharply, and the man stepped over quickly.

"I sent Hecht after that new steward," declared the admiral. "Hecht hasn't come back. Find him on the jump and learn his reason for the delay."

In something like a minute more both Dugan and Hecht returned.

"I couldn't find Dudley, sir," reported Hecht. "I've looked for him everywhere that he ought to be."

"Then find the first officer on duty that you can, and, with my compliments, ask him to report instantly," ordered Admiral Bentley.

In barely more than a jiffy a young lieutenant of marine stepped into the room, saluting the admiral.

"Lieutenant, a new steward known as Dudley is being sought for. Order the guard at the side gangway to let no one overboard, unless he is certain that the one seeking to pass is not Steward Dudley. Then have the ship searched thoroughly for Dudley. When found, bring him just outside that door, under guard, and send in word to me."

Again the lieutenant saluted, then hurried from the room. The whole thing had been, ordered so quickly that few of the lunchers guessed that anything out of the ordinary was taking place. Admiral Bentley took up knife and fork, turning his attention to a dish that had just been laid before him.

The marine lieutenant was soon back.

"I regret to report, admiral," he murmured, in a low voice, "that the sentry at the side gangway states that Steward Dudley went over the side and started off in a shore boat at least five minutes ago. He displayed a paper which he said was a telegram you had ordered sent in a rush."

"Great Scott!" uttered Jacob Farnum, laying down knife and fork in a tremble. "Then, by flight, the fellow confesses his identity. Admiral, we feel that we simply must get ashore without the loss of an instant.

That rascal must be found."

"Certainly," agreed Admiral Bentley, rising. "Do not lose an instant."

Turning to the marine lieutenant, he added:

"My compliments to the officer of the deck, and ask him to see that these gentlemen have a shore boat placed at their disposal without any loss of time. Or, that they have any facilities they may wish for going to any part of the fleet. No thanks, gentlemen. I appreciate your need of haste and wish you every success."

The half-curious eyes of many persons followed these three guests, as the boatbuilder, the inventor and the young submarine captain hastily left the room, followed by the marine lieutenant.

As soon as the admiral's order had been transmitted to him, the lieutenant in charge of the deck ran to the side gangway, looking for a shore boat.

"Just our confounded luck when we're in a hurry," he muttered. "The only boat I can get is the one that just took Steward Dudley ashore. See, there it is over yonder, leaving the pier. It will be here within five minutes."

"Then I thank our lucky stars," cried Captain Jack, pointing, "for here comes our own good boat, and we can take it, instanter, if you'll permit it to come alongside, Lieutenant.

"Certainly," replied that officer.

Hal Hastings was at the deck wheel, in charge of the boat. He had just taken a party of sightseeing naval officers back to their ship, and was on his way to the "Pollard's" moorings. He caught sight of Benson's signals, and, slowing down the speed, ran neatly in alongside of the battleship's gangway platform.

In another twinkling the trio in haste were aboard their own boat.

"Better hurry below," advised Captain Jack. "Ship the ventilators and I'll get inside, close the manhole cover and handle the boat from the conning tower. Then, if Arthur Miller is watching us from the shore, he'll think we have officers aboard and are manoeuvering to show off the boat."

"Arthur Miller?" gasped Hal, in astonishment.

"Down below with you, Hastings," replied Jacob Farnum, pushing him gently. "When we've time to talk we'll tell you."

When, therefore, within sixty seconds, the "Pollard" left the flagship's side, she was equipped for diving. A casual observer would have believed she was about to do so with some inspecting party of naval officers.

As he sat in the conning tower Captain Jack steered the most direct course for the pier to which the supposed Miller had gone in the flagship's shore boat.

In order to do this, the young captain had to cut across the bow of a battleship that had just gotten under way. There was plenty of searoom for this manoeuvre, so Captain Jack did not hesitate.

Once past the bows of that battleship, however, the young submarine captain's heart gave a mighty bound.

For, just beyond, was another battleship, also under good headway. The "Pollard" was between the two. To go ahead meant a collision with the second battleship, while to reverse speed meant to back into the battleship just passed.

To turn and run between them in either direction might have been feasible, but the battleships, seeing the trouble of the little submarine, were sounding conflicting signals.

It was a situation that had to be met and solved in a second.

Jack Benson's heart seemed to stop beating; he felt ill, and a cold perspiration beaded his face all at once.

"Hold fast!" he roared down the stairway.

Then he did the only thing that could be done in a second.

Without waiting to shut off the gasoline power, he reached out for the conning tower controls. Like a flash, and with high nervous energy, he operated the mechanism that would fill the diving tanks in an instant.

In rushed the water, faster than it had ever done before. Down dived the "Pollard" like a lump of lead. To the startled onlookers on other ships she seemed almost to stand on her nose. Those on the decks of the two nearest battleships saw the "Pollard's" propellers uppermost of all, and revolving fast.

Then out of sight went the little submarine. Those below in her cabin and engine room had been pitched forward on their faces. Captain Jack fairly sprawled over the wheel.

Down went the little boat to a depth of some seventy feet. Then Captain Jack had the presence of mind to bring her to an even keel. A couple of hundred yards he ran under water. Then, shutting off the motive power, he called below to turn the compressed air slowly into the water compartments.

"For I want to rise mighty gently," he called down, in explanation.

"Then, if we come up under some craft's keel, we won't hurt them or ourselves."

By this time the deck rails and rigging of many a naval vessel were crowded with officers and men, all anxious to know the fate of the plucky, or foolhardy, crew of the submarine.

A few moments passed. Then the conning tower emerged from the water.

Next, the boat appeared, and rode at her proper amount of freeboard over the water.

What a deafening din of cheers filled the air. Men, everywhere, were waving uniform caps. Four of the big ships blew their whistles in harsh salute to this latest dash of Yankee bravery.

"Let us up on deck," cried David Pollard, excitedly. "We want to acknowledge some of that applause as modestly as possible."

The submarine's entire crew were speedily on the platform deck, while Captain Jack was busily explaining to his friends the necessity that had arisen for such a prompt, deep dive.

"Oh, but that was magnificently done, Jack!" cried the inventor, in a transport of enthusiasm. "Hear them yell! See them wave! The din of the whistles! It was the best thing we've done or could do in the way of compelling advertising!"

"Advertising be—will keep!" rasped Jacob Farnum. "But, for now, Captain Benson, hustle over to that pier as fast as the speed of the boat will allow. Advertising—with Grace Desmond's fortune and happiness at stake!"

So the young captain turned on speed, and steered on through the lanes of Naval vessels. Even on those craft from which his dashing, daring performance had not been witnessed the news was known, now, passed from ship to ship by the wig-wagging of signal flags.

All the way into the pier the "Pollard" was greeted with tempestuous volleys of applause, for there is nothing the American naval tar loves as he does sheer, wild grit.

"Advertising, is it?" demanded Mr. Farnum, in raging disgust. "We're getting plenty and to spare. No one within five miles of here can possibly be ignorant of the fact that the 'Pollard' is making a hustle to the dock!"

XXIII. Wanted, Badly—One Steward!

As the "Pollard" slipped in at a vacant berth on one side of the pier, there was a rush of civilians, and of sailors and marines on brief shore leave.

Many of those who crowded down to look over the boat and her crew had witnessed Captain Jack Benson's difficult manoeuvre from the distance.

"Take the wheel, Hal," Jack murmured to his chum. "You and Eph had better stay aboard, and slip out into the stream before a swarm of folks rushes aboard."

Jacob Farnum leaped to the pier, the inventor following. Jack leaped to the string-piece last of all. Then Hal veered easily off, turning the boat's nose about and making out again.

"Aw!" went up a murmur from the crowd. "We wanted to see that craft."

"There she is," smiled Benson. "She won't go far away. She'll be on view, all right."

Jacob Farnum made straight for two marines who had been standing a little distance away. Neither had joined in the rush for the submarine.

"My men, to what ship do you belong?" he asked, quickly.

"Flagship 'Columbia,' sir," replied one of the men.

"Do you know the new steward, Dudley, of the 'Columbia'?"

"I think he came ashore lately, sir, in one of the shore boats."

"Then you saw him land?"

"Yes, sir."

"Which way did he go?"

"I think he headed straight for the railway station, sir. Had something in his hand that looked like a telegram."

"That's enough. Thank you," cried Farnum, as he hurried away.

"One moment," interrupted Jack. "How was Dudley dressed?"

"He had on the white duck uniform of a steward, and cap to match," replied the marine.

"Thank you," nodded Jack, then turned and ran after Farnum and Pollard.

The railway station was not far away. Over there the trio hastened.

No train had left for half an hour, as they quickly learned, but one was due to leave in about fifteen minutes.

The operator assured the questioners that no one in a naval steward's dress had attempted to send a telegram.

"That was only a ruse, then," said Farnum. "The fellow went through here, and by here."

Jack hastily devoted himself to questioning other employes about the station.

"Why, yes, I saw a man who looked like that," replied the baggage-master.

"What did he do! What became of him?" asked Jack, swiftly.

"He went through here, and down that street," replied the baggage-master promptly.

"Is that all you saw, or know about him?"

"Yes."

Jack hastily reported to his two friends. Just then a policeman approached. Farnum learned that he was stationed here during the naval week. So the boatbuilder gave the officer a hasty description of the fugitive and asked that the steward, in case he returned to the station, and attempted to board a train, be arrested.

"I'll certainly nab him," promised the officer.

"Now, come along up that street, yonder," called Farnum to his companions. "Confound it, it's like hunting a needle in a hay-stack!"

"And we forgot to ask that officer to report to the police of the town,"

Jack reminded his employer, after they had gone a little way.

"Run back to the station, get the police station on the 'phone, and send word to the chief, will you?" begged Mr. Farnum.

Captain Jack returned on the run. He secured 'phone connection with the chief of police, and was able to give a graphic description of the steward who was wanted so badly.

"Of course," Jack hinted to the police chief, "the fellow we want so badly may have friends on shore, or some other way of changing his white uniform for other clothes."

"I won't overlook that," promised the chief of police. "And I'll send out a general alarm at once."

By the time that the submarine boy left the railway station again Farnum and Pollard were out of sight. Nevertheless, Benson hurried off up the same street they had taken.

He walked quickly for two blocks, then, coming to a larger street that crossed at right angles, he started to turn and go east. Just as he rounded the corner he thought he heard something strike the sidewalk, as though it had dropped from his pockets.

Wheeling quickly, the submarine boy returned to the corner. He was just in time to see something that took his thoughts like a flash from everything else.

Near the doorway of a small clothing store, two doors from the corner, a man had been looking stealthily out. Just as Jack turned the corner, out of sight, this man darted out, then slowed down to a deliberate walk in the direction of the railway station.

It was this man at whom Jack Benson found himself staring with all his eyesight. The man was dressed in a rather fastidious-looking summer weight frock coat suit. On his head rested an expensive straw hat of the latest sort. Over his eyes were light blue goggles. His hair was jet black.

"But that's a wig!" flashed Jack Benson, inwardly, almost at once.

"That's Arthur Miller, just the same. He has the same walk as the steward!"

Though the other had had a brief chance for a glimpse at Benson just as he turned, the well dressed one did not increase his pace—that is, not until he heard Captain Jack's swift steps behind him.

"Oh, just a minute, if you please!" called Benson, in a voice that was ironically pleasant.

One look over his shoulder the other took, then broke into a run.

But Jack was younger, more agile, with better wind. Realizing this, the fugitive wheeled around the corner into an alley.

It was a short one, leading to some sort of a stable yard. Yet, though Jack Benson reached that yard in about record time, he gave a gasp of dismay. For the well-dressed fugitive was already out of sight, nor did noise from any quarter show the line of his further flight.

"Confound him, I'm not going to lose him as quickly and easily as that!" raged young Benson.

"Looking for your pop?" demanded a laughing, broad-faced woman, appearing at a back door that opened into the yard.

"Yes," declared Jack, pulsing. "Which way—"

"He went in there," nodded the woman, pointing to the nearly closed door of a small barn.

It might have been that the woman was purposely deceiving him, to aid the fugitive, but to that suspicion Jack had no time to give thought.

He sprang into the barn to find it empty. He stood there, panting, for a moment, growing sick at heart with disappointment.

Then he heard a slight rustling on a haymow overhead, that was reached only by a ladder. Up that ladder rushed the submarine boy, springing into the hay.

As he did so, the well-dressed fugitive darted out from cover at another point in the mow, leaping straight down to the floor. After him sprang Jack Benson, and landed full upon him.

But the fugitive, by a supreme effort fear, rose, shaking off the boy, and started to dart out into the open.

"No, you don't—Mr. Arthur Miller!" roared the submarine boy, making a bound after him.

So much force did Jack put into that leap that, missing, he fell to the floor on his hands and knees. The moment thus gained for the fugitive was enough to give the latter time to dart out, slamming the door shut after him.

"This chase doesn't stop until it turns out my way!" muttered young Benson, doggedly. He had expected to find the door secured, but it was not. He yanked it open.

The fugitive was crossing the yard, just reaching the alley, when the same woman who had first spoken to Jack again opened her door. In one hand she held a mop. This she threw with such aim or luck that it passed between the running man's legs, tripping him.

And then Jack Benson piled upon him in earnest, first snatching up the mop and brandishing it over the fugitive's head.

"I don't want to hurt your cranium any," flared up Captain Jack. "But I'm going to do it if I have to."

"Confound you, woman!" roared the discomfited rascal.

"Arthur Miller's voice!" cried Jack, joyously. "Now, I know what we had only guessed so far! Now, see here, my fine fellow, you might as well give in, for I'm not going to quit until I land you—"

Miller had been lying quietly enough for a few moments. Now, however, he suddenly squirmed about, catching Jack by the ankles with both hands.

Down went the submarine boy, flopped by a trick that he had little expected.

"We'll see whether you've got me!" clicked the scoundrel, leaping to his feet and making for the street.

"Thank you for your mop, ma'am," Jack called back, pantingly, as he gave chase. It annoyed him to have Miller prove so slippery, and he was filled with dread lest the defaulter should wind up by getting clean away.

Singing snatches of song, two sailors passed on the sidewalk, just at the head of the alleyway.

"Look what's coming," roared one, goodnaturedly, catching at his mate's hand. Thus, halted, they formed an effective barrier of brawn in the way of the first runner.

"Let me through! That wretch wants to kill me!" gasped Miller.

"We won't let him," replied one of the sailors, reassuringly.

"Hold him! The police want him!" implored Jack.

"Hold on, both of you," admonished one of the sailors, grabbing at Miller, while the other sailor placed himself so as to prevent the submarine boy from a possible attack. "One of you is lying. Which one is it?"

"Well," grinned Jack, reassured, "I'm not afraid to have you take us both before the nearest officer of the law. But I guess that man is afraid of such a test."

"Sounds like a straightforward answer," observed the other Jack Tar.

"This man," declared young Benson, "is Arthur Miller, wanted by the law for looting part of his ward's fortune and running away with the rest."

"It's a lie!" challenged Miller, hoarsely.

"Then ask him," proposed Jack, crisply, "why he's wearing a black wig, and under that has iron-gray hair that has been dyed brown? Why he shaved his beard oft?"

"Do you know the answer?" demanded the sailor who held Miller. The other sailor lifted Miller's new straw hat, snatching off the wig.

"Guilty, as charged," he grinned.

"Now, hold on to him, and march him along until you meet the first policeman," urged Jack Benson. "If you do that, I'm very certain that my employer, Jacob Farnum, builder of the 'Pollard' submarine boat, will remember you both handsomely."

"That sounds good," laughed one of the seamen.

"And here comes an officer now," cried Captain Jack, looking down the street as far as the next corner. "See how your prisoner trembles.

Would an innocent man act so?"

XXIV. Conclusion

Within three minutes Arthur Miller stood before the desk at a station house. In less than twenty minutes Messrs. Farnum and Pollard had been found. They hurried to the police station, confirming the identification of Arthur Miller. He was locked up.

"It's a big thing you've helped to do, lads," Jacob Farnum assured the two strong young sailors. "You're entitled to some of the fruits of your work. How will this do?"

Whereupon he pressed upon each Jack Tar a couple of twenty-dollar bills.

"We've a couple of hours of shore leave left to us," grinned one of the sailors. "Is there anyone else you want caught, friend?"

By the time that Farnum, Pollard and Captain Jack had returned to the pier they found a midshipman awaiting them.

"Admiral Bentley's compliments, gentlemen," said the midshipman. "He begs you to go to him aboard the flagship. He has information of importance to communicate to you concerning the missing steward."

"By the way," laughed Mr. Farnum, contentedly, "that steward is no longer missing. We've just had the pleasure of seeing him placed under lock and key, where he'll keep until he's wanted."

"Will you come aboard the flagship in our launch?" asked the midshipman.

"Yes, thank you," replied Farnum. Thereupon Jack signaled to Hal Hastings, aboard the "Pollard," which lay to, not far off, to return to moorings.

"Catch your man?" yelled Hal, through a megaphone. His chum nodded in the affirmative.

"Toot! toot! toot!" sounded the "Pollard's" auto-whistle, in three long, triumphant blasts.

Arrived at the flagship, the midshipman conducted the visitors at once to the admiral's office.

"Did you catch the rascal?" asked that fine old officer.

"Yes, sir," nodded Farnum, and gave a quick, brief account of the capture.

"Captain Benson appear's to be your lucky star to-day," laughed the admiral. "By the way, captain, I must congratulate you most warmly on that daring, magic dive. Your boat is surely in a new class. But now to other interesting business. After you had gone it occurred to me to make a most thorough investigation into the whole matter of that steward.

"Your man Miller certainly displayed considerable originality in his attempt to hide from the law. He had been aboard for some time. He plainly realized that about the last place detectives would ever think to look for criminals would be among the crew of a battleship. We always require references for any man we enlist, and always look up the references. I have yet to satisfy myself as to how the fellow Miller managed to get around the matter of references. However, he got aboard, and was all but safe from pursuit. Moreover, this flagship is scheduled to sail for the European station as soon as the manoeuvres are over. Miller, I imagine, intended to desert when in European waters. By that time, as police pursuit would have cooled, he must have figured that he would be rather safe from the law.

"I have investigated his doings aboard this boat. Among other things I have learned that he deposited with our paymaster, taking a receipt for the same, an iron box—a small affair—which, the fellow said, contained papers regarding the history of his family. He had been years in getting the papers together, he explained to the paymaster, and wanted them put in a place of safe-keeping."

Jacob Farnum sprang to his feet, a great light of suspicion shining in his eyes.

"I have had that box taken from the paymaster's safe and forced open," continued Admiral Bentley with a smile. "It is a right that we exercise over any package at need. It was opened in the presence of three officers of this fleet, and it was found to contain, probably, close to a half million dollars in bills of large denominations. The paymaster will be able to give you more exact figures. He has the money in his safe again. It will be transferred to the custody of civil authorities ashore until the courts have issued an order for its further disposition."

"It's Miss Desmond's money," cried Farnum. "Only a little while to wait, and then that splendid young woman will come into her own."

Tears glistened in the boatbuilder's eyes.

"If you think I am unusually affected over this matter," explained Mr. Farnum, presently, "let me, with your permission, sir, tell you of the fine, brave conduct of the girl in saving Captain Benson and the submarine boat."

Admiral Bentley was greatly interested in the recital that followed.

In due time the flagship's shore boat carried the three to land again.

With fingers that shook Jacob Farnum penned a most exultant telegram to Grace Desmond.

That sent, they engaged a boatman to put them aboard the "Pollard." It was now the turn of Hal Hastings and Eph Somers to share in the excitement and the joy.

In the days that followed the "Pollard" did not take any official part in the naval manoeuvres, though whenever there was time for officers to get leave from their ships Captain Jack and his friends were busy enough showing all the workings of the fine boat to their visitors.

Admiral Bentley and his naval staff spent one entire forenoon aboard the natty little submarine. They were delighted with all that they were shown.

"Mr. Pollard," exclaimed the admiral, just before leaving, "it is my unofficial opinion, from what I have seen to-day, and from what you have already shown at this rendezvous, that your boat is miles and miles ahead of any other type of submarine torpedo boat yet constructed.

I shall undoubtedly also make that the text of the official opinion that I shall furnish to the Navy Department. I must also tell you, what you already know, that, in your captain and crew of youngsters, you have the best possible material for showing your boat off to the best possible advantage."

It was with light hearts indeed that the crew and passengers of the "Pollard" turned her nose toward the home port. Grant Andrews had already been instructed, by wire, to begin the preliminary work for laying the keel of a sister submarine torpedo boat.

If Dunhaven had turned out well for the launching, she did herself more than proud in the wildly cheering crowd that lined the shores on the return of that adventurous little boat, which was no longer known as "Pollard's Folly," but as "Pollard's Marvel."

It was a happy day for both inventor and builder. The press of the country had been talking for some days of the new era that had dawned in submarine boat building.

Grace Desmond was among the first to welcome the returning voyagers.

She had promptly answered Farnum's telegram, and that boatbuilder had subsequently received from her two letters that he did not take the trouble to read fully to his companions.

As if to celebrate the return of the splendid boat, Dunhaven, in the persons of two of her constables, captured Josh Owen that same night when he tried to return by stealth to his home.

Yet the constables did not get their man handcuffed before that same elfin ten-year-old son of Owen's had tried desperately to fight the officers into letting his father go.

Arthur Miller was placed on trial, and pleaded guilty, and Grace Desmond's claim was established to the money found in the iron box aboard the flagship. She tried hard to make Jack and Hal and Eph accept a handsome reward, but all three boys steadfastly refused her offer. Jacob Farnum, in his own quiet way, was a bit more successful, however, and started for each of them a very substantial little bank account.

One day, shortly after the return of the submarine boys to Dunhaven, while the hammers of the riveters were ringing out merrily on the hull of the second Pollard boat, Jacob Farnum sent for Captain Jack Benson and his friends.

"I want to talk business with you," said the builder, motioning to chairs. "You've been working for me for a sort of pay, but now I want to make a definite and regular arrangement with you. I'm willing to provide your keep aboard the boat, and furnish your uniforms. In addition, I am willing to pay Captain Benson a hundred and fifty dollars a month, and Hastings and Somers each a hundred."

That offer brought the three boys to their feet. "It's—it's too much!" Jack managed to gasp.

"First time I ever had an employe tell me he was being paid too much," laughed the builder. "Now, see here, young men, Pollard and I are going to make fortunes out of building these boats—huge fortunes, we believe—and we want to attract loyal young men to us by paying them at least fair wages. Think it over, and you'll soon agree you're not being paid too much."

What could the young men do but accept the wonderful good fortune that was offered them? Then Farnum, laughing, rose and opened a nearby door.

There stood Grace Desmond smiling.

"Captain," announced the builder, as he took one of the girl's hands in his own, "I shall want you to decorate the 'Pollard' handsomely next Thursday. On that day Miss Desmond will become Mrs. Farnum. Captain and crew of the 'Pollard,' we shall look for you to be at the wedding, and wearing new uniforms that have already been especially ordered for the occasion."

What could the young men do but congratulate the happy couple? And they did it most heartily.

THE END

The Submarine Boys' Trial Trip

or

"Making Good" as Young Experts

First Published 1909

Contents

I. A Big Cloud on the Submarine Horizon

II. A Submarine Stunt that Dumfounds the Beholders

III. Mr. Melville Hurls the Crash

IV. A Squall in an Office

V. Don Melville Takes a Hand

VI. The "Pollard" has a Rival

VII. Missing—A Submarine and Crew

VIII. Farnum Stock Goes Up

IX. A Rascally Piece of Work

X. A Race for Mixed Prizes

XI. What Befell, the Real Benson

XII. The Capitalist Doesn't Likes the Situation

XIII. On trial as Young Experts

XIV. Fooling the Navy, But Only Once

XV. Serving in the Cause of Peace, Not War

XVI. Fighting a Mutiny with Threats

XVII. Jack Perpetrates a Practical Sea Joke

XVIII. Eph Enjoys Being Rescued

XIX. Jack Stumbles Upon a Big Surprise

XX. Conclusion

I. A Big Cloud On the Submarine Horizon

"At what time did you say that the 'Pollard' was due to be back, Mr. Farnum?"

"At two o'clock," replied the owner of the boat-building yard at the little seaport town of Dunhaven.

"It's within five minutes of that hour, now."

"So it is," nodded the owner of the yard, after briefly consulting his watch.

For half an hour, or a little longer, a middle aged man, with the world of business and large affairs imprinted on him, had been walking to and fro along the shore end of the yard. In this walk he was accompanied by his son, a handsome, dark-eyed and dark-haired young fellow of nineteen.

George Melville, the father, was attired very much as any prosperous, busy man might have been, with a touch of fastidiousness added, but the son, Don, was dressed and groomed to look just what he wanted to appear to be, the born young aristocrat.

"Punctuality is one of the cardinal virtues with me, you know," continued Mr. Melville, impatiently, as he again glanced at his watch. "I had hoped to be able to see your submarine boat, the 'Pollard,' this afternoon."

"And I certainly hope you will be able to," replied Jacob Farnum, cordially. This builder, a young man in his thirties, allowed a shade of uneasiness to flit across his face.

"However, when Don is in command of the boat," continued Mr. Melville,

"things will doubtless be run on a better system. That is, if we should decide to invest the money and place Don on board as captain."

"Your son?" inquired Jacob Farnum, with a quick note of astonishment in his voice.

"Certainly," continued Mr. Melville, in the easy voice of one who is sure of his ground. "If my friends and myself decide to invest the required several hundred thousand dollars in your business, the first step of the reorganization on a broader basis will be the placing of my son in command of your boat."

"Hm!" murmured Jacob Farnum.

"Don is wholly fitted for learning the work that I have cut out for him," pursued Mr. Melville. "He has frequently taken command of my steam yacht, the 'Greyhound,' and my sailing master, Captain Carson, assures me that Don is not only a splendid sailor, but born to command. So, after a little time spent in mastering details, Don will make the ideal captain for the 'Pollard'."

"I have a very capable young man in charge now," said Mr. Farnum.

"Captain Jack Benson has already done a few things with the boat that have astonished Naval officers."

"How old is this fellow Benson?" inquired Mr. Melville.

"Sixteen."

"Only sixteen?" queried Mr. Melville, in a voice of amazement. "Bah!

He is entirely too young to be entrusted with the hopes of such a great boat-building company as I hope to help you organize. Don, too, is quite young, but he has a great deal of capacity and has had a valuable lot of experience. As to a boy of sixteen—however, your youth, Benson, may no doubt be retained aboard as a member of the crew, if Don likes him. And now, sir, it's two minutes of two."

With another impatient frown Mr. Melville held his watch out before Mr. Farnum's eyes. That younger man hardly saw the dial. He was looking past, out beyond the mouth of the little cove or harbor. As he did so, Mr. Farnum beheld what, at first, looked like a big ripple spreading over the placid water. Then the top of a steel conning tower shot up into sight. It was followed by the emergence of the upper hull of a strange looking cigar-shaped craft.

"Two minutes before the hour, did you say?" asked Jacob Farnum, placidly.

"Well, there's the 'Pollard,' just up from the depths, and gliding in to anchorage."

Don Melville had strolled away from the pair, but now, at a call from his father, he turned to watch the oncoming craft, which was none other than the new submarine torpedo boat, the "Pollard."

The elder Melville was judge enough of boats and of boat-handling to understand that the submarine was being brought into harbor in a very clever, seamanlike manner.

"She's still running under electric power, you know," explained Mr. Farnum. "The distance is so short that Captain Benson doesn't consider it worth while to start the gasoline engine."

Now, the boat came to a stop, with a slight reversing of her propellers.

At this moment the manhole cover of the conning tower was raised. Out onto the platform deck surrounding the tower Captain Jack Benson nimbly stepped. As he took the wheel in the open, the craft glided on with hardly perceptible motion to a mooring buoy a few yards distant. Out hopped another boy, in dark blue naval uniform and visored cap. This youth, Eph Somers, ran nimbly forward over the hull. At just the right instant Eph bent over, securing the forward tackle to the buoy, then straightened up, saluting the young captain, as he called:

"Single tackle all fast, sir."

Now, a third boy, in uniform similar to those worn by the other two, sprang out through the manhole. Hal Hastings, who had remained behind to shut off the electric motor, waved his cap to Mr. Farnum.

"Well done, Captain Benson and crew!" shouted Jacob Farnum, heartily, across the water.

"It won't take you long to be able to beat that performance, I take it, Don," smiled the elder Melville at his Son. Don's upper lip curled just perceptibly. Jacob Farnum frowned slightly, as he turned his face away.

It would not do to offend George Melville without cause, for that gentleman was considering the raising of six or seven hundred thousand dollars of additional working capital for the making of submarine boats.

"We're coming aboard, captain," added Mr. Farnum, shouting between his hands, across the water. "Everything ship-shape for inspection?"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Captain Jack responded.

"It was a shame, really, to ask that question," laughed Mr. Farnum, turning to his companions. "Benson was all but born aboard a boat, and he's a genuine old maid for having things aboard in apple-pie order.

His two friends are just like him in that respect."

Upon being signaled two workmen of the yard came hastily down to the water's edge. They seated themselves at the oars of a large yawl, while Mr. Farnum and his guests stepped into the boat.

"Give way, and lay us alongside of the 'Pollard,'" directed the boatbuilder.

Captain Jack, Hal Hastings and Eph Somers still remained standing at ease on the platform deck of the submarine craft. They were but a few weeks older than when they appeared before the readers of the first volume in this series, "The Submarine Boys On Duty." Readers of that volume are familiar with the story of how Jack Benson and Hal Hastings appeared in Dunhaven; how they made the acquaintance, first of David Pollard, the submarine's inventor, and then of Jacob Farnum, the boat's builder and financial backer. Readers of the first volume also remember how Eph Somers appeared unexpectedly on the scene, and just how he coolly put himself into the submarine picture, securing his place aboard that wonderful craft. Those who read the first volume are familiar with the way in which the boys met and vanquished the savage hostility of Josh Owen and Dan Jaggers; they remember the desperate battle, in the ocean's depths, with the crazy boatswain's mate. They recall the dashing, laughable prank that Captain Jack played on one of the big battleships of the Naval maneuvers fleet, and remember the pretty romance, in which the submarine boys aided greatly, through which Mr. Farnum secured beautiful Grace Desmond as his bride. Our readers who have pored over the pages of the preceding volume, in fact, will recall all the many adventures through which Jack, Hal and Eph passed with daring and credit.

All the people in the world move forward—or backward—a bit every day. And so, while, our young friends were still aboard the "Pollard," and happy, affairs were shaping that might alter the whole current of their lives, their ambitions and their hopes. Convinced that he could, by the use of sufficient energy and capital, equip a larger yard and sell the United States Government a solid, efficient fleet of submarine torpedo boats that would constitute a fearful menace on the waves—or under them—to any foreign foe, Jacob Farnum had now begun to look about for the necessary capital with which to expand what he believed to be a highly promising business.

Thus it happened that the two Melvilles now came upon the scene. The elder possessed a good deal of spare money, and could influence several business friends into investing heavily. It was George Melville's habit to acquire control, gradually, of any business in which he invested heavily. He had wonderful skill in that line of conduct, and combined much tact with it. Mr. Melville, going into a new business, and contributing capital heavily, was accustomed to securing whole control of the business before his associates quite realized what was happening.

Now, as this capitalist climbed up the side and stood on the platform deck, looking about him, he began to picture himself as selling a fleet of such boats—all of them practically his—to the Government.

"Not much of a place, this deck, to stand on and handle a vessel through rough weather?" he inquired, looking sharply at Mr. Farnum.

"No," admitted the builder, adding with a smile: "Of course, it takes the cream of our seafaring men to travel in such craft, anyway. Such men can stand discomfort and any amount of danger, at need. Ask Captain Benson."

Young Captain Jack smiled quietly. He and his two comrades guessed that George Melville was one of the capitalists whom Farnum was trying to interest in the business.

"Let us go below," suggested Mr. Melville. "Don, use your eyes to good advantage. You may have need of all you can learn about such boats."

Don Melville inclined his head, but said nothing. Farnum led them below.

Captain Jack helped the builder in explaining the general working details of the boat. Hal and Eph answered such questions as were put to them by father or son.

"It's all very interesting," said Mr. Melville, slowly, at last.

"Farnum, let us go up on deck a few minutes. Don, you might remain below.

I have no doubt there is still much that you want to see."

So Don remained below. The boys of the submarine's crew, feeling that Mr. Farnum would want to be alone with his guest, also remained below.

"Do you—er—like this sort of thing, Benson?" asked Don Melville.

"The submarine boat work, you mean?" asked Captain Jack, brightly. "Why, it's my life—my very life!"

The glow that came to the cheeks of the young submarine captain bore out his words fully. Jack did love this fine craft. He gloried in having the command of her, though he never made the weight of his authority felt by his two comrades, who, indeed, virtually shared in the command.

Captain Benson was especially proud and grateful at the confidence shown in himself and in his mates in being allowed full charge of the "Pollard." Love the life? It wouldn't be life, for him, without the "Pollard!"

Don began to ask some further questions about the boat. His tone was slightly supercilious. It was plain to be seen that he looked upon these daring, tried and proven youngsters as being decidedly his inferiors. Yet Jack fought against a growing feeling of irritation, giving good-humored and attentive answers.

Then Don went over to the little door of a compartment in the wall.

Behind this door was some of the delicate mechanism—invention of David Pollard—by means of which the compressed air supply was better regulated than on any other type of submarine craft.

"Why, this place is locked," observed Don.

"Yes," nodded Captain Jack.

"You have the key?"

"I—I believe so."

"Then be good enough to unlock this little door," ordered Don Melville.

"I hope you'll pardon me," said Captain Jack, quickly, yet politely. "It wouldn't be just the thing for me to do."

"Why not?" Don shot at him, coldly.

"Well—because I've no orders from Mr. Farnum to that effect.

Because—well, behind that little door are a few mechanisms that amount to about the most important secret about the boat."

"Then you refuse to unlock that little door?" demanded Don, coldly, trying to disconcert the young captain by a steady, cold look into his eyes.

"Oh, no; I don't refuse," answered young Benson, in the same cool, pleasant tone. "But the order should come from Mr. Farnum. He's right overhead. You can call up to him. If he says so, then I'll unlock it with pleasure."

"Benson," retorted Don Melville, again trying to disconcert the young captain with a stare of cold insolence, "I guess you don't understand quite who I am."

"If I don't, I shall be glad to be enlightened," laughed Jack, softly.

"Who are you?"

"I'm the son of the man who expects to put a big amount of capital into this enterprise. Farnum wants my father to do it."

"Then I hope your father does," nodded Jack Benson, with a look of polite interest.

"Of course, in that case," pursued Don, "the whole business will be reorganized."

"I should imagine so," nodded Jack.

"And, as a part of that reorganization, I'm to have command of the 'Pollard,' and of any other boats that may be built here!"

Captain Jack Benson's face blanched in an instant. He did not falter, but he felt, for the moment, as though he had been stabbed to the heart.

Hal Hastings gave a little, barely perceptible gasp. Eph Somers, with a snort of wrath, turned and stepped through into the motor room.

"I'm to command this boat, and the others that may be built; that's one of my father's conditions in putting up the required capital," continued Don Melville. "Of course, I shall select my own helpers and crews. If you three are really competent, and show sufficient respect for authority over you, I may be able to provide some sort of places for you aboard this boat and the new one that's being built. Now, do you understand who I am?"

"I've heard all you said," replied Captain Jack, dully. He was so dazed, so tormented, that, for the moment, he did not dare trust himself to make more of a reply.

"Don!" called the elder Melville, briskly. "We're going on shore now.

You'd better leave your further studies aboard until to-morrow."

"Good-bye, then, lads," said Don Melville, laying a hand on the nickeled railing of the spiral stairway leading up through the conning tower. He spoke with a trace more of cordiality as he started up the steps: "When I come aboard next I trust there will be no misunderstanding of new facts."

Jack Benson still stood by the little cabin table, resting one hand on it. His eyes were turned toward the floor, his chest heaving. The blow had struck him like a bolt from a clear, sunny sky!

"That cold duffer coming aboard to boss us all around like cattle?" burst from Eph Somers, as he stamped out from the engine room.

"Confound it!" growled Hal Hastings, savagely. "I don't believe the yarn.

Do you?"

"I'm half afraid," replied Captain Jack, raising his eyes, "that I do."

II. A Submarine Stunt That Dumfiound the Beholders

"It ain't true! Can't be! I won't believe it!" declared Eph, in a rage.

"We've had such a good time aboard, and have been so proud of what we've been able to do," added Hal, chokingly.

"Mr. Farnum won't put that snob in here!" asserted Eph. "Not in charge, anyway. Why, Mr. Farnum couldn't stand the fellow any more than we could."

"Fellows," rejoined Jack, looking at the hot faces of his mates, "we mustn't be too hasty, even in talking among ourselves."

"That fellow's a snob," asserted Eph. "I'll stand by that anywhere."

"I don't know that I'd say that," replied young Benson, who had recovered his calmness. "In the first place, Don Melville has evidently had a golden spoon in his mouth from the day of his birth. He's used to having things his own way. He may be all right at bottom."

"Then that's where I hope he goes," quivered Eph. "Straight to the bottom! Under a hundred fathoms of good salt water!"

"We may like him better when we know him," ventured Jack.

"I'm betting though," put in Hal, thoughtfully, "that we're much more likely to like him less."

"He's a duffer!" snorted Eph.

"We may have to change our minds about that," smiled Jack, dully.

"Ain't he a rich man's son?" demanded Eph, blazing.

"That doesn't make him out a fool or a dullard," retorted the young captain. "Rich men's sons aren't as often fools as they're suspected of being. Some of them are mighty clever. The number of great American fortunes that are doubled, or trebled, in the second generation, show that."

"Then you're going to side with him?" sneered Eph.

"I don't know what I'm going to do, until the time comes," Captain Jack answered, quietly. "But I do know one thing I'm going to do, at any and all times—and so are you fellows. You couldn't help it, if you tried."

"What's that?" Hal wanted to know.

"We're going to be as square with Jacob Farnum as he has always been with us. That carries with it the idea of a big lot of loyalty."

"Right!" agreed Hal.

"Of course," nodded Eph, less angrily. "Just as long as Farnum runs the business. But, if other folks get in here and get the control—"

"Of course, we can drop out of this business at any time we want to, provided it wouldn't carry with it disloyalty to the employer who's been mighty good to us," supplied Jack Benson.

"Mr. Farnum sent the boat out, to see if you young men want to go ashore," announced a voice from above.

Within two minutes the three submarine boys were making for the shore.

After reporting at the office of the yard, and finding that Mr. Farnum would not want them again that afternoon, the young cronies sauntered off up into the village. At Jack's suggestion they talked no more about the Melvilles for the present. Yet each felt as though a lump of lead lay against his heart.

Though they tried to enjoy themselves in the village, there was too great a weight of dread upon them. It began to look as though all the pleasure of their recent life must fade. Though Don Melville, if he secured command of the "Pollard," might tolerate them aboard, all three knew that they would feel the burden of his cool contempt for them as inferiors. Listlessly, at last, the three submarine boys turned back toward the yard, went aboard, cooked a supper for which they had no appetite, and then waited for turning-in time.

In the next few days there were many signs that Melville intended to find and supply the desired capital for the promotion of the yard's business. Don and his father were much about the place, though they rarely came out to the "Pollard." Business friends of Mr. Melville's also appeared. Finally there came an important looking lawyer and an expert accountant.

"I reckon it's all settled except the signing of the papers," ventured Hal Hastings.

"The toe of the boot for ours, then, or as bad," murmured Eph Somers sardonically.

During these days David Pollard, the inventor who had made this splendid type of submarine boat possible, did not appear. For one thing, he was away in secret, pondering over the invention of further appliances to be tried out on the boat now building. More than that, David Pollard, shy and with no head for affairs, entrusted all new business arrangements to Jacob Farnum, who, he felt sure, could be trusted with a friend's interests.

"It's tough to be poor," grimaced Hal Hastings. "If I had the money, I'd put it into the business for the sake of keeping my berth aboard, and having things as pleasant as we've had 'em all along."

"So would I," grunted Eph. "But what's the use of talking, when this is all the capitalist that I am?"

He took out four paper dollars, passing them ruefully between his fingers.

"Why don't you say something, Jack?" demanded Hal. "Dry of words, for once?"

"I'm thinking," responded young Benson, absently.

"Well, it's a sure thing that thinking does less harm than talking," nodded Hal.

"But when a fellow's silent he can't spit out all that's boiling inside of him," snorted Eph Somers.

"I'm getting ready to talk presently," smiled Captain Jack.

"If it's anything strong, say it now," begged Eph.

The three boys were sitting about the cabin table. Eph sat with his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands, his eyes glaring defiantly at the wall opposite. Hal, rather listless, sat low in his chair, his feet well under the table, his hands thrust deep in his pockets. Jack sat leaning slightly forward, his left hand tapping lightly against the polished surface of the table.

"Tell you what I'm going to do," suddenly exploded Eph. "I'm going to Jake Farnum and ask him, straight, whether that snob of a duffer is going to be put in here over us, with leave to kick us out when he chooses."

"Don't you do it," advised Hal, with a shake of his head.

"Why not?"

"Our employer is absorbed, and, troubled as much as he wants to be, now," rejoined Hastings. "When there's anything he wants us to know, and he can find time, he'll tell us."

"Huh!" half assented Eph.

"Don't be forward about it," continued Hal. "Just play the waiting game and rely upon Mr. Farnum being as fair and square as he has any chance to be."

"Hum" again nodded Eph. "Well, anyway, with farm labor at a premium, I'm not going to stay aboard to black the duffer's shoes."

"Fellows, listen!" commanded Jack Benson, suddenly looking up.

Then he told them both the thought and the scheme that had been in his mind all that day. While the young captain was talking his two mates were still—Hal, because it was his nature, and Eph Somers because he was actually staggered into silence.

"That's what I've been thinking of," Jack wound up.

"Don't you do it, old fellow—don't you dare!" ordered Hal, sitting up straighter and resting an appealing hand on his chum's shoulder.

"But think of the lives that have been lost on submarine boats during the last few years," pleaded Jack Benson, seriously.

"And you want to add your life to the others," retorted Hal, with mocking irony.

"I want to save, perhaps, hundreds of lives in the future," returned Jack, spiritedly.

"Then, at least, old chum," begged Hal, "tell your scheme to Mr. Farnum, and let him hire a trained diver to make the experiment."

"You think there's a lot of danger in it, do you?" queried Captain Jack, mildly.

"I certainly do," said Hastings, with emphasis.

"Then I'll do the trick myself," contended Jack. "I'm not going to think up a trick too dangerous for myself, and then hire another man to take all the risk for me."

Hal said no more. He knew the folly of trying to persuade his chum out of a decision like the present one.

"I don't believe Farnum will let you try it," hinted Eph. "It sounds too dangerous."

"Mr. Farnum won't know what it is until it's been done," responded young Captain Benson, with a light laugh, as he rose from the table. "Fellows, I'm going on shore for a little while. Look the electric motor over, and test the compressed air apparatus. We want to be sure that everything is working right."

"Let me go ashore with you," suggested Hal, also rising.

"Not this time," laughed Jack. "You might try to say something to Mr. Farnum to queer my plan. Stay here. You and Eph make mighty sure that everything is in running order."

Going on deck, Captain Jack signaled for a shore boat, which was quickly alongside. Landing, the young captain walked slowly up to the yard office, thinking deeply all the time.

Just as the young submarine commander entered the outer office Jacob Farnum stepped out from his private, inner office. He was smoking a cigar, and looked as though he had come out to stretch his legs.

"Hullo, Jack," he greeted the young man, pleasantly. "Say, I hope you haven't come to talk business. Say something foolish, won't you, lad? I'm just in the mood for nonsense. All forenoon I've had my head crammed to bursting with figures and business, and now I'm in the mood for something reckless. You see, Melville is in a position to command a lot of capital, and we need it to expand this business. He's in there, now, with another capitalist, a lawyer and an accountant. But I had to break away. What do you know that's reckless?"

Jacob Farnum was not playing any part of treachery, or deception, in not telling his submarine boys about the proposed shifting of command to Don Melville's shoulders. The fact was that George Melville, after that first hint, had said nothing more about the subject, but was now craftily laying the wires for securing gradual control of the shipyard's enterprises.

"Why, I am glad to find you at leisure, and willing to be amused," smiled Captain Jack, quietly. "Will it be too much like business if I ask you down to the water to watch a little demonstration that we want to make with the 'Pollard'?"

"Is it something brand-new?" laughed Mr. Farnum, resting an arm on the young captain's shoulder.

"So far as I know, it's shiningly new," laughed Jack Benson.

"What is it?"

"If you don't mind, Mr. Farnum, I'd rather show it to you first."

"How long will the demonstration take?"

"It ought not to require more than fifteen or twenty minutes, sir."

"I'll take you up, then," agreed Mr. Farnum, pleasantly.

Just at that moment the inner door opened. Mr. Melville came out, followed by his lawyer, Don bringing up the rear of the file.

"I guess you'd better come along with me, gentlemen," called Mr. Farnum.

"Captain Benson has just invited me to witness something new in the submarine line."

"What is it?" questioned Mr. Melville.

"I don't know," admitted Jacob Farnum.

"What is it, boy?" demanded Mr. Melville, turning upon Jack. The very tone in which the word "boy" was uttered was meant to reduce the youthful captain to confusion, but it had the opposite effect. Though it brought a quick flush to Jack's cheeks, he answered, courteously:

"It is intended, principally, as a surprise to Mr. Farnum. If I were to tell, now, it would rob him of much of the pleasure of being astonished."

To this George Melville did not deign to reply, though he compressed his lips grimly enough. Don flashed a sneering look at Jack, then observed:

"You're pretty independent for a boy."

"Let Captain Jack alone," drawled Farnum, expelling some cigar smoke between his lips. "He generally knows what he's doing."

Though there was nothing in the builder's tone at which offense could be taken, this reply quieted both Melvilles for the time being.

"Come on. We'll all go down to the shore and see what it is," added the yard's owner.

Captain Jack hurried ahead, entered the shore boat and was rowed out alongside the "Pollard."

"It's all right, fellows," he called, as soon as he boarded. "Everything ready?"

Receiving assurance that all was ready, Captain Jack turned to wave his hand to the little group watching from the shore. Two or three minutes later the "Pollard" slipped slowly away from her moorings, going out where the little harbor was deeper. Then, the manhole being closed, the submarine began to sink. Her conning tower was soon out of sight beneath the surface.

"There's about seventy feet of water, where the boat is going down," observed Farnum, to his guests.

"What's the aim of all this mysterious work?" demanded Mr. Melville, with some irritation.

"You know as much as I do," drawled Farnum, smilingly.

"It seems to me that you allow this young boat tender a good deal of latitude, and tolerate a good deal of mystery in him," cried the capitalist, impatiently.

"I have a good deal of confidence in my young captain," returned Farnum, good-humoredly, though with considerable emphasis on the title. "So far I have never had any need to regret giving Captain Benson rather a free hand."

"Yet you—"

Mr. Melville stopped right there, for Jacob Farnum, his eyes turned in a steady look out over the water, suddenly emitted an incredulous whoop.

Then, without explanation, the boatbuilder broke into a dead run that carried him along the shore to the northern edge of the little harbor.

Nor was Mr. Farnum's astonishment to be wondered at, for he had just caught sight of Jack Benson's head, above the water at the point where the submarine had gone down. And now, Captain Jack, after blowing out a mouthful of water, had started to swim ashore with long, easy strokes.

Not quite catching the great significance of it all, the Melvilles and the lawyer hurried after the builder.

Captain Jack Benson, clad only in a bathing suit, stepped out of the water and stood laughing before his employer.

"Jack, how on earth did you—" began Farnum, then stopped, overpowered by another wave of amazement.

"What's the meaning of all this?" demanded the elder Melville, pantingly, as he reached the scene.

"Mr. Melville, and gentlemen," cried the boatbuilder, wheeling upon his guests, "do you even begin to grasp the importance of the marvel you have just witnessed? One of the great indictments found against the submarine torpedo boat is that, when one sinks and cannot be brought to the surface again, the crew must miserably perish. Very humane people shudder at the very idea of ordering men into a craft that may go to the bottom and become the hopeless grave of the crew. Yet the 'Pollard' lies at the bottom of this harbor, and Captain Benson has just come to the surface, laughing and uninjured."

"I suppose he opened the manhole cover, and rose to the surface," hazarded Mr. Melville.

"In that case, sir," smiled Captain Jack, "wouldn't you expect the 'Pollard' to be filled with water, and my companions drowned? Besides, sir, at a depth of seventy feet, the pressure of the water is such that it would be sheer impossibility to raise the manhole cover."

"Then how did you get here?" demanded the capitalist.

"Pardon me, sir," replied Jack, courteously, though firmly.

"Do you refuse to answer my question, boy?"

Again the irritating, half-contemptuous use of "boy" made Jack's cheeks flush, though he answered merely:

"I think, sir, Mr. Farnum has a right to the first information."

"Do you understand, boy, that I am about to take a large interest in this business?"

"I have heard so, sir. But I hope you won't mind my saying that this little surprise was thought out by my comrades and myself. It seems to me, therefore, that we have some rights in the disclosing of the secret."

"Humph!" broke in Don Melville. "It's all some deception—some cheap trick, anyway."

Captain Jack held up one hand to signal the shore boat, which, with two workmen in it, was hovering near. As the boat came in, the submarine boy announced:

"Now, I will show you the rest of the principle that my mates and I are demonstrating. Mr. Farnum, by the way, has just spoken of the humane side of this discovery, the making possible the rescue of a crew of a boat that can't be made to rise. Gentlemen, there's still another side to it. Under actual war conditions, with a submarine boat guarding a coast or harbor entrance, if the commander of the boat brought the conning tower above the surface, the presence of the boat would be detected on a clear day. But the head of a swimmer rising from the boat could not be observed at any very great distance. Yet the swimmer could make out the hull or masts of a hostile vessel some miles away.

This new trick is likely to make submarine boats much more valuable to the countries owning them. Now, I want to try something else, and see whether I can do it."

The shore boat put in when called. In the bow was a hundred-pound anchor, with plenty of cable to pay out after it. Captain Jack entered the boat, looked over the anchor tackle, then returned to shore.

"Come to me where I stop," he directed the men in the boat. With that, after getting his bearings fully, he swam out, counting his strokes as he went.

"It's about here that I came up," he called, pausing and treading water easily. "Bring the boat here."

Clambering aboard, he directed the casting of the anchor overboard. Then, poising himself at the bow, he made a strong dive, vanishing under the water.

"What's he going to do now?" asked Mr. Melville, curiously.

"I'd rather wait than guess," smiled Mr. Farnum.

For just an instant Don Melville looked, as he felt, green with envy.

Some moments passed. Then, not far from the spot where the "Pollard" had gone down, her conning tower appeared once more. That was followed by the emergence of the platform deck and upper hull above the water. In another moment the tower manhole was opened, and Jack Benson, with a wave of the hand, stepped out, his bathing suit changed for his uniform. He lifted his cap in a joyous salute to those on shore.

"By Jove, Jack, but you're a wonder!" shouted Mr. Farnum across the water.

"I'll have Dave Pollard excited when I write him about this thing. But you have me guessing how the trick was done."

Once more Benson signaled the small boat in close, after the anchor had been lifted. Now, the young submarine captain came in to shore.

"You come on board with me, Mr. Farnum?" invited Jack.

"Are you going to show him how you worked the trick?" demanded Mr. Melville, quickly.

"Yes, sir."

"Then I believe we'll all come on board."

"I—I am sorry, sir." Jack hesitated. "If anyone but Mr. Farnum comes aboard I shall show nothing. Later on, when Mr. Farnum and I have talked this matter over—"

"Are you going to stand for this boy's nonsense, Farnum?" broke in the capitalist, angrily.

"I guess I shall have to," responded the builder, with the pronounced drawl which, with him, was a sign that he was close to inward anger.

"Mr. Melville, I must beg you to remember that the secret, whatever it is, belongs, so far, to Captain Benson. You may not approve, but I think he is wholly right in this instance."

The capitalist bowed stiffly. He and his son remained on the shore as Farnum embarked with his young employe. They were soon on board the "Pollard," which was not long in sinking. Then, after a few minutes, Jack's head once more shot above the water. The shore boat was waiting, and again dropped the anchor close to where the boy had come up. Jack stood in the boat for a few minutes, taking in deep breaths and sunning his wet skin. Then, for the second time, he dived below the surface.

Five minutes afterward the "Pollard" was at the surface and moving back to her moorings. Mr. Farnum and Captain Jack returned to the shore.

The boatbuilder's face was glowing with delight.

"You saw our young captain come up while I was with the 'Pollard' down on the bottom, didn't you?" inquired the yard's owner.

"Yes," admitted Mr. Melville, grudgingly, while Don half scowled, then turned his head away. "But how is the thing done?"

"That," replied Jacob Farnum, courteously, "at the request of Captain John Benson, must remain a secret for the present."

"Oh!" said the capitalist, but his tone was ominous.

III. Mr. Melville Hurls the Crash

It was really a wonderful, even if a very simple, revolution in the handling of submarine boats that Jack Benson had thought out.

Up to that time many scores of lives had been lost, in different parts of the world, when the crews of submarine boats had found, for one reason or another, that they could not raise their craft from the bottom of the depths. Formerly, when crews found themselves placed in that predicament, death followed.

Jack's solution was wonderfully simple. In brief, when the "Pollard" lay on the bottom of the little harbor at Dunhaven, the young captain had crawled into the long tube through which torpedoes were to be discharged in war time.

One end of this torpedo tube projects slightly into the water, at the bow of the submarine boat. The other end of the tube is well inside the craft. Two doors, or "ports," as they are called, close the tube at the ends. Ordinarily the forward port is closed, to keep water from entering the boat. When a torpedo is placed in the tube for firing, the outer or forward port is opened automatically just at the instant of discharging the torpedo. Enough compressed air is turned into the tube to force the torpedo out, after which the torpedo goes on its deadly journey propelled by its own motor. The presence of the air thus turned into the tube at the instant of firing keeps out the water until the tube's forward port is once more closed. Then the rear port of the tube, inside the submarine boat, may be opened whenever it is desired.

Captain Jack Benson, when he reached bottom with the "Pollard," and had donned his bathing suit, crawled into the tube through the rear port.

This port was then closed. Hal Hastings simultaneously opened the outer port and discharged compressed air into the tube. Thus Jack forced his way out into the water, and, with the aid of his natural buoyancy, made a quick swim for the surface.

In returning, he had dived down, close to the anchor cable. Nearer the bottom he seized the cable, thus hauling himself down to the outer port of the torpedo tube. He had quickly crawled into the tube, where the presence of air still kept the water out. As he knocked heavily at the rear port with both hands, Hal swiftly turned in a moderate discharge of compressed air, while Eph, controlling mechanism inside, swung the forward port shut. Then the rear port was swung back, Captain Jack crawling back into the forward compartment of the boat.

"The whole trick is rather easy," Jack informed Mr. Farnum, as they walked that night in the village and discussed the matter in undertones.

"But you were in not more than seventy feet of water there," suggested the builder. "You couldn't do it at much greater depth."

"At eighty feet of water I could do it," replied Benson, thoughtfully.

"But at a greater depth than eighty feet—?"

"Of course, the deeper one gets, the more tremendous the pressure of the water is," answered the young captain. "At a depth of a hundred feet, say, the pressure of the water would be enough to crowd me back into the tube, crushing my body."

"And killing you," clicked Mr. Farnum.

"Undoubtedly. Yet seventy feet is as deep as one need go. Fifty feet is far enough below the surface, for that matter. And we have the splendid little 'Pollard' under such perfect control that we can drop to fifty feet below the surface, as shown by our submersion gauge, and keep just at that depth."

"It's all wonderful," cried the boatbuilder. "Jack, you are a genius at this work!"

"There are some rather big problems to be worked out, in connection with this new idea," hinted Benson.

"What are the problems?"

"Well, in observing a stretch of water, for the position or approach of a hostile battleship, it might be necessary for the swimmer to go up several times."

"Yes—?"

"That would call for a very considerable use of compressed air."

"Naturally."

"So, in the boat now building, Mr. Farnum, I think Mr. Pollard and yourself should provide for the carrying of greater quantities of compressed air. For, when a submarine is below, you must always have reserve tanks of compressed air to be used in bringing the boat to the surface. Of course, once on the surface, with the motor going, more compressed air can be quickly stored."

"You've been doing some busy thinking, Jack," spoke Mr. Farnum, approvingly.

"I haven't been doing it all, sir," was Benson's quick reply. "Hal and Eph have been talking it all over with me."

"The Melvilles are very anxious to find out how you performed the seemingly wonderful feat of leaving the submerged boat and then returning to it."

"Are you going to tell them, sir."

"Not, at any rate, until I've taken more time to think about it. Yet, you understand, Jack, I can't be too offish with them. They are able to control the investment of a good deal of money, and that money I am afraid we are going to need if we are to go as steeply as we'd like into the building of submarines."

Jacob Farnum, it will be remembered, had married Grace Desmond, an heiress. Her affairs were not yet fully settled through the probate court, but she would presently be entitled to about a half million dollars in her own right. To many it would have seemed that, with a wife so rich, the inventor would not have to look far to find abundant capital. Jacob Farnum, however, knew the hazards that surround even the best conducted business concerns, and he had determined that not a penny of his young wife's fortune should be risked in his own ventures.

In other words, it was a point of honor with him not to take the slightest risk of involving his wife's private fortune.

The following morning David Pollard was on hand, in response to a telegram from his friend. Things were now about in shape for final discussion between Melville, the builder and the inventor.

In the private inner office of the shipyard the group of those most interested gathered. Jacob Farnum seated himself beside his desk, Pollard taking a chair close by. Lawyer Demarest, with a pile of impressive looking documents before him, sat at a large flat-top desk.

Melville, senior, and two business friends, sat a little apart, while Don Melville stood behind his father.

"I will say, in beginning," commenced George Melville, in his smoothest, blandest tones, "that we have talked so far, you and I, Mr. Farnum, only in general terms. We will now come to the definite proposition under which my friends and myself are willing to contribute the share of new capital that you want in your business."

"That is what I most want, before we go any further," assented Mr. Farnum.

"I will say, however, that I have in mind a proposition that I would like to submit, before we hear from your side."

"I am listening," nodded Mr. Melville, suavely.

"We have already decided," continued Mr. Farnum, "that my boat yard, with all its equipment, and including the ownership of the 'Pollard,' may be fairly rated at three hundred thousand dollars."

"That is quite true," nodded Mr. Melville. "That figure is in accordance with the estimates made by our expert accountant."

"In the boat itself," continued Jacob Farnum, "my friend Pollard has a stated amount of interest. To come quickly to the point, then, I propose that Pollard and myself, with the aid of a necessary third party—my superintendent, Partridge, for instance—form a stock company with a capital stock of three hundred thousand dollars. Then the six hundred and fifty thousand dollars that you and your associates are to advance, Mr. Melville, may be secured by an issue of bonds, which the company will secure authority to issue. These bonds will bear the unusually high interest of seven per cent., and this interest, of course, will have to be paid before any dividend can be declared on the capital stock of the company. That will retain the control of the company in my hands, and in Pollard's, and that is what we want."

"Yet do you expect that it will be easy to secure such an understanding with capital?" inquired Mr. Melville, easily. "The proposition amounts to this: That you put in the smaller amount of capital, and yet expect to reap the greater profits."

"By no means," replied Jacob Farnum, seriously. "We have demonstrated the value of our type of boat, and we have some valuable knowledge and ideas that cannot be appraised in dollars. So, though our amount of material capital is less than you and your associates would contribute, we feel that we are bringing to the enterprise the larger share."

"I see your point," nodded Mr. Melville, pleasantly. "Yet there is much to be discussed from our side."

So the contest was on—the quiet, polite battle that is as old as capital itself. The men who contribute the money expect the control of the business; the men who contribute the ideas and knowledge expect, capital to be satisfied with a good return on its money.

Both sides were silent for awhile. The lawyer, tapping a pencil against his lips, knew that George Melville did not intend to go into the enterprise on any arrangement that did not allow him to gain business control swiftly and surely.

"We have much to discuss, along these lines," pursued Mr. Melville, in his smoothest tones and with his friendliest air. "But I have no doubt at all, Mr. Farnum, that we shall presently reach a basis that will be wholly agreeable to both sides."

Which, on the contrary, was what the capitalist knew to be impossible.

Melville found himself wishing that something else would come into the conversation, in order to get the boatbuilder's mind briefly away from the main proposition.

Steps were heard, at this moment, in the outer office, and then the faces of Jack and Hal appeared close to the glass in the door. Eph was not far behind them.

"Oh, my crew," nodded Mr. Farnum, looking up. "You remember our experiment, the other day, of having a man leave the boat while under water? Some other problems have come up in that connection. So I sent word to the young men, asking them to step over to the office as soon as convenient. I guess they did not quite understand, and were busy at the time, so that they have come over a little too late. I will step to the door, and so inform them."

Here was the diversion for which Mr. Melville had just been wishing.

"Don't dismiss them, please," urged the capitalist. "On the contrary, will you be good enough to ask them to step in here? There is something that it might be as well to make clear before them."

Bowing slightly, as he rose, Jacob Farnum stepped to the door, opening it.

"Come right in, boys," he requested. "Mr. Melville wishes to say something before you."

Each of the three submarine boys felt a quick throb at the heart. All had a suspicion that a blow might be about to fall. So they stepped inside, halting not far from Mr. Farnum's desk, and turning to face the Melville group.

Mr. Melville cleared his throat before he began:

"In the reorganization of affairs here, my investing friends and myself will be obliged to expect that the command of the 'Pollard' submarine boat will pass to my son, who will actively represent our group. My son, Don, will have charge and knowledge of the boat, its successors, and of all new ideas tried aboard, and he will safeguard, so far as may be necessary our interests. It is possible, however, that he may find it advisable to employ some or all of the present crew. That will, of course, be for him to decide in the near future."

IV. A Squall In an Office

Jack Benson paled, clenching his hands tightly. Hal Hastings raised his eyebrows slightly; he, too, changed color swiftly. Eph's face reddened; he had all he could do to keep from shouting outright.

Jacob Farnum flushed, half rose from his chair, then seated himself again and turned to look at the boys.

But George Melville appeared to have eyes, at that moment, for no one but young Captain John Benson.

Don stood just beyond his father's chair, regarding the leader of the submarine boys with a supercilious stare.

There was such silence, for a few seconds, that the ticking of the big clock in the corner sounded almost like hammer-blows.

"You understand fully, do you not, Benson?" demanded George Melville, breaking the silence.

"I heard you, sir," Jack replied, not without an effort.

"And what have you to say, Captain Benson?" inquired Mr. Farnum, speaking with some effort.

Captain Jack turned around to face his employer; the other two submarine boys wheeled with him.

"Mr. Farnum, we have been in your employ, and we have always taken your orders. If you say we are to be dropped from the boat's crew, we bow to what we can't prevent."

"No one has spoken—definitely, that is—of dropping you boys from the 'Pollard's' crew," interposed Mr. Melville, slowly. "I have only announced that in the reorganization of this enterprise the group that I represent will require that my son, Don, be placed in command of the 'Pollard,' and of any other submarine boats that may be built. If you do not like to work aboard the submarines, very likely we can find work for you at something in this yard."

Jacob Farnum exchanged a few words in an undertone with David Pollard.

Now, the boat builder faced about.

"Mr. Melville," he began, "Mr. Pollard and I feel under a debt of deep obligation to Captain Benson and his mates. Boys though they are, they have done much to make the 'Pollard' as famous as it already is.

Between an intelligent employer and a capable, honest employe there can be no question about gratitude. I speak for both Mr. Pollard and myself, therefore, when I say that it is our feeling that Captain Benson and his mates must continue in their present positions."

The color came back to Jack's face. Joy beamed out in his eyes. Hal looked as though he had been given a new lease of life.

"Hooray!" roared Eph. He gave two vigorous jig steps, then stopped, abashed.

"Excuse me, Mr. Farnum," he begged, shamefacedly.

"I do not think you quite understand," went on Mr. Melville, regarding the boatbuilder coldly. "The placing of my son as I have indicated is an absolute condition on the part of our group."

"And I have declined it," returned Mr. Farnum rising, and standing easily.

"Then you do not want our capital, Mr. Farnum?" sternly demanded Mr. Melville.

"Not on your conditions, sir!" came, sharply, from the boatbuilder.

"Oh, you will come to your senses, soon," rejoined the capitalist, coolly. "You need a good deal of money for the extension of your business, and we stand ready to supply it. All that is needed is the conceding of certain conditions, and we are ready to pass our checks for all the money you need. My associates and myself ask for nothing that is unfair. Now, will you take our money into your business, or will you go on in the old, slow way?"

David Pollard had risen, in some agitation, and had walked to the further end of the private office.

"Pardon me a moment," begged Farnum, then followed his friend. The two conversed in low tones.

"You may leave the room, boys," announced Mr. Melville, turning to eye Jack Benson.

Not one of the three stirred.

"Did you hear me?" insisted the capitalist, sharply.

"Yes, sir," answered Jack, quietly.

"Then why don't you go?"

"Mr. Farnum sent for us, and we are waiting to learn whether he is through with us for the present."

"You may take my word for it," snapped Mr. Melville. "Go!"

The submarine boys paid no heed to him.

"The impudent young beggars," sneered Don Melville. "Low-born, and no manners!"

Jack Benson turned, fixing his gaze upon Don's face Jack's look was full of contempt, though he spoke no word.

"Don't try any impudent airs on me," warned Don, flushing, then paling, as his fists doubled.

"Mr. Melville," broke in Jacob Farnum, returning, while David Pollard remained where he was, looking out of the window, "I think we can cut this scene very short. In the first place, in joining us, you demand that we treat with utter injustice bright young employees who have been extraordinarily faithful and devoted."

"You will soon come to see the need of that," replied the capitalist, with a light wave of his hand.

"We do not see it," replied Farnum. "Nor do we intend to. Further, we are disturbed by what you have made only too plain, that you intend to get complete control of this business, and make Pollard and myself merely subordinates in the affairs here."

"Not as bad as that," protested the capitalist, with a smile. "Of course, in view of the very large amount of money we are offering, we must have some voice in the management of—"

"Not this business!" interjected the boatbuilder, with emphasis.

"But, man, you must have the money!"

"We'll do without it, or get it somewhere else," went on the boatbuilder, patiently. "We thank you, Mr. Melville, and those associated with you, but Mr. Pollard and I have decided to go no further in the present negotiations."

"What's that?" demanded George Melville, springing to his feet. "You don't want our money?"

"We won't take it—not at the price you set on it," responded Farnum, bluntly.

For the first time the capitalist appeared decidedly uneasy.

"You don't mean this, Farnum," he answered. "You're excited; perhaps alarmed over something that I have said, or which you thought I intimated."

"I mean just what I have said, take my word for it, sir," retorted the boatbuilder. "We do not intend to look to you for any money that we need. That is final, and, therefore, that is all."

"All this change of front because of these wretched boys?" demanded George Melville, incredulously.

"Partly on account of your attitude toward these boys," admitted Mr. Farnum, "and also because Pollard and I now realize that you had intended to wrest control of this business from us."

"You're losing your senses," Stormed the capitalist, angrily. "Unless you at once come to a realization of it, all we can do is to wish you good morning."

Mr. Farnum bowed, silently, then moved toward the office door, opening it.

"Come on, gentlemen," cried Melville, stiffly, turning toward his own friends.

In silence the members of that group started across the floor. Mr. Farnum, surveying them inscrutably, still held the door open.

"This is dramatic—and suicidal," said Mr. Melville, haughtily.

"You take it too seriously," replied the boatbuilder, with a slight smile. "It is only good morning."

"You're a fool, Farnum!" came the answer as Mr. Melville, in a rage, halted just inside the door. "And I warn you that, if we leave here, now, we shall not return, no matter how changed your attitude may become later. Have you any answer to that, sir?"

"Good morning," replied Jacob Farnum, with another courteous bow.

Stiffly, snorting but without words, George Melville walked out of the office, across the outer office, and out into the yard.

In the private office the three submarine boys stood as though riveted to the floor. They were astounded, and knew not what to say. They were overjoyed, but incapable of expressing any word of the gratitude that filled their young hearts.

David Pollard walked to a chair, dropping into it and studying the ceiling.

As for the boatbuilder, he stepped briskly across the room, pulling open the door of a cupboard. Taking out a broom, he began to sweep very carefully where the Melville group had sat or stood, and continued his sweeping across the threshold of the doorway. Then, returning, he tossed the broom into the cupboard. Stepping springily over, he dropped into his desk chair, letting out a hearty laugh.

"Well, that's over with, and a narrow escape," he announced.

"But you couldn't quite sweep all their dirt out after them," declared David Pollard, looking up with a smile.

"What do you think of that crowd, boys?" asked Jacob Farnum, cheerily.

"I'm not giving much thought to them, sir," Jack replied, adding warmly:

"But we fellows, Mr. Farnum, simply can't think of words that will express how we appreciate the splendid way Mr. Pollard and yourself have stood up for us."

Jacob Farnum eyed the boys quizzically, then turned to the young captain of the submarine to inquire:

"Wouldn't you stand by me in anything? Wouldn't you yell for this yard and its product with your last gasp? Answer me."

"Why, of course we would," Jack Benson admitted.

"Then I take just offense, if you expect me to be any less of a man than yourself," declared Farnum, with a pretense of anger.

"The same sentiment puts me on record," chuckled David Pollard:

"Then let us forget the low comedy, the melodrama, or whatever it was," proposed the boatbuilder. "Let us get down to the regular business of the day. We want more money here, if we can get it on a fair and square basis. If we can't, we'll do our best to go along as we've been going.

And now, Jack, and the rest of you, Pollard and I have a few little things to whisper over."

V. Don Melville Takes a Hand

"Are we at liberty to go up into the village, sir?" asked Jack Benson, pausing at the door.

"Fun?" demanded the boatbuilder, regard them with a dry smile.

"Yes, sir," Jack nodded. "That is, the kind of fun we find in our work.

We want to get some metal, a few tools and other things, to rig up something that we think may serve well aboard the 'Pollard.'"

"Run right along then," rejoined Mr. Farnum. "Get a bill for whatever you spend at the toolshop and turn the bill in as expense account."

"Thank you. Good morning, sir."

"Say, did you ever see that beat?" demanded Eph, all aglow with enthusiasm, as the boys stepped across the yard. "My, but didn't Mr. Farnum call the trick with those fellows?"

"We've been doing a heap of useless worrying over what Don Melville let drop the other day, haven't we?" asked Hal, quietly.

"Fellows," stated Captain Jack, earnestly, "as long as we work for this pair of men I'm never going to be uneasy again over anything but displeasing them. They're bricks! They can count on us, every time!"

Up the street, a little way past the gate of the boatyard, the Melville party had halted to light cigars.

"I'm afraid, Melville," said one of the capitalist's associates, "you didn't go at the matter with quite your usual tact. You showed your hand too soon. You came out a little to hard, just a little, too early in the proceedings.

"Pooh!" retorted the capitalist. "We'll go to the hotel. Farnum will cool down soon enough, and realize what we represent to him. Inside of two hours he'll have people out to find out whether we've left town.

Gentlemen, I don't know but it might be a good idea for us actually to leave Dunhaven."

"An excellent idea," replied Lawyer Demarest, dryly, "for we shall only waste our time by remaining here."

"What do you mean?" questioned the capitalist, quickly.

"Farnum won't send for us."

"He surely will, when he cools down."

"I'm positive that he won't," asserted the lawyer. "If I know anything about men Farnum will get along without us from now on."

"But he needs the money."

"He can get it, Melville, I am inclined to think," returned the man of the law.

"And we need the investment," continued George Melville. "Why, with my influential connections at Washington, and some other connections that I have, I can see a return of millions on our investment."

"You will never make the investment, as long as Jacob Farnum has the deciding word," insisted Mr. Demarest.

"I'm sure of that, too," added Mr. Faulkner.

"And all on account of those rascally boys!" uttered Don Melville, in a tone of disgust. "Isn't it funny how some folks will cling to muckers? Why, anyone would think that the fellow Benson and his chums are so necessary that the business couldn't go on without them. They're the—"

"Hush!" murmured the lawyer. "Here come the boys."

Jack and his mates were at this moment coming out of the yard. They had turned on the sidewalk, and started along ere they caught sight of the group ahead.

"There's that infernal gang!" uttered Eph, wrathfully.

"Keep your eyes away from them, and don't say anything, then," whispered Jack. "Don't say or do anything that can possibly spoil the morning by putting us in the wrong."

But Don Melville, wrathful over the morning's happenings, and keenly disappointed over the knowledge that he could not hope to command the "Pollard," was not disposed to let the submarine boys go unchallenged.

On came Jack, Hal and Eph, walking abreast, yet ready to break and pass in silence.

"Dewey, Sampson & Schley!" jeered Don Melville, in a low tone, yet loud enough to be heard by Jack's party.

Yet the boys paid no heed, but would have passed in silence, had not Don added, insultingly:

"The three little muckers!"

That was too much for Eph. He couldn't help turning, the flush mounting to his cheeks, to retort:

"Speak for yourself!"

Don took a step forward. Eph, unable to ignore the implied challenge, wheeled about.

"Don't bother with the fellow, Eph," muttered Jack, gripping his bellicose chum by the arm.

"'Fellow'?" cried Don, hotly. "Do you mean that for me?"

"Well," demanded Jack, dryly, "you're not a girl, are you?"

At that Don Melville lost his temper hopelessly. Burning at a white heat, he hissed:

"I'll show you whether I am, or not, you cur!"

That word "cur" went far toward shattering Jack Benson's good resolutions.

Letting go of Eph's arm he turned to glare at his tormentor.

"You need a lesson, mucker," added Don, hotly.

"Don't soil your hands on the fellow, Don," cried his father, sharply.

"I must, sir, after he has insulted me," cried Don, in a rage. "I must kick him, anyway."

"Nonsense, Don! No brawling with people of this class," commanded his father, sternly.

The elder Melville reached out to restrain his son, but that seemed only to render the young man more furious. He rushed at Jack, aiming a kick.

"Don't you dare try that!" warned young Benson, his eyes flashing.

But Don, despite both warnings, did swing his foot. Jack dodged the impact, then darted in at the side, landing a blow on young Melville's chest that sent him staggering back.

"Strike me, will you?" flashed Don, throwing himself on guard.

George Melville, aghast at Jack's presumption in attacking his son, now stepped back, satisfied that Don must avenge the insult.

A dozen boys, talking over baseball nearly a block away, saw the start of this encounter.

"Fight! fight!" they yelled, gleefully, and raced down the street.

The cries readied the private office in the boatyard. Suspecting, partly, what might be up, Jacob Farnum snatched his hat, running out.

David Pollard followed.

"You young puppy!" almost screamed. "I'll teach you a lesson that you need."

"I'm usually particular about where I get my training," retorted Jack Benson, insulted and stung past his power to endure.

Yet Captain Jack did not attempt to follow up that first blow. Throwing himself into the attitude of defense, he waited.

Don Melville did not keep him long waiting, but rushed at the shorter youth, intent on sending him to earth.

"Hit him like a gentleman, Don!" called his father.

Whatever way that might be, Don Melville struck out, his blood at the white heat of rage. With such force did he aim the blow that, when nimble Captain Jack failed to be in the way to stop it, Don pitched forward, falling to his knees.

"Hooray!" yelled some of the on looking boys, derisively.

Jack halted before his foe, smiling at him quietly.

"Know any more stunning tricks like that one?" Benson inquired.

"I'll show you!" panted Don, leaping up. As he did so, he caught sight of the smiling faces of Messrs. Farnum and Pollard, strolling up from the boatyard gateway.

As he faced the smiling submarine boy, young Melville was quick to realize that he must cool down if he did not want to become a laughing stock for the street crowd that was swiftly forming. Half a dozen workmen employed in the yard had climbed up onto the fence.

"Mind you," said Jack, coolly, "I don't want to hurt you. You started this, Melville."

The sheer coolness of this speech once more carried Don Melville out of the bounds of reason. On the "gym" floor Don had studied the art of boxing well, but he had not learned all he needed to know about coolness.

"You young hound!" he snapped.

"You said something like that before," Jack laughed. "Is that all you can do? I feel as though I were wasting my time."

"Do you?" mocked Don. "Take that, then!"

This time he leaped forward, feinting with his left hand. But Jack was not to be caught like that. Instead, he parried against the real blow delivered with Don's right fist. The force of the parry threw Don to his left. Just at that instant Benson passed behind his opponent, landing a stinging blow on the other's neck. Down flat to the ground went the Melville heir, hitting his nose roughly and starting the blood.

"Hooray!" yelled a gleeful boy in the throng. "Say, ain't he fine at jiu-jitsu, though?"

A yell of great joy went up from some of the boys, who are always delighted at seeing the larger fellow thrashed, especially when he is the one who has started the trouble.

"Don't you think you'd better wait and cool down?" inquired Jack, dryly.

"You're only making a show of yourself."

That taunt stung Don into rising and squaring off, while his father looked unutterably disgusted and angry over the ridiculous turn affairs had taken.

"Benson's advice is good—sound," approved Lawyer Demarest, stepping in. "Don, you're no match for your opponent, at least not in your present temper. Don't try to carry this any further."

"Do you think I'm going to let this young mucker make a fool of me?" demanded the Melville youth, huskily. "I've just got to settle with him."

"Yes, yes, Don; stop this. It's unseemly," insisted his father, red-faced through his humiliation. "Come on!"

Mr. Melville's other friends also interposed. Don, surrounded, yet not very anxious to carry the fight on any further, chafed hopelessly. Jack Benson, seeing the new turn of affairs, and realizing how ridiculous his foe must feel, turned to Hal to say:

"I guess we're not needed here any longer. Come on."

"As for you, Benson," choked the elder Melville, "we shall see what can be done about this. You ought to be arrested."

Jack's only answer was a tantalizing grin, after which he turned, his back, as he and his mates started off up the street, followed by a little cheer from some of the boys gathered there.

"What can the law do about this?" demanded the elder Melville of the lawyer, in a low tone.

"A warrant could be issued against your son for disturbing the peace," came the disgusted reply of Lawyer Demarest. "As for Benson, all he did was to protect himself when insulted and assaulted unjustly. It was a disgraceful affair, my dear sir. Now, let us get away from here before we're exposed to more ridicule."

Neither Mr. Farnum nor Mr. Pollard had said a word. Now, smiling quietly, they returned to the yard. The crowd broke up. The Melville party kept on to the hotel of Jabez Holt not far away.

VI. The "Pollard" Has a Rival

Capital, backed by energy, can often accomplish wonders.

On the next day after the Melville squall in the boatyard office, Jacob Farnum, looking out of a window, and through the open gateway, saw three heavily-laden lumber trucks go by.

"That looks like a good deal for little Dunhaven," he thought to himself.

"I wonder what's happening?"

His horse and buggy were in the yard. The young owner presently went out and got into his vehicle, driving slowly along the street to the northward.

About a third of a mile from his yard Mr. Farnum came to the spot where the lumber was being unloaded. That was a hitherto vacant piece of land located at the edge of a small deepwater cove. Mr. Melville and Don were there, and also a gang of workmen. Carpenters were opening tool chests, as though preparing to go to work.

"Hm!" mused Jacob Farnum. Turning up a side street, he drove, by a roundabout way, back to his yard. Thereafter he took pains to keep himself informed of the Melville doings.

By night the foundations of a shipbuilder's shed had been laid by a large force of carpenters. Another gang of carpenters had gone to work building a fence as rapidly as laborers could set up the poles. By the night of the following day the fence was completed, and the shed, so far as outward appearances went, was completed.

And now, though George Melville and his son, preserved an air of great secrecy, the news leaked out that a new boatyard was added to the industries of Dunhaven, coupled with the further information that Mr. Melville was engaged in the manufacture of submarine torpedo boats.

Both Farnum and Pollard looked somewhat grave when this knowledge was first brought to them by Eph Somers, who had a great knack for picking up local news. However, the young builder was quick to cheer up.

"So we're to have a rival yard, and the 'Pollard' is to have a rival?" said Mr. Farnum. "Competition ought to stir us forward to the very best that is in us. Somers, ask Captain Benson and Hastings to come here.

We'll talk this matter over."

Twenty minutes later the few devoted friends of the "Pollard" boat were gathered around Mr. Farnum's desk.

"Unless I'm in great error," said the young boatbuilder, "we're in for a lively rumpus, now. Melville is aroused over our refusal to let him in to this enterprise, and he's starting an opposition. He can command a great deal of money, and I understand that he has a good many influential friends in Washington. If he can carry on the most successful rivalry, he may do us a great deal of harm. For instance, if he can build so fine a boat that he can put ours in the shadow.

In fact, while I don't mean to be a quitter or a skulker, I'll admit that Melville may possibly be able to dig a hole and drop us into it.

If he produces a type of boat that goes far ahead of ours, then the Government is likely to buy his, overlook ours and leave me stranded financially. About all I'm worth is tied up in the present 'Pollard' and in the new torpedo submarine that I'm now building."

"He can't invent or build a finer submarine than the 'Pollard,'" declared Captain Jack, with conviction.

"Nor get as fine a crew to handle his craft," added David Pollard.

"Don't be too sure of that," warned Jack, Soberly. "I think we fellows have done fairly well with your boat, up to date. But suppose Mr. Melville should be able to get a lot of experienced submarine men, and even, perhaps, an officer, from the United States Navy. We boys could hardly beat such a combination as that."

"I'm not so sure that you're right on this point, Jack," clicked Mr. Farnum. "I'll say this much: It would make me more uneasy to lose the services of you boys than it would to hear that Melville has a Navy crew for the boat he's building."

"Of course," went on Jack, thoughtfully, after a pause, "if you, Mr. Farnum, could interest all the capital you want, on your own fair conditions, you wouldn't have to be afraid of this man Melville."

"No," admitted the boatbuilder, making a wry face. "But getting all that capital together is the problem. You see, Jack, we know just how good a boat we have, but others don't."

"Others don't?" repeated Captain Benson. "That gives me an idea."

"Another trouble," pursued the builder, "is that this submarine business is just something of a speculation. Suppose investors come forward with a lot of ready money to put into this enterprise? Our boat is good, but how do the investors know that, within the next few months, some other inventor won't come forward with a new type of submarine boat that will leave ours hopelessly behind? Then the investors would stand to lose every dollar that they put in with us. That's the thought that makes investors shy."

"Yet Mr. Melville did not seem to be afraid of the chance of losing," remarked Jack Benson.

"He's a gambler all the way through, and he has some moneyed friends of his sort," replied Mr. Farnum. "But it's hard to find such investors."

"Now, for that idea I mentioned," proposed Captain Jack. "You can see what you think of it. Why not get people to talking about our boat? Why not make them talk about it as the most wonderful thing possible in a submarine boat? You know how I managed to leave the boat under water, and to return to it. The thing has never been done before. You know how simple the trick was, and that it was blundered upon by accident.

But the people of the country at large don't know. Show the trick is done. When they hear about it, broadcast, won't they think that the 'Pollard' is the only real thing in submarines? Use the 'Pollard' type of boat, and no more men need be killed when a boat won't rise. That's the way the people will talk. So, Mr. Farnum, why not write to the editor of each of the biggest daily papers, inviting him to send a representative here on a near date, to see the thing done? Don't let the editors know just what feat is to be displayed. Simply let them know, in a mysterious, general way, that the thing we will demonstrate revolutionizes the whole art of submarine warfare—as it really does."

"That will make people talk, surely," acknowledged the young boatbuilder.

"And there'll be pressure put upon Congress to buy your boat, and more like it," urged Captain Jack. "All the newspaper talk will be free advertising, and I imagine that the kind of advertising that newspapers are forced to give is all the best paying."

"I haven't had much experience in that line, but I imagine it is the best kind," nodded Mr. Farnum.

All hands set to, to devise a list of newspapers to which invitations should be sent. The stenographer was soon intensely busy with this work.

Down at the new Melville yard affairs went on with a rush. Two tumble-down houses were rented in a little habited part of the town, and in these a gang of close-mouthed Italian laborers was quartered.

Jabez Holt felt the new increase in prosperity, for Mr. Melville engaged his entire hotel. Before long there was a constant succession of arrivals at the hotel. Steel salesmen, motor drummers, salesmen in electrical supplies, and a whole host of miscellaneous representatives came to town, putting up at the hotel, where Mr. Melville had reserved a suite of rooms for temporary offices. The strangers in town spent money freely, and all the villagers enjoyed their presence.

In fact, so much business did these new happenings bring that Jacob Farnum speedily became sensible of the fact that the villagers looked upon the Melvilles with decided favor.

"The Melville crowd are at their new enterprise in real and bustling earnest," remarked Farnum, with an air of uneasiness, to his associate, the inventor.

"I imagine those people can control millions of dollars, if they need that much money," hazarded David Pollard.

"Undoubtedly," nodded the boatbuilder "And, though I am seeking for capital that will come in on terms fair to us, it's mighty uphill work."

This conversation was carried on in young Benson's hearing. Captain Jack turned to them with a laugh, to say: "Wait and see, though, if the exhibition before the newspaper correspondents won't take a lot of wind out of the Melville sails."

"It ought to," nodded the builder, "unless the Melvilles, or some of the experts they're dealing with, are shrewd enough to figure out how you left the boat and returned to it."

"Would you have figured that out, Mr. Farnum, if I hadn't told you?"

"Probably not, Jack. It's one of the things that are too simple to guess at easily."

Passers by the Melville yard were now able to hear the hammering of the riveters daily. It looked as though the new yard must be pushing a submarine boat to rapid completion.

"There hasn't been a launching, anyway, so I don't believe the Melville people will be able to do anything to beat our show to-morrow," remarked Captain Jack, on the night before the day that had been set for the show before the newspaper men.

Early the next forenoon newspaper correspondents began to arrive in numbers from half a dozen large cities. As the hotel was monopolized, by the Melville crowd, Mr. Farnum had engaged other quarters at which to entertain the men of the press. Some of the newspapers sent women writers.

None of these visitors were taken direct to the yards. Mr. Farnum and Mr. Pollard took the journalistic visitors in charge and finally conveyed them in carriages to the boatyard, arriving at about a quarter before eleven.

Here Jack, Hal and Eph, looking at their best in their natty uniforms, were on hand to be presented. Of course, the mere fact of a competent, well-trained boy crew was a novelty to the newspaper writers, who made much of the submarine boys and asked them many questions about their work.

"How soon are you going to take us out aboard the 'Pollard'?" inquired one of the women reporters.

"Just as soon as Captain Benson and his young men have had a chance to show you the remarkable feat that you have come here to see," promised Mr. Farnum.

"And what is that remarkable feat?" asked another journalist.

"The wonder of it will strike you all the more if we do not announce it in advance," rejoined David Pollard.

"Captain Benson, what have you to say about it?" pleaded one of the newspaper women. "Won't you give us at least a hint?"

"I'd like to, immensely," smiled Captain Jack, "but I've always had a great respect for Mr. Farnum's judgment."

"Good enough, captain," laughed the boat builder. "And now, signal for the boat that is to put you aboard."

As the boat was coming in Captain Jack turned to the newspaper writers to say:

"Ladies and gentlemen, the thing that is to be done to-day is something that has never been done on any other boat than the 'Pollard.' If it looks a bit dramatic, you will understand, of course, that that is a means toward making it all the more impressive."

"Oh, dear, but you are making me dreadfully inquisitive," complained one of the newspaper women, plaintively.

Embarking in the shore boat, the "Pollard's" crew were soon aboard the submarine. From the platform decks they waved their caps, then, one by one, disappeared through the tower, the manhole cover being pulled down after them.

"Are they going to take the boat out and submerge it?" asked one of the correspondents.

"Yes," nodded Mr. Farnum.

"And what else—please?" asked the particularly impatient newspaper woman.

Mr. Farnum smiled, then added:

"There they go, under electric power. Watch!"

By the time that the boat had gone a little more than a hundred feet one of the correspondents called out:

"They're sinking!"

"All a part of the performance," stated Mr. Pollard.

Before some of the visiting journalists could quite realize it, the tip of the conning tower had disappeared below the surface.

"That's all very interesting to look at," half shuddered one of the women.

"But what if they couldn't bring the boat up again?"

"The boat is built to go up or down, at need," Mr. Farnum assured her.

"Captain Benson has never had an accident yet."

So the group of some thirty newspaper people watched intently, keeping their gaze on the place where they had seen the last ripples close in over the vanishing conning tower.

The minutes passed by. The shore boat, with the hundred-pound anchor and cable in the bow, hovered just where Captain Jack had directed, but what could be going on in the submarine at the bottom of the little harbor? "Mr. Farnum, don't you sometimes get nervous over such things?" demanded one of the women.

"Never," the boatbuilder assured her.

Yet is was not long before the yard's owner pulled out his watch to look at the dial. Eleven minutes had passed since the disappearance of the submarine. The next time Farnum glanced at his watch the time had lengthened to fifteen minutes. Then the time dragged by to half an hour.

David Pollard was fighting hard to conceal the nervous dread that had seized him.

"Farnum," he found chance to whisper, at last, "something tragic has happened to the boys, at last. What on earth can it be? Whatever it is, we're utterly powerless to help them!"

VII. Missing—A Submarine and Crew

Fifteen minutes more dragged by.

"Where's your show, Mr. Farnum?"

"Something has gone wrong, eh?"

The correspondents were pressing about the worried builder and the uneasy inventor.

"There's a tragedy going on over there, isn't there?" demanded another journalist, pointing out across the water.

"I—I'm afraid there is a chance of it," nodded Mr. Farnum, dejectedly, again looking at the watch in his hand. "It's getting on toward an hour since the 'Pollard' went down."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Is there no way to rescue the crew?"

"Don't let those boys die, without lifting a finger to save them."

"Get busy, man—in heaven's name, get busy!"

Such were the comments, questions and advice that poured in on the builder. David Pollard, his sensitive nature suffering extremely, shrank back out of the crowd.

"Gentlemen—and ladies, too—don't you understand that nothing really can be done—at least not in a rush?" cried Jacob Farnum, the cold sweat standing out on his face. "There isn't a diver in or near Dunhaven, and that unfortunate boat is down in seventy feet of water. I'm going to rush a wire to the nearest place where I know a diver to be, but I—I am certain that it will be hours before we can hope to have one here. That is all—all that can possibly be done."

"Oh, this is dreadful!" sobbed one of the women writers. "Those brave, splendid boys—such a fearful fate!"

"Must they be asphyxiated down there, below?" cried another woman.

"Don't," choked Jacob Farnum. "I must rush for the telegraph station and get off a message for a diver—also for a wrecking company to send tugs and floats here for raising the 'Pollard.' Yet it will take a wretchedly long time."

"And the boys? Rescue will come too late to save them?" asked a newspaper man, with a decided choke in his voice.

Jacob Farnum made a wild dash for his office, telephoning for a messenger boy. While waiting he wrote two telegrams in feverish haste.

Several of the newspaper people wrote hasty, excited dispatches to their papers for the evening editions. The messenger boy, when he arrived on a run, was all but loaded down with paper. Then the yard's owner and the newspaper folks dashed back to the shore.

Out on the harbor the water lay unruffled. There was not a sign of the suspected tragedy that lay beneath the waves.

"It's an hour and a half since the boat sank," called one of the correspondents.

"What were the boys supposed to do, anyway?" insisted another.

Jacob Farnum opened his mouth, as though to speak, then closed it again.

"Tell us," insisted one woman.

"Yes, tell us," insisted a man.

Just then, there came a shout over the waters. "Say, you lubbers, what did you move that boat for?"

There was an instant gasp from all who turned so swiftly to look out over the water.

Only Jack Benson's brown-haired head showed above the surface of the harbor, but his look was laughing, utterly care-free.

The boatmen who had allowed their craft to drift while waiting, now thrust out their oars, making quick time to where the submarine boy stood treading water.

In his sudden revulsion of feeling the inventor all but fainted. Jacob Farnum, his gnawing suspense over, felt as though his knees must give way under him. Then, by a mighty effort, just as the deafening cheering started, he led the race around the harbor.

"Here, you—Jack Benson!" gasped the yard's owner. "You come in here mighty quick! Give an account of yourself. What was wrong below?"

"Wrong?" hailed back Benson, standing in the bow of the shore boat as it made for shore.

"What were you doing down below, all this time?" demanded Mr. Farnum.

"Doing? Oh, Eph was taking a nap—"

"Taking a nap?"

"Hal was tinkering with the gasoline motor, and I was reading."

"Reading?" fumed Mr. Farnum. "What were you trying to do? Torment the life out of us?"

"Were any of you folks worried?" asked Jack, smiling innocently at the excited crowd.

"Worried?" ejaculated the boatbuilder. "I've telegraphed for a diver and a wrecking company's outfit."

"Better countermand the order, air," advised Jack, dryly.

"But what on earth caused all the delay? What did it mean?" persisted the boatbuilder. "Answer me, Benson."

"Why," laughed Jack, "when we started, I dropped a word or two about trying to make the exhibition dramatic, didn't I?"

"If that's what you tried to do, young man," grunted one of the correspondents, "you've certainly succeeded. Why, in five or ten minutes more the evening papers in half a dozen cities will have extras out announcing that one more big submarine boat disaster has occurred!"

"Did you really send that to your papers?" asked Jack Benson, some of his glee showing.

"Of course we did."

"And that reminds me," shouted another. "We've got to send the follow-up news, at once. I have, anyway."

That roused the newspaper people to a sense of what they were there for, though one man broke in:

"Just a second, folks! Let's find out what the show was intended for."

"Why, it's intended to show," replied Jack, "that a boat built and equipped like the 'Pollard' isn't a death-trap for the crew, if it should happen, through some accident, that the boat refuses to rise to the surface."

"That's the trick," confirmed Mr. Farnum. "But, Jack, why did you wait so long before coming up."

"So that you could all realize something of the anxiety of people over such accidents to submarines, and the great dread over the fate of the crew," laughed the boy. "I think our delay made you all realize something of that."

"You have something of the dramatic instinct, truly," murmured the newspaper woman who had sobbed. "You had us all scared nearly to the fainting point."

"Now," continued Captain Jack, "just to show you that the boat didn't get disabled in any way, I'm going down again and then come up with the boat."

"It won't take you as long as it did this last time, will it?" demanded one of the reporters.

"Wait right where you are," promised Jack Benson, "and you'll see me once more before you've really had time to realize it."

"No more dramatic business, eh, and needless tears on our part?" insisted another.

"This time," laughed Jack, "the dramatic will be confined to speed of operation."

He motioned to the men to row out. Jack calculated, finely, just where he had come up, and there the heavy anchor was dropped, the end of the cable being made fast in the boat.

Then overboard dived the submarine captain, going straight down. A tug at the line showed when he seized hold of it, down in the depths.

A little time passed, but now the newspaper folks, accustomed to all manner of sensations, were not apprehensive.

"Here she comes!" shouted David Pollard, gleefully.

More and mote of the conning tower showed above the water, the platform deck and hull coming next into view. Then, as the manhole cover was raised, Eph Somers stepped into view at the steering wheel. The "Pollard" moved over to her moorings, and Hal came up to aid in making fast. Soon afterward, Jack Benson, in complete uniform, appeared on deck.

"Now, give us just an idea of how the thing is done, Mr. Farnum," begged one of the correspondents, turning to the boatbuilder.

"Ladies and gentlemen," replied the yard's owner, gravely, though he was tempted to laugh over the mystery he was making, "I am certain that you all want to know."

"We do," came the chorused answer.

"But if I were to tell you," responded Farnum, speaking as gravely as ever, "it would be to reveal to the whole world one of the strongest points in our plan of submarine operation. You will understand that, of course, and will realize that we do not care to explain anything so valuable, when that idea is not yet patented."

"I suppose you're right about that," admitted one of the journalists, thoughtfully. "We'd like awfully to know just how the feat is accomplished, and you have equally good reasons for not telling us."

"Have you much genius for machinery?" whispered one of the women writers to a man beside her. "For, you know, we've been promised a chance to visit the boat. If you keep your eyes open, very likely you can detect how it is possible to leave the 'Pollard' when she's on the bottom—a performance that isn't possible with any other type of submarine torpedo boat."

Jacob Farnum now slipped away to countermand his orders for a diver and wrecking apparatus, the newspaper people also seizing the chance to send another wire to their home newspapers.

After that Captain Jack received one-third of the party aboard the "Pollard." He gave them a short trip on the surface. Then, pressed to do so, he submerged the boat for two minutes. After that the rest of the correspondents were taken out and below the water. Most people are not particularly eager, at first, for a trip under the water in submarine boats, but with the newspaper fraternity it is different. They are always on the lookout for any new experience, no matter how dangerous it may seem to be. It is a part of their calling.

Yet not one in all this party of thirty trained, keen-minded people managed to penetrate the secret of how Captain Jack had been able to leave and return to the "Pollard" while that craft lay on the bottom of the harbor.

When all had visited the boat, and had sunk with her, Jacob Farnum took the party in carriages to his home, where luncheon was served. The boatbuilder, by the use of all his tact, kept the party together until it was time, to drive them to the railway station and see them aboard the train.

In this way, he prevented any of his visitors from falling into the hands of the Melville people. Consequently, when the next day's papers appeared there was much in them about the wonderful work done by Captain Jack Benson in a "Pollard" submarine, but there was not even as much as a mention of the fact that any rival submarine boatyard existed in Dunhaven.

"That is one long march stolen on the Melville foes," laughed Jacob Farnum to Benson. "It has been a splendid bit of business, Jack, and you boys have helped it all through in great fashion. To-day, we have the satisfaction of knowing that people all through the country are talking about the 'Pollard.'"

"That fellow Benson is being a lot talked about to-day," declared Mr. Melville, after scanning two or three of the morning papers.

"Humph! Let him be talked about," returned Don, with a lowering scowl.

"I suppose he's pretty conceited to-day, but it won't be long before I'll have it fixed so that his pride shall go down lower than ever the 'Pollard' could sink."

"Will you use our submarine boat to do it?" inquired the elder Melville, with a meaning smile.

VIII. Farnum Stock Goes Up

"Got time to look at something, Mr. Pollard?" asked Captain Jack, two days later.

The captain and crew of the submarine had entered the outer office. In his hands Jack carried a small wooden box. Hal and Eph looked delightfully mysterious.

"Time to look at something?" repeated the inventor, with a laugh. "I seem to have plenty of time for almost anything these days."

There being none of the office employees about at the moment, Benson led the way to one of the desks, opened the box and took out a complicated-looking little model.

"You know, Mr. Pollard," murmured Jack, while the other two boys drew close, "although we have hit upon the way for some of a submarine's crew to escape when the boat is at the bottom, or in deep water, it always needs at least one of the crew to remain behind to close the rear port of the torpedo tube and to operate the compressed air a little. So, valuable though our trick may be, it really means that, in case of serious accident, one member of the crew would have to remain behind in order to help the next to last to get away. So, in case of accident, there would always be one member of the crew who would have to be left behind to die. That's the thing we fellows have been working on, and here's the result. At least, it's the best we can do with it."

"What's the idea?" inquired the inventor, examining the small model curiously.

"Why," laughed Jack Benson, good-humoredly, "it's an automatic device, set to a time principle, for closing the after port of the torpedo tube and letting off some compressed air. By means of this automatic device the last fellow could let himself out safely. That's the theory, you see; but we're new inventors, and so there's some flaw in the device.

It will take a skilled mind like yours to see where the fault lies."

Jack explained volubly, while David Pollard looked over the model that the trio of young geniuses had put together. Then Benson drew from an inner pocket, and spread out, some carefully made mechanical drawings that made his idea plainer. Jack was not a trained draughtsman, but he had a great natural talent in that direction.

"Why, you have a splendid idea here," cried the inventor, presently.

"It doesn't quite work, though," said Hal, ruefully.

"Lot's of inventions don't, unfortunately," winced David Pollard. "I know something about that, for a big percentage of my inventions have turned out to have more flaws than good points. But this is really ingenious, boys. Who has had the big share in this get-up?"

"The other fellows," replied the young captain.

"Jack's idea, mostly," broke in Eph, "although Hal Hastings and I have been allowed to butt in some."

"It's splendidly done, as far as you've gone," glowed the inventor, full of unselfish admiration. "And you've made it plain just how you expect to attach this device and make it work automatically. What are you going to do with it, now?"

"We thought, perhaps, Mr. Pollard," explained Captain Jack, "that you might think it worth while to take the device up at this point, and work over it until you find out where the hitch is in the idea. If you succeed, it will make the 'Pollard' absolutely perfect in her class."

"But it would seem mean of me to take your idea, so nearly finished, and go ahead with it," protested the inventor.

"Well, you see, sir," Jack replied, earnestly, "we don't care who brings the idea through provided it makes the 'Pollard' a world-beater. Do you care to take this in hand, Mr. Pollard, and try to perfect it? For we'll admit we're stuck fast and can't get any further with it."

"Do I care to?" repeated the inventor. "Why, boys, I'll be delighted to work over it. It'll be better than sleep to me for many a night to come.

But I hate to take it out of your hands, since you originated it."

"Take it and welcome," begged Hal Hastings. "The only thing we want is to see it work."

"And the sooner the better," grunted Eph Somers.

"Then thank you, I will," cried the inventor, earnestly. "But you boys, if the device can be made to work, shall have your full share of the credit."

"Hullo, boys," greeted Jacob Farnum, coming out from the inner office, a letter in his hands. "By the way, here's something that may interest you. I've a letter from a man who writes about the new trick of leaving a submerged boat. He refers to you boys as our young experts."

"He doesn't know, does he," chuckled Jack, "that we're only three apprentices, and rather raw, at that?"

"No, you're not," retorted Mr. Farnum. "My correspondent is pretty near right in referring to you as young experts."

"If we're going to get that reputation," muttered Benson, more than half seriously, "we'll have a heap to do in 'making good.'"

"Just look here, Farnum, at what these boys have been at work on," begged the inventor, calling attention to the partly-finished model.

In an instant the boatbuilder became absorbed in the idea as shown by model and drawings.

"Can this be made perfect, Dave?" he asked, eagerly, turning to the inventor.

"I think it can," answered Mr. Pollard. "The boys have been good enough to ask me to try."

"Then I hope you'll start, this minute," exclaimed the yard's owner. "It means more to us, Dave—more to us, boys—than any of you suppose at this moment! Let me tell you something. This letter holds the key to the secret. Trying to interest people in our work, I've been writing right and left trying to raise more capital on terms that would be fair to us. Now, here's a letter from Broughton Emerson, a man worth millions. He admits that my letter has interested him. He'll come here, soon, and he states that, if we can show him a good enough chance to make money he will put in the needed capital, taking satisfactory security, and yet leave the business under its present control. In other words, he's likely to do just what we wanted George Melville to do. Isn't that good enough news for one morning?"

"Yes, provided we can make as good a showing as he expects," replied the inventor, cautiously.

"Oh, if we could only get a chance to make a trial trip for a United States Naval board!" sighed Jack Benson, wistfully. "The Navy Department has money now at its disposal for the purchase of submarines. If we could get the Government to buy the 'Pollard,' that would show investors what's what in money-making." Benson's face was all aglow with mingled enthusiasm and wistfulness. He, and his mates, took as keen an interest in the future of the "Pollard" as though they themselves owned that doughty little craft.

"A trial trip for the Navy Department?" smiled Mr. Farnum, gravely.

"Well, I don't mind telling you that we may have that, too, before long."

"Is any date set?" breathed Captain Jack, quickly.

"Not yet, nor is the matter even fully decided. But the newspapers have produced a big effect on the Navy Department. The makers of other types of submarine boats are green with jealousy of us, just now. Your escaping trick, Jack, has made so much public clamor that Farnum stock is going up all over the country. We'll have some big chances, mighty soon, I'm thinking. If we get the chances, I'm certain enough that you boys will help push us on to victory!"

Happy dreams were these that builder, inventor and crew dreamed! The fever of conquest was in their veins.

Shutting himself up in a room at Farnum's home, depriving himself of much of his needed sleep, often refusing food, David Pollard attacked the problem of perfecting the device that Captain Jack and his mates had originally planned.

Two days later Broughton Emerson arrived. He was a pleasant, portly man of more than fifty years. His manners were quiet and easy. He was affable with everyone, but he had a keen way of looking into things.

No one could guess quite what he thought of the chances of success in the enterprise of building submarine boats. Before the day was over George Melville, who was slightly acquainted with Mr. Emerson, learned that he was in town. That evening Mr. Melville succeeded in meeting Mr. Emerson and getting him over to his hotel.

"If you want to save a lot of money, Mr. Emerson," hinted George Melville, "you want to be very careful to keep it out of the Farnum investment."

"What's wrong with the Farnum business?" questioned the other capitalist.

"About everything, I believe," replied Mr. Melville. "And, even if the 'Pollard' were a capable a boat as its backers claim, it would still be beaten by the type of boat that I am now working on."

"Are you looking for capital for your submarine business?" asked Broughton Emerson, a shrewd little twinkle in his eyes.

"No; I have all we want. Not a dollar is needed, but I don't like the idea of your losing a lot of money with that other crowd. They haven't any real show to do anything with their boat."

"They are a great lot of enthusiasts over at the Farnum yard," said Mr. Emerson, musingly. "I like people as enthusiastic as they are. Why, just think of those boys; what a bright lot they are!"

"Humph! In the end Farnum will wish he never seen those boys," sneered Mr. Melville.

"Why?"

"Well, the boys are wholly ready to sell out all they know about the Farnum boat."

"Are you sure of that, Melville?" demanded Mr. Emerson, opening his eyes more widely.

"Wholly positive. Benson has already offered to sell us all he knows about the 'Pollard.' He'll steal plans, shift to our employ, or serve us in any way that he can by betraying his present employers."

"You astound me," cried the other capitalist. "And you are really quite sure of this?"

"As sure as I can be made by Benson's own offer."

In declaring this George Melville believed he was telling the truth. His son, Don, hoping to work out a scheme whereby Jack could be hopelessly disgraced, had gone as far as to tell his father that Jack was willing to overlook the past fight, and to "sell out" all he knew about the design and inner workings of the "Pollard."

"The Farnum business looks very inviting, despite what Melville says against it," thought Broughton Emerson, later that night. "Yet, if I put any money into the venture, on any terms, I must insist on the one condition that the boys be banished from Farnum's employ."

Of this far-reaching mischief, following Don's deliberate lie to his father, Captain Jack Benson and his mates had not even a suspicion.

Two days later the three submarine boys were delighted at knowing that Broughton Emerson, despite the advice he had received from Mr. Melville, was thinking most seriously of advancing a few hundred thousand dollars to help boom the "Pollard" type of submarine boat.

"That will put a crimp in the Melvilles, when they hear, won't it?" laughed Jack, in talking it over with Hal Hastings and Eph Somers.

Not one of the boys would have slept that night, had they known of the plans forming to disgrace Jack Benson even in the eyes of Messrs. Farnum and Pollard.

IX. A Rascally Piece of Work

"Now, we shall soon know!" cried David Pollard, hoarsely.

He was trembling with the fever of the intense inventor.

Out in the little harbor the "Pollard" lay on the bottom. In the cabin, besides the three submarine boys, were only Jacob Farnum and David Pollard.

The eyes of all five were fixed on a small but ingenious bit of mechanism that had been carefully adjusted near the rear port of the boat's torpedo tube. This was the automatic device, first planned by Jack Benson, with the aid of his mates, and carried forward to working order by Mr. Pollard. By the aid of this automatic mechanism it was believed that the last man aboard a torpedo boat could let himself into the tube, relying upon the automatic device first to close the rear port, then opening the forward port and at the same time letting just the right amount of compressed air into the tube. By this means the last man aboard a submarine below the surface could provide for his own escape, without the aid of a comrade.

Eph Somers had been chosen to make the effort. He now stood, in his bathing suit, awaiting the word.

"Go ahead, Eph," ordered Mr. Farnum. "Be very careful to set the device just right. Not one of us is going to touch it."

Eph carefully set the time hand on the dial, next crawled into the torpedo tube, the rear port of which stood open. Sixty seconds later the automatic device closed the rear port with a sharp click.

David Pollard counted up to fifteen.

"He must have had time to get clear of the boat," quivered the inventor.

"Now, captain, take us to the surface."

In a twinkling, almost, the "Pollard" was riding the waves.

"There's Eph, dancing up and down on the beach," reported Captain Jack, from the conning tower.

"It worked like a charm," chuckled Eph Somers, gleefully, as soon as the others had joined him on shore. "That little charge of compressed air shot me out of the tube, and up I bounded to the surface, like a piece of cork."

"Now, we really lead the whole world in submarine boating," cried Mr. Farnum, hoarsely. "I don't care what any other inventor may have discovered, I'm satisfied that no one else can a boat as safe for the crew as the good little old 'Pollard' is!"

So happy did all of the five feel, in fact, that they shook hands gleefully, all around. Then, while Eph rowed out to the craft to dry himself and get into uniform, Jacob Farnum ran to the machine shops, there sounding several sharp, triumphant blasts on the steam whistle.

The whole affair—Eph's escape to the surface, the joy of the submarine, party and the blowing of the whistle, were all noted by a spy whom Don Melville had set to the task of watching the Farnum crowd.

Don was equally well aware that David Pollard had been working day and night in his room at Mr. Farnum's house.

"They've discovered something that pleases them mightily," thought Don, sick with rage. "What can it be? I'm going to know, if money has still any power to buy other men's services."

"Jack Benson may be very happy now," muttered Don, vindictively, "but his joy shall soon be turned to ashes—or worse."

Nor was Don Melville speaking by mere guesswork. His ignoble nature had evolved the whole plan by which Jack was to be ruined. Don even stooped to use his father as an innocent tool in a series of rascally deceptions.

"I got word that you wanted to see me at once," said Broughton Emerson, dropping in upon Mr. Melville that afternoon at the hotel.

"I certainly do," returned Mr. Melville, leading the way to an inner room. "Emerson, you remember my telling you that Farnum's crew are wholly willing to sell out their people if the price is big enough?"

"Yes, certainly."

"Would you like to see that proved?"

"By all means, if it can be," replied Mr. Emerson, a look of keen anxiety in his eyes, for he had finally determined to use his own judgment and invest heavily in the Farnum submarine enterprise.

"Will you consent to doing a little watching with me?" asked Mr. Melville.

"What's in the wind?"

"To-night, at eleven o'clock, on a lonely bit of road well out of town," replied George Melville, "young Captain John Benson has agreed to meet my son, Don."

"For what purpose?"

"Pollard has recently perfected a submarine boat device of the greatest practical value. Young Benson has promised Don to steal the drawings and descriptions pertaining to that device, and to turn them over to Don, for a price, of course!"

"It's horrible—unspeakable!" gasped Mr. Emerson, indignantly.

"Of course. But I want you to understand the kind of crowd that surrounds Farnum. It will be a guide to you in investing with those people. If you go with me, to the appointed place, ahead of time, and we hide close enough to witness the whole transaction, then you'll believe all that I've been telling you, won't you?"

"Of course," nodded Mr. Emerson, speaking thickly. His whole soul revolted at the treachery of such a transaction, which made him add:

"But won't you and your son, Melville, be in as bad a light through profiting by such infernal treachery?"

"We would, if we did profit," replied George Melville, flushing.

"However, as soon as Don has dismissed the young blackguard, Benson, my son will touch a lighted match to the papers and burn them all, with yourself looking on. What do you say, Emerson?"

"It's a mean kind of business to take any part in," protested Broughton Emerson, hoarsely. "But—yes, I'll go, for if such things can be done it is my duty to myself to know."

Plans were thereupon made for the meeting in the evening. Broughton Emerson, honorable and broad-minded went away from that meeting heavy of heart. He hated the whole business, and yet he admitted to himself that he must know the truth ere he invested a fortune in other folks' business game. Yet, weighed down by the sickening feeling that, at best, he was about to play the spy, Mr. Emerson presently called up Jacob Farnum on the telephone.

"Farnum," he said, "I understand that something is to happen, to-night, that you and I ought to know."

"What is it?" asked the boatbuilder, alive with curiosity.

"I'll give you a chance to find out, to-night, but you must pledge me your word that you won't breathe a word of this, until afterwards, to anyone, not even to Pollard. Just come along and learn what you learn, then act as you please. Will you agree to that?"

"Yes," promised Mr. Farnum.

"Good enough. Then be at—" Broughton Emerson followed with directions for late the coming evening. He did not explain who was to be spied upon, or anything of the nature of the business, though he did add:

"Don't be surprised, Farnum, no matter whom you see me with. It's all a part of the night's walk. Just follow us both, without letting your presence be known at any stage. I know this all sounds mysterious, but believe me, it's going to be vastly worth your while."

The remainder of the afternoon the boatbuilder's heart was, somehow, heavy with undefined dread as to what he was to learn that night.

In the middle of the afternoon, Don Melville, with the aid of one of his father's Italian workmen, laid the last stone in the edifice of trickery that he was building for the crushing of Jack Benson.

"Jack was coming down the street from the village, when his steps were arrested by the sound of a sharp:

"Hist!"

Turning, he saw an Italian workman, beckoning mysteriously. Jack went curiously up to him.

"I have message for you—you alone," whispered the Italian, speaking fairly good English. "You are in danger of great meanness. One of your enemies plots it."

"You're one of the Melville workmen, aren't you?" asked Captain Jack, looking curiously at the fellow.

"Yes, and you have bad, wicked enemies over at our place."

"I guess that may be true enough," smiled Jack, grimly.

"Some of us are bad over there, and some honest," went on the Italian.

"Some of us hate much to see dirty work done, and I have friend who works also for Melville. My friend knows all about what Don would do against you. It is wicked—very. Meet my friend, to-night, at nine o'clock, and he will tell you all—everything. I cannot tell you now. But you will meet my friend?"

"Yes, I guess I will," nodded Jack Benson.

"But you must go alone; not tell your odder friends. Until you have seen my friend you must keep all this gr-reat secret."

After some further talk Jack Benson agreed to all this. The Italian seemed wholly honest and earnest. Moreover, he appeared as though greatly troubled and anxious to save the submarine boy from some unusually mean trick.

So Jack Benson walked on, thinking deeply and wondering much. He had no suspicion of any trap against him in the person of this seemingly very honest Italian, and so Don Melville had succeeded in laying the last wire of his despicable plan.

At half-past eight that fateful night Captain Jack found a pretext for leaving his companions. Swinging out onto the road, and down past the new Melville yard, he went on briskly to the point, well out of town, that had been named for the meeting.

"I wonder if I'm foolish?" he thought, suddenly. "Is there any trick in all this? But, pshaw! The Melvilles surely aren't that kind of people, and no one else has anything against me. It's all likely enough that Don is putting up some mean game against me down at the yard, or that he's saying something mighty mean against me. Whatever it is, these Italians are honest enough to feel disgusted, and they want to warn me.

Yet they don't want to have any Melville eavesdropper seeing them with me. That's all natural enough, for these Italians have their jobs to look out for, even if they do hate the rascals who pay 'em wages."

So Captain Jack kept on his way, feeling that any suspicions of the Italians were unfounded and therefore unnecessary.

David Pollard, after wandering through the grounds around the Farnum home, that evening, and missing his friend, the owner, at last decided to go to his own room and read.

Always soft-footed, Mr. Pollard made no noise until he turned the knob of the door to his room. There was a sudden, scurrying sound inside.

Though he was a man of very nervous temperament the inventor was no coward. He darted in, in time to see a figure making through the dark for an open window.

"Who's there Here! Stop!" thundered the inventor, rushing forward.

But the intruder did not obey.

Hidden behind a book in a bookcase was the inventor's revolver. Mr. Pollard hauled the book out, dropping it, and, in a trice, had the weapon in his hand, racing again toward the window.

The intruder had gained the ground by the time that Mr. Pollard reached the window.

"Stop, you thief! Hold up, or I'll shoot!" warned the inventor.

However, the skulker took to his heels. Pollard fired once, the flame spitting from the muzzle of his revolver. But the figure still continued in flight, and the inventor realized that there was no further use in firing.

"That was odd," thought Pollard. "The fellow had on a uniform just such as our boys wear. If it weren't so absurd, I might be tempted to believe, despite the darkness, that it was Jack Benson. But he would have no need to break in here."

Then Mrs. Farnum appeared, with the servants, for the shot had alarmed the household.

"Have you found that anything is missing from here?" inquired Mrs. Farnum, while Mr. pollard searched and explained at the same time.

The inventor now halted before his desk, rummaging.

"Yes," he answered, dryly, though with a slight quaver in his voice. "The thief found and departed with the drawings of a most important new device, originated by Benson and his friends and finished by myself. I'd rather lose a large sum of money than those drawings."

At about this time Jacob Farnum was prowling carefully about the spot that Mr. Emerson had named. He waited there, in hiding, for a long time, ere Messrs. Melville and Emerson came along. He let them pass, then followed slyly, in accordance with Broughton Emerson's directions of that afternoon.

"Now, what on earth does this all mean?" wondered Jacob Farnum, unable, despite his curiosity, to regard this expedition without a feeling of considerable disgust with himself. "Confound it, it's unmanly, this spying on someone else! It makes me feel like a rubber-soled detective, a thug or a labor picket trying to 'warn' a workman with a lead-stuffed club! Yet Emerson is a gentleman, or I've been fooled. It must be all right, I suppose."

The night was dark, and the moon not yet quite due to rise. When it did come up above the horizon it was certain to be more or less obscured by the clouds hanging there.

While Messrs. Melville and Emerson stepped off along the road, Jacob Farnum was forced to keep behind bushes and other natural objects of cover, which increased the boatbuilder's uneasy feeling that he was, doing something well nigh dishonorable.

At last, however, the two capitalists stepped off the road, concealing themselves in a clump of bushes as though by previous understanding.

"It looks like a prearranged meeting of some sort," reflected the boatbuilder, after having crept close enough to be able to see and to overhear.

Five minutes went by. Then Don Melville, narrowly escaping running into Mr. Farnum, appeared suddenly before his father and Mr. Emerson.

"It's almost the time, now," laughed Don, speaking in a low voice, as he held his watch close to his eyes. "I'll slip right down into the road, in plain sight, where you can see what happens."

Back of all the rest, in the bushes, Jacob Farnum muttered, disgustedly, to himself:

"I like it little enough to find George Melville this. I like it still less, now that I find Don having a finger in the pie of mystery."

Smoke wafted back from a cigarette that Don was smoking. A few minutes thus passed, when there came the sound of a low whistle. Tossing away the stub of his cigarette, Don answered with another whistle.

Broughton Emerson straightened up instantly, being well enough hidden for that, and so did Jacob Farnum, whose presence, of course, was unsuspected by either of the Melvilles.

Then out from the cover of the woods stepped a boy of sixteen, in a uniform like that worn by the submarine boys.

"Have you got the plans?" asked Don, in a low voice that was yet distinct to all the listeners.

"Yes," came in a hoarse whisper, from the one in uniform.

"Pass them over, then," commanded Don. "That's right. Here's your money, in this envelope."

Just then ray from the rising moon struggled through the filter of clouds, the light touching lightly upon the uniformed one.

Jacob Farnum started as though he had been shot. There was a great bound at his heart.

"Jack Benson!" he throbbed. "By the Great Shark, are my eyes playing me a hideous prank?"

X. A Race For Mixed Prizes

As the moon's ray vanished behind a cloud Jacob Farnum was breathing hard.

Nor was it any wonder that the boatbuilder felt staggered with astonishment. He had grown to trust Captain Jack Benson to the utmost.

Now, to find him faithless came like a heavy blow on the head.

To this man's ears came Don's low but clear cut tones:

"You'll keep your eyes open, won't you, Benson, and bring us all the points you can? Anything that you think will be useful to us?"

The boy in uniform nodded. Though the boatbuilder could not see the uniformed one's face very well, he observed that nod, as did also Messrs. Emerson and Melville.

"You don't want to have anyone see us here together, then," went on Don.

"So scoot! You know how to communicate with me when you want to.

That's all."

Don waved his hand as a sign of dismissal.

The other boy, with a nod, turned to make his way off. "No, by the Great Porpoise, that isn't all!"

The words, shouted, with a tremendous energy behind them, caused some other hearts to bound.

Jacob Farnum, his blood now boiling, found himself unable to contain himself any longer.

As he shouted out, he burst through the bushes, making a bee-line for the departing boy in uniform.

Don Melville gasped, in sheer dismay, yet he had the presence of mind to yell:

"Scoot, Benson! Travel as fast as ever you can!"

Then Don ran a few steps in the opposite direction. Young Melville was a very fair sprinter, but he wanted to have a bit of a start in case of need.

"Melville, you young scoundrel, I'll settle with you later!" roared Jacob Farnum, keeping on down the road.

Straight in the middle of the road the fugitive was now dashing along, until Don yelled after him:

"Take to the woods, Benson! You can lose him there!"

"I'll get him, anywhere on earth!" shouted Jacob Farnum, full of purpose and vim.

The boatbuilder was long-legged and slim. He had been a runner at college, and now his old knack was coming back to him.

Undoubtedly the most humiliated man present was George Melville. Though that capitalist had not been averse to stooping to the purchase of secrets from another man's trusted employe, he felt badly indeed to have Farnum detect his son.

So George Melville now came out quickly from cover.

"Don," he demanded, "how could Farnum ever have gotten wind of this?"

"Talk it over with Mr. Emerson," panted Don Melville. "I'm off after Benson and Farnum."

With that Don put his own sprinting abilities to the test, dashing into the woods at the point where he had seen the others vanish.

Though it flashed through George Melville's head that Broughton Emerson must have given information to the rival boatbuilder, the elder Melville did not now stop to question Mr. Emerson.

Instead, the father, who was rather heavy, started off puffily in the wake of his son.

"This looks like ticklish business," George Melville told himself, "and Don, though usually self-contained, is hot enough of temper, at a time like this, to make matters pretty bad for all concerned."

Wanting to see the matter through Broughton Emerson kept a little to the rear of the other capitalist. It was a curious Indian file that stretched out through the woods with the uniformed boy in the lead.

"You may as well stop!" yelled Jacob Farnum, after the fugitive. "I'm going to catch you, anyway!"

It looked that way, indeed. Dark as it was, with the moon behind a cloud, the running boy, looking back over his shoulder, could see the enraged boatbuilder coming after him at great strides.

Mr. Farnum was soon so close upon the heels of his quarry that he could all but reach out his hand and grasp the boy's collar. But just then the boy went down to earth, instantly rolling himself as nearly into a ball as he could.

Jacob Farnum, unable to stop in time, tripped and fell over the fugitive, plunging, head-first, into a clump of bushes and scratching himself.

With a jubilant laugh the boy in uniform was up again, and off. He got a good start, but the boatbuilder, after listening a few seconds, and getting the sounds of flight, bounded off, once more, in the right direction.

Don had halted precipitately, when he saw the tumble, but now he too darted forward once more.

"If Farnum can catch him," shivered Do; "I've got to be at hand to help out in a lightning rescue."

Mr. Farnum did some tall running before he again came in sight of the runner ahead.

Yet the pursuit had not reached its finish. The fugitive suddenly dived through a fringe of bushes, going out of sight.

Mr. Farnum reached the spot, then halted, looking undecided, almost bewildered.

There was now no sound to guide the pursuer.

"Confound him, if he has gotten away," muttered the boatbuilder, impatiently, to himself. Yet he did not dare risk running forward in any direction, for fear of getting further from his quarry.

Don Melville halted, too, chuckling softly to himself.

"Oh, you!" snorted Farnum, glancing backward over his shoulder in high disgust.

Don chuckled again.

Just then the sound of stealthily moving feet came to the boatbuilder's ears. Don, in his glee, had lost the chance to make so much noise with his own feet that the other boy could steal softly away undetected.

Without a word, now, the boatbuilder sprang forward. As he advanced, he heard the running of the uniformed boy plainly enough, and, a moment later, came in sight.

Now, Jacob Farnum, though not much given to making empty threats, decided to try the effect of a ruse.

"You! You ahead!" he shouted. "Stop, or I'll send some lead after you. Do you want me to fire?"

Swift as thought Don Melville, again in pursuit at the rear, yelled:

"Don't mind him, Benson! Scoot! He hasn't any gun."

"If some fairy only would take care of that snake-in-the-grass behind me!" quivered Mr. Farnum, silently.

Having the uniformed boy plainly in sight, though some hundred or more feet ahead, Farnum by no means felt like giving up the race. All the same, the boatbuilder, long out of practice in athletics, was beginning to feel severely the effects of this chase over rough ground and through bushes.

"I've got to die or get him!" muttered Farnum, doggedly, between his teeth. "Oh, for a little light on this cloudy night! If I could be sure the fellow is, or isn't, Benson, I might be more willing to drop this pace!"

Putting on a better spurt, as a last, desperate resort, Farnum did all in his power to overtake the uniformed boy.

He seemed likely enough to do it—would have done it, no doubt, but for a new trick on the part of the enemy.

Don Melville, seeing how matters were going, and being in much better training, increased his own burst of speed, running as softly as possible.

Then, with an exultant cry, Don leaped upon the back of Jacob Farnum, catching him around the neck and bearing him to the ground.

"Run, Benson!" cheered young Melville, "He'll never catch you now!"

XI. What Befell the Real Benson

Whistling softly, the real Jack Benson went along cheerily to the appointed place.

Being wholly courageous, there was no thought of dread in his mind over any possible treachery.

As he came in sight of the two trees, between which he had been asked to meet the Italian, he made out a man waiting there.

"Good evening," came the low, soft hail.

Then the speaker stepped forward, proving to be the same who had accosted the young submarine captain in the afternoon.

"Good evening," was Jack's pleasant reply. "You're on time, I see."

"Oh, sure!" laughed the Italian. "I been here twenty minute, already."

"Where's your friend?"

"Up in the woods. We take this path here, and we find him."

The Italian took Jack Benson lightly by one arm, piloting the boy until he had turned him into the path. Then the foreigner stepped in advance, saying:

"We reach my friend, in minute."

Thus they proceeded for perhaps five hundred feet into the woods.

Presently a small light, looking as though it might be the glowing end of a cigar, appeared ahead.

"Ah, here is my friend," announced the guide. "Giacomo, here is the young captain."

"Hush! Not too loud," came the soft warning from the man behind the cigar.

As Benson came up this second man held out a hand, which the submarine boy unsuspiciously took, at the same time looking over this second man.

He appeared, like the first, to be a laborer at the Melville yard.

"I hear you have some interesting word for me," began Benson. "I—oh, great Scott! How dare you?"

For, dropping his cigar from between his teeth, this second Italian, while still holding the boy's hand, gave his wrist a wrenching twist that forced Captain Jack over to the ground.

In a twinkling the guide fell upon him, too.

"What on earth does this mean!" demand Benson, freeing his right hand and doing all in his power to fight.

The spot was fearfully lonely. Captain Jack remembered, in a jiffy, all the gruesome tales he had heard about the dread doings of the Black Hand. Brave though he was, the young submarine expert felt suddenly cold and creepy, though he did not once think of giving up the fight.

"Now, be still you!" ordered the late guide, plaintively. "We not want to hurt you. But, if you make us—"

"Be still, behave, and you be all right," promised the other Italian, in a gruff appeal for reasonableness.

Though he tried to fight like a savage, Jack Benson soon found himself being yanked to his feet, while a stalwart laborer held him by either arm.

"You see, you can do nothing," advised the Italian who had thrown the boy. "You not want to get hurt? We no want hurt you, but if you be one big fool, then—!"

"What's the meaning of this rough game?" Jack demanded, hoarsely.

"You be verra good, no make noise, come with us and wait little while, then you go loose bimeby. Make fight, and well—then we no can help!"

That statement, coupled with the sinister, menacing tone, was sufficiently clear. It didn't take the submarine boy more than a few seconds to realize that he was helpless, and that the most sensible thing to do would be to go along, provided no worse violence than had already been used were attempted.

"Where do you want me to go?" he asked.

"Oh, we show you," replied the late guide, in a tone half implying that he stood ready to do his young captive a great favor.

There appeared to be no help for it. Grim faced, and with teeth tightly clenched, Captain Jack allowed himself to be led on through the woods, both his arms being still tightly held by his conductors. Had they intended any more dastardly violence, he reasoned, they could easily have carried out their purpose without having hauled him to his feet.

No more was said as the three tramped through the woods. Though the Italians did not by any means relax their hold, they used no more force than seemed necessary for their purpose. Indeed, they acted with that smooth consideration typical of the Latin races, even in bad moments.

A tramp of a quarter of a mile brought them to a little clearing in the woods. In the middle of the open space stood a building. As he got closer young Benson saw that it was a dilapidated-looking structure that for many years, probably, had not been a home.

The front door stood open, however, and to this the captors marched their victim.

"Look out you do not trip over broken sill," admonished the late guide, politely. Then, as all three moved into the dark interior:

"You be good, and lay down on floor for minute. That's all."

Jack felt his feet kicked out from under him. Down he went, one of the Italians sitting firmly on him. The other went across the room, fumbled, and presently lighted a lantern in an open cupboard.

"Now, you come along, no fuss and no hurt," advised the late guide, as they raised the boy. They conducted him through into a rear room, where one of the pair raised a trap-door in the floor.

"Now, this is easy," smiled one of the pair, pointing to the darkness under the open trap.

"We have take ladder away, but you can drop. Not far."

Then, seeing a look of alarm flit across the boy's face, the fellow laughed, adding:

"No hurt. All right. See?"

He dropped a stone through the trapway. It fell on ground underneath, nor did the distance down appear to be more than a few feet.

"Cellar, that's all," grinned the Italian, reassuringly. "Now, drop, and we not hurt you. No danger. In two, three, four hour we put down ladder and let you up. Keep you here little while; that's all."

Of course Jack Benson could have tried to put up a fight, but he knew he would easily be beaten. Besides, these men, smiling and polite as they now appeared, might have tempers bad enough to lead them to resort to Italian steel, if they had to do it. Therefore Jack nodded, then knelt at the trapway, and next, with an inward prayer, let himself drop down into the darkness. He landed on damp, soft earth.

"Good boy!" called one of the Italians, the lantern lighting his smiling face as it appeared framed by the trapway for an instant. "Not so very long to wait. Let you out so you go home, bimeby."

Then the trapdoor was gently put tack in place, after which Jack heard the click of a padlock above to secure the barrier in place.

Young Benson got upon his feet, stretched to make sure he was unhurt, then broke forth, under his breath:

"Of all the prize fools in the world, commend me to Jack Benson! Here, at the request of a perfect stranger, I've taken a long walk this night, just in order to place myself wholly in the hands of men who, however mild they may be in their piracy, certainly wish me no good. Oh, you, Jack! Oh, you blooming, prize idiot!"

Then he smiled grimly, wondering. From what had happened so far he felt inclined to believe the smiling rascals above. Had they intended worse violence, they had had abundant opportunity to show it.

"Of course, they're probably stretching a point when they say I'm to be here only three or four hours," reflected the boy. "Yet, now I'm here, I imagine I'll have to remain here until they're pleased to let me out.

But—will I, though?"

Overhead, at that moment, sounded the tinkle of a mandolin. It came, apparently, from the room nearer the front door. The two foreigners began to hum softly to the accompaniment of their instrument.

"May-be it was a lucky thing it never occurred to the pair to search me," murmured the submarine boy. "Probably they wouldn't have left this box of matches in my possession."

Lighting one of the matches, Jack began to explore. The cellar was much like any other, and wholly empty. On each side was a little, low window, probably not large enough for the submarine boy to crawl through. Even at that the openings had been bricked up and looked as though they would resist a long assault.

At the rear of the cellar were steps, leading up to a stout-looking bulkhead. It was padlocked, on the under side, with stout hasp and staples.

"Nothing doing here, either," muttered Jack. "Yet—hold on—blazes!"

Almost feverishly he felt in an inner pocket. It was there—a case containing seven or eight small, fine saws and other tools often employed by machinists in constructing small devices or models. He had been using some of the instruments on the boat that afternoon.

"Wow!" sputtered the submarine boy, joyously. "And again—some more wow!"

Lighting another match, carefully selecting his saw, and then lighting still another match, he took a look at the padlock, trying to find some portion of the ring where the metal was more slender. The saw was intended for use on metals. After he had made a sufficient notch in the ring, young Benson was able to work, much of the time, in darkness.

"Blessings on that mandolin," chuckled this industrious young human beaver. "If it wasn't for their jolly old twang-twang those Italians might hear my fairy buzz-saw at work."

Yet, though he progressed, what a fearful length of time this task appeared to take!

"And, if it turns out that there's another padlock in place on the outside, this will be just another case of love's labor lose," sighed the boy.

Occasionally, when the mandolin sounds ceased for a few moments, Benson rested, too. It would never do to take the risk of having his slight noise overheard.

At last! The saw went through the ring, proclaiming the task all but finished. First, with trembling fingers, the submarine boy replaced the saw in its case. Then, with another tough little tool, he started patiently to bend the severed ends of the ring metal sufficiently far apart. In this he succeeded finally.

Removing the padlock, he let the hasp fall away from the staple. On the floor above the mandolin was twanging merrily, the voices of the Italians rising somewhat in their song.

With his pulses throbbing, Jack Benson essayed to raise the bulkhead.

Glory! It rose! A moment later Captain Jack Benson was out in the open, under the cloudy skies.

No time did he lose there, however. Stealing softly for the woods, he sped on into them. Nor did he cease his hurried gait until he had covered at least a quarter of a mile.

"Not much risk of their finding me, now, even if they're wise at last," reflected the submarine boy, slowing down to an easier walk.

In all, Captain Jack must have gone nearly three-quarters of a mile from the scene of his late confinement when something occurred that made him fairly jump.

Ahead there came the sound of rapid steps. Then the sounds of a slight scuffle, followed by Don Melville's undoubted tones, shouting:

"Run, Benson! He'll never catch you now!"

"How on earth does Don Melville know I'm here?" quivered Jack, stopping short.

XII. The Capitalist Doesn't Like the Situation

Someone was dashing through the woods straight at Jack Benson.

Almost immediately there came the yell, in baffled rage:

"Confound you, Don Melville! I'll settle with you for this!"

"That's Mr. Farnum's voice!" throbbed the real Jack, all agog with wonder.

Immediately there dashed between the trees a panting boy in a uniform identically like Benson's.

"That you, Hal?" shouted the real Jack.

"Yes," came a hoarse answer.

"What's wrong?"

"Run to Farnum—quick!"

"You're a liar, whoever you are!" retorted Jack, putting himself in motion after the fugitive. "You're not Hal Hastings—nor yet Eph Somers!"

The race was a spirited one. The fugitive ran splendidly, gamely, but Jack Benson's wind had had a long rest, and now he was in the pink of condition for sprinting.

So, ere three hundred feet had been covered, the young submarine boy made a flying leap that carried him onto the shoulders of the fugitive down went both to earth.

"Now, hold quiet, will you, or shall I have to pummel your face out of any human likeness?" demanded Jack.

"Oh, Jack! Jack Benson! That you?" shouted the wondering voice of Jacob Farnum.

"Yes, and I've got some fellow who's masquerading in our uniform!" yelled Captain Jack.

Jacob Farnum had succeeded in hurling Don Melville away from him, and now the all but exhausted boatbuilder came through the forest with lumbering steps.

All of a sudden the downed fugitive began to fight, and Jack was forced to be strenuous.

"Here, let me take him. I'll quiet him," promised Jacob Farnum, grimly.

That gentleman was in a state of mental maze over the sight of what at first appeared to be two Jack Bensons fighting each other; Yet the incident gave him evidence that there was something unusual in this night's appearances. Without any difficulty, now, he separated the real from the false Jack, and promptly laid hands on the latter.

Don Melville's face was now a sickly white, but he felt that he had to act on the instant.

"Here, let that fellow go," he ordered, darting up, his eyes blazing.

"Get back there! Stand away! Hands off!" roared the submarine boy, facing young Melville and sending him back by a blow in the chest.

"Let that fellow go!" insisted Don, angrily. "If you try to hold him, I won't be responsible for what I do!"

"I can tell you what you'll do, if you try to mix in at all where Mr. Farnum is busy," retorted Jack, facing his foe with a savage grin.

Nevertheless, Don, espying a stick of wood lying on the ground, snatched it up, then tried to dart around Captain Jack in order to get at Mr. Farnum, who was having a rather one-sided struggle with the recent fugitive.

But Jack stopped Don—stopped him all of a sudden, by rushing at him and forcing him back up against a tree trunk. Whack! thump! It was no time for delicacy. Young Benson struck Don two hard blows in the face, next wrenching the stick away from him.

"The ground's good enough for you—full length!" snapped Jack; wrathfully. Leaping at the Melville heir once more, he bore that angered youth to the ground. Had not Don been winded by so much running he would not have been so easy to handle.

"Now, you stay there," commanded Jack, testily. "I believe you know a good deal about things that have happened to me to-night, and we've got to get it all straightened out."

"I've got this one, Jack," called Mr. Farnum, gleefully.

The arrival of the real Jack Benson on the scene, in contrast with the sham one, had opened the boatbuilder's eyes. He could not fathom, yet, what it all meant, but he was certain that his hitherto trusted young captain would be able to explain it all satisfactorily.

The young stranger in blue now lay on his back, while Jacob Farnum sat astride of him. The boatbuilder felt carefully over the outside of the clothing of his captive, until his hands encountered the feel of paper.

"I guess this is what I'm looking for," muttered the "Pollard's" builder, thrusting his hand into a pocket and pulling out an envelope. "This looks like the envelope Don Melville handed you, back there up the road.

Let us see how much you got for your rascality to-night."

Striking a match, Mr. Farnum drew some banknotes from the envelope, counting them.

"Twenty dollars, for all that dirty work," sneered the boatbuilder.

"Young man, you sell yourself too cheaply. It ought to be worth more than twenty dollars, just to have to be found with the Melvilles."

Hearing that, Don gnashed his teeth. Like many another rascal, Don wanted people to think well of him.

"Jack," called out the boatbuilder, "see if young Melville has a long, white envelope anywhere about him. In the inside coat pocket, if I remember rightly."

"Don't you dare!" challenged young Melville. But Jack glanced down at him with contempt, retorting:

"I follow only Mr. Farnum's orders. People who follow your orders take too big a risk of having to go to jail."

In Don's inner coat pocket rested a long, white envelope. Jack fished it out with a cry of triumph.

"Got it, Jack?" hailed the boatbuilder.

"Yes, sir."

"Then hold on to that envelope until we have a good chance to look it over. It's supposed to contain plans, or some sort of information, that you were supposed to be selling the Melvilles to-night."

"What?" gasped Captain Jack.

"Oh, there's a lot to the affair, and some of it needs unraveling, but we'll get to the bottom of it yet."

"I should say we'd have to!"

"This young hoodlum that I'm holding down is dressed in a uniform just like yours."

"I noticed that, sir."

"He's your figure, and complexion, and doesn't look a whole lot unlike you, Jack. I was fooled to-night, from the distance, when he impersonated you. But, now I have a closer look, this young fellow looks more like a thug, and he's slightly cross-eyed, too."

"I hear voices, so they must be over this way," sounded the tones of Broughton Emerson, between the trees. Then he and George Melville came upon the scene.

The elder Melville stared incredulously, with a startled gasp, when he got close enough to make out what had happened.

"Benson," blurted the capitalist, "how dare you? This is an outrage, you young puppy! Don, get up out of that undignified position. Get up this instant!"

"He will," said Jack, dryly, "as soon as he can get away. At present he's held down by force of circumstances."

"Get off my son, you impudent young upstart!" insisted George Melville, aghast at the ignoring of his first order. "Don, get up this instant."

"Mr. Farnum gives all the orders here, so far as I'm concerned, Mr. Melville," announced the submarine boy.

"Oh, let him up," said Farnum, dryly. "We know just where to find Don Melville any time that we need him."

Jack got up willingly enough, then. But Don, as soon as he had recovered some of his crumpled dignity, held out one hand imperiously.

"Give me that envelope you just took from my pocket," he commanded.

"Oh, will I?" rejoined Benson. "Ask Mr. Farnum for it."

"Hold onto that envelope, Jack," commanded the boatbuilder.

Jack Benson thrust it into his inner coat pocket, next firmly buttoning the front of his coat. Don made a move forward, as though to prevent, but drew back sullenly when he caught the flash of the submarine captain's steady eyes.

"Did young Benson take anything from your pockets?" demanded George Melville, stiffly.

"Yes, that envelope that he has just buttoned up in his own coat," said Don, sulkily.

"Return that to my son, at once," insisted the capitalist.

Jack, this time, did not even honor the command so far as to admit having heard it.

Broughton Emerson, deeply puzzled, had left group to go over to Mr. Farnum and the strange boy in blue.

"Jack!" called the boatbuilder, and Benson ran to him.

"Do you think you can fasten onto this youth, and prevent his getting away from us?" asked Jacob Farnum.

"I'm rather sure of it," nodded Benson.

"Then keep your eye on the fellow, Jack. He's got to go to jail. He's been engaged in some conspiracy against us, and I'm going to fathom it all, and have the fellow sent up for years and years at hard labor."

The fellow whom Jack was now holding heard this with a start and a shiver.

"You hear that, Don Melville?" he gasped. "Remember, you promised to see me through safely, if any trouble happened. You've got to keep your word."

"Hold your tongue if you think I'm going to do anything for you," growled Don.

"If you don't stand by me," threatened the prisoner, "I'll make things warm for you—and you know I can do it!"

Don paled, visibly, under that threat.

"Ho, ho!" laughed Jacob Farnum. "When thieves fall out—"

"Mr. Farnum, sir," thundered the elder Melville, stalking over to where the boatbuilder stood, "do you realize you're talking about my son?"

"Well, why not?" asked Mr. Farnum, coolly. "It's becoming pretty evident that he isn't a bit too good to be talked about."

"What does all this hubbub and outrage mean, anyway?" cried George Melville.

"It looks to me," rejoined Farnum, coolly, "as though your son would have the extensive task of informing us."

"Come on, father; let's be getting away from these people," proposed Don. "But what are you going to do with that young man?"

"In the name of the Commonwealth," replied the boatbuilder, "I've placed this young man under arrest, and I'm going to deliver him up to the authorities. He has been engaged in a conspiracy, and must suffer for his full share in the affair. If he confesses, and implicates others, they'll have to stand the consequences."

Again Don lost color, though now he was careful not to betray himself any further. But he hesitated, afraid to go away, lest Jack's prisoner be led into betraying him.

"Start your young man towards the road, Jack," directed Mr. Farnum, who now had the envelopes taken from Don and the stranger.

Jack started, holding to the arm of his late impersonator.

"Mr. Farnum, may I have a word with you?" asked George Melville, as the others walked along.

"Mr. Emerson," urged the boatbuilder, "will you walk on the other side of Captain Benson's prisoner? I want to make sure that no attempt at rescue is made."

Broughton Emerson readily nodded his agreement, and stepped up ahead.

As for Don, he fell in behind this group, while Messrs. Melville and Farnum walked still more to the rear.

"Now, what does this whole affair mean?" demanded George Melville.

"As far as I understand it," answered Jack's employer, stiffly, "it looks as though your son and yourself had framed up a scene, to be witnessed in poor light, at night, in which my young captain would appear to be hound enough to sell out Pollard's business secrets, and mine."

"I can assure you," said the capitalist, coldly, "that I had nothing to do with any deception."

"Then your son, without your knowledge, fixed up to-night's affair."

"You seem bound to fasten something upon my son."

"Well, Mr. Melville, can't you yourself understand that everything appears to point to Don as the prime mover in all this business?"

"I do not agree with you, sir."

"Well, perhaps that's hardly to be expected." laughed Jacob Farnum.

"However, since the real Jack Benson wasn't in that little picture so neatly framed for inspection, let us get up closer to him, and ask him to tell us just what did happen."

So Jack, as the party turned into the road, related the story of the trap that had been sprung on him, and how he had escaped from it.

At the conclusion of the narrative, Mr. Farnum turned around to say to Don:

"Young man, if you have engineered the whole of to-night's plan, I must compliment you on your originality and ingenuity. Nothing but accident prevented you from having a complete triumph."

"Be careful, sir, what you say about my son!" warned George Melville, pompous in his anger.

"As it disturbs you," smiled Farnum, "I won't say any more about it.

The whole business will keep."

The elder Melville, however, pulled Mr. Farnum by the arm until he had him well to the rear of the others.

"Now, Farnum," murmured the capitalist, in a conciliatory voice, "I am ready to admit that it begins to look a bit as though my son may possibly have been a bit reckless. I shall want the truth of it all proved. But, if I am satisfied that Don has been wholly in the wrong in anything that he has done, believe me, I shall be most ready to make the matter right with you."

"Right with me?" repeated the boatbuilder, in amazement "What do you mean by that?"

"Why, I mean, of course, that, if I am convinced that Don has been headstrong and over-zealous—"

"Mr. Melville, listen to me, and understand me fully. It looks as though to-night's business had been engineered on purpose to dissuade Mr. Emerson from investing money in my enterprises. If that is true, it is a matter of conspiracy, and I cannot hold out any hope to you that I shall allow anyone to escape just punishment."

"Do you threaten my son?" demanded the elder Melville, a menacing frown clouding his face.

"Of course not unless he can be shown to be undoubtedly guilty. For your sake and his I hope that won't be the case. And now, sir, good night."

They were nearing the streets of the village, and, Soon after the two Melvilles fell behind, Mr. Farnum found a constable who took the stranger in the blue uniform in charge.

Mr. Emerson excused himself, going to his own stopping place, but Mr. Farnum and Jack continued with the officer until they had seen the young stranger locked up.

Then Mr. Farnum hurriedly telephoned to the house of a lawyer, rousing that gentleman, and sending him to the lock-up to interview the prisoner.

Jacob Farnum had already returned to the young stranger the twenty dollars found in the envelope in his pocket. The boatbuilder had also handed to Don Melville the envelope taken from him, after having ascertained that it contained only blank paper.

As Mr. Farnum and Captain Jack again turned into the street they encountered David Pollard, rushing along and looking much excited.

"Oh, here you are," burst from the inventor. "I've been looking for you everywhere, since you were not at home. Two things of the utmost importance have happened."

"Some other things, also, of which I do not believe you yet know," smiled the boatbuilder. "But let's have your news, first, Dave."

"A thief, dressed in a uniform very much like Jack's, and of the same size and similar build to our captain, broke into my room and stole the drawings for the automatic closer for the torpedo tube," hastened on the inventor, almost breathlessly. "I fired a shot at him, from my window, but he escaped."

"We know the fellow, I guess," nodded Jacob Farnum, "and we know he disposed of some blank paper to-night. But I did not know your drawings had been stolen."

"Say," broke in Jack Benson, thoughtfully, "do you remember the two holes in the right side of the fellow's coat?"

"Yes, I do," rejoined the boatbuilder.

"Probably he's the same fellow. A bullet, passing through his coat, might have made those two holes without touching his body."

"Jove!" muttered Farnum. "Yes; that's so. I believe your guess is wholly right, Jack."

"Tell me about that," begged Mr. Pollard.

"One thing at a time, please," urged the boatbuilder. "Now, if that young rascal had the drawings, did he turn them over to Don Melville before the arranged meeting that I saw? For our prisoner had no such papers aboard him when I searched him."

"That will have to be solved," muttered Jack, seriously. "We can't afford to have those secret drawings in the possession of the rival submarine boat builders."

"But what about your other news, Dave?" interposed Mr. Farnum.

"This telegram!" burst, eagerly, from the inventer, producing a yellow envelope. "It was addressed to you, but in your absence I opened it."

While Jack struck a match, the boatbuilder read with feverish interest showing in his eyes.

"Oh, but this is great news!" he gasped. "We've finally got the Navy Department awake. This dispatch inquires how soon we can be ready to run the 'Pollard' through an exhaustive trial trip with a board of Naval officers aboard. Do you grasp it, Jack? If the trial succeeds we'll sell our first boat to the Government and be on the high road to success and fortune! Oh, this is the grandest news! It overshadows everything else!"

It truly did.

XIII. On Trial As Young Experts

Very early the next morning Jacob Farnum sent the following telegram to the Navy Department at Washington: "Send board of officers as soon as you desire. Everything in readiness. Advise me promptly, and how many will be in party." Then, knowing that he could not expect to hear from the national capital for at least several hours, and feeling that he simply must have something absorbing on his, hands, the boatbuilder turned his attention to following up the business of the night before.

He soon learned, through means of his own, that Don Melville had engaged a driver and had left Dunhaven during the night.

"Pooh!" snapped the boatbuilder. "If we want that young man, detectives will find him sooner or later. Or else, he'll be compelled to hide at the ends of the earth, so that he'll give us no further trouble."

The young stranger at the lock-up steadfastly refused to admit that he was David Pollard's burglar of the night before. Naturally, therefore, he failed to disclose what had become of the envelope of drawings stolen from the inventor's room.

Yet the lawyer engaged by Mr. Farnum had strong hopes that, eventually, the prisoner would be forced to reveal all that he knew. Another attorney, engaged, presumably, by Mr. Melville, had also seen the prisoner, and probably had succeeded in making the young man feel that he would be well paid for silence.

During the forenoon the prisoner's case was called in the local justice's court, but Farnum's lawyer had no difficulty in having the hearing postponed. The prisoner gave the name of James Potter, which undoubtedly was fictitious. No bail was offered for "Potter." If Mr. Melville felt inclined to do that, he undoubtedly dreaded that such an act would be construed as a tacit admission of Don's connection with the strange business.

Captain Jack was sent, with an officer, to see whether he could identify the two Italians who had trapped him the night before. Though all the workmen of the yard were rounded up, Jack could not find his recent assailants among them.

"And now," cried Mr. Farnum, when Captain Jack returned to the Farnum yard, "you will have to get busy with any preparation on board the boat that has to be made."

"No preparation is necessary," replied Benson, "except to remove the automatic closer from the after port of the torpedo tube, so the Navy men won't see it. That can be done in ten minutes or less. The 'Pollard' is all ready for inspection or any kind of tests, sir."

So Jack spent his time at leisure aboard the submarine. Eph and Hal listened enviously to the recital of his night's adventure.

"And all that time," grumbled Hal, "I was taking an extra nap in the starboard stateroom."

"And I was reading a great story about the boy scouts of the War of 1812," sighed Eph, regretfully. "Doing that when something real was happening within a long stone's throw of here. Oh, Jack, Jack! Why didn't you tip us off?"

"If I had only suspected that something was up, I would have done it,"

Jack replied. "I tell you, fellows, there was a time, when those Italians were marching me through the woods, that a little company of my own sort would have been mighty pleasant. I couldn't be very sure, at one time last night, of whether you'd ever see me again. But I had the conviction that, if I tried to put up a useless fight against those two powerful fellows, there'd be sure to be a new captain aboard the 'Pollard.'"

It was well along in the evening when Mr. Farnum received a telegram from Washington, informing him that a board of three Naval officers, provided with proper credentials, would arrive in Dunhaven on the next morning but one.

The boatbuilder came promptly on board the submarine with the news, adding, earnestly:

"Don't you boys leave this boat unguarded for an instant until after the trial trip is over. Mr. Melville will very likely hear about this and I'm not sure he'd hesitate to disable our boat if he could. At the rate at which work is going on at his yard his boat may be finished before our second submarine is ready for demonstration. It would be greatly to his interest to have a boat to show the Government first, especially if he now has the plans of our automatic closing device."

It turned out that the suspicion of Mr. Melville receiving the news of the coming trial trip was wholly correct. The next morning that capitalist called at Jacob Farnum's office.

"Farnum," he announced, "I've decided that, in order to heal all breaches, and also to make what is very likely to be a good investment for myself, I'll be ready to put in all the money desired with you, and on what I think will be your own terms."

"Of course I feel greatly obliged to you," rejoined the boatbuilder, with evident sarcasm. "But to put money into this enterprise, Mr. Melville, would be to encourage, needlessly, competition with your own submarine building."

"Oh, we can merge the two yards, Mr. Farnum," responded the capitalist, with a wave of his hand.

"Some little time ago, Mr. Melville, I would have been very greatly pleased with your offer. Now, Mr. Emerson stands ready with hundreds of thousands of dollars. He knows that a trial trip is being arranged for the Government, and he stands ready to act by the result. If we can sell our first boat to the Government he stands ready to turn over all the money we can possibly use."

"But what if the Government doesn't buy?"

"Then there would be no sense in using more capital for the present."

"The Government may be fairly well satisfied, and yet there may be a hitch about buying one of your boats. What, then?"

"We shall have to wait and see," replied Mr. Farnum.

"But my offer, Mr. Farnum, if not accepted to-day, will not be repeated," warned the capitalist.

"Your offer, Mr. Melville, would not, under any circumstances, be considered, or even tolerated," rejoined the boatbuilder, coolly.

George Melville leaped to his feet, his face flushing.

"Do you mean that?" he demanded, glaring at the man opposite him.

"I never meant anything more in all my life," smiled the boatbuilder.

"Mr. Melville, I thank you for suggesting that you are ready to advance money, but I assure you, on my word, that I shall never have any business dealings with any members of your family."

"Man, you are talking like an idiot! Throwing away chances like a fool!" stormed Mr. Melville, his look becoming blacker every instant.

"And I appreciate the fact that you are much too wise a man to talk with a fool," laughed the boatbuilder, walking over and throwing the office door open. "Good morning! This will be my busy week."

"You'll want me when, it's too late," cried the angry capitalist, striding through the doorway. "You will live to see the day, very soon—"

What that day was Mr. Farnum didn't learn, for he closed the door on his departing caller, going, laughing, back to his desk, where he picked up a cigar and lighted it.

"How poison runs through the blood of some families," mused the boatbuilder, blowing out several rings of smoke.

On the morning appointed the three Naval officers arrived at Dunhaven.

Their appearance did not excite much interest among the natives, for all three were in ordinary civilian dress.

Commander Ennerling came as president of the board; the other two members were Lieutenant Commander Briscoe and Lieutenant McCrea, the latter serving as recorder of the board.

"I've had the pleasure of meeting you before, haven't I, Lieutenant?" murmured Mr. Farnum, in an aside.

"Yes, and the commander of your boat is the same who played that wonderfully funny trick by leaving the submarine's card painted on the side hull of the battleship 'Luzon' during the hours when I was watch officer," replied the Naval officer, in an equally low tone. "But please don't refer to it before my comrades, They've stopped hazing me about it, and have almost forgotten the incident."

As Lieutenant McCrea spoke his face was very red. He had been tormented much by his brother officers over the laughable prank that Captain Jack had played upon him, as related in the first volume in this series.

Mr. Farnum took the Naval board first of all to his house, where the inventor was presented to them. Then, after an early lunch, the party went out to board the "Pollard."

Captain Jack Benson and his crew of two were on the platform deck to receive the visitors from Washington. As Jack's hand met Lieutenant McCrea's the submarine boy said only:

"I am very glad to see you again, sir. I hope we shall have something worth showing to you."

"Get away from moorings, Captain Benson," directed Mr. Farnum. "Then, when we get out on the broad ocean, we'll be ready for any tests that these gentlemen want."

Within a very few minutes more the "Pollard" was a mile off shore, heading almost due east and traveling at nearly her full speed.

"We'll see how fast you can log the knots off for an hour," proposed Commander Ennerling, picking up a satchel that he had brought with him.

With McCrea's help he adjusted a patent log that he had brought along with him, casting the line over the rail into the water.

"Now, let me know how soon you are ready to have the record of your speed begin," he suggested.

"Take the log from this minute," requested Captain Jack, for, as soon as he saw the Naval officers adjusting the log, he had quietly passed word by Eph to Hal Hastings, who was in the engine room, to crowd on every revolution of the twin shafts that the gasoline motor would stand.

For an hour there was nothing to do but to steer straight ahead. Part of the time some of the officers spent below smoking, though always at least one of them remained on deck, to make sure that the log record was not tampered with.

At exactly the end of the hour the indicator of the log was read off.

"Twenty-one and four tenths knots!" cried commander Ennerling, with an expression of amazement. "Whew! I knew we were traveling fast, but I didn't imagine we were doing quite as well as this."

"You're satisfied with your test, aren't you?" inquired Mr. Farnum.

"Yes, for the log was carefully standardized for us before we came."

Hal Hastings was called on deck to be complimented for this performance.

"The motor can be improved so as to beat that speed," declared Hal, flushed and happy, for he had nursed that motor along during the hour!

"As it stands, the twenty-one-spot-four record beats anything of the kind with any other submarine boat in the United States, doesn't it?" inquired David Pollard.

"I—I—it may do. It's a very excellent record for speed, anyway; very remarkable," admitted the president of the board, cautiously.

"Now, gentlemen, what test will you have next?" asked Mr. Farnum.

"Suppose," replied Commander Ennerling, after glancing at his associates,

"that you submerge the boat, on even keel, and let us see how many feet under water you dare to go with this craft?"

"It shall be done," nodded Mr. Farnum. Accordingly the ventilators were shipped, all hands went below, and the conning tower manhole was closed.

Everything was in readiness for the drop below the surface. The gasoline engine was shut off, the electric motor being started. At Captain Jack's order Eph stepped up to take the conning tower wheel, while the young commander stood by the diving controls.

"Even keel, if you please," again requested Commander Ennerling.

Jack began to flood, slowly, the water tanks, the "Pollard" sinking gradually. With the young captain at one side of the gauge, Messrs. Farnum and Pollard took their posts at the other side, to watch the readings.

"How many feet down do you want to go?" asked young Benson, coolly.

"How far down do you dare to take the boat?" asked Mr. Farnum, almost hesitatingly.

"As far as you dare to let me," replied Jack, with spirit. "Watch the gauge, and tell me when to stop."

"Jove, but you have a cool nerve, lad, if you back that up," laughed lieutenant McCrea.

"Perhaps our young skipper is relying upon the caution of his employer," suggested Commander Ennerling, smiling.

It is always a question of great importance just how far below the surface a submarine torpedo boat may go with safety. The greater the depth the more enormous the pressure of the water. At sufficient depth the water pressure is terrific enough to crush in the hull of the stoutest submarine. At even less depth the pressure may easily start the plates so that the inrush of water will destroy all on board.

Yet Jack Benson's proposition was to send the "Pollard" further and further below the surface, until owner or inventor should order him to stop.

All three of the Navy officers shot a look of admiration at the doughty young skipper. Then, almost immediately, their faces resumed their usual expressions. To the Navy officers this experience carried with it no dread. The "Pollard" might prove, under severe test, wholly unfit to stand the pressure below surface. Their death might be but a minute or two away, but with these Naval officers it was all in the line of duty.

It was not, with the members of the board, so much a matter of actual grit as of constant association with all forms of danger.

"We're going pretty low," muttered Mr. Farnum to himself, as he read the gauge.

"Can we stand much more depth?" wondered David Pollard, inwardly uneasy, though outwardly calm. A moment later he told himself:

"Jack Benson has never been as low as this before!"

"It won't take much more of this to make further trial trips of no interest to us," almost shivered Jacob Farnum.

Yet Jack, true to his word, allowed the "Pollard" to sink lower and lower. He was waiting for the word—or the bottom!

XIV. Fooling the Navy, But Only Once

Commander Ennerling bent forward to read the submergence gauge.

"Jove, but you've really your nerve with you, Captain Benson," he declared, simply.

"Confidence in the boat, sir," Jack answered coolly.

Up in the conning tower, where he could observe the duplicate gauge, Eph Somers, though not easily frightened, was beginning to feel more than curious.

"If we go much deeper, I'll sure let out a yell," Eph gritted, between his teeth.

At last Jack's voice broke in, coolly:

"You see, gentlemen, the gauge now gives a constant reading. We can't go any lower, for the water tanks are as full as they'll hold, and there's still the buoyancy caused by all the air the interior of the boat. So we're as far below the surface as we can go."

"Bully for you, Benson!" cried Lieutenant McCrea, slapping the young skipper on the back. "You understand what you're doing, and no one could do it with more coolness. You must have been born aboard a submarine."

"He never saw a craft of this kind, until a few weeks ago," retorted Jacob Farnum admiringly.

Taking out a notebook and pencil, Commander Ennerling recorded the reading of the submergence gauge, which showed how many feet the craft was below the surface of the water.

"Of course," hinted Mr. Farnum, smilingly, "don't know the gauge to be correct."

"We've the means with us of testing and standardizing the gauge in the harbor," replied the president of the board.

"If we ever see the harbor again," muttered Eph Somers, overhead in the conning tower.

"How does this compare with the depths touched by submarine boats now owned by the Navy?" asked David Pollard, a bit feverishly. He was not afraid of their present rather dangerous position, but was frightfully nervous over the thought of any good showing this craft born in his brain might fail to make. "This is thirty feet lower than any submarine record I've ever heard of."

"I—perhaps it would be wiser for me not to say," replied Commander Ennerling. "It may be as well for me to wait and compare this record with those on file at the Navy Department."

"Have you had all you want of this, gentlemen?" inquired the boatbuilder.

"Shall we show you anything else?"

"Yes; you might give us a run at full speed under water, at the lowest depth that you deem it wise to try to run the craft," answered the president of the board.

"Very good," nodded the builder. Hal took this as the signal to leap back into the motor room.

"How far below the surface would you dare run the 'Pollard,' Captain Benson?" inquired Commander Ennerling.

"At the greatest depth we can go, the present depth," quietly answered Jack, without bravado.

The president of the board glanced at the builder of the submarine.

"Does that appeal to you, Mr. Farnum?"

"I'll let Captain Benson have his own way, unless the members of the board have other instructions," replied Jacob Farnum, promptly.

"Well, Captain Benson, if you deem it wise to work your propellers at their best at the present level, go ahead and try it," laughed the president of the board.

"Half speed ahead, Hal," called the young submarine captain. "Full speed as soon as you get well started. Eph, swing around and go due west."

"Aye, aye, sir," came the response, from both members of the crew.

Erelong the splendid little craft was making the best speed of which she was capable. That there was a big chance of risk in it all knew. If the hull of the boat was not of the most perfect construction there would presently come an ear-splitting report through the bursting in of steel plates on account of the tremendous pressure of the water all around the boat. That would be followed by the inrush of the ocean and prompt destruction.

There was another danger, not so great. Wrecks of ships often sink below the surface, there to drift tediously about as long as the timbers hold together. If the "Pollard," traveling under present conditions, should collide with such a hull, there would be no future for anyone aboard.

Yet, though all three of the submarine boys fully comprehended the chances that now confronted them, all three did their work without faltering.

In fact, none of the eight human beings aboard during this extremely hazardous undertaking betrayed any cowardice, nor even alarm.

Lieutenant McCrea watched the gauge, the other two officers going forward to make record of the number of revolutions per moment at which the electric motor could drive the propeller shafts.

After ten minutes the president of the board approached Mr. Farnum to say:

"We are satisfied with this part of the work. Let us return to the surface for a welcome look at the sky."

"Will you hold your watches, gentlemen," inquired Captain Jack, "in order to see how much time passes before we are running on the surface?"

One of the members of the board, watch in hand, climbed up the staircase to stand beside Eph in the conning tower.

"Awash, sir," Eph soon called down.

The time was noted.

"Now, show us anything that you wish," suggested Commander Ennerling.

Captain Jack looked significantly at Messrs. Pollard and Farnum. Both nodded.

"Then, sir," rejoined Captain Benson, "if don't mind, we'll run back to Dunhaven, and show you a specialty of ours in the harbor at Dunhaven."

"Very good," agreed the president of the board.

Not until they were in sight of the little harbor was the manhole opened.

Now, some of the party stepped out onto the platform deck and remained there a few minutes.

"I'll have to ask you to come inside, now, gentlemen," requested Jack Benson, courteously, after making an unobserved signal to someone on shore. "We're going down to the bottom of the harbor."

As soon as the "Pollard" had sunk, and rested on bottom, Jacob Farnum invited the members of the board into one of the staterooms aft.

"For just a few minutes, gentlemen," he explained, "we want to keep you from seeing something."

As soon as the visitors were out of the way, Captain Jack sprang forward to the torpedo tube. Hal Hastings, stripping off his outer clothing, stood forth in his bathing suit.

"Into the tube with you, now," whispered Jack. "Crawl well forward—right up to the forward end of the tube—so. Get hold of the crossbar of the cap. Hold on hard. Now, when we close the rear port, and open the forward cap, with a little rush of compressed air, the cap will open forward and up, dragging you out into the water. Now, then, got a good hold?"

"A grip like death itself," laughed Hal.

"Be ready, then."

Captain Jack closed the rear port of the tube, and turned on some compressed air, which also drove the forward port open and up. A moment later the submarine boy tapped at the door of the state-room.

"Has anything happened?" smiled Mr. Farnum.

"Hal Hastings is missing, sir," reported Jack.

"Missing?" demanded the boatbuilder, leading his guests out into the cabin.

Young Benson pointed to the pile of clothing, just as Hal had left it on the floor.

"Get to the surface," commanded Mr. Farnum. "We shall have to look into this."

Soon the conning tower of the "Pollard" reappeared above the waves.

"Hal is safe, gentlemen," reported Captain Benson, from the tower.

An instant later he opened the manhole of the tower, allowing all hands to step out on deck.

Grinning delightedly, Hal stood in the bow of the small shore boat.

"How did he get there, from a submarine on the bottom?" asked Commander Ennerling, in astonishment.

"That is one of the secret features of this boat," laughed Mr. Farnum.

"Now, gentlemen, if you will kindly come below again, we're going to sink."

Hardly had the submarine touched bottom before Mr. Farnum again conducted his guests back to the state-room. When Captain Jack summoned them forth, they returned to find Hal Hastings, laughing in a way that showed his white teeth, standing there in his dripping garments.

"From what you have seen, gentlemen," said the builder, seriously, "I am sure you will understand that we have mastered a new feature, of great value in submarine boating." The three Navy officers struggled to conceal their wonder.

"Make for the surface, Captain Benson," directed the owner.

When the passengers aboard the submarine stood once more on the platform deck, the yard's owner signaled for the shore boat to lay alongside.

Into this small boat he took his guests. The boat was rowed away two or three lengths, immediately after which the "Pollard" again sank.

Two or three minutes passed. Then Captain Jack's head shot above the surface. He made for the boat, hanging onto the gunwale.

"It would be bad judgment to call you young fellows mermaids," said Commander Ennerling, dryly, "but you are surely merboys."

A moment later Hal Hastings's head came above the surface.

"Mr. Pollard and young Somers could as easily leave the boat and join us," explained Mr. Farnum. "However, if the last man aboard leaves the boat then there is no way provided for a return to the 'Pollard,' and we would be placed at great expense in raising her. I think we have, however, shown you enough to make you believe that we have mastered some new wrinkles in submarine work."

"You have shown us more than we can quite digest," admitted Lieutenant Commander Briscoe. "But how is this all done?"

"That," responded Mr. Farnum, gravely, "the Government will know when the boat is purchased for the American Navy."

The anchor being again lowered, both Jack and Hal dived below. In five minutes the "Pollard" was on the surface. Mr. Farnum asked:

"Have we shown you enough at one time?"

"Yes," admitted the officers. "This evening, after dark, we may ask you to take us out and show us your boat's diving powers."

"Jack, my boy," whispered Jacob Farnum, when the young captain joined the party on shore, "your trick of leaving and returning to the boat when it lies on the bottom has gotten our friends of the Navy into a state of hard guessing. Do you think we'd better show them some more of it at another time?"

"If you want my opinion, sir, I think we'd better not. We've puzzled them this time, but if we keep on doing the trick for them, I'm afraid they'll soon guess how it's done. I don't believe, sir, you can fool the American Navy more than once."

XV. Serving In the Cause of Peace, Not War

"It seems almost a shame to have to go below," sighed Lieutenant McCrea.

It was evening, the time about nine o'clock. For nearly an hour the "Pollard" had been running out to sea at something below her full speed.

She was now something like a dozen miles off the coast.

Commander Ennerling had just decided that it would be a good time to test the diving capabilities of the submarine.

Ventilators were shipped, and all other preparations had been made for going below the surface.

Eph was left in the conning tower, Lieutenant McCrea with him.

"How far do you want the dive to be made, sir?" asked Jack Benson.

"A depth of forty feet ought to serve the purpose," stated the president of the board.

"Then, sir, we will make a sloping dive to that depth, then complete the curve until we strike the surface again," proposed the submarine boy.

"How will that suit you, sir?"

"Excellently," agreed the Navy commander.

"Do you want to take the record with your stop watch?"

"Yes?"

"All ready, sir."

As Captain Jack gave the word he threw open the forward water tanks, so that water rushed in, tilting the bow of the craft downward. The "Pollard" moved on a decided slant until Captain Jack read the depth of forty feet on the gauge. Then, with a barely perceptible rest. On an even keel, the young submarine expert threw compressed air into the forward tanks, expelling the water, at the same time admitting water to the tanks aft.

Gracefully, and with, the precision of a trained living being, the submarine craft curved upward until Lieutenant McCrea shouted down:

"We're awash, sir"

Benson drove the water from the tanks aft, and the boat rode the waves.

"Now, let us see you run a little lower than awash, with just enough of the conning tower in the air for the helmsman to see where he is steering," proposed the president of the board.

Jack went above to relieve Eph at the wheel, while Commander Ennerling stationed himself beside the boy.

"You may use your searchlight, of course," proposed the commander, "and proceed just as though you were trying to pick up a battleship of the enemy without much exposing yourself."

As the broad, bright beam of the searchlight shone out over the waters ahead, Captain Benson called down for the best speed.

Commander Ennerling watched the boat's performance, and the work of the young captain for some minutes before he said:

"Benson, I'll admit that the more I see of this craft the more anxious I am to see her under our Navy flag."

"I'm glad to hear you say that, sir," cried Jack, his face glowing.

"Yet I'm a bit puzzled, after all."

"How so, sir?"

"Why, the more I think about it, the more I wonder just how much of my delight and interest are due to the boat itself, and how much to the splendidly expert way in which you young men handle her."

"You call us experts, sir?"

"Don't you believe, yourselves, that you are?"

"We hope that some day we shall be," was Jack's slow response.

"Benson," went on the Navy officer, earnestly, "if you're not now experts, you never will be."

"Does that mean, sir, that we shall never know much more about such craft than we do now?"

"By no means. You'll know more every year that you stick to the work.

What I intended to convey is that you three are the best experts in this line I have ever seen, considering, of course, the amount of time you have already given to this work. Give you three lads time enough, and the United States appears destined to possess the three greatest submarine experts in the world."

"That's great praise, sir," said Jack, quietly, his cheeks tingling.

"I mean all I've said," rejoined Commander Ennerling, gravely.

They had run some miles by this time. Captain Jack, reaching up to swing the searchlight about over the course ahead, suddenly uttered:

"Look over there, sir—two points off starboard. What do you make out?"

Commander Ennerling instantly became absorbed as he caught sight of a steam yacht something more than a mile away.

"Going under full power, but shooting rockets," added Jack. "They've just sent up two from aft."

"Distress sign, without a doubt," mused the Naval officer. "Wonder what it means?"

Jack had reached for a pair of night glasses, which he now handed Commander Ennerling.

Already the "Pollard" had swung to a bow-on course and was making straight for the steam yacht.

"Mutiny, by Jove!" murmured the Naval officer. He did not speak excitedly, but with a certain grim dryness. "Catch up with them as soon as you can, Captain Benson."

"There they go, heading away from us," muttered Captain Jack.

"From her present performance she doesn't look to be over a fourteen-knot boat," declared Ennerling. "You won't be long in running alongside."

"What do you make out, sir?"

"A white-haired old man, in a yachting suit, and another man in white duck. They are aft, and both appear to be holding pistols. There are two women, one middle-aged, I should say, and the other barely more than a girl. Excellent glasses, these, Benson."

"Can you make out any mutineers?"

"There are some men, pressing back astern, yet seemingly not wholly liking to risk revolver fire," went on Commander Ennerling. "I don't believe I can make out all the mutineers, from this point of view."

"What shall we do, sir, when we get alongside?"

"Quell the mutiny," retorted Commander Ennerling, with emphasis. "It's the one choice a Naval officer has in a case of this sort. Briscoe!

McCrea!"

The two junior officers came hastily up the spiral stairway. Commander Ennerling told them as rapidly as he could what had happened.

"There's something wholly wrong on that yacht," he wound up, "and we've got to get alongside and look into it."

"Want to get out on the platform deck?" inquired Captain Jack.

"Yes, by all means."

More of the water was expelled from the tanks until the platform deck was two feet above the surface. Then the manhole was opened, and an interested crowd hurried out on deck. Only Eph remained below, he, to his disgust, being sent to the motor.

Jack Benson now stood at the deck wheel, while the others gathered at the rail to watch the progress of the pursuit.

Even as they looked, the older man aft on the yacht fired his revolver twice, aiming forward. The flashes could be distinctly made out, though the reports of the weapon were borne away by the breeze.

"Have either of you gentlemen a revolver?" demanded Commander Ennerling of his subordinate officers.

Neither of them had. Nor had any of the submarine's own people.

"Hm!" muttered the commander, grimacing. "This is a fine Naval outfit to lay alongside of a craft that has a mutiny aboard!"

"Do you want to hail, or try to board the yacht?" inquired Jacob Farnum.

"I think we'd better run alongside and hail that crowd," answered Commander Ennerling. "Yet, if it comes to it, we'll have board!"

Three shots flashed out, amidships, on the yacht, showing that the fire was directed towards the stern. Two shots from the two men aft replied.

No one appeared to have been hit.

"We'll have to fight if we're to be of any use," muttered Ennerling.

"With our fists, too, confound the luck!"

They were now rapidly overhauling the yacht. It was with throbbing pulses that Captain Jack Benson steered the "Pollard" up alongside.

XVI. Fighting a Mutiny With Threats

Hal Hastings came springing out of the conning tower with a megaphone.

Jack, with a final swing of the wheel, brought the "Pollard" in on a course parallel with the steam yacht, and not more than two hundred feet away from the other vessel's port rail.

At the same moment Benson rang the signal bell for reduced speed, so that the sterns of the two craft were kept almost on a line with each other.

"Ahoy, yacht!" bellowed the commander, through the megaphone. "Any trouble aboard?"

"Mutiny!" hoarsely shouted the white-haired man, turning his head only enough to send the word.

"It looks like it," agreed Commander Ennerling. "We are United States Naval officers, aboard a torpedo boat. The mutiny must stop. Shut off your speed, and send a boat over here. My order is addressed to the mutinous crew."

Two of the mutineers were hiding behind a mast, three more behind the forward end of the after deck house. Just how many more there were, could not be clearly made out by those on board the "Pollard," for some had undoubtedly crouched below the deck bulwarks.

But one man among the mutineers possessed the rough courage to advance to the rail, shouting in a husky voice:

"You go on your way, and mind your own business, Mr. Navy!"

"Stop that mutiny and submit to your officers," insisted Commander Ennerling, sternly. "Do you want us to come aboard and wipe you out to the last man?"

"You can't board us, from a craft of that kind," jeered the fellow at the yacht's rail.

"You'll find we can, if we have to."

"Come along, then!"

"Do you realize, my man, that we are United States Naval officers?"

"Not when I can't see your uniform," laughed the mutineer, roughly.

"I'm not going to argue with you any more. I've given you my orders.

Do you intend to submit, or will you fight?"

"We'll fight!" roared the mutineer. A hoarse cheer went up from his comrades.

"They don't estimate our fighting power very highly," muttered Ennerling, in a low tone. "If they knew the whole truth they'd be still less afraid of us."

From the mutineer at the rail came another hoarse hail:

"Shove off and get away, or we'll rush the crowd aft and wind up the women! You start a fight if you think you can. If you know you can't, then get away. We're not afraid until we're killed."

Now, eight mutineers, in all, lined across the deck, each man showing a revolver.

"Humph! We've got to fight—and can't!" muttered Commander Ennerling, in great disgust.

"We can save those women," muttered Jack Benson, "if they've the nerve to help themselves be saved."

"How?"

"Hal Hastings and I can swim over, and can hold the women up if they have the nerve to leap overboard."

"Those brutes might fire on you, and the women, but it's worth trying," decided the Naval officer, instantly. "Over with you, then!"

Captain Jack waited only long enough to shed coat and cap, then sprang to the rail. Hal was with him, instantly.

"Sir," bellowed Commander Ennerling, "Have your women folks jump overboard. We'll pick them up in the water. Be quick about it!"

There were a few hurried words in the little group of four aft on the steam yacht. Then, with the "Pollard" running in closer, so that a bare fifty feet separated the two craft—Mr. Farnum at the submarine's wheel—Jack Benson plunged overboard, followed by Hal. The girl aboard the yacht leaped at once, the older woman following quickly.

"Get us, too, if you can," shouted the white haired man at the yacht's stern. "We can swim a little."

Both craft were still going ahead at about fourteen knots, but, as the two men jumped Lieutenant Commander Briscoe and Lieutenant McCrea plunged overboard to get them.

Now Jacob Farnum rang for the reversing of the engine, and the submarine, first pausing, began to glide backward, then stopped altogether.

From the steam yacht went up another hoarse cheer, the mutineers dancing like demons, discharging their revolvers into the air. All this while the yacht steamed steadily away from the scene.

The girl was sinking for the second time as Jack Benson, with a forward swoop, shot one arm under her.

"You won't go down now," he called, cheerily. "Keep cool and just do what I ask you."

The older woman, buoyed up by a greater spread of skirts, had not sunk below the surface at all by the time that Hal Hastings reached her.

"All just as it ought to be," hailed Hal, blithely. "Don't be at all afraid, madam. Porpoise is my middle name, and you can't sink while I have you."

The work of the two Naval officers who had plunged overboard was easier.

Both of the men who had leaped from the yacht's stern rail were able to swim. Briscoe and McCrea merely reached them and swam alongside.

David Pollard had ropes over the side of the submarine in a jiffy. It was easy work for seafaring men to climb these ropes over the sloping, easy side. It was scarcely more difficult to get the women up in safety.

"Let the ladies go below to the port stateroom," called Mr. Farnum.

"They can disrobe, rub down and get in between blankets in the berths.

Their men folks can take care of 'em."

"I'm the steward, sir, of the 'Selma,' the yacht that's ahead," explained the man in white duck. "I'll help them below at once, sir."

"We can have hot coffee in seven minutes," Mr. Farnum continued.

"Captain Benson, if you'll take the wheel again, I'll go below and get to work in the galley."

The white-haired man, in the meantime, was hurriedly making himself known to Commander Ennerling as Egbert Lawton, owner of the "Selna," a hundred-and-forty-foot schooner rigged steam yacht. The ladies were his wife and his sixteen-year-old daughter, Miss Ethel Johnson was the steward's name.

"Get after the yacht again, Captain Benson," requested Commander Ennerling. "We have the owner and the ladies safe, but we've got to take that crew to land as mutineers."

"They'll fight to the last shot," declared Mr. Lawton, shaking his head.

"Did you and your steward bring your revolvers with you?" asked Ennerling.

"No; we tossed them into the sea as we dived," laughed Mr. Lawton.

"Bringing weapons to a Naval craft is like carrying coals to Newcastle."

"Unfortunately," rejoined the commander, plaintively, "this isn't yet a Naval vessel, and the most dangerous weapon aboard is the breadknife in the galley. But how did the mutiny start, Mr. Lawton? And how did you come to have such a rascally crew aboard?"

"Two or three bad men got into the crew, started fights, and some of the old crew quit. Then these bad men passed the word to other tough characters to apply to my captain. In a short time the crew was all of one piece of cloth, including the fellows in the engine room."

"How many mutineers are there aboard?"

"Thirteen, in all. Even the cook joined them."

"But your officers?"

"Captain Peters and Mate Sidney. It was the mate's watch when the trouble started. You see, as most of my cruises have been short, I carried but one mate. So, on a long run, the captain had to stand watch in turn. Captain Peters was below. Mate Sidney went forward, to the forecastle, for something. He must have been felled and ironed. One of the crew roused the captain, saying the mate needed him forward.

Then Captain Peters went forward, was seized and ironed. Then, howling like fiends, in order to frighten us the more, the mutineers rushed aft."

"Yet you stood them off?"

"Yes; Steward Johnson and I both happened to be on deck, and were both armed. The rascals didn't want any of their side killed, so they tried to parley when they saw our weapons."

"What started the mutiny?"

"Mrs Lawton usually carries her jewels, when on board. They are worth two hundred thousand dollars—a rich prize to desperate thieves."

"What folly to tempt men so on the broad ocean!" muttered Commander Ennerling, under his breath.

"The jewels were kept in a safe in the cabin," continued Mr. Lawton.

"And there are the scoundrels just smashing in the cabin door," broke in Jack Benson.

"There they go, piling below."

"They're welcome," jeered Egbert Lawton. "As it happened, my wife had some sort of presentiment, and the jewels are in two canvas pouches securely fastened under her clothing. She leaped overboard with them."

As the "Pollard" now ran much closer, those aboard the submarine could hear the yells of rage that came from the yacht's cabin.

"The safe was unlocked, and the rascals have found out how badly they've been sold," laughed Mr. Lawton. "But why are you going so close to the yacht? In their rage, they'll fight like fiends, and you are unarmed."

"We shall see what we shall see," dryly commented the commander, murmuring a few words in Hal Hastings's ear.

Hal promptly dropped down below.

"Selma ahoy!" hailed Ennerling, when the submarine was once more up with the yacht.

"Get quiet and go to sleep!" shouted back the leader of the mutineers, derisively.

"Under the law you mutineers are pirates," shouted back the commander, firmly. "If you don't surrender we shall be compelled to sink you."

"Sheer off and forget it!" jeered the mutineer.

"Look here, my man," bellowed Commander Ennerling, "we'll have no further nonsense from you. Surrender, without further parley, or you'll find our nose pointing at your side hull—and then there'll be some fireworks.

You can't be insolent with the United States Navy."

Then, leaning over the manhole, Commander Ennerling shouted down:

"Watch below!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" rose Hal's voice, clear and strong.

"Pass the word to load the torpedo tube."

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Next, hailing the "Selma," Ennerling called:

"Last hail before trouble! Do you surrender?"

"No, you sea-lawyer!"

Just a word to Jack from the Naval officer, and the "Pollard" shot ahead of the other craft, then came up and around, going after the yacht on the quarter, nose on.

"I hope this line of business works," remarked Ennerling, with a dry smile.

"Toot! toot! too-oo-oot!" sounded the yacht's steam whistle, shrilly.

At the same time her engines reversed. Another of the mutineers rushed to the rail, waving a white towel.

"In heaven's name, don't do it!" he bellowed, hoarsely.

"You surrender, then?" demanded Ennerling, stiffly, though his heart must have bounded with joy. "Wise men! We're not going to put a prize crew aboard. You'll have to take the yacht in. Head about for the coast, taking the course as we signal it. Don't try any tricks, or any slowing down of speed. The least sign of treachery, and we'll sink you without further warning—"

"—if we can do such a trick with compressed air alone," added Commander Ennerling in a tone heard only by those near him on the platform deck. "Captain Benson, what is the nearest place on this coast with a police force capable of taking charge of such a crowd."

"Clyde City is about a thirty-two mile run from here, sir," Jack answered. "There's a harbor police boat there."

"Then make for Clyde City, please. I'll attend to signaling the yacht."

As the two vessels proceeded on their way the ladies below were made as comfortable as possible. Mr. Lawton and his steward were provided with dry clothing, and coffee was served. It was an hour before either Jack or Hal found time to change their clothing in the motor room.

XVII. Jack Perpetrates a Practical Sea Joke

"Searchlight ahead, sir."

Captain Jack made the report to Commander Ennerling.

It was in the small hours of the morning, and the submarine, having taken its prize in to Clyde City's harbor, was now on its way up the coast to tie up for the night at Dunhaven.

They were running about six miles off the coast. As the president of the Naval board had a great desire to test the craft running all but submerged, only the upper portion of the conning tower was above the water.

At Clyde City the "Selma" had been put in charge of the squad of the harbor police boat, and the yacht's captain and mate, neither of them badly injured, had been freed.

Dry clothing had been secured for the ladies, and they were taken ashore.

Eghert Lawton was profuse in his expressions of gratitude, and declared that he hoped to meet all hands of the submarine party again at an early date indeed. Our friends learned, later, that the mutineers had been sent to prison.

Now only her regular party was aboard the "Pollard." For half an hour the little vessel had been running along, nearly submerged, and with the searchlight not showing.

At Jack's report Commander Ennerling looked up from the compass he had been studying by the shaded light that showed at only that point in the tower.

"She's coming head-on toward us," said Ennerling. "Benson, Navy men are handling that searchlight."

"You think so, sir?"

"No; I know it," was the dry rejoinder. "There's a way, in the Navy, of swinging a searchlight; a way that no merchantman or yachtsman has ever yet caught."

As yet the vessel behind the searchlight was not visible. Indeed, if she were painted the dark gray color of the Navy craft, it would be some time yet before her hull could show plainly at night.

Commander Ennerling used his glasses for some moments.

"Shall I answer with our searchlight, sir?" inquired the submarine boy.

"No, no, thank you. I'm more interested in seeing how close we can get to that vessel, since she belongs to the Navy, before she succeeds in picking us up with her light. It's of great practical value to know just how close we can get to that other vessel, undiscovered, in the night time."

"How close would you like to get to her?" inquired young Benson, a smile playing about the corners of his mouth.

"Humph! I'd like to tie up to the other craft," muttered the Naval officer.

"Well," propounded Jack, "what's to prevent us from doing it?"

"Several things. The watch that's kept aboard a Naval vessel under way, for one thing."

"I'll try the trick, sir, if you'll stand for it."

Ennerling turned to stare at the boy in amazement.

"Benson, you've done several clever things, but now you're talking nonsense."

"I don't say I can do the thing," rejoined Jack, "but would you like to see me try?"

"Yes, if you take no risk of ramming the war ship, or doing any other damage."

Captain Jack instantly shut off the speed, reversing, next allowing the "Pollard" to stop and drift as she lay.

"What's that for?" asked Commander Ennerling.

"I'm going to try," replied Jack, with a laugh. "Oh, Hal!"

Hastings came at once up aloft with them. His mouth opened in a broad grin as he listened to his chum's rapid sentences.

"And now ask Eph to come up here," finished Jack.

As Somers reached his young chief Benson demanded:

"Eph, see that light? Commander Ennerling is sure it belongs to a Naval vessel. We're going to try to tie up to her while she's going at cruising speed."

"Say, that's like you!" burst from Eph Somers, an admiring grin showing in his face.

"Eph, have you sufficient nerve to get into your bathing suit like lightning, and go overboard with a lantern and a rocket or two, with only a state-room door to float on?"

"Of course," nodded Eph. "The sea's not rough, and a state-room door is big enough to ride on. But you're not going to leave me marooned, are you?"

"Not likely," laughed Jack. "You're right in the path of the approaching vessel, Eph, and they'll see your rockets and lantern. They'll pick you up."

Eph's face went suddenly solemn.

"Say," he muttered, "I'll have a real interesting time trying to make some sort of an explanation, won't I? What shall I tell them if they do pick me up?"

"Tell 'em anything you like, except that the 'Pollard' is trying to tie up," responded Jack.

"That all?" demanded Eph, with a grin. "If it is, I'm off to get into my traveling clothes."

"Hurry," nodded Jack. "Send Hal up to the wheel, while I explain the whole thing to Mr. Farnum. But, commander, what if that shouldn't be a Navy vessel?"

"It is," responded Ennerling, with emphasis. "It's the gunboat 'Massapeqna.' She's in these waters just now. You'll find I'm right."

Jacob Farnum began to laugh heartily when he caught the whole of Captain Jack Benson's new idea of a sea joke.

Eph was quickly in his bathing suit. He and Jack unhinged a stateroom door, carrying it up through the conning tower. Hal, in the meantime, under orders, had attended to bringing the "Pollard's" platform deck briefly above water.

The movements of the searchlight ahead convinced the submarine boat's observers that the gunboat's watch officer had not yet detected the presence of so small and unlighted an object as the "Pollard," miles away.

As the door was floated on the water alongside, Eph stepped out onto it, squatting. He had with him a lantern, three rockets and a box of wind matches.

"Don't forget I'm here, if I'm overlooked by the other people," called Eph, with a wave of his hand, as he floated slowly astern.

"And don't let 'em know where you came from, or what's up," called back Jack Benson.

"Say, do you think I'm as foolish as I look?" blurted Eph, half-indignantly. Those were the last words exchanged, for the "Pollard," now moving slowly forward, had left its detached door astern.

With only a couple of feet of the conning tower above surface, the "Pollard" began to make good submerged time forward. Presently the little craft dropped below the water altogether. Ten minutes later the tower flashed above the water for just a moment.

The Naval commander quickly brought the night glass into play.

"That's the 'Massapequa,'" he declared, laying down the glass.

"There, they've picked us up," cried Jack, as the light passed over the top of the conning tower.

"They won't be sure after just that brief flash at us," rejoined Ennerling. "Drop out of sight."

Jack let the "Pollard" drop at a semi-dive. Just as they had barely gone under there was a steadier flash of light on the water in front of them.

Jack chuckled.

"Quick work," nodded Ennerling, approvingly. "The lookout on the gunboat thought they saw something here on the water, and swung the ray back to find out what it was. Now, they've doubtless concluded that they were fooled by a shadow."

"The next time we come up we'll have passed the 'Massapequa' and be astern of her," predicted Jack.

"Good enough, if you can calculate correctly the distance. The gunboat, of course, has no searchlight aft."

For some minutes the "Pollard" ran under water.

"I'm sure we're a little astern, now," said Captain Jack. "I'll take a lift up into the atmosphere."

With that the "Pollard," which had been running not more than five feet below the surface of the water, rose gently.

"Jove!" murmured Commander Ennerling.

"Did you work by calculation, Benson, or guesswork?"

"I calculated the distance as nearly as I could," replied Jack Benson quietly.

"Then you're a marvel, lad," cried Commander Ennerling, admiringly.

It was little wonder that the Naval officer was astounded. For the "Pollard" had emerged barely a hundred feet to the starboard of the gunboat's line of course, and barely two hundred feet astern.

"The rest is going to be easy," laughed Captain Jack, confidently. "The trick is as good as played on the 'Massapequa.'"

He gave the wheel a hard turn to bring the nose of the submarine about.

"There's your gleeful friend, Eph Somers," announced Commander Ennerling, pointing ahead as the "Pollard" came about.

A bare eighth of a mile away, directly in the track of the gunboat, sat Eph on his door. Those in the tower could not quite make him out in the night, but they could see the circles described by the lighted lantern that Eph was swinging.

XVIII. Eph Enjoys Being Rescued

In going that last eighth of a mile the gunboat's speed was gradually slowed.

It was a pretty piece of ship-handling. The "Massapequa" lost headway gradually a hundred feet from where Eph sat solemnly blinking back at the sailors' faces along the forward starboard rail.

An officer's uniform showed at the edge of the bridge, as he called:

"Ahoy, there!"

"Ahoy, yourself," answered Eph. "And another one for courtesy."

"Don't get funny, boy!" admonished the officer on the bridge. "What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing," Somers replied. "But; say! Can you spare a cushion."

"How did you come to be there, boy?"

"Floated," admitted Eph, truthfully.

"How did you ever get six miles off the coast on that float you're on?"

"Can't remember," replied Eph, dubiously.

"How long have you been out here on the water?"

"Ever since February, 1976," Eph Somers asserted, solemnly.

"Crazy!" muttered the officer to himself. "We'll have to get him aboard and turn him over to the officers at the next port. I'll try him on one more question."

Raising his voice, he called:

"What's your business? Do you follow the sea?"

"Say, you haven't caught me leading it anywhere, have you?" inquired Eph, wonderingly.

"If we throw you a rope, will you try to catch it?"

"Yep, or a beefsteak, either," Somers declared, promptly.

"Send the boy a rope," directed the officer on the bridge. "Be careful not to sweep him off the float. The lad doesn't seem over-bright."

Though this remark was not intended for his ears, Eph caught it nevertheless.

"Not bright, am I?" muttered Eph, to himself. "Gracious, what a lot of company I have in the world, then!"

Through the air the rope, deftly thrown, came swirling. Eph caught his end of the line in a manner to make the officer say to himself:

"That boy has followed the sea. He knows as much about life on salt water as I do."

Very deliberately Eph bent over, fastening his end of the line around the knob on the stateroom door.

"Haul in, my hearties," he hailed.

Eph stood up, balancing himself nicely while the sailors hauled the slack until the door lay bumping against the side hull of the gunboat.

"Look out," sang out Eph. "Little Willie, the Boy Dewey, is coming on board."

With that he began to climb the rope, hand over hand, until he reached the rail and clambered over, standing dripping on the deck.

"Say," remarked a petty officer, "you left the line fast to that raft."

"Certainly," nodded Eph, with cool assurance. "That's so you can haul the door on board, too. Mother'd make a fuss if I got home without the door to her ice chest."

"Shall we haul the door aboard, sir?" called the petty officer to the bridge.

"Yes," nodded the young officer up there.

So that came aboard, too, almost in a jiffy.

Eph, with a very wide grin on his face, stood regarding the sailors who had curiously gathered around him.

"Where are you from?" asked one of the seamen.

"Just in from the salt water," Eph assured him.

"Let the boy alone, men," warned the officer on the bridge. "I'll have the guard take care of him for the night. In the morning I'll report the case to the captain. But bring the boy up here for a moment."

Two sailors thereupon escorted Eph to the bridge. The officer in charge looked him over curiously.

"Now, young man," began the young officer, "have you anything to tell me about yourself!"

"Yes," volunteered Eph.

"Go ahead."

"I'm wet."

"Boy, you're in the wrong place to try to get funny," came the stern rebuke. "I guess I know what you need."

Just at that instant the sounds of a decided though indistinct commotion came from aft.

"Then shake," begged Eph, offering his hand. "I know, too, what you need."

"What is it that you think I need?" demanded the officer, suspiciously, eyeing the boy closely.

"You need to get wise," declared Somers, promptly. Then, noting that the sounds from aft had caught the officer's quick ear, the submarine boy added, with another grin:

"By the time you've found out the meaning of the rumpus aft you'll know a lot more."

Over in one corner of the bridge a cadet midshipman had stood silent during this talk. Turning to him, the watch officer said hurriedly:

"I leave you in charge here. Look after this boy."

Then the watch officer ran quickly down from the bridge, making his way aft.

No wonder there was excitement on the after part of the gunboat.

Captain Jack Benson, after heading the "Pollard" about, had run as close as he, or rather, Hal, dared. Hastings was at the wheel, much of the upper hull of the boat being now out of water. Jack was forward, on the upper hull, with a line, one end of which was made fast to the platform deck. At the other end of the line was an iron bolt for weight.

Close in under the stern of the gunboat, slightly to starboard, stole the "Pollard." Jack, balancing himself, made a cast of the line. The iron bolt shot up, past the stern flagstaff, then down into the water astern again.

With the gunboat lying to, the submarine could move only with the barest headway. The instant he saw that the line had passed around the base of the flagstaff, watchful Hal Hastings set the reverse deck control in order to keep from bumping the "Massapequa." Next, the submarine stole quietly over towards port, Jack, with a boathook, gathering in the line that he had thrown around the flagstaff. This end he made fast in a trice.

"The marine guard, if there is one, didn't see the line flying," whispered Jack, gliding back over the "Pollard's" hull to the platform deck. "I don't think I'll be caught now until I'm on that other boat's deck."

"Good work! Fine!" whispered Commander Ennerling, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Here's the note."

Captain Jack slipped the folded paper in his pocket, then hastened back to the line. Hal ran the submarine far enough back to leave the double line all but taut. Seizing the rope with both hands, Jack made his way swiftly up to the gunboat's stern rail.

In another twinkling he was over. It was not until his feet touched the deck that the slight noise caught the marine sentry's ear, causing him to wheel about.

"Halt!" hailed the marine, throwing his gun to port. "What are you doing there?"

"I've a message for your commanding officer," Jack answered, halting with a click of his heels as he brought them together.

"Where did you come from?" demanded the marine, wonderingly.

"Are you the commanding officer?" questioned Jack. "If not, take me to him."

"Corporal of the guard!" bawled the marine.

Almost in a jiffy the corporal was there.

"Corporal," said Jack, crisply, "I've a message, in writing, and an official message, too, for your commanding officer."

"I'll take it to him, then," said the corporal. "Or shall I conduct you to his quarters?"

"You may take it to him," agreed Jack, holding out the folded paper.

"Sentry, keep your eyes on this stranger," ordered the corporal of the marine guard, as he received the paper.

A moment or two later, the commanding officer of the "Massapequa" was reading this brief but astounding communication: Commanding Officer, U.S.S. "Massapequa": You are towing the submarine torpedo boat "Pollard" astern. Technically and theoretically, haven't you lost your ship? (signed) Ennerling, Commander, U.S.N. With an explosive remark the gunboat's commander snatched up his cap, darting aft. The corporal, whose curiosity was aroused, judged that he was expected to follow, and did so.

"What's this nonsense about towing a submarine torpedo boat?" demanded the gunboat's commander, reaching deck aft.

"Wh-what, sir!" stammered the marine sentry, presenting arms.

"Where did this boy come from?" demanded the Naval officer.

"I—I don't—" began the sentry, but his superior, leaving him, rushed to the flagstaff.

"Sentry, what were you doing? What was everyone else doing?" cried the gunboat's commander. "Did you think it a part of our cruise to serve as mooring for stray torpedo boats? You—come here, you blockhead!"

The corporal got there ahead of the private, looking down in utter bewilderment at the sight of the "Pollard" riding the waves so saucily just astern of the gunboat's hull.

"Did you come aboard from the submarine?" questioned the gunboat's commander, wheeling upon Jack Benson.

"Yes, sir."

"Ahoy, 'Massapequa,'" floated up in Ennerling's tones. "Is that you, Braylesford?"

"Aye, Ennerling, and a shabby old trick you've played on us!"

Commander Ennerling's hearty laughter came up from below.

"Captain John Benson, the young man who came over your stern rail, is the genius who planned the joke," called up Ennerling.

"But with your approval, eh?"

"Of course, Braylesford."

"Then, Ennerling, I'm sorry I can't have the pleasure of putting you in irons," nodded Lieutenant Commander Braylesford, dryly.

"Let down a rope ladder, and I'll come aboard for a moment, Braylesford."

The watch lieutenant, who had hurried aft at this juncture, stood waiting respectfully for a word with his superior.

"What have you to report, Lieutenant?" demanded Braylesford.

"We stopped, sir, to rescue a boy afloat on a door. He's in bathing suit, and gives none but the most idiotic replies to my questions."

"He must be part of this outfit," retorted the lieutenant commander, pointing below at the submarine, at which the watch lieutenant was now staring with wide-open eyes.

"Yes; that's Eph Somers, one of our crew," smiled Captain Jack. "He was turned loose on the door to take up your attention, while we did the tie-behind trick."

A rope ladder having been lowered, Commander Ennerling, by nimble use of the tow-line, had succeeded in reaching it, and he now came over the rail, chuckling.

"It's on the 'Massapequa,' I admit," grinned Braylesford.

"On me, I'm afraid," pronounced the watch lieutenant, with a half-groan.

"Don't feel badly about it, gentlemen," laughed Commander Ennerling.

"Jack Benson is the same lad who stole up under the battleship 'Luzon,' and painted the name, 'Pollard,' in sixfoot letters on the hull of the battleship as a reminder of his call. The lad is a sea-joker of the first order."

"He ought to be in the Navy," retorted Braylesford, then turned, with a smile, to offer his hand to the submarine boy.

"Oh, he will be, surely enough, if war-times ever come upon us again," replied the commander.

Word was now sent to conduct Eph aft.

"Get aboard your own craft and dress; then come on board and join us in the ward-room," invited Braylesford.

"I'm afraid the lad can't," said Commander Ennerling. "He and one other, Hastings, are the only members of the crew that will be left on the submarine if you keep Benson here to talk with him."

Within two minutes the two craft were on their way south. The members of the Naval board, Messrs. Farnum and Pollard and Captain Jack were entertained in the ward-room of the gun-boat, while Hal and Eph ran the submarine along some two hundred yards to the westward. It was a jolly time, indeed, in the "Massapequa's" ward-room, for Naval officers are keen to enjoy a good joke, and Jack's exploit was voted a prime one.

At the end of an hour, however, the "Pollard" was signaled to lie to, the gunboat doing the same. It was time to break up the ward-room party.

The visitors went down the side gangway to a small boat, and were transferred to the submarine.

"The Navy has something to talk about, now, wherever officers meet for dinner, or social talk in the ward-room," declared Commander Ennerling.

"At the same time, Benson, your ingenuity and skill have shown us how easy it is for such a boat as this to destroy any warship afloat. And now, for Dunhaven and a long sleep—if we don't run into further big adventures on this eventful night."

XIX. Jack Stumbles Upon a Big Surprise

"Busy, Farnum?"

"At this moment, not especially."

"I'm glad of that."

George Melville's attire was particularly fashionable this morning, three days after the first trial trip run, when he dropped in at the boatbuilder's office, finding the latter there alone.

Mr. Melville's eyes were twinkling, his face beaming. He had the whole appearance of a man who is satisfied with himself and anxious to please others.

"I've come to hold out the olive branch, Farnum, if anything of the sort is needed," continued the capitalist.

"It isn't. Nothing is needed here but a good decision from the United States Government," replied Jacob Farnum, briefly.

"Ahem! Now, see here, Farnum, of course I understand that you had abundant reasons for feeling offended the other day. But this state of affairs ought not to last between us. You have a splendid type of boat, but you need more money in order to push your yard properly. You need a lot more of building plant here."

"Yes," assented Mr. Farnum.

"Now, on the terms that I was inclined to refuse before, I am ready to supply a sum even greater than was at first spoken of," and the man beamed on Mr. Farnum.

"I no longer care to talk business with you, Mr. Melville."

"Why not?"

"We need not go into that. I bid you good day, Mr. Melville."

"You don't seem to know what you're doing, Farnum. I control millions.

I also have some influence—in Washington," and the man strode from the room, leaving Jacob Farnum a bit shaken but not repenting his decision not to deal with George Melville.

"One other road is open to Melville if he but knows it," thought the boatbuilder. "One hundred and ten thousand dollars' worth of bills for materials are now a few days overdue. My creditors have faith in me, but Melville, with his money, could buy up these bills by offering a bonus and could then press me for immediate payment. If only Washington did not move, so slowly!" and the man groaned.

That same evening about ten o'clock the submarine boys were on their way from the village to the "Pollard" when they heard the fire alarm.

They were in front of the volunteer fire house, and were at once pressed into service to take the place of some of the young firemen who were not at hand.

"Look!" shouted Eph Somers. "The fire is in the Melville boatyard!"

The volunteer firemen beat down the big gate of the yard with lusty blows and rolled the hand engine inside and, coupling the hose, threw a stream of water on a fiercely burning shed. Jack Benson, relieved of his task of pulling the engine, went toward the big shed where the submarine was under construction—at least, there was no other place on the premises that such work could be carried on.

Just as Jack reached the big shed some firemen battered down the door in order to turn a stream of water on the fire there. The flames lighted up the place with an intensive light, leaving no corner unilluminated. Jack, on the qui vive with interest and curiosity, looked within.

"Empty, oh-ho! What do you know about that!"

Hal Hastings came up just then and Jack said:

"See that, Hal? The Melvilles have been putting up a show of building a submarine to beat ours. This fire betrays the fact that no boat is being built here. Nothing here but iron plates and the hammers with which the workmen have been beating every day!"

"Of all idiotic things!" exclaimed Hal.

The three submarine boys came upon Mr. Farnum standing in the watching crowd and gleefully told him of the empty shed.

"That might have helped a week ago," said the boatbuilder. "I fear we're beyond help now, boys." He had already told them in confidence of the financier's threat.

Just then Melville came along. Mr. Farnum and the boys would have ignored him, but he stepped up to the group and snapped:

"You're a fine bunch! Some of my workmen tell me that you young rascals were sneaking about my yards and set fire to the sheds."

"That will do, Mr. Melville. We'll listen to no such talk," and before the boys could speak or Melville reply Mr. Farnum pushed the boys before him out of the crowd.

"All those fellows heard him say that, and some of them will believe it!" cried Hal.

"That's bluff on his part, and silly bluff, at that," said Jack. "These firemen can say where we were when the alarm came in."

"But not where we were when the fire started," grumbled Eph.

"The fire's practically out; we'd all better go home now," said Mr. Farnum.

XX. Conclusion

The next afternoon Commander Ennerling of the United States Navy reported to Messrs. Farnum and Pollard that the naval board had witnessed the tests of the submarine and were ready to report to the authorities. They did not conceal the fact that the boat had made a favorable impression, then they continued:

"You have a crew of experts, though they are very young. John Benson especially is a genius."

"We are well aware of that, gentlemen," replied Mr. Farnum beamingly.

Soon after the naval men had taken their train for Washington, David Pollard came into Mr. Farnum's office, carrying a valise and a brief case and announced that he was going away for a time where he could not be reached to rest and study and think.

It was the third day after this that Jack, wishing to see Mr. Farnum in regard to some supplies for the "Pollard," went to his office.

"He's not been here since three o'clock yesterday," said his stenographer.

"Out of town?" asked Jack.

"I wish I knew."

Jack called up Mr. Farnum's house and got his wife on the telephone. To his question she replied:

"I got a note last night not to worry if he was late getting home. But he has not come in yet," and her voice had a catch in it.

Jack and his chums were greatly worried. Had Melville played some trick on the boatbuilder? "I'm going ashore," said Eph the next morning, as soon as he had eaten his breakfast in the submarine cabin.

"For anything especial?" asked Jack.

"First, I want to know if anything's yet known of Mr. Farnum. Then, you know that Don Melville's in town. Why? His father's left and all the pounding workmen at his fake yard are gone, too. Something needs explaining."

"He's trying to find out whom he can bribe into saying we set fire to the yard," said Hal bitterly.

"Oh, on second thought Melville would conclude that would be too risky to do," observed Jack.

"Maybe—maybe not. I'm going over to look about and listen."

In less than an hour Eph Somers, agog with excitement, was back on the "Pollard."

"Say, fellows, that Potter fellow that got into Mr. Pollard's room and stole the papers broke jail last night. Now we know what Don Melville was here for! He had a hand in that!"

So far, the young fellow had refused to talk.

"Bribed by the Melvilles," Hal had declared. "But they'll find that expensive, for he'll continue to bleed them, now he knows how."

Jack, who usually reserved judgment until he knew some facts on which to build, was inclined this time to agree with Eph, and Hal was certain that Somers was right.

"It would be to their advantage to have Potter disappear before they begin their dirty work against Mr. Farnum," Hal insisted.

"I telephoned to Mrs. Farnum and she reports 'nothing new,'" continued Eph. "It's queer."

Just then the boys heard a hail and saw David Pollard, bag and brief case in hand, on the shore signaling to them.

"Where's Farnum?" he asked as soon as he was on the submarine.

"We'd, any of us, give six months' salary to know that, Mr. Pollard," said Jack, and went on to tell what had been taking place.

"That spells ruin for us," groaned the inventor, who knew how things stood financially.

"Do you think, Mr. Pollard, that we'd better suggest to Mrs. Farnum to put a detective on her husband's trail?" asked Eph.

"That trail would probably lead straight through the Melvilles," said Hal bitterly.

"No, don't do that—yet," replied Pollard.

"Mr. Farnum may be away on legitimate business," added Jack slowly.

Hal and Jack rowed Mr. Pollard ashore. After bidding the inventor good-bye, the two youths decided to go to the shipyard. As they were about to enter the office they were accosted by a man who was coming out. He asked them if they were in Mr. Farnum's employ.

"Yes, sir," Jack answered.

"Can you tell me where he is? The office force could give me no information."

"Mr. Farnum is away at present," said Jack.

"I know that! Where is he?"

"Why should I tell a stranger about my employer's business?" asked Jack sharply.

"Here's my card." The man was a Mr. Stevenson, the head of a firm of ship's steel jobbers. "Here's a bill for twenty-five thousand dollars, and Farnum seems to have disappeared. I can sell this at face value, but I don't want to."

"Give Mr. Farnum a chance, Mr. Stevenson," pleaded Jack. "We can guess who is willing to buy that bill from you—for a bonus. The man will be as eager to buy next week as this."

The man looked shrewdly into the eyes of the two boys for a moment, then, with a shrug of his shoulders, turned away, saying:

"I guess this can wait awhile."

The boys, after a brief call in the office, went on to town. Mr. Melville was fond of horses, and still drove a handsome pair.

"There comes Don Melville in his father's carriage. I don't wonder they hang on to it. Those horses are beauties," remarked Hal.

The carriage stopped and Don jumped out.

"Say, you muckers, things are happening and you won't be needed now on the 'Pollard.'"

"Really?" drawled Jack indifferently.

Hal could not summon indifference, or the appearance of it. He said contemptuously:

"Having helped a deserving young man to escape from jail, you'll probably put him on the 'Pollard.'"

Don flushed angrily and turned to the coachman, a brutal looking fellow.

"Johnson, chastise the young puppy!"

Johnson jumped down and raised his whip.

"Give it to them both!" yelled Don.

Just then Grant Andrews, the foreman in the submarine shed, having come up in time to hear and see what was taking place, sprang between the boys and the coachman. He crashed his fist into the man's face, and thus disposed of him, then grabbed the whip and brought it down on Don Melville's shoulders.

"Oh, you'll pay for this!" yelled Don.

"Then I may as well get the most out of it," retorted Andrews, and again brought down the whip, this time coiling it around Don's legs.

Don, seeing a grinning crowd about them and stinging with physical pain and humiliation, turned and sprang into the carriage. Johnson was already there, and they hurried away.

"Grant Andrews! Who would have thought it of you!" exclaimed Hal.

"Sorry I did it, boys?" and the flush on Andrews' face subsided and a grin came to his lips. He was usually an easy-going man, but when aroused he could act.

"We-ll, no," admitted Jack, while Hal laughed. "But come on; let's get out of this crowd."

It was several days after this affair that Mr. Pollard, who was on the submarine, got a message from Mr. Partridge, the superintendent of the yard. The message read:

"Mr. Partridge begs Mr Pollard to come to the office at once."

"I'll go, Jack. But I'm weary and may need support. Come with me, will you?"

On entering the outer office the two found the bookkeeper and the stenographer.

"Mr. Partridge is in the inner office with two men, Mr. Pollard," said the stenographer. "If you need me, I shall be right here."

Mr. Partridge was sitting at Mr. Farnum's unopened desk when the man and the boy entered. Mr. Melville and a man Jack soon learned was a lawyer were sitting facing him. Mr. Partridge rose and gave his chair to Mr. Pollard.

"Mr. Melville insisted on seeing me, Mr. Pollard, and I thought best to send for you," said the superintendent.

Without greeting the financier snapped out:

"Where is Farnum, Pollard?"

"Why do you wish to know?"

"I have a claim against him on an overdue bill."

"I didn't know that Mr. Farnum had any dealings with you," was the quiet reply.

"I bought this bill of Riley and Grannan for electrical supplies only recently. It is for a trifle over ten thousand dollars."

"Surely you believe Mr. Farnum is good for that amount?" queried the inventor softly.

"I'm sorry to say that I do not."

"Then why on earth did you buy the bill?"

The capitalist flushed, but said frankly:

"I expect before the day is over to be the owner of other claims against this business."

"In order to wreck us and take the business?"

"Wreck you? Yes. That is good business. But, Mr. Pollard, we will make it well worth your while to stay with the new owners." He was well aware that the inventor might be on the verge of new inventions that would outdate the "Pollard," and he wanted to keep anything new for himself.

"Nothing would induce me to stay on if Mr. Farnum were forced out, Mr. Melville."

"What's that? Forced out?"

The voice came from the doorway, the door having been noiselessly opened, and Jacob Farnum stood at the entrance.

Melville and the lawyer turned in their seats and the others sprang to their feet.

"Oh, it's you, is it, Melville? What can I do for you?" asked the boatbuilder.

"You can settle for this claim, Farnum," and the capitalist held out the paper.

"Very well. I will write you a check at once. The banks are closed for the day now, but I will deposit the money the first thing in the morning.

Until I do that, I have not enough in bank to cover this," and he looked at the paper. "By the way," and he turned to his employees and to the inventor, ignoring the two outsiders, "the Navy Department has accepted the 'Pollard.' I've sold her for one hundred and sixty-five thousand dollars. Have you any more assigned claims against me, Mr. Melville?" he drawled, again facing the capitalist.

"No," snapped the man. He had paid a thousand dollar bonus to get the one he had; and was feeling sick over the outcome.

Just then the door opened and the stenographer showed Broughton Emerson into the room.

"I see you answered my telegram in person, Mr. Emerson," said Farnum, rising from the chair he had taken and shaking hands.

"Yes, I came in person, and quite prepared to furnish the capital you need after the preliminaries are arranged."

George Melville rose and after a brief nod of farewell made for the door, followed by his lawyer. Jack opened the door quietly, then shut it just as softly.

Broughton Emerson invested heavily in Mr. Farnum's yard and the business was incorporated, Mr. Farnum and Mr. Pollard retaining control. The owners praised highly the three boys for the way they had handled the "Pollard" on its trial trip, saying that this was a factor in the Navy's acceptance of the submarine. They also gave the three boys one thousand dollars each and ten shares apiece in the new corporation.

George Melville had spent more than thirty thousand dollars in trying to get hold of Mr. Farnum's business. This, of course, was a total loss.

Soon after this, in trying to get control of a railroad by his underhand methods, he lost all of his fortune and had to accept a small clerkship in order to make a living. Don, at the same time, became steward on the yacht of one of his father's old-time acquaintances.

Jacob Farnum had been in Washington, a fact his wife had known after the first day of his absence. He had been secretive about the matter, as he wished if possible to keep George Melville in ignorance of his whereabouts until his business was settled.

Not even with the transfer of the "Pollard" to the Government did the life of the submarine boys aboard their pet boat cease. Some further adventures of these boys are told of in a volume entitled: "The Submarine Boys and the Middies; or, The Prize Detail at Annapolis."

THE END

The Submarine Boys and the Middies

or

The Prize Detail at Annapolis

First Published 1909

“You Are Not Likely to Be of Any Use Here.”

Frontispiece.

Contents

I. The Prize Detail

II. How Eph Flirted With Science

III. “You May As Well Leave the Bridge!”

IV. Mr. Farnum Offers Another Guess

V. Truax Shows the Sulks

VI. Two Kinds of Voodoo

VII. Jack Finds Something “New,” All Right

VIII. A Young Captain In Tatters

IX. Truax Gives a Hint

X. A Squint at the Camelroorelephant

XI. But Something Happened!

XII. Jack Benson, Expert Explainer

XIII. Ready For the Sea Cruise

XIV. The “Pollard” Goes Lame

XV. Another Turn at Hard Luck

XVI. Braving Nothing But a Sneak

XVII. The Evil Genius of the Water Front

XVIII. Held Up by Marines

XIX. The Lieutenant Commander's Verdict

XX. Conclusion

I. The Prize Detail

“The United States Government doesn't appear very anxious to claim its property, does it, sir?” asked Captain Jack Benson.

The speaker was a boy of sixteen, attired in a uniform much after the pattern commonly worn by yacht captains. The insignia of naval rank were conspicuously absent.

“Now, that I've had the good luck to sell the 'Pollard' to the Navy,” responded Jacob Farnum, principal owner of the shipbuilding yard, “I'm not disposed to grumble if the Government prefers to store its property here for a while.”

Yet the young shipbuilder—he was a man in his early thirties, who had inherited this shipbuilding business from his father—allowed his eyes to twinkle in a way that suggested there was something else behind his words.

Jack Benson saw that twinkle, but he did not ask questions. If the shipbuilder knew more than he was prepared to tell, it was not for his young captain to ask for information that was not volunteered.

The second boy present, also in uniform, Hal Hastings by name, had not spoken in five minutes. That was like Hal. He was the engineer of the submarine torpedo boat, “Pollard.” Jack was captain of the same craft, and could do all the talking.

Jacob Farnum sat back, sideways, at his rolltop desk. On top of the desk lay stacked a voluminous though neat pile of papers, letters, telegrams and memoranda that some rival builders of submarine torpedo boats might have been willing to pay much for the privilege of examining. For, at the present moment, there was fierce competition in the air between rival American builders of submarine fighting craft designed for the United States Navy. Even foreign builders and inventors were clamoring for recognition. Yet just now the reorganized Pollard Submarine Boat Company stood at the top of the line. It had made the last sale to the United States Navy Department.

At this moment, out in the little harbor that was a part of the shipyard, the “Pollard” rode gently at anchor. She was the first submarine torpedo boat built at this yard, after the designs of David Pollard, the inventor, a close personal friend of Jacob Farnum.

Moreover, the second boat, named the “Farnum,” had just been launched and put in commission, ready at an hour's notice to take the sea in search of floating enemies of the United States.

“The United States will take its boat one of these days, Captain,” Mr. Farnum continued, after lighting a cigar. “By the way, did Dave tell you the name we are thinking of for the third boat, now on the stocks?”

“Dave” was Mr. Pollard, the inventor of the Pollard Submarine boat.

“No, sir,” Captain Jack replied.

“We have thought,” resumed Mr. Farnum, quietly, after blowing out a ring of smoke, “of calling the third boat, now building, the 'Benson.'”

“The—the—what, sir?” stammered Jack, flushing and rising.

“Now, don't get excited, lad,” laughed the shipbuilder.

“But—but—naming a boat for the United States Navy after me, sir—”

Captain Jack's face flushed crimson.

“Of course, if you object—” smiled Mr. Farnum, then paused.

“Object? You know I don't, sir. But I am afraid the idea is going to my head,” laughed Jack, his face still flushed. “The very idea of there being in the United States Navy a fine and capable craft named after me—”

“Oh, if the Navy folks object,” laughed Farnum, “then they'll change the name quickly enough. You understand, lad, the names we give to our boats last only until the craft are sold. The Navy people can change those names if they please.”

“It will be a handsome compliment to me, Mr. Farnum. More handsome than deserved, I fear.”

“Deserved, well enough,” retorted the shipbuilder. “Dave Pollard and I are well enough satisfied that, if it hadn't been for you youngsters, and the superb way in which you handled our first boat, Dave and I would still be sitting on the anxious bench in the ante-rooms of the Navy Department at Washington.”

“Well, I don't deserve to have a boat named after me any more than Hal does, or Eph Somers.”

“Give us time, won't you, Captain?” pleaded Jacob Farnum, his face straight, but his eyes laughing. “We expect to build at least five boats. If we didn't, this yard never would have been fitted for the present work, and you three boys, who've done so handsomely by us, wouldn't each own, as you now do, ten shares of stock in this company. Never fear; there'll be a 'Hastings' and a 'Somers' added to our fleet one of these days—even though some of our boats have to be sold to foreign governments.”

“If a boat named the 'Hastings' were sold to some foreign government,” laughed Jack Benson, “Hal, here, wouldn't say much about it. But call a boat named the 'Somers,' after Eph, and then sell it, say, to the Germans or the Japanese, and all of Eph's American gorge would come to the surface. I'll wager he'd scheme to sink any submarine torpedo boat, named after him, that was sold to go under a foreign flag.”

“I hope we'll never have to sell any of our boats to foreign governments,” replied Jacob Farnum, earnestly. “And we won't either, if the United States Government will give us half a show.”

“That's just the trouble,” grumbled Hal Hastings, breaking into the talk, at last. “Confound it, why don't the people of this country run their government more than they do? Four-fifths of the inventors who get up great things that would put the United States on top, and keep us there, have to go abroad to find a market for their inventions! If I could invent a cannon to-day that would give all the power on earth to the nation owning it, would the American Government buy it from me? No, sir! I'd have to sell the cannon to England, Germany or Japan—or else starve while Congress was talking of doing something about it in the next session. Mr. Farnum, you have the finest, and the only real submarine torpedo boat. Yet, if you want to go on building and selling these craft, you'll have to dispose of most of them abroad.”

“I hope not,” responded the shipbuilder, solemnly.

Having said his say, Hal subsided. He was likely not to speak again for an hour. As a class, engineers, having to listen much to noisy machinery, are themselves silent.

It was well along in the afternoon, a little past the middle of October. For our three young friends, Jack, Hal and Eph, things were dull just at the present moment. They were drawing their salaries from the Pollard company, yet of late there had been little for them to do.

Yet the three submarine boys knew that big things were in the air. David Pollard was away, presumably on important business. Jacob Farnum was not much given to speaking of plans until he had put them through to the finish. Some big deal was at present “on” with the Government. That much the submarine boys knew by intuition. They felt, therefore, that, at any moment, they were likely to be called into action—to be called upon for big things.

As Jack and Hal sat in the office, silent, while Jacob Farnum turned to his desk to scan one of the papers lying there, the door opened. A boy burst in, waving a yellow envelope.

“Operator said to hustle this wire to you,” shouted the boy, panting a bit. “Said it might be big news for Farnum. So I ran all the way.”

Jacob Farnum took the yellow envelope, opening it and glancing hastily through the contents.

“It is pretty good news,” assented the shipbuilder, a smile wreathing his face. “This is for you, messenger.”

“This” proved to be a folded dollar bill. The messenger took the money eagerly, then demanded, more respectfully:

“Any answer, sir?”

“Not at this moment, thank you,” replied Mr. Farnum. “That is all; you may go, boy.”

Plainly the boy who had brought the telegram was disappointed over not getting some inkling of the secret. All Dunhaven, in fact, was wildly agog over any news that affected the Farnum yard. For, though the torpedo boat building industry was now known under the Pollard name, after the inventor of these boats, the yard itself still went under the Farnum name that young Farnum had inherited from his father.

While Jacob Farnum is reading the despatch carefully, for a better understanding, let us speak for a moment of Captain Jack Benson and his youthful comrades and chums.

Readers of the first volume in this series, “The Submarine Boys on Duty,” remember how Jack Benson and Hal Hastings strayed into the little seaport town of Dunhaven one hot summer day, and how they learned that it was here that the then unknown but much-talked-about Pollard submarine was being built. Both Jack and Hal had been well trained in machine shops; they had spent much time aboard salt water power craft, and so felt a wild desire to work at the Farnum yard, and to make a study of submarine craft in general.

How they succeeded in getting their start in the Farnum yard, every reader of the preceding volumes knows; how, too, Eph Somers, a native of Dunhaven, managed to “cheek” his way aboard the craft after she had been launched, and how he had always since managed to remain there.

Our same older readers will remember the thrilling experiences of this boyish trio during the early trials of the new submarine torpedo boat, both above and below the surface. These readers will remember, also, for instance, the great prank played by the boys on the watch officer of one of the stateliest battleships of the Navy.

Readers of the second volume, “The Submarine Boys' Trial Trip,” will recall, among other things, the desperate efforts made by George Melville, the capitalist, aided by the latter's disagreeable son, Don, to acquire stealthy control of the submarine building company, and their efforts to oust Jack, Hal and Eph from their much-prized employment. These readers will remember how Jack and his comrades spoiled the Melville plans, and how Captain Jack and his friends handled the “Pollard” so splendidly, in the presence of a board of Navy officers, that the United States Government was induced to buy that first submarine craft.

After that sale, each of the three boys received, in addition to his regular pay, a bank account of a thousand dollars and ten shares of stock in the new company. Moreover, Messrs. Farnum and Pollard had felt wholly justified in promising these talented, daring, hustling submarine boys an assured and successful future.

Jacob Farnum at last looked up from the final reading of the telegram in his hands. Captain Jack Benson's gaze was fixed on his employer's face. Hal Hastings was looking out of a window, with almost a bored look in his eyes.

“You young men wanted action,” announced Mr. Farnum, quietly. “I think you'll get it.”

“Soon?” questioned Jack, eagerly.

“Immediately, or a minute or two later,” laughed the shipbuilder.

“I'm ready,” declared Captain Jack, rising.

“It'll take you a little time to hear about it all and digest it, so you may as well be seated again,” declared Farnum.

Hal, too, wandered back to his chair.

“You've been wondering how much longer the Government would leave the 'Pollard' here,” went on Mr. Farnum. “I am informed that the gunboat 'Hudson' is on her way here, to take over the 'Pollard.'”

“What are the Navy folks going to do?” demanded Captain Jack, all but wrathfully. “Do they propose to tow that splendid little craft away?”

“Hardly that, I imagine,” replied Farnum. “It's the custom of the United States Navy, you know, to send a gunboat along with every two or three submarines. They call the larger craft the 'parent boat.' The parent boat looks out for any submarine craft that may become disabled.”

“The cheek of it,” vented Jack, disgustedly. “Why, sir, I'd volunteer to take the 'Pollard,' unassisted, around the world, if she could carry fuel enough for such a trip.”

“But the Navy hasn't been accustomed to such capable submarine boats as ours, you know,” replied Mr. Farnum. “Hence the parent boat.”

“Parent boat?” interjected Hal Hastings, with his quiet smile. “You might call it the 'Dad' boat, so to speak.”

Mr. Farnum laughed, then continued:

“A naval crew will take possession of the 'Pollard,' and the craft will proceed, under the care of the Dad boat”—with a side glance of amusement at Hal—“to the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis.”

“Annapolis—where they train the naval cadets, the midshipmen, into United States Naval officers? Oh, how I'd like to go there!” breathed Captain Jack Benson, eagerly.

“As a cadet in the Navy, do you mean?” asked Mr. Farnum.

“Why, that would have been well enough,” assented Jack, “before I had such a chance in your submarine service. No; I mean I'd like to see Annapolis. I'd like to watch the midshipmen at their training, and see the whole naval life there.”

“It's too bad every fellow can't have his wish gratified as easily,” continued Jacob Farnum.

“Do you mean we're going to Annapolis, too?” asked Jack Benson, his eyes glowing. Even Hal Hastings sat up straighter in his chair, watching the shipbuilder's face closely.

“Yes,” nodded Jacob Farnum. “Permission has been granted for me to send our second boat, the 'Farnum,' along with the 'Pollard'—both under the care of the—”

“The Dad boat,” laughed Hastings.

“Yes; that will give us a chance to have the 'Farnum' studied most closely by some of the most capable officers in the United States Navy. It ought to mean, presently, the sale of the 'Farnum' to the Government.”

“That's just what it will mean,” promised Captain Jack, “if any efforts of ours can make the Navy men more interested in the boat.”

“You three youngsters are likely to be at Annapolis for some time,” went on Mr. Farnum. “In fact—but don't let your heads become too enlarged by the news, will you?”

Hal, quiet young Hal, neatly hid a yawn behind one hand, while Benson answered for both:

“We're already wearing the largest-sized caps manufactured, Mr. Farnum. Don't tempt us too far, please!”

“Oh, you boys are safe from the ordinary perils of vanity, or your heads would have burst long ago. Well, then, when you arrive at Annapolis, you three are to act as civilian instructors to the middies. You three are to teach the midshipmen of the United States Navy the principles on which the Pollard type of boat is run. There; I've told you the whole news. What do you think of it?”

Mr. Farnum's cigar having burned low, he tossed it away, then leaned back as he lighted another weed.

“What do we think, sir?” echoed Captain Jack, eagerly. “Why, we think we're in sight of the very time of our lives! Annapolis! And to teach the middies how to run a 'Pollard' submarine.”

“How soon are we likely to have to start, sir!” asked Hal Hastings, after a silence that lasted a few moments.

“Whenever the 'Hudson' shows up along this coast, and the officer in command of her gives the word. That may be any hour, now.”

“Then we'd better find Eph,” suggested Captain Jack, “and pass him the word. Won't Eph Somers dance a jig for delight, though?”

“Yes; we'd better look both boats over at once,” replied Mr. Farnum, picking up his hat. “And we'll leave word for Grant Andrews and some of his machinists to inspect both craft with us. There may be a few things that will need to be done.”

As they left the office, crossing the yard, Captain Jack Benson and Hal Hastings felt exactly as though they were walking on air. Even Hal, quiet as he was, had caught the joy-infection of these orders to proceed to Annapolis. To be sent to the United States Naval Academy on a tour of instruction is what officers of the Navy often call “the prize detail.”

Farnum and his two youthful companions went, first of all, to the long, shed-like building in which the third submarine craft to be turned out at this yard was now being built. From inside came the noisy clang of hammers against metal. The shipbuilder stepped inside alone, but soon came out, nodding. The three now continued on their way down to the little harbor. All of a sudden the three stopped short, almost with a jerk, in the same second, as though pulled by a string.

At exactly the same instant Jacob Farnum, Captain Jack Benson and Engineer Hal Hastings put up their hands to rub their eyes.

Their senses had told them truly, however. While the “Pollard” rode serenely at her moorings, the “Farnum,” the second boat to be launched, was nowhere to be seen!

“What on earth has happened to the other submarine?” gasped the shipbuilder, as soon as he could somewhat control his voice.

What, indeed?

There was not a sign of her. At least, she had not sunk at her moorings, for the buoys floated in their respective places, with no manner of tackle attached to them.

“A submarine boat can't slip its own cables and vanish without human hands!” gasped the staggered Jack Benson.

“There's something uncanny about this,” muttered Hal Hastings.

Jacob Farnum stood rooted to the spot, opening and closing his hands in a way that testified plainly to the extent of his bewilderment.

II. How Eph Flirted With Science

Jack Benson was the first of the trio to move.

Without a word he broke into a run, heading for the narrow little shingle of beach.

“Got an idea, Captain?” shouted Jacob Farnum, darting after his young submarine skipper.

“Yes, sir!” floated back over Jack's shoulder.

“Then what's at the bottom—”

“Eph and the boat, both together, or I miss my guess,” Captain Jack shouted back as he halted at the water's edge, where a rowboat lay hauled up on the shore.

Jacob Farnum's face showed suddenly pallid as he, also, reached the beach. Hal, who was in the rear, did not seem so much startled.

“Do you think Eph has gone off on a cruise all alone?—that he has come to any harm?” gasped the shipbuilder.

“I don't know, but I'm not going to worry a mite about Eph Somers until I have to,” retorted Jack Benson, easily.

“Eph can generally take care of himself,” added Hal Hastings. “He rarely falls into any kind of scrape that he can't climb out of.”

“But this is a bad time for him to take the 'Farnum' and cruise away,” objected the owner of the yard. “The 'Hudson' may be here at any hour, you know, and we ought to be ready for orders.”

As he spoke, Mr. Farnum scanned the horizon away to the south, out over the sea.

“There's a line of smoke, now, and not many miles away,” he announced. “It may, as likely as not, be smoke from the 'Hudson's' pipe.”

“Going out with us, sir?” inquired Captain Jack Benson, as Hal took his place at a pair of oars.

“Yes,” nodded the owner of the yard, dropping into a seat at the stern of the boat, after which Benson pushed off at the bow.

Down on the seashore, on this day just past the middle of October, the air was keen and brisk. There had been frost for several nights past. Sleighing might be looked for in another month.

“Cable's gone from this buoy,” declared Captain Jack, as Hal rowed close. “Over to the other one, old fellow.”

Here, too, the cable was missing. Evidently the “Farnum” had made a clean get-away. If there had been any accident, it must have taken place after the new submarine boat had slipped away from her moorings.

“Humph!” grunted Jack, scanning the sea. “No sign of the boat anywhere. Eph may be anywhere within twenty miles of here.”

“Or within twenty feet, either,” grinned Hal, looking down into the waters that were lead-colored under the dull autumn sky.

“What are we going to do, Captain?” inquired Jacob Farnum. “There are Grant Andrews and three of his machinists coming down to the water.”

“I reckon, sir, we'd better put them aboard the 'Pollard' first, sir,” Benson suggested.

Mr. Farnum nodding, the boat was rowed in to the shore and Andrews and his men were put aboard the “Pollard” at the platform deck. Captain Jack Benson unlocking the door to the conning tower, was himself the first to disappear down below. When he came back he carried a line to which was attached a heavy sounding-lead.

“It won't take us long to sound the deep spots in this little harbor,” said the young skipper, as he dropped down once more into the bow of the shore boat. “Row about, Hal, over the places where the submarine could go below out of sight.”

As Hal rowed, Skipper Jack industriously used the sounding-lead.

For twenty minutes nothing resulted from this exploration. Then, all of a sudden, Benson shouted:

“Back water, Hal! Easy; rest on your oars. Steady!”

Jack Benson raised the lead two or three feet, then let it down again, playing it up and down very much as a cod fisherman uses his line and hook.

“I'm hitting something, and it is hardly a rock, either,” declared young Benson. “Pull around about three points to starboard, Hal, then steal barely forward.”

Again Benson played see-saw with his sounding-line over the boat's gunwale.

“If my lead isn't hitting the 'Farnum,'” declared the young skipper, positively, “then it's the 'Farnum's' ghost. Hold steady, now, Hal.”

Immediately afterward, Benson caused the lead fairly to dance a jig on whatever it touched at bottom.

“What's the good of that, anyway?” demanded Jacob Farnum.

“You don't think I'm doing this just for fun, do you, sir?” asked Captain Jack, with a smile.

“No; I know you generally have an object when you do anything unusual,” responded the shipbuilder, good-humoredly.

“You know, of course, sir, that noises sound with a good deal of exaggeration when you hear them under water?”

“Yes; of course.”

“You also know that all three of us have been practicing at telegraphy a good deal during the past few weeks, because every man who follows the sea ought to know how to send and receive wireless messages at need.”

“Yes; I know that, Benson.”

“Well, sir, I guess that the lead has been hitting the top of the 'Farnum's' hull, and I've been tapping out the signal—”

“The signal, 'Come up-rush!'” broke in Hal, with an odd smile.

“Right-o,” nodded Jack Benson.

“How on earth did you know what the signal was, Hastings?” demanded Mr. Farnum.

“Why, sir, I've been sitting so that I could see Jack's arm. I've been reading, from the motions of his right arm, the dots and dashes of the Morse telegraph alphabet.”

“You youngsters certainly get me, for the things you think of,” laughed the shipyard's owner.

“And the 'Farnum,' or whatever it is, is coming up,” called Captain Jack, suddenly. “I just felt my lead slide down over the top of her hull. Hard-a-starboard, Hal, and row hard,” shouted young Benson, breathlessly.

Though Hastings obeyed immediately he was barely an instant too soon. To his dismay, Mr. Farnum saw something dark, unwieldy, rising through the water. It appeared to be coming up fairly under the stern of the shore boat, threatening to overturn the little craft and plunge them all into the icy water.

Hal shot just out of the danger zone, though. Then a round little tower bobbed up out of the water. Immediately afterward the upper third of a long, cigar-shaped craft came up into view, water rolling from her dripping sides, which glistened brightly as the sun came out briefly from behind a fall cloud.

In the conning tower, through the thick plate glass, the three people in the shore boat made out the carroty-topped head and freckled, good-humored, honest, homely face of Eph Somers. The boat lay on the water, under no headway, drifting slightly with the wind-driven ripples. Then Eph raised the man-hole cover of the top of the conning tower, thrusting out his head to hail them.

“Hey, you landsmen, do you know a buoy from an umbrella?”

“Do you know the difference between a Sunday-school text and petty larceny?” retorted Jack Benson, sternly. “What do you mean by taking the submarine without leave?”

“I've been experimenting—flirting with science,” responded Eph, loftily. “Say, if you landsmen know a buoy from a banana, get down to the bow moorings of this steel mermaid, and I'll pass you the bow cable. It's a heap easier to lead this submarine horse out of the stall, single-handed, than it is to take him back and tie him.”

Hal rowed easily to the buoy, while Eph, returning to the steering wheel and the tower controls, ran the “Farnum,” with just bare headway, up to where he could toss the bow cable to those waiting in the boat. A few moments later the stern cable, also, was made fast, in such a way as to allow a moderate swing to the bulky steel craft.

“Now, you can take me ashore, if you feel like it,” proposed Eph, standing on the platform deck.

“Not quite yet,” returned Skipper Jack, though the small boat lay alongside. “We've got some inspecting to do. But how did you get on board in the first place?”

“Why, the night watchman was in the yard for a few minutes, and I got him to put me on board. I figured I could hail somebody else when I was ready to go on shore.”

“But what on earth made you do such a thing?” demanded Captain Jack, in a low tone. “It's really more than you had a right to do, Eph, without getting Mr. Farnum's permission.”

“Why, I've known you to take the 'Pollard' and try something when Mr. Farnum wasn't about,” retorted Somers, looking surprised.

“You never knew me to do it when I could ask permission, although, as captain, I have the right to handle the boat. But that leave doesn't extend to all the rest, Eph. What were you doing down there, anyway?”

“Why, I came on board, and left the manhole open for ten minutes,” answered Somers. “Then I found the cabin thermometer standing at 49 degrees. I wondered how much warmth could be gained by going below the surface. I had been down an hour and five minutes when you began to signal with that sledge-hammer—”

“Sounding-lead,” Jack corrected him.

“Well, it sounded like a sledge-hammer, anyway,” grinned young Somers. “While I was down below I found that the temperature rose four degrees.”

“Part of that was likely due to the warmth of your body, and the heat of the breath you gave off,” hinted Benson.

“You could have gotten it up to eighty or ninety degrees by turning on the electric heater far enough,” suggested Hal.

“I wanted to see whether it would be warmer in the depths; wanted to find out how low I could go and be able to do without heat in winter,” Somers retorted.

“I could have told you that, from my reading, without any experiment,” retorted Skipper Jack. “Close your conning tower and go down a little way, and the temperature would gradually rise a few degrees. That's because of the absence of wind and draft. But, if you could go down very, very deep without smashing the boat under the water pressure, you'd find the temperature falling quite a bit.”

“Where did you read all that?” inquired Eph, looking both astonished and sheepish.

“Here,” replied Jack, going to a small wall book-case, taking down a book and turning several pages before he stopped.

“Just my luck,” muttered Eph, disconsolately. “Here I've been dull as ditch-water for an hour, trying to find out something new, and it's all stated in a book printed—ten years ago,” he finished, after rapidly consulting the title-page.

Jacob Farnum had been no listener to this conversation. Taking the marine glasses from the conning tower, the shipbuilder was now well forward on the platform deck, scanning what was visible of the steam craft to the southward. At last the yard's owner turned around to say:

“I don't believe you young men can have things ship-shape a second too soon. The craft heading this way has a military mast forward. She must be the 'Hudson.' If there's anything to be done, hustle!”

Jack and Hal sprang below, to scan their respective departments. Five minutes later Grant Andrews hailed from the “Pollard,” and Eph rowed over in the shore boat to ferry over the machinists.

Half an hour later Andrews and his men had put in the few needed touches aboard the newer submarine boat. The sun, meanwhile, had gone down, showing the hull of a naval vessel some four miles off the harbor.

Darkness came on quickly, with a clouded sky. As young Benson stepped on deck Grant Andrews followed him.

“All finished here, Grant?” queried the yard's owner.

“Yes, sir. There's mighty little chance to do anything where Hal Hastings has charge of the machinery.”

“That's our gunboat out there, I think,” went on Mr. Farnum, pointing to where a white masthead light and a red port light were visible, about a mile away.

“Dunhaven must be on the map, all right, if a strange navigating officer knows how to come so straight to the place,” laughed Jack Benson.

“Oh, you trust a United States naval officer to find any place he has sailing orders for,” returned Jacob Farnum. “I wonder if he'll attempt to come into this harbor?”

“There's safe anchorage, if he wants to do so,” replied Captain Jack.

While Somers was busy putting the foreman and the machinists ashore, Mr. Farnum, Jack and Hal remained on the platform deck, watching the approach of the naval vessel, which was now plainly making for Dunhaven.

Suddenly, a broad beam of glaring white light shot over the water, resting across the deck of the “Farnum.”

“I guess that fellow knows what he wants to know, now,” muttered Benson, blinking after the strong glare had passed.

“There, he has picked up the 'Pollard,' too,” announced Hastings. “Now, that commander must feel sure he has sighted the right place.”

“There go the signal lights,” cried Captain Jack, suddenly. “Hal, hustle below and turn on the electric current for the signaling apparatus.”

Then Benson watched as, from the yards high up on the gunboat's signaling mast, colored electric lights glowed forth, twinkling briefly in turn. This is the modern method of signaling by sea at night.

“He wants to know,” said Benson, to Mr. Farnum, as he turned, “whether there is safe anchorage for a twelve-hundred-ton gunboat of one hundred and ninety-five feet length.”

Reaching the inside of the conning tower at a bound, the young skipper rapidly manipulated his own electric signaling control. There was a low mast on the “Farnum's” platform deck, a mast that could be unstepped almost in an instant when going below surface. So Captain Jack's counter-query beamed out in colors through the night:

“What's your draught?”

“Under present ballast, seventeen-eight,” came the answer from the gunboat's signal mast.

“Safe anchorage,” Captain Jack signaled back.

“Can you meet us with a pilot?” questioned the on-coming gunboat.

“Yes,” Captain Jack responded.

“Do so,” came the laconic request.

“That's all, Hal,” the young skipper called, through the engine room speaking tube. “Want to row me out and put me aboard the gunboat?”

In another jiffy the two young chums had put off in the boat, Hal at the oars, Jack at the tiller ropes. The gunboat was now lying to, some seven hundred yards off the mouth of the little harbor. Hastings bent lustily to the oars, sending the boat over the rocking water until he was within a hundred yards of the steam craft's bridge.

“Gun boat ahoy!” roared Hal, between his hands. Then, by a slip of the tongue, and wholly innocent of any intentional offense, he bellowed:

“Is that the 'Dad' boat?”

“What's that?” came a sharp retort from the gunboat's bridge. “Don't try to be funny, young man!”

“Beg your pardon, sir. That was a slip of the tongue,” Hal replied, meekly, as he colored. “Are you the gunboat 'Hudson?'”

“No; I'm her commanding officer, young man! Who in blazes are you?”

“I'm the goat, it seems,” muttered Hastings, under his breath. But, aloud, he replied:

“I have the pilot you requested.”

“Then why don't you bring him on board?” came the sharp question. “Did you think I only wanted to look at a pilot?”

“All right, sir. Shall I make fast to your starboard side gangway?” Hal called.

“In a hurry, young man!”

“That's the naval style, I guess,” murmured Jack to his chum. “No fooling in the talk. I wonder if that fellow eats pie? Or is his temper due to coffee?”

Answering only with a quiet grin, Hal rowed alongside the starboard side gangway. Jack, waiting, sprang quickly to the steps, ascending, waving his hand to Hal as he went. Young Hastings quickly shoved off, then bent to his oars.

“Where's the pilot?” came a stern voice, from the bridge, as Jack Benson's head showed above the starboard rail.

“I am the pilot, sir,” Jack replied.

“Why, you're a boy.”

“Guilty,” Jack responded.

“What does this fooling mean? You're not old enough to hold a pilot's license.”

By this time Benson was on the deck, immediately under the bridge. A half dozen sailors, forward, were eyeing him curiously.

“I have no license, sir,” Jack admitted. “Neither has anyone else at Dunhaven. For that matter, the harbor's a private one, belonging to the shipyard.”

“Hasn't Mr. Farnum a man he can send out?”

“No one who knows the harbor better than I do, sir.”

“Who are you? What are you?”

“Jack Benson, sir. Captain of the Pollard submarine boats.”

“Why didn't you tell me that before?”

The question came sharply, almost raspingly.

“Beg your pardon, sir, but you didn't ask me,” Jack replied.

“Come up here, Benson,” ordered the lieutenant commander, in a loud voice intended to drown out the subdued titter of some of the sailors forward.

Jack ascended to the bridge, to find himself facing a six-footer in his early thirties. There was a younger officer at the far end of the bridge.

“Does Mr. Farnum consider you capable of showing us the way into the harbor?” demanded the commanding officer of the “Hudson.”

“I think so, sir. He trusts me with his own boats.”

“Then you are—”

“Benson, Mr. Farnum's captain of the submarine boats.”

Lieutenant Commander Mayhew gazed in astonishment for a moment, then held out his hand as he introduced himself, remarking:

“I was told that I would find a very young submarine commander here, but—”

“You didn't expect to find one quite as young,” Jack finished, smiling.

“No; I didn't. Mr. Trahern, I want you to know Captain Jack Benson, of the Pollard submarines.”

Ensign Trahern also shook hands with young Benson.

“And now,” went on the commander of the “Hudson,” “I think you may as well show us the way into the harbor.”

“You'll want to go at little more than headway, sir,” Jack replied. “The harbor is small, though there's enough deep water for you. In parts there are some sand ledges that the tide washes up.”

“I can't allow you to pilot us, exactly, but you'll indicate the course to me, won't you, Mr. Benson?”

The “mister” was noticeable, now. Naval officers are chary of their bestowal of the title “captain” upon one who does not hold it in the Army or Navy service.

At Mr. Mayhew's order the “Hudson” was started slowly forward, the searchlight playing about the entrance to the harbor.

“For your best anchorage, sir,” declared Captain Jack, after he had brought the gunboat slowly into the harbor, “you will do well to anchor with that main arc-light dead ahead, that shed over there on your starboard beam, and the front end of the submarine shed about four points off your port bow.”

Mr. Mayhew slowly manœuvred his craft, while men stood on the deck below, forward, prepared to heave the bow anchors.

“Go four points over to port, Mr. Trahern,” instructed Mr. Mayhew. “Now, back the engines—steady!”

Jack Benson opened his mouth wide. Then, as he saw the way the “Hudson” was backing, he suddenly called:

“Slow speed ahead, quick, sir!”

“You said—” began Mr. Mayhew.

Gr-r-r-r! The stern of the gunboat dug its way into a sand ledge, lifting the stern considerably.

“Slow speed ahead!” rasped Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, sharply.

But the gunboat could not be budged. She was stuck, stern on, fast in the sand-ledge.

“Benson!” uttered the lieutenant commander, bitterly, “I congratulate you. You've succeeded in grounding a United States Naval vessel!”

III. “You May As Well Leave the Bridge!”

There was so much of overwhelming censure in the naval officer's tone that Jack's spirit was stung to the quick.

“It's your mistake, sir,” he retorted. “You didn't follow the course I advised. You swung the ship around to port, and—”

“Silence, now, if you please, while men are trying to get this vessel out of a scrape a boy got her into,” commanded Mr. Mayhem, sternly.

Jack flushed, then bit his tongue. In another moment a pallor had succeeded the red in his face.

He was blamed for the disaster, and he was not really at fault.

Yet, under the rebuke he had just received, he did not feel it his place to retort further for the present.

Mr. Mayhew and Mr. Trahern conferred in low tones for a moment or two.

“You may as well leave the bridge, young man,” resumed Mr. Mayhew, turning upon the submarine boy. “You are not likely to be of any use here.”

As Jack, burning inwardly with indignation, though managing to keep outwardly calm, descended to the deck below, he caught sight of Hal Hastings, hovering near in the rowboat. Hal signaled to learn whether he should put in alongside to take off his chum, but Benson shook his head.

Over on the “Farnum” the yard's owner and Eph Somers watched wonderingly. They understood, well enough, that the new, trim-looking gunboat was in trouble, but they did not know that Jack Benson was held at fault.

Down between decks the engines of the “Hudson” were toiling hard to run the craft off out of the sand. Then the machinery stopped. An engineer officer came up from below. He and Mr. Mayhew walked to the stern, while a seaman, accompanying them, heaved the lead, reading the soundings.

“We're stuck good and fast,” remarked the engineer officer. “We can't drive off out of that sand for the reason that the propellers are buried in the grit. They'll hardly turn at all, and, when they do, they only churn the sand without driving us off.”

“Confound that ignoramus of a boy!” muttered Mr. Mayhew, walking slowly forward. It was no pleasant situation for the lieutenant commander. Having run his vessel ashore, he knew himself likely to be facing a naval board of inquiry.

Hal, finding that the shore boat was not wanted for the present, had rowed over to the “Farnum's” moorings. Now Jacob Farnum came alongside in the shore boat.

“May I speak with your watch officer?” he called.

“I am the commanding officer,” Mr. Mayhew called down, in the cold, even, dulled voice of a man in trouble.

“I am Mr. Farnum, owner of the yard. May I come on board?”

“Be glad to have you,” Lieutenant Commander Mayhew responded.

So Mr. Farnum went nimbly up over the side.

“May I ask what is the trouble here, sir?” asked the yard's owner.

“The trouble is,” replied Mr. Mayhew, “that your enterprising boy pilot has run us aground—hard, tight and fast!”

Jacob Farnum glanced swiftly at his young captain. Jack shook his head briefly in dissent. Jacob Farnum, with full confidence in his young man, at once understood that there was more yet to be learned.

“Come up on the bridge, sir, if you will,” requested the commander of the gunboat, who was a man of too good breeding to wish any dispute before the men of the crew. “You may come, too, Benson.”

Jack followed the others, including the engineer officer of the “Hudson.” Yet Benson was clenching his hands, fighting a desperate battle to get full command over himself. It was hard—worse than hard—to be unjustly accused.

Jacob Farnum wished to keep on the pleasantest terms with these officers of the Navy. At the same time he was man enough to feel determined that Jack, whether right or wrong, should have a full chance to defend himself.

“I understand, sir,” began Mr. Farnum, “that you attach some blame in this matter to young Benson?”

“Perhaps he is not to be blamed too much, on account of his extreme youth,” responded Mr. Mayhew.

“Forget his youth altogether,” urged Mr. Farnum. “Let us treat him as a man. I've always found him one, in judgment, knowledge and loyalty. Do you mind telling me, sir, in what way he erred in bringing you in here?”

“An error in giving his advice,” replied Mr. Mayhew. “Or else it was ignorance of how to handle a craft as large as this gunboat. For my anchorage he told me—”

Here the lieutenant commander repeated the first part of Jack's directions correctly, but wound up with:

“He advised me to throw my wheel over four points to port.”

“Pardon me, sir,” Jack broke in, unable to keep still longer. “What I said, or intended to say, was to bring your vessel so that the forward end of the submarine shed over there would be four points off the port bow.”

“What did you hear Mr. Benson say, Mr. Trahern?” demanded the gunboat's commander, turning to the ensign who had stood with him on the bridge.

“Why, sir, I understood the lad to say what he states that he said.”

“You are sure of that, Mr. Trahern?”

“Unless my ears tricked me badly,” replied the ensign, “Mr. Benson said just what he now states. I wondered, sir, at your calling for slow speed astern.”

Lieutenant Commander Mayhew gazed for some moments fixedly at the face of Ensign Trahern. Then, of a sudden, the gunboat's commander, who was both an officer and a gentleman, broke forth, contritely:

“As I think it over, I believe, myself, that Benson advised as he now states he did. It was my own error—I am sure of it now.”

Wheeling about, Mayhew held out his right hand.

“Mr. Benson,” he said, in a deep voice full of regret, “I was the one in error. I am glad to admit it, even if tardily. Will you pardon my too hasty censure?”

“Gladly, sir,” Benson replied, gripping the proffered hand. Jacob Farnum stood back, wagging his head in a satisfied way. It had been difficult for him to believe that his young captain had been at fault in so simple a matter, or in a harbor with which he was so intimately acquainted.

As for the young man himself, the thing that touched him most deeply was the quick, complete and manly acknowledgment of this lieutenant commander.

“Mr. Farnum,” inquired the gunboat's commander, “have you any towboats about here that can be used in helping me to get the 'Hudson' off this sand ledge?”

“The only one in near waters, sir,” replied the yard's owner, “is a craft, not so very much larger than a launch, that ties up some three miles down the coast. She's the boat I use when I need any towing here. Of course, I have the two torpedo boats, though their engines were not constructed for towing work.”

“May I offer a suggestion?” asked Jack, when the talk lagged.

“I'll be glad to have you, Mr. Benson,” replied Mr. Mayhew, turning toward the submarine boy.

“Flood tide will be in in about two hours and a half, sir,” Benson followed up. “That ought to raise this vessel a good deal. Then, with the towboat Mr. Farnum has mentioned, and with such help as the engines of the submarines may give, together with your own engines, Mr. Mayhew, I think there ought to be a good chance of getting the 'Hudson' afloat with plenty of water under her whole keel. We can even start some of the engines on shore, and rig winches to haul on extra cables. Altogether, we can give you a strong pull, sir.”

“That sounds like the best plan to me,” nodded Jacob Farnum. “I'll have a message sent at once for that towboat.”

A white-coated steward now appeared on deck, moving near the lieutenant commander.

“Is dinner ready, Greers?” called Mr. Mayhew.

“Yes, sir.”

“Lay two more plates, then. Mr. Farnum, I trust you and your young submarine commander will sit as my guests to-night.”

This invitation the yard's owner accepted, asking only time enough to arrange for keeping some of his workmen over-time, awaiting the coming of flood-tide.

So, presently, Jack and his employer found themselves seated at table in the gunboat's handsome wardroom. Besides the lieutenant commander there were Lieutenant Halpin, two ensigns, two engineer officers and a young medical officer. In the “Hudson's” complement of officers there were also four midshipmen, but these latter ate in their own mess.

The time passed most pleasantly, Mr. Mayhew plainly doing all in his power to atone for his late censure of the submarine boy.

Before dinner was over the small towboat was in the harbor. At the coming of flood tide this towing craft had a hawser made fast to the gunboat. With the help of some of the naval machinists aboard the “Hudson,” both submarine craft were also manned and hawsers made fast. Two cables were passed ashore to winches to which power was supplied by the shipyard's engines. When all was ready a mighty pull was given, the gunboat's own propellers taking part in the struggle. For two or three minutes the efforts continued. Then, at last, the “Hudson,” uninjured, ran off into deep water and shortly afterwards anchored in safety.

It was a moment of tremendous relief for Mr. Mayhew.

“Call the tugboat captain aboard, and I'll settle with him at my own expense,” proposed the lieutenant commander.

“I trust you will think of nothing of the sort,” replied Jacob Farnum, quickly. “In this harbor I wish to consider you and your vessel as my guests.”

Again Mr. Mayhew expressed his thanks. Presently, glancing ashore through the night, he asked:

“What sort of country is it hereabouts?”

“Mostly flat, as to the surface,” Mr. Farnum replied. “If your question goes further, there are some fine roads and several handsome estates within a few miles of here. Mr. Mayhew, won't you and a couple of your officers come on shore with me? I'll telephone for my car and put you over quite a few miles this evening.”

“Delighted,” replied the commander of the gunboat.

One of the “Hudson's” cutters being now in the water alongside, the party went ashore in this. Jack, after bidding the naval officers good-night, found Hal and Eph, who had just come ashore from supper on board the “Farnum.”

“No sailing orders yet, I suppose?” Hal asked.

“None,” Jack replied. “I reckon we'll start, all right, some time to-morrow morning.”

“What'll we do to-night?” Eph wondered.

“I don't know,” replied Jack. “We've few friends around here we need to take the trouble to say good-bye to. We could call on Mrs. Farnum, but I imagine we'd run into the naval party up at the Farnum house. We want to keep a bit in the background with these naval officers, except when they may ask for our company.”

“Let's take a walk about the old town, then,” Hal suggested.

So the three submarine boys strolled across the shipyard. Just as they were passing through the gate a man of middle height and seemingly about thirty years of age quickened his pace to reach them.

“Is this shipyard open nights?” he queried.

“Only to some employees,” Jack answered.

“I suppose Mr. Farnum isn't about?”

“No.”

“Captain Benson?”

“Benson is my name.”

“This letter is addressed to Mr. Farnum,” went on the stranger, “but Mr. Pollard told me I could hand it to you.”

Captain Jack took the letter from the unsealed envelope.

“My dear Farnum,” ran the enclosure, “since you're short a good machinist for the engine room of the 'Farnum,' the bearer, Samuel Truax, seems to me to be just the man you want. I've examined him, and he understands the sort of machinery we use. Better give him a chance.” The note was signed in David Pollard's well-known, scrawly handwriting.

“I'm sorry you can't see Mr. Farnum to-night,” said Benson, pleasantly. “He'll be here early in the morning, though.”

“When do you sail?” asked Truax, quickly.

“That you would have to ask Mr. Farnum, too,” smiled Jack.

“But, see here, Mr. Pollard engaged me to work aboard one of your submarines.”

“It looks that way, doesn't it?” laughed the young skipper.

“And you're the captain?”

“Yes; but I can't undertake to handle Mr. Farnum's business for him.”

“You'll let me go aboard the craft to sleep for to-night, anyway?” coaxed Truax.

“Why, that's just what I'm not at liberty to do,” replied the young submarine captain. “No; I couldn't think of that, in the absence of Mr. Farnum's order.”

“But that doesn't seem hardly fair,” protested Truax. “See here, I have spent all my money getting here. I haven't even the price of a lodging with me, and this isn't a summer night.”

“Why, I'll tell you what I'll do,” Benson went on, feeling in one of his pockets. “Here's a dollar. That'll buy you a bed and a breakfast at the hotel up the street. If you want to get aboard with us in time, you'd better show up by eight in the morning.”

“But—”

“That's really all I can do,” Jack Benson hastily assured the fellow. “I'm not the owner of the boat, and I can't take any liberties. Oh, wait just a moment. I'll see if there's any chance of Mr. Farnum coming back to-night.”

Jack knew well enough that there wasn't any chance of Mr. Farnum returning, unless possibly at a very late hour with the naval officers, but the boy had seen the night watchman peering out through the gateway.

Retracing his steps, Jack drew the night watchman inside, whispering:

“Just a pointer for you. You've seen that man on the street with us? He has a letter from Mr. Pollard to Mr. Farnum, but I wouldn't let him in the yard to-night, unless Mr. Farnum appears and gives the order.”

“I understand,” said the night watchman, nodding.

“That's all, then, and thank you.”

Jack Benson hastily rejoined the others on the sidewalk.

“I don't believe, Mr. Truax, it will be worth your while to come here earlier than eight in the morning. Better go to the hotel and tie up to a good sleep. Good night.”

“Say, why did you take such a dislike to the fellow?” queried Eph, as the three submarine boys strolled on up the street, Truax following slowly at some distance in the rear.

“I didn't take a dislike to him,” Jack replied, opening his eyes wide.

“You choked him off mighty short, then.”

“If it looked that way, then I'm sorry,” Benson protested, in a tone of genuine regret. “All I wanted to make plain was that I couldn't pass him on to our precious old boat without Mr. Farnum's order.”

Truax plodded slowly along behind the submarine boys, a cunning look in the man's eyes as he stared after Jack Benson.

“You're a slick young man, or else a wise one,” muttered Truax. “But I think I'm smart enough to take it out of you!”

Nor did Sam Truax go to the hotel. He had his own plans for this evening—plans that boded the submarine boys no good.

The three boys strolled easily about town, getting a hot soda or two, and, finally, drifting into a moving picture show that had opened recently in Dunhaven. This place they did not leave until the show was over. They were half-way home when Captain Jack remembered that he had left behind him a book that he had bought earlier in the evening.

“You fellows keep right on down to the yard. I'll hurry back, get the book and overtake you,” he proposed.

Jack ran back, but already the little theatre was closed.

“I'm out that book, then, if we sail in the morning,” he muttered, as he trudged along after his friends.

On the way toward the water front Benson had to pass a vacant lot surrounded by a high board fence on a deserted street. He had passed about half way along the length of the fence, when a head appeared over the top followed by a pair of arms holding a small bag of sand. Down dropped the bag, striking Jack Benson on the top of the head, sending him unconscious to the ground.

IV. Mr. Farnum Offers Another Guess

Close at hand there was a loose board in the fence. Through this Sam Truax thrust his head, peering up and down the street. Not another soul was in sight.

With a chuckle Truax stepped through the hole in the fence. Swiftly he gathered up the young submarine captain, bearing him through the aperture and dropping him on the ground behind the fence. At the same time he took with him the small bag of sand.

“Knocked you out, but I don't believe you'll be unconscious long,” mused Truax, standing over his young victim, regarding him critically. “There wasn't steam enough in the blow to hurt you for long. You're sturdy, following the sea all the time, as you do.”

With a thoughtful air Sam Truax drew a small bottle from his pocket, sprinkling some of the contents over Jack's uniform coat. Immediately the nauseating smell of liquor rose on the air.

“Now, if someone finds you before you come to, you'll look like a fellow that has been drinking and fighting,” muttered Truax under his breath. “If you come to and get back to the yard without help, you'll walk unsteadily and have that smell about your clothes. Usually, it needs only a breath of suspicion to turn folks against a boy!”

Down Dropped the Bag.

Pausing only long enough to learn that Jack's pulses were beating, and that the submarine boy was breathing, Truax stole off into the night, carrying the bag of sand under his overcoat. At one point he paused long enough to empty the sand from the bag over a fence. The bag itself he afterwards burned in the open fireplace in the room assigned to him at Holt's Hotel.

For twenty minutes Jack Benson lay as he had been left. Then he began to stir, and groan. Then he opened his eyes; after a while he managed to sit up.

“Ugh!” he grunted. “What's the odor? Liquor! How does that happen? Oh, my head!”

He got slowly to his feet, using the board fence as a means to help steady himself. Then, though he found himself weak and tormented by the pain in his head, Benson managed to feel his way along the fence until he came to the opening made by the loose board. Holding himself here, he thrust his head beyond.

Now, Hal and Eph, having waited for some time at the shore boat, before going out on board the “Farnum,” had at last made up their minds to go back and look for their missing leader. They came along just at the moment that the young captain's head appeared through the opening in the fence.

“There he is,” muttered Hal, stopping short. “Gracious! He acts queerly. I wonder if anything can have happened to him? Come along, Eph!”

The two raced across the street.

“Jack, old fellow! What on earth's the matter?” demanded Hal Hastings, anxiously.

“I wish you could tell me,” responded Jack Benson, speaking rather thickly, for he was still somewhat dazed. “Oh, my head!”

“There has been some queer work here,” muttered Hal in Eph's ear. “Don't torment him with questions. Just help me to get him down to the yard.”

While the two submarine boys were guiding their weak, dizzy comrade out to the sidewalk a man came by with a swinging stride. Then he stopped short, staring in amazement.

“Hullo, boys! What on earth has happened?”

It was Grant Andrews, foreman of the submarine work at the yard, and a warm personal friend of Benson's.

“I don't believe the old chap feels like telling us just now,” muttered Hal, with a sour face.

“Whiskey!” muttered Andrews, almost under his breath. “What does it mean? Benson never touched a drop of that vile stuff, did he?”

“He'd sooner drown himself,” retorted Hal, with spirit.

“Of course he would,” agreed Grant Andrews. “But what is the meaning of all this?”

“Oh, there's some queer, hocus-pocus business on foot,” muttered Hal, bitterly. “But I don't believe Jack feels much like telling us anything about it at present.”

In truth, Jack didn't seem inclined to conversation. He was too sore and dazed to feel like talking. He couldn't collect his ideas clearly. The most that he actually knew was that the pain in his head was tormenting.

“I'll pick him right up in my arms and carry him,” proposed Andrews. “I'll take him to Mr. Farnum's office. Then I'll get a doctor. We don't want much noise about this, or folks will be telling all sorts of yarns against Jack Benson and his drinking habits, when the truth is he's about the finest, steadiest young fellow alive!”

Just as Andrews was about to carry his purpose into action, however, an automobile turned the nearest corner and came swiftly toward them. In another instant it stopped alongside. It contained Mr. Farnum and his chauffeur, besides three naval officers.

“What's wrong, Andrews?” called the yard's owner. “Why, that's Jack Benson! What has happened to him?”

Hal and Eph stood supporting their comrade, almost holding him, in fact. Jacob Farnum leaped from his automobile. Lieutenant Commander Mayhew followed him.

“Liquor, eh?” exclaimed the naval officer, the odor reaching his nostrils.

“No such thing,” retorted Farnum, turning upon the officer. “At least, Jack Benson has been drinking no such stuff.”

“It was only a guess,” murmured Mr. Mayhew, apologetically. “You know your young man better than I do, Mr. Farnum.”

“There is liquor on his clothing,” continued the shipbuilder. “It looks as though someone had assaulted the lad, laid him out, and then sprinkled him. It's a wasted trick, though. I know him too well to be fooled by any such clumsy bit of nonsense.”

“A stupid trick, indeed,” agreed Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, but the naval officer did not quite share the shipbuilder's confidence in the submarine boy's innocence. Mr. Mayhew had known of too many cases of naval apprentices ruined through weak indulgence in liquor. Indeed, he had even known of rare instances in which cadets had been dismissed from the Naval Academy for the same offense. The lieutenant commander's present doubt of Jack Benson was likely to work to that young man's disadvantage later on.

Others of the party left the auto. Hal and Mr. Farnum got into the tonneau, supporting Jack there between them. Thus they carried him to Mr. Farnum's office at the yard, Grant Andrews then going in the car after a doctor, while the others stretched Jack on the office sofa. The naval officers returned to the “Hudson,” at anchor in the little harbor below.

“The young man acts as though he had been struck on the head,” was the physician's verdict. “No bones of the skull are broken. The odor of liquor is on his coat, but I can't seem to detect any on the breath.”

“Of course you can't,” commented Jacob Farnum, crisply. “Will Benson be fit to sail in the morning?”

“I think so,” nodded the doctor. “But there ought to be a nurse with him to-night.”

“Take my car, Andrews, and get a man nurse at once,” directed Mr. Farnum. “Doctor, can the young man be moved to his berth on the 'Farnum'?”

“Safely enough,” nodded the medical man. They waited until the nurse arrived, when Jack was put to bed on the newer submarine craft.

Jack slept through the night, moaning once in a while. Mr. Farnum and the Dunhaven doctor were aboard early to look at him. The surgeon from the “Hudson” also came over.

Under the effects of medicine Jack Benson was asleep when, at ten o'clock that morning, the two submarine torpedo boats slipped their moorings, following the “parent boat,” the “Hudson,” out of the harbor.

Ten minutes later the motion of the sea awoke the young skipper.

V. Truax Shows the Sulks

“Hullo!” muttered the young submarine skipper, staring curiously about the little stateroom aft. He had it to himself, the nurse having been put on shore. “Under way, eh? This is the queerest start I ever made on a voyage.”

Nor was it many moments later when Jack Benson stood on his feet. His clothes were hung neatly on nails against the wall. One after another Jack secured the garments, slowly donning them.

“How my head throbs and buzzes!” he muttered, his voice sounding unsteady. “Gracious! What could have happened? Let me see. The last I remember—passing that high fence—”

But it was all too great a puzzle. Benson finally decided to stop guessing until some future time. He went on with his dressing. Finally, with his blouse buttoned as exactly as ever, and his cap placed gingerly on his aching head, he opened the stateroom door, stepping out into the cabin.

Accustomed as he was to sea motion, the slight roll of the “Farnum” did not bother the young skipper much. He soon reached the bottom of the short spiral stairway leading up into the conning tower. Up there, in the helmsman's seat, he espied Hal Hastings with his hands employed at the steering apparatus. Hal was looking out over the water, straight ahead.

“Sailing these days without word from your captain, eh?” Jack called, in a voice that carried, though it shook.

“Gracious—you?” ejaculated Hal, looking down for an instant. Then Hastings pressed a button connecting with a bell in the engine room.

“I'm going up there with you,” Jack volunteered.

“Right-o, if you insist,” clicked Eph Somers, appearing from the engine room and darting to the young skipper's side. True, Jack's head swam a bit dizzily as he climbed the stairs, but Eph's strong support made the task much easier. There was space to spare on the seat beside Hal, and into this Jack Benson sank.

“Say, you ought to sleep until afternoon,” was Hastings's next greeting, but Jack was looking out of the conning tower at the scene around him.

The three craft were leaving the coast directly behind. About three hundred yards away, abeam, steamed the “Hudson” at a nine-knot gait.

“The 'Pollard' is on the other side of the gunboat, isn't she?” asked Jack.

“Yes,” Hal nodded.

“Naval crew aboard her?”

“Yes; Government has taken full possession of the 'Pollard.'”

“Who's running this boat? Just you and Eph?”

“No; that new man, Truax, is on board, and at the last moment Mr. Farnum put Williamson, one of the machinists, aboard, also. You can send Williamson back from Annapolis whenever you're through with him.”

“Williamson is all right,” nodded Jack, slowly. “But how about Truax?”

“I think he's going to be a useful man,” Hal responded. “He seems familiar with our type of engines. Of course, he knows nothing about the apparatus for submerging the boat or making it dive. But he doesn't need to. Now, Jack, old fellow, we're going along all right. Why not let Eph help you back to your bunk, or one of the seats in the cabin, and have your sleep out?”

“I've had it out,” Benson declared, with a laugh. “I'm ready, now, to take my trick at the wheel.”

“Nonsense,” retorted Hal Hastings. “I've been here a bare quarter of an hour, and I'm good for more work than that. Jack, you're nothing but a fifth wheel. You're not needed; won't be all day, and at night we anchor in some harbor down the coast. Go and rest, like a good fellow.”

“Can't rest, when I know I'm doing nothing,” Benson retorted, stubbornly. “Besides, this is the first time I've ever found myself moving along in regular formation with the United States Navy. I feel almost as if I were a Navy officer myself, and I mean to make the most of the sensation. Say, Hal, wouldn't it be fine if we really did belong to the Navy?”

“Gee-whiz!” murmured young Hastings, his cheeks glowing and his eyes snapping.

“If we only belonged to the old Flag for life, and knew that we were practising on a boat like this as a part of the preparation for real war when it came?”

“Don't!” begged Hal, tensely. “For you know, old fellow, it can't come true. Why, we haven't even a residence anywhere, from which a Congressman could appoint one of us to Annapolis!”

“One of us?” muttered Jack, scornfully. “Then it would have to be you. I wouldn't go, even as a cadet at Annapolis, and leave you behind in just plain, ordinary life, Hal Hastings!”

“Well, it's no use thinking about it,” sighed Hal, practically. “Neither one of us is in any danger of getting appointed to Annapolis, so there's no chance that either one of us ever will become an officer in the Navy. Let's not talk about it, Jack. I've been contented enough, so far, but now it makes me almost blue, to think that we can only go on testing and handling submarine craft like these, while others will be their real officers in the Navy, and command them in any war that may come.”

Though his head throbbed, and though a dizzy spell came over him every few minutes, Jack Benson stuck it out, up there beside his chum, for an hour. Then, disdaining aid, he crept down the stairs, stretching himself out on one of the cabin seats. Eph brought him a pillow and a blanket. Jack soon slept, tossing uneasily whenever pain throbbed dully in his head.

“Guess I'll go out and have a little look at the young captain,” proposed Sam Truax, an hour later.

“Try another guess,” retorted Eph, curtly. “You'll stay here in the engine room. Jack Benson isn't going to be bothered in any way.”

“I'm not going to bother him; just going to take a look at him,” protested Truax, moving toward the door that separated the engine room from the cabin.

But young Somers caught the stranger by the sleeve of the oily jumper that Sam had donned on beginning his work.

“Do you know what folks say about me?” demanded Eph, with a significant glare.

“What do they say?”

“Folks have an idea that, at most times, I'm one of the best-natured fellows on earth,” declared Eph, solemnly. “Yet they do say that, when I'm crossed in anything my mind's made up to, I can be tarnation ugly. I just told you I don't want the captain disturbed. Do you know, Sam Truax, I feel a queer notion coming over me? I've an idea that that feeling is just plain ugliness coming to life!”

Truax came back from the door, a grin on his face. Yet, when he turned his head away, there was a queer, almost deadly flash in the fellow's eyes.

Jack slept, uneasily, until towards the middle of the afternoon. As soon as Eph found him awake, that young man brought the captain a plate of toast and a bowl of broth, both prepared at the little galley stove.

“Sit up and get away with these,” urged Eph, placing the tray on the cabin table. “Wait a minute. I'll prop you up and put a pillow at your back.”

“This boat isn't a bad place for a fellow when he's knocked out,” smiled Jack.

“Any place ought to be good, where your friends are,” came, curtly, from young Somers.

As Captain Jack ate the warm food he felt his strength coming back to him.

“Poor old Hal has been up there in the conning tower all these hours,” muttered Captain Jack, uneasily. “He must have that cramped feeling in his hands.”

“Humph!” retorted Eph. “Not so you could notice it much, I guess. It's a simpleton's job up in the conning tower to-day. All he has to do is to shift the wheel a little to port, or to starboard, just so as to keep the proper interval from the 'Dad' boat. Besides, I've been up there on relief, for an hour while you slept, and Hal came down and sat with the engines. Cheer up, Jack. No one misses you from the conning tower.”

Benson laughed, though he said, warningly:

“I reckon we'll do as well to drop calling the gunboat the 'Dad boat' instead of the 'parent vessel.'”

“Well, you needn't bother at all about the conning tower to-day,” wound up Eph, glancing at his watch. “It's after half-past three at this moment and I understand we're to drop anchor about five o'clock.”

So Skipper Jack settled back with a comfortable sigh. Truth to tell, it was pleasant not to have any immediate duty, for his head throbbed, every now and then, and he felt dizzy when he tried to walk.

“Who could have hit me in that fashion, last night, and for what earthly purpose?” wondered the boy. “I've had some enemies, in the past, but I don't know a single person about Dunhaven, now who has any reason for wishing me harm.”

Never a thought crossed his mind of suspecting Sam Truax. That worthy had come with a note from David Pollard, the inventor of the boats. Sam, therefore, must be all right, the boy reasoned.

Jack lay back on the upholstered seat. He sat with his eyes closed most of the time, though he did not doze. At last, however, he heard the engine room bell sound for reduced speed. Getting up, the young captain made his way to the foot of the conning tower stairs.

“Making port, Hal?” he called.

“Yep,” came the reply. “We'll be at anchor in five minutes more.”

Jack made his way slowly to the door of the engine room.

“Eph,” he called, “as soon as you've shut off speed, take Truax above and you two attend to the mooring.”

“Take this other man up with you,” urged Sam Truax. “I don't know anything about tying a boat up to moorings.”

“Time you learned, then,” returned Eph Somers, “if you're to stay aboard a submarine craft.”

“Take this other man up with you,” again urged Truax.

Eph Somers turned around to face him with a good deal of a glare.

“What ails you, Truax? You heard the captain's order. You'll go with me.”

“Don't be too sure of that,” uttered Sam Truax, defiantly.

“If you don't go above with me, and if you don't follow every order you get aboard this boat, I know where you will go,” muttered Eph, decisively.

“Where?” jeered Sam.

“Ashore—in the first boat that can take you there.”

“You seem to forget that I'm on board by David Pollard's order,” sneered Truax.

“All I am sure of,” retorted Eph, “is that Jack Benson is captain on board this craft. That means that he's sole judge of everything here when this boat is cruising. If you were here by the orders of both owners, Jack Benson would fire you ashore for good, just the same, after you've balked at the first order.”

“Humph! I—”

Clang! Jangle! The signal bell was sounding.

“Shut up,” ordered Eph Somers, briskly. “I've got the engine to run on signal from the watch officer.”

There followed a series of signals, first of all for stopping speed, then for a brief reversing of engines. A moment later headway speed ahead was ordered. So on Eph went through the series of orders until the “Farnum” had been manœuvred to her exact position. Then, from above, Captain Jack's voice was heard, roaring in almost his usual tones:

“Turn out below, there, to help make fast!”

“Take the lever, Williamson,” directed Eph. “Come along lively, Truax.”

“Humph! Let Williamson go,” grumbled Truax.

“You come along with me, my man!” roared Eph, his face blazing angrily. “Hustle, too, or I'll report you to the captain for disobedience of orders. Then you'll go ashore at express speed. Coming?”

Sam Truax appeared to wage a very brief battle within himself. Then, nodding sulkily, he followed.

“Hustle up, there!” Jack shouted down. “We don't want to drift.”

Jack Benson stood out on the platform deck, holding to the conning tower at the port side. A naval launch had just placed a buoy over an anchor that had been lowered.

“Get forward, you two,” Jack called briskly, “and make the bow cable fast to that buoy.”

Hal still sat at the wheel in the tower. As Eph and Truax crept forward over the arched upper hull of the “Farnum,” Hal sounded the engine room signals and steered until the boat had gotten close enough to make the bow cable fast. Then the stern cable was made fast, with more line, to another buoy.

“A neat hitch, Mr. Benson,” came a voice from the bridge of the “Hudson,” which lay a short distance away. Jack, looking up, saw Lieutenant Commander Mayhew leaning over the bridge rail.

“Thank you, sir,” Jack acknowledged, saluting the naval officer.

The parent vessel and her two submarine charges now lay at anchor in the harbor at Port Clovis, one of the towns down the coast from Dunhaven. This mooring overnight was to be repeated each day until Annapolis should be reached.

Within fifteen minutes the craft were surrounded by small boats from shore. Some of these contained merchandise that it was hoped sailors would buy. Other boats “ran” for hotels, restaurants, drinking places, amusement halls, and all the varied places on shore that hope to fatten on Jack Tar's money.

“I'd like to go ashore, sir,” announced Sam Truax, approaching Captain Jack.

“When?”

“Now.”

“For how long?”

“Until ten o'clock to-night.”

“Be back by that hour, then,” Jack replied. “If you're not, you'll find everything shut tight aboard here.”

Truax quickly signaled one of the hovering boats, and put off in it. Eph watched the boat for a few moments before he turned to Captain Jack to mutter:

“Somehow, I wouldn't feel very badly about it if that fellow got lost on shore!”

VI. Two Kinds of Voodoo

On the second day of the cruise Jack Benson returned to full duty.

For four nights, in all, the submarine squadron tied up at moorings in harbors along the coast. On the fifth night, as darkness fell, the squadron continued under way, in Chesapeake Bay, for Annapolis was but three hours away.

Immediately after supper Captain Jack took his place in the conning tower. He concerned himself principally with the compass, his only other task being to keep the course by the “Hudson's” lights, for the parent boat supplied in its own conduct all the navigation orders beyond the general course. The “Farnum's” searchlight was not used, the gunboat picking up all the coast-marks as they neared land.

“Annapolis is the place I've always wanted to see,” Jack declared, as Hal joined him in the conning tower.

“It's the place where I've always wanted to be a cadet,” sighed Hal. “But there's no chance for me, I fear. Jack, I'd rather be an officer of the Navy than a millionaire.”

“Same here,” replied Jack, steadily. “It's hard to have to feel that I'll never be either.”

As she entered the mouth of the Severn River the “Hudson” signaled to the submarines to follow, in file, the “Pollard” leading. A little later the three craft entered the Basin at the Academy. While the gunboat anchored off the Amphitheatre, the two submarine boats were ordered to anchorage just off the Boat House. Then a cutter came alongside.

“The lieutenant commander's compliments to Mr. Benson. Will Mr. Benson go aboard the 'Hudson'?” asked the young officer in command of the cutter. Captain Jack lost no time in presenting himself before the lieutenant commander.

“Mr. Benson,” said Mr. Mayhew, after greeting the submarine boy, “your craft will be under a marine guard to-night, and at all times while here at the Naval Academy. If you and your crew would like to spend the night ashore, in the quaint little old town of Annapolis, there's no reason why you shouldn't. But you will all need to report back aboard, ready for duty, by eight in the morning.”

Jack thanked the naval commander, then hastened back to the “Farnum” to communicate the news.

“Me for the shore trip,” declared Eph, promptly. All the others agreed with him.

“I'll come back by ten o'clock to-night, though,” volunteered Sam Truax. “One of the crew ought to be aboard.”

“We'll stay ashore,” decided Jack, “and return in the morning.”

“I'm coming back to-night,” retorted Truax.

“Keep still, and follow orders,” muttered Eph, digging his elbow into Truax's ribs. “The captain gives the orders here.”

Jack, however, had turned away. Within five minutes a boat put off from shore, bringing two soldiers of the marine guard alongside. With them, in the shore boat, was a corporal of the guard.

“Any of your crew coming back to-night, sir?” asked the corporal.

“None,” Benson answered. “Will you instruct the sentries to see that none of the crew are allowed aboard during the night?”

“Very good, sir.”

The shore boat waited to convey them to the landing. Before going, young Captain Benson closed and locked the manhole entrance to the conning tower. A sullen silence had fallen over Truax. The instructions to the corporal of the guard, and the prompt acceptance of those instructions, told Sam, beyond any doubt, that he was not coming back on board that night.

Truax followed the others as they passed through the Academy grounds. Beyond the large, handsome buildings, there was not much to be seen at night. Lights shone behind all the windows in Cadet Barracks. Nearly all of the cadets of the United States Navy were in their quarters, hard at study. Here and there a marine sentry paced. A few naval officers, in uniform, passed along the walks. That was all, and the submarine party had crossed the grounds to the gate through which they were to pass into the town of Annapolis.

“Coming with us, Truax?” asked Williamson, as the party passed out into a dimly lighted street.

“No,” replied the fellow, sullenly. “I'll travel by myself.”

“You're welcome to,” muttered Eph, under his breath.

The others climbed the steps to the State Capitol grounds, continuing until they reached one of the principal streets of the little town.

“Say, but this place must have gone to sleep before we got ashore,” grumbled Eph. “Hanged if I don't think Dunhaven is a livelier little place!”

“There isn't much to do, except to wander about a bit, then go to the Maryland House for a good sleep on shore,” Jack admitted.

For more than an hour the submarine boys wandered about. The principal streets contained some stores that had a bright, up-to-date look, and in these principal streets the evening crowds much resembled those to be found in any small town. There were other streets, however, on which there was little traffic. In some of these quieter streets were quaint, old-fashioned houses built in the Colonial days.

“Annapolis is more of a place to see by daylight, I reckon,” suggested Hal. “How about that sleep, Jack?”

“The greatest fun, by night, I guess, consists in finding a drug-store and spending some of our loose change on ice cream sodas,” laughed the young submarine skipper.

This done, they found their way to the Maryland House. Jack and Hal engaged a room together, Eph and Williamson taking the adjoining one.

“As for me, in an exciting place like this,” grimaced Eph, “I'm off for bed.”

Williamson followed him upstairs. For some minutes Hal sat with his chum in the hotel office. Then Jack went over and talked with the night clerk for a few moments.

“There's a place near here, Hal, where a fellow can get an oyster fry,” Benson explained, returning to his chum. “With that information came the discovery that I have an appetite. Come and join me?”

“No,” gaped Hal. “I reckon I'll go up and turn in.”

“I'll be along in half an hour, then.”

Jack found the oyster house readily. As he entered the little, not over-clean place, he found himself the only customer. He gave his order, then picked up the local daily paper. As he ate, Jack found himself yawning. The drowsiness of Annapolis by night was coming upon him. Little did he dream how soon he was to discover that Annapolis, in some of its parts, can be lively enough.

As he paid his bill and stepped to the street, a young mulatto hurried up to him.

“Am Ah correct, sah, in supposin' yo' Cap'n Jack Benson?”

“That's my name,” Jack admitted.

“Den Ah's jes' been 'roun' to de hotel, lookin' fo' yo', sah. One ob yo' men, Mistah Sam Truax, am done took sick, an' he done sent me fo' yo'.”

“Truax ill? Why, I saw him a couple of hours ago, and he looked as healthy as a man could look,” Jack replied, in astonishment.

“I reckon, sah, he's mighty po'ly now, sah,” replied the mulatto. “He done gib me money fo' to hiah a cab an' take yo' to him. Will yo' please to come, sah?”

“Yes,” agreed Jack. “Lead the way.”

“T'ank yo', sah; t'ank yo', sah. Follow me, sah.”

Jack's mulatto guide led him down the street a little way, then around a corner. Here a rickety old cab with a single horse attached, waited. A gray old darkey sat on the driver's seat.

“Step right inside, sah. We'll be dere direckly. Marse Truax'll be powahful glad to see yo', sah.”

“See here,” demanded Jack, after they had driven several blocks at a good speed, “Truax hasn't been getting into any drinking scrapes, has he? Hasn't been getting himself arrested, has he?”

For young Benson had learned, from the night clerk at the hotel, that, quiet and “dead” as Annapolis appears to the stranger, there are “tough” places into which a seafaring stranger may find his way.

“No, sah; no, sah,” protested the mulatto. “Marse Truax done got sick right and proper.”

“Why, confound it, we're leaving the town behind,” cried Jack, a few moments later, after peering out through the cab window.

“Dat's all right, sah. Dere ain' nuffin' to be 'fraid ob, sah.”

“Afraid?” uttered Jack, scornfully, with a side glance at the mulatto. The submarine boy felt confident that, in a stretch of trouble, he could thrash this guide of his in very short order.

“Ah might jess well tell yo' wheah we am gwine, sah,” volunteered the mulatto, presently.

“Yes,” Benson retorted, drily. “I think you may.”

“Marse Truax, sah, he done hab er powah ob trouble, sah, las' wintah, wid rheumatiz, sah. He 'fraid he gwine cotch it again dis wintah, sah. Now, sah, dere am some good voodoo doctahs 'roun' Annapolis, so Marse Truax, he done gwine to see, sah, what er voodoo can promise him fo' his rheumatiz. I'se a runnah, sah, for de smahtest ole voodoo doctah, sah, in de whole state ob Maryland.”

“Then you took Truax to a voodoo doctor to-night?” demanded Jack, almost contemptuously.

“Yes, sah; yes, sah.”

“I thought Truax had more sense than to go in for such tomfoolery,” Jack Benson retorted, bluntly.

The mulatto launched into a prompt, energetic defense of the voodoo doctors. Young Benson had heard a good deal about these clever old colored frauds. In spite of his contempt, the submarine boy found himself interested. He had heard about the charms, spells, incantations and other humbugs practised on colored dupes and on some credulous whites by these greatest of all quacks. The voodoo methods of “healing” are brought out of the deepest jungles of darkest Africa, yet there are many ignorant people, even among the whites, who believe steadfastly in the “cures” wrought by the voodoo.

While the mulatto guide was talking, or answering Jack's half-amused questions, the cab left Annapolis further and further behind.

“Yo' see, sah,” the guide went on, “Marse Truax wa'n't in no fit condition, sah, to try de strongest voodoo medicine dat he called fo'. So, w'ile de voodoo was sayin' his strongest chahms, Marse Truax done fall down, frothin' at de mouth. He am some bettah, now, sah, but he kain't be move' from de voodoo's house 'cept by a frien'.”

“I'll get a chance to see one of these old voodoo frauds, anyway,” Jack told himself. “This new experience will be worth the time it keeps me out of my bed. What a pity Hal missed a queer old treat like this!”

When the cab at last stopped, Benson looked out to find that the place was well down a lonely country road, well lined with trees on either side. The house, utterly dark from the outside, was a ramshackle, roomy old affair.

“Shall Ah wait fo' yo'?” asked the old colored driver.

“Yes, wait for me,” directed Jack, briefly.

“Yeah; wait fo' de gemmun. He's all right,” volunteered the mulatto.

“Mebbe yo' kin see some voodoo wo'k, too, ef yo's int'rested,” hinted the guide, in a whisper, as he fitted a key to a lock, and swung a door open. In a hallway stood a lighted lantern, which the guide picked up.

“Now, go quiet-lak, on tip-toe. Sh!” cautioned the guide, himself moving stealthily into the nearest room. Jack Benson began to feel secretly awestruck and “creepy,” though he was too full of grit to betray the fact.

At the further end of the room the guide, holding the lantern behind his body as though by accident, threw open another door.

“Pass right on through dis room, ahead ob me, sah,” begged the guide, respectfully.

But Jack drew back, instinctively, out of the darkness.

“Don' yo', a w'ite man, be 'fraid ob ole voodoo house,” advised the mulatto, still speaking respectfully.

Afraid? Of course not. Relying on his muscle and his agility, Jack stepped ahead. By a sudden jerk of his arm the mulatto guide shook out the flame in the lantern.

“Here, you! What are you about?” growled Jack Benson, wheeling like a flash upon his escort.

“Go 'long, yo' w'ite trash!” jeered the mulatto. He gave the boy a sudden, forceful shove.

Jack Benson, under the impetus of that push, staggered ahead, seeking to recover his balance. Without a doubt he would have done so, but, just then, the floor under his feet ended. With a yell of dismay, the submarine boy tottered, then plunged down, alighting on a bed of soft dirt many feet below.

VII. Jack Finds Something “New,” All Right

Jack Benson was on his feet in an instant. An angrier boy it would have been hard to find.

From overhead came the sound of a loud guffaw.

“Oh, you infernal scoundrel!” raged the submarine boy, shaking his fist in the dark.

“W'at am de matter wid yo', w'ite trash?” came the jeering query.

“Let me get my hands on you, and I'll show you!” quivered Benson.

“Yah! Listen to yo'! Yo' wait er minute, an' Ah'll show yo' a light.”

Gr-r-r-r! Gr-r-r-r! That sound from overhead was not pleasant. Jack, in the few seconds that were left to him, could only guess as to the cause of the sounds. Then, some fifteen feet over his head, a tiny flame sputtered. This match-end was carried to the wick of the lantern that the yellowish guide had been carrying, and now the light illumined the place into which Jack Benson had fallen.

That place was a square-shaped pit, with boarded sides. Up above, on a shelf of flooring, knelt the late guide, grinning down with a look of infernal glee. On either side of the mulatto stood a heavy-jowled bull-dog. Both brutes peered down, showing their teeth in a way to make a timid man's blood run cold.

“Put those dogs back and come down here,” challenged Jack, shaking his fist. “Come down, and I'll teach you a few things, you rascal!”

“Don' yo' shake yo' fist at me, or dem dawgs will sure jump down and tackle yo',” grinned the guide, gripping at the collars of the brutes, which, truly, showed signs of intending to spring below.

Jack fell back, his hands dropping to his sides. Had there been but one dog, the submarine boy, with all his grit forced to the surface, might have chosen to face the brute, hoping to despatch it with a well-aimed kick. But with two dogs, both intent on “getting” him, young Benson knew that he would stand the fabled chance of a snow-flake on a red-hot stove.

“Dat's right, gemmun, yo' keep cool,” observed the mulatto, mockingly.

“You've decoyed me—trapped me here with a mess of lies,” flung back Captain Jack, angrily. “What's your game?”

“Dis am a free lodgin' house—ho, ho, ho!” chuckled the late guide. “Ah's gwine gib yo' er place to sleep fo' de night. Yo' sho'ly must feel 'bleeged to me—ho, ho, ho!”

“You lied to me about Sam Truax!”

“Yeah! Ah done foun' dat was de name ob a gemmun in yo' pahty dat wasn't wid yo'. Truax do as well as any odder name—yah! Now, Ah's gwine leab yo' heah t' git a sleep. Ah'll toss down some blankets. 'Pose yo'se'f and gwine ter sleep, honey. Don't try to clim' up outer dat, or dem dawgs'll sho'ly jump down at yo'. Keep quiet, an' go ter sleep, an' de dawgs done lay heah an' jest watch. But don' try nuffin' funny, or de dawgs'll sho'ly bring trubble to yo'. Dem is trained dawgs-train' fo' dis business ob mine. Ho, ho, ho!”

Mulatto and light vanished, but enraged, baffled, helpless Captain Jack could hear the two dogs moving about ere they settled down on the shelf of flooring overhead.

“No matter how much of a liar that rascal is, he didn't lie to me about the dogs,” reflected Jack, his temper cooling, but his bitterness increasing. “They're fighting dogs, and one wrong move would bring them bounding down here on me—the two together. Ugh-gh!”

After a few moments the mulatto reappeared with a light and tossed down three heavy blankets.

“Now, Ah's gwine leave yo' fo' de night,” clacked the late guide. “Ef yo' done feel lonesome, yo' jes' whistle de dawgs down to yo'. Dey'll come!”

While the light was still there Benson, in raging silence, gathered the blankets and arranged them.

“Roll up one fo' a pillow, under yo' haid,” grinned the mulatto. “Dat's all right, sah. Now, good night, Marse Benson. Ef yo' feel lonesome, Marse Benson, jes' whistle fo' de dawgs. Dey'll come!”

The light vanished while the mulatto's sinister words were ringing in the boy's ears. Would the dogs jump down? Jack knew they would, at the first false move or sound on his part. He huddled softly, stealthily, on the blankets, there in the darkness.

As he lay there, thinking, Benson's sense of admiration gradually got to the surface.

“Well, of all the slick man-traps!” he gasped. “I never heard of anything more clever. Nor was there ever a bigger idiot than I, to walk stupidly into this same trap! What's the game, I wonder? Robbery, it must be. And I have a watch, some other little valuables and nearly a hundred and fifty dollars in money on me. Oh, I'm the sleek, fat goose for plucking!”

Lying there, in enforced stillness, Jack Benson, after an hour or so, actually fell asleep. A good, healthy sleeper at all times, he slumbered on through the night. Once he awoke, just a trifle chilled. He heard one of the dogs snoring overhead. Crawling under one of the blankets, Benson went to sleep again.

“Hey, yo', Marse Benson. It am mawnin'. Time yo' was wakin' up an' movin' erlong!”

It was the voice of the same mulatto, calling down into the pit. Again the rays of the lantern illumined the darkness. Both bull-dogs displayed their ferocious muzzles over the edge of the pit. Jack sat up cautiously, not caring to attract unfriendly interest from the dogs.

“Ah want yo' to take off all yo' clothes 'cept yo' undahclothes, an' den Ah'll let down a string fo' yo' to tie 'em to,” declared the mulatto, grinning. “Yo' needn't try ter slip yo' wallet, nor nuffin' outer mah sight, cause Ah'll be watchin'. Now, git a hurry on, Marse Benson, or Ah'll done push dem dawgs ober de aidge ob dis flooring.”

Jack hesitated only a moment. Then, with a grunt of rage, he began removing his outer garments. Down came a twine, to the lower end of which the boy made fast his garments, one after another. His money and valuables went up in the pockets, for the sharp eyes of the mulatto could not have been eluded by any amateur slight-of-hand.

“Now, yo' cap an' yo' shoes,” directed the grinning monster above.

These, too, Benson passed up at the end of the cord. The mulatto disappeared, leaving the two dogs still on guard. At last, back came the light and the yellowish man with it.

“Yo' sho' is good picking, Marse Benson,” grinned the guide of the night before. “Yo' has good pin feathers. Ah hope Ah'll suttinly meet yo' again.”

“I hope we do meet at another time!” Jack Benson flared back, wrathily. The cool insolence of the fellow cut him to the marrow, yet where was the use of disobeying a rascal flanked by two such willing and capable dogs?

“Now, yo' jes' put dese t'ings on, Marse Benson, ef yo' please, sah,” mocked the mulatto, tossing down some woefully tattered, nondescript garments, and, after them, a battered, rimless Derby hat and a pair of brogans out at the toes.

“I'll be hanged if I'll put on such duds!” quivered Jack.

“Jes' as yo' please, ob co'se, Marse Benson,” came the answer, from above. “But, ef yo' don' put dem t'ings on, yo'll sho'ly hab ter gwine back ter 'Napolis in yo' undahclo's. An' yo's gwine back right away, too, so, ef yo' wants ter gwine back weahin' ernuff clo'es—”

“Oh, well, then—!” ground out the submarine boy, savagely enough.

He attired himself in these tattered ends of raiment. Had he not been so angry he must have roared at sight of his comical self when the dressing was completed.

VIII. A Young Captain In Tatters

“Now, yo'll do, Ah reckons.”

With that, the mulatto guide of the night before threw down one end of an inch rope.

“Ah reckon yo's sailor ernuff to clim' dat. Come right erlong, 'less yo' wants de dawgs ter jump down dar.”

“But they'll tackle me if I come up,” objected Jack Benson.

“No, dey won't. Dem dawgs is train' to dis wo'k. Ah done tole yo' dat. Come right erlong. Ah'll keep my two eyes on dem dawgs.”

It looked like a highly risky bit of business, but Jack told himself that, now he had been deprived of his valuables, this yellow worthy must be genuinely anxious to be rid of the victim. So he took hold of the rope and began to climb. The mulatto and the dogs disappeared from the upper edge of the pit.

As his head came up above the level of the flooring Benson saw the mulatto and the dogs in the next room, the connecting door of which had been taken from its hinges.

“Come right in, Marse Benson. Dere ain' nuffin' gwineter hu't yo',” came the rascal's voice reassuringly. Jack obeyed by stepping into the next room, though he kept watch over the dogs out of the corners of his eyes.

“Now, yo' lie right down on de flo', Marse Benson,” commanded the master of the situation. “Ah's gotter tie yo' up, befo' Ah can staht yo' back ter 'Napolis, but dere ain' no hahm gwine come ter yo'.”

Making a virtue of necessity, Captain Jack lay down as directed, passing his hands behind his back. These were deftly secured, after which his ankles were treated in the same fashion. Immediately the mulatto, who was strong and wiry, lifted the boy and the lantern together. The dogs remaining behind, Jack was carried out into the yard, where he discovered that daylight was coming on in the East. He was dumped on the ground long enough to permit his captor to lock the door securely. Then the submarine boy was lifted once more, carried around the corner of the house and dumped in the bottom of a shabby old delivery wagon. A canvas was pulled over him, concealing him from any chance passer. Then the mulatto ran around to the seat, picking up the reins and starting the horse.

It seemed like a long drive to the boy, though Benson was certainly in no position to judge time accurately. At last the team was halted, along a stretch of road in a deep woods. The mulatto lifted the submarine boy out to the ground.

“Now, w'en yo's got yo' se'f free, yo' can take de road in dat direckshun,” declared the fellow, pointing. “Bimeby yo' come in sight ob de town. Now, Marse Benson, w'at happen to yo' las' night am all in de co'se ob a lifetime, an' Ah hope you ain't got no bad feelin's. Yo' suttinly done learn somet'ing new in de way ob tricks. Good-bye, sah, an' mah compliments to yo', Marse Benson.”

With that the guide of the night before swiftly cut the cords at Jack's wrists, then as swiftly leaped to the seat of the wagon, whipping up the horse and disappearing in a cloud of dust.

Jack, having now no knife, and the bonds about his ankles being tied with many hard knots, spent some precious minutes in freeing his feet. At last he stood up, fire in his eyes.

“Oh, pshaw! There's no sense in trying to run after that rascal and his wagon,” decided the young submarine skipper. “I haven't the slightest idea what direction he took after he got out of sight, and—oh, gracious! I'm under orders to be aboard the 'Farnum' at eight this morning. And on Mr. Farnum's business, at that!”

Clenching his hands vengefully, Jack started along in the direction pointed out by his late captor. Brisk walking wore some of the edge off his great wrath. Catching a comprehensive glimpse of himself, Jack could not keep back a grim laugh.

“Well, I certainly am a dandy to spring myself on the trim and slick Naval Academy!” he gritted. “What a treat I'll be to the cadets! That is, if the sentry ever lets me through the gate into the Academy grounds.”

As he hurried along, Jack Benson decided that he simply could not go to the Naval Academy presenting any such grotesque picture as he did now. Yet he had no money about him with which to purchase more presentable clothes in town. So he formed another plan.

Within a few minutes he came in sight of Annapolis. Hurrying on faster, he at last entered the town. The further he went the more painfully conscious the boy became of the ludicrous appearance that he made. He saw men and women turn their heads to look after him, and his cheeks burned to a deep scarlet that glowed over the sea-bronze of his skin.

“The single consolation I have is that not a solitary person in town knows me, anyway,” he muttered. Then he caught sight of a clock on a church steeple—twenty-five minutes of eight.

“That means a fearful hustle,” he muttered, and went ahead under such steam that he all but panted. At last he came to the Maryland House, opposite the State Capitol grounds. Into the office of the hotel he darted, going straight up to the desk.

A clerk who had been on duty for hours, and who was growing more drowsy every moment, stared at the boy in amazement.

“See here, you ragamuffin, what—”

“My name is Benson,” began the boy, breathlessly. “I'm a guest of the house—arrived last night. I—”

“You, a guest of this house?” demanded the clerk of the most select hotel in the town. “You—”

That was as far as the disgust of the clerk would permit him to go in words. A score of well-dressed gentlemen were staring in astonishment at the scene. The clerk nodded to two stout porters who had suspended their work nearby.

It had been Jack Benson's purpose to go to his room and keep out of sight, while despatching one of the colored bell-boys of the hotel with a note to Hal Hastings, asking that chum to send him up a uniform and other articles of attire. However, before the young submarine captain fully realized what was happening, the two porters had seized him. Firmly, even though gently, they hustled him out through the entrance onto the street.

“Scat!” advised one of the pair.

Jack started to protest, then realized the hopelessness of such a course. In truth, he did not blame the hotel folks in the least.

“Oh, well,” he sighed, paling as soon as the new flush of mortification had died out, “there's nothing for it but to hurry to the Academy. I hope the sentries won't shoot when they see me,” he added, bitterly.

Across the State Capitol grounds he hurried, then down through a side street until he arrived at the gate of the Academy grounds.

“Halt!” challenged a sentry, as soon as Jack showed his face through the gateway.

[pg 095] Young Benson stopped, bringing his heels together with a click.

“What do you want? Where are you going?” demanded the marine.

“I know I look pretty tough,” Jack admitted, shamefacedly. “But I belong aboard the 'Farnum,' one of the submarines that arrived last night. And I'm due there at this minute. Please don't delay me.”

“All right,” replied the sentry, after surveying the boy from head to foot once more. Then he added, in a lower tone, with just the suspicion of a grin showing at the corners of his mouth:

“Say, friend, for a stranger, you must have had a high old frolic in the town last night.”

Jack frowned. The sentry's grin broadened a bit. As he did not offer to detain the boy longer, Benson hurried on along one of the walks. He took as short a course as he could making straight for the Basin, where he made out the “Hudson” and the two submarines.

“Hey! There's the captain!” shouted Eph, wonderingly, for Somers's eyes were sharp at all times.

Out of the conning tower sprang Hal Hastings, looking eagerly in the direction in which Eph Somers pointed:

“Eh?” muttered another person, lounging near the rail of the gunboat. Then Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, after a keen, wholly disapproving look at the hard-looking figure of a young man at the landing, started, as he muttered:

“Benson, by all that's horrible! How did he come to be in that fearful shape? He must have been in one of the worst resorts within miles of Annapolis!”

“This isn't the first time the young man has come back the worse for wear,” the lieutenant commander continued, under his breath. “His friends were loyal enough to him, that time. I wonder if they can be, to-day?”

One of the shore boats, waiting about in the Basin, put young Benson aboard the “Farnum” as soon as he explained who he was. Hal and Eph stood awaiting the coming of their young commander, their faces full of concern and anxiety. Both gripped Jack's hand as soon as he gained the platform deck of the submarine.

“Come below,” whispered Hal. “We'll talk there. You need a bath and to get into a uniform as quickly as you can.”

This need Jack Benson proceeded to realize without an instant's delay. While he washed himself off, in one of the staterooms aft, he talked through the door, which had been left ajar. He continued his story while he dressed.

“We were fearfully anxious this morning,” Hal confessed. “I went to sleep last night, and didn't know of your absence until this morning. Then Eph and I decided to come on down to the boat to see if you were here. We were just planning to send quiet word to the Annapolis police when Eph spotted you coming.”

“And Truax?” inquired Captain Jack.

“He and Williamson are forward in the engine-room, now, at breakfast.”

“Oh, well, Truax wouldn't know anything about the scrape, anyway,” returned Jack. “His name was learned and used—that's all.”

“Are you going to try to find that place, catch the mulatto and force the return of your money?” demanded Eph Somers.

“I've got to think that over,” muttered Jack, as he drew on a spick-and-span uniform blouse. “I don't know whether there'll be any use in trying to find that mulatto. I haven't the least idea where his place is. Even if I found it, it's ten to one I wouldn't find the fellow there.”

“'Farnum,' ahoy!” roared a voice alongside, the voice coming down through the open conning tower.

Eph ran to answer. When he returned, he announced:

“Compliments of Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, and will Mr. Benson wait on the lieutenant commander on board the parent boat?”

“I will,” assented Jack, with a wry face, “and here's where I have to do some tall but truthful explaining to a man who isn't in the least likely to believe a word I say. I can guess what Mr. Mayhew is thinking, and is going to keep on thinking!”

IX. Truax Gives a Hint

It was a tailor-made, clean, crisp and new-looking young submarine commander who stepped into the naval cutter alongside.

Jack Benson looked as natty as a young man could look, and his uniform was that of a naval officer, save for the absence of the insignia of rank.

Up the side gangway of the gunboat Jack mounted, carrying himself in the best naval style. On deck stood a sentry, an orderly waiting beside him.

“Lieutenant Commander Mayhew will see you in his cabin, sir,” announced the orderly. “I will show you the way, sir.”

Mr. Mayhew was seated before a desk in his cabin when the orderly piloted the submarine boy in. The naval officer did not rise, nor did he ask the boy to take a seat. Jack Benson was very well aware that he stood in Mr. Mayhew's presence in the light of a culprit.

“Mr. Benson,” began Mr. Mayhew, eyeing him closely, “you are not in the naval service, and are not therefore amenable to its discipline. At the same time, however, your employers have furnished you to act, in some respects, as a civilian instructor in submarine boating before the cadets. While you are here on that duty it is to be expected, therefore, that you will conform generally to the rules of conduct as laid down at the Naval Academy.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Jack.

“As I am at present in charge of the submarine purchased by the United States from your company, and at least in nominal charge of the 'Farnum,' as well, I am, in a measure, to be looked upon, for the present, as your commanding officer.”

“Yes, sir,” assented the boy.

“You came aboard your craft, this morning, in a very questionable looking condition.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jack Benson's composure was perfect. His sense of discipline was also exact. He did not propose to offer any explanations until such were asked of him.

“Have you anything to say, Mr. Benson, as to that condition, and how you came to be in it?”

“Shall I explain it to you, sir?”

“I shall be glad to hear your explanation.”

Thereupon, the submarine boy plunged into a concise description of what had happened to him the night before. The lieutenant commander did not once interrupt him, but, when Jack had finished, Mr. Mayhew observed:

“That is a very remarkable story, Mr. Benson. Most remarkable.”

“Yes, sir, it is. May I ask if you doubt my story?”

Jack looked straight into the officer's eyes as he put the question bluntly. An officer of the Army or of the Navy must not answer a question untruthfully. Neither, as a rule, may he make an evasive answer. So the lieutenant commander thought a moment, before he replied:

“I don't feel that I know you well enough, Mr. Benson, to express an opinion that might be wholly fair to you. The most I can say, now, is that I very sincerely hope such a thing will not happen again during your stay at the Naval Academy.”

“It won't, sir,” promised Jack Benson, “if I have hereafter the amount of good judgment that I ought to be expected to possess.”

“I hope not, Mr. Benson, for it would destroy your usefulness here. A civilian instructor here, as much as a naval instructor, must possess the whole confidence and respect of the cadet battalion. I hope none of the cadets who may have seen you this morning recognized you.”

Then, taking on a different tone, Mr. Mayhew informed his young listener that a section of cadets would board the “Farnum” at eleven that morning, another section at three in the afternoon, and a third at four o'clock.

“Of course you will have everything aboard your craft wholly shipshape, Mr. Benson, and I trust I hardly need add that, in the Navy, we are punctual to the minute.”

“You will find me punctual to the minute before, sir.”

“Very good, Mr. Benson. That is all. You may go.”

Jack saluted, then turned away, finding his way to the deck. The cutter was still alongside, and conveyed him back to the “Farnum.”

“Mr. Mayhew demanded your story, of course?” propounded Hal Hastings. “What did he think?”

“He didn't say so,” replied Jack Benson, with a wry smile, “but he let me see that he thought I was out of my element on a submarine boat.”

“How so?”

“Why, it is very plain that Mr. Mayhew thinks I ought to employ my time writing improbable fiction.”

“Oh, Mayhew be bothered!” exploded Eph.

“Hardly,” retorted Jack. “Mr. Mayhew is an officer and a gentleman. I admit that my yarn does sound fishy to a stranger. Besides, fellows, Mr. Mayhew represents the naval officers through whose good opinion our employers hope to sell a big fleet of submarine torpedo boats to the United States Government.”

“Then what are you going to do about it?” asked Hal, as the three boys reached the cabin below.

“First of all, I'm going to rummage about and get myself some breakfast.”

“If you do, there'll be a fight,” growled Eph Somers. “I'll hash up a breakfast for you.”

“And, afterwards?” persisted Hal.

“I'm going to try to win Mr. Mayhew's good opinion, and that of every other naval officer or cadet I may happen to meet.”

“Why the cadets, particularly?” asked Eph Somers.

“Because, for one business reason, the cadets are going to be the naval officers of to-morrow, and the Pollard Submarine Boat Company hopes to be building craft for the Navy for a good many years to come.”

“Good enough!” nodded Hal, while Eph dodged away to get that breakfast ready.

Sam Truax lounged back in the engine room, smoking a short pipe. With him stuck Williamson, for Eph had privately instructed the machinist from the Farnum yard not to leave the stranger alone in the engine room.

“Why don't you go up on deck and get a few whiffs of fresh air?” asked Truax.

“Oh, I'm comfortable down here,” grunted the machinist, who was stretched out on one of the leather-cushioned seats that ran along the side of the engine room.

“I should think you'd want to get out of here once in a while, though,” returned Truax.

“Why?” asked the machinist. “Anything you want to be left alone here for?”

“Oh, of course not,” drawled Truax, blowing out a cloud of tobacco smoke.

“Then I guess I'll stay where I am,” nodded Williamson.

“Sorry, but you'll have to stop all smoking in here now,” announced Eph, thrusting his head in at the doorway. “There'll be a lot of cadets aboard at eleven o'clock, and we want the air clear and sweet. You'd better go all over the machinery and see that everything is in applepie order and appearance. Mr. Hastings will be in here soon to inspect it.”

“Just what rank does that young turkey-cock hold on board?” sneered Truax, when the door had closed.

“Don't know, I'm sure,” replied Williamson. “All I know is that the three youngsters are aboard here to run the boat and show it off to the best advantage. My pay is running right along, and I've no kick at taking orders from any one of them.”

“This is where I go on smoking, anyway,” declared Truax, insolently, striking a match and lighting his pipe again. Williamson reached over, snatching the pipe from between the other man's teeth and dumping out the coals, after which the machinist coolly dropped the pipe into one of his own pockets.

“If you go on this way,” warned Williamson, “Captain Benson will get it into his head to put you on shore in a jiffy, and for good.”

“I'd like to see him try it,” sneered Sam Truax.

“You'll get your wish, if you go on the way you've been going!”

“Humph! I don't believe the Benson boy carries the size or the weight to put me ashore.”

“He doesn't need any size or weight,” retorted Williamson, crisply. “If Captain Benson wants you off this boat, it's only the matter of a moment for him to get a squad of marines on board—and you'll march off to the 'Rogues' March.'”

“So that's the way he'd work it, eh?” demanded Sam Truax, turning green and ugly around the lips.

“You bet it is,” retorted the machinist. “We're practically a part of the United States Navy for these few days, and naval rules will govern any game we may get into.”

On that hint things went along better in the engine room. When Hal Hastings came in to inspect he found nothing to criticise.

At the minute of eleven o'clock a squad of some twenty cadets came marching down to the landing in front of the boat house. There Lieutenant Commander Mayhew and one of his engineer officers met them. Two cutters manned by sailors brought the party out alongside, where Jack and Hal stood ready to receive them.

A very natty looking squad of future admirals came aboard, grouping themselves about on the platform deck. It was rather a tight squeeze for so many human beings in that space.

After greeting the submarine boys, Mr. Mayhew turned to the cadets, calling their attention to the lines and outer construction of the “Farnum.” Then he turned to the three submarine boys, signing to them to crowd forward.

“These young gentlemen,” announced the lieutenant commander, “are Mr. Benson, Mr. Hastings and Mr. Somers. All three are thoroughly familiar with the Pollard type of boat. As the Navy has purchased one Pollard boat, and may acquire others, it is well that you cadets should understand all the working details of the Pollard Submarine Company's crafts. A few of you at a time will now step into the conning tower, and Mr. Benson will explain to you the steering and control gear used there.”

Half a dozen of the cadets managed to squeeze into the conning tower. Jack experienced an odd feeling, half of embarrassment, as he explained before so many attentive pairs of eyes. Then another squad of cadets took the place of the first on-lookers. After a while all had been instructed in the use of the conning tower appliances.

“Mr. Benson,” continued the lieutenant commander, “will now lead the way for all hands to the cabin. There he will explain the uses of the diving controls, the compressed air apparatus, and other details usually worked from the cabin.”

Down below came the cadets, in orderly fashion, without either haste or lagging. Having warmed up to his subject, Jack Benson lectured earnestly, even if not with fine skill. At last he paused.

“Any of the cadets may now ask questions,” announced Lieutenant Commander Mayhew.

There was a pause, then one of the older cadets turned to Jack to ask:

“What volume of compressed air do you carry at your full capacity?”

“Mr. Benson's present status,” rapped Mr. Mayhew, quickly, “is that of a civilian instructor. Any cadet who addresses Mr. Benson will therefore say 'sir,' in all cases, just as in addressing an officer of the Navy.”

The cadet so corrected, who was at least twenty-one years old, flushed as he glanced swiftly at sixteen-year-old Jack. To say “sir” to such a youngster seemed almost like a humiliation. Yet the cadet repeated his question, adding the “sir.” Jack quickly answered the question. Then two or three other questions were asked by other cadets. It was plain, however, that to all of the cadets the use of “sir” to so young a boy appealed, at least, to their sense of humor.

Through the engine room door Sam Truax and Williamson stood taking it all in. Sam saw a flash in the eye of one big cadet when the question of “sir” came up.

Presently the squad filed into the engine room. Here Hal Hastings had the floor for instruction. He did his work coolly, admirably, though he asked Jack Benson to explain a few of the points.

Then the questions began, directed at Hal. This time none of the cadets, under the watchful eyes of Mr. Mayhew, forgot to say “sir” when speaking to Hastings.

Sam Truax edged up behind the big cadet whose eyes he had seen flash a few moments before.

“Go after Benson, good and hard,” whispered Truax.

The cadet looked keenly at Truax.

“You can have a lot of fun with Benson,” whispered Truax, “if you fire a lot of questions at him, hard and fast. Benson is a conceited fellow, who knows a few things about the boat, but you can get him rattled and red-faced in no time.”

X. A Squint at the Camelroorelephant

The big cadet wheeled upon Jack.

“Mr. Benson, how long have you been engaged on submarine boats, sir?”

“Since July,” Jack replied.

“July of this year?”

“Yes.”

“And it is now October. Do you consider that enough time, sir, in which to learn much about submarine boats?”

“That depends,” Skipper Jack replied, “upon a man's ability in such a subject.”

“Is it long enough time, sir, for a boy?”

That was rather a hard dig. Instantly the other cadets became all attention.

“It depends upon the boy, as it would upon the man,” Jack answered.

“Do you consider, Mr. Benson, that you know all about submarine boats, sir?”

“Oh, no.”

“Who does, sir?”

“No one that I ever heard of,” Jack answered. “Few men interested in submarine boats know much beyond the peculiarities of their own boats.”

“And that applies equally to boys, sir?”

“Yes,” Jack smiled.

“Do you consider yourself, sir, fully competent to handle this craft?”

“I'd rather someone else would say it,” Jack replied. “My employers, though, seem to consider me competent.”

“What is this material, sir?” continued the cadet, resting a hand on a piston rod.

“Brass,” Benson replied, promptly.

“Do you know the specific gravity and the tensile strength of this brass?”

Before Jack could answer Mr. Mayhew broke in, crisply:

“That will do, Mr. Merriam. Your questions appear to go beyond the limits of ordinary instruction, and to partake more of the nature of a cross-examination. Such questions take up the time of the instruction tour unnecessarily.”

Cadet Merriam flushed slightly, as he saluted the naval officer. Then the cadet's jaws settled squarely. He remained silent.

A few more questions and the hour was up.

Lieutenant Commander Mayhew gave the order for the cadets to pass above and embark in the cutters. He remained behind long enough to say to the three submarine boys:

“You have done splendidly, gentlemen—far better than I expected you to do. If you manage the sea instruction as well, in the days to come, our cadets will have a first-class idea of the handling of the Pollard boats.”

“I wish, sir,” Jack replied, after thanking the officer, “that the cadets were not required to say 'sir' to us. It sounds odd, and I am quite certain that none of the young men like it.”

“It is necessary, though,” replied Mr. Mayhew. “They are required to do it with all civilian instructors, and it would never do to draw distinctions on account of age. Yes; it is necessary.”

When the second squad of cadets arrived, in the afternoon, the three submarine boys found themselves ready for their task without misgivings. Eph took more part in the explanations than he had done in the forenoon. Then came a third squad of cadets, to be taken over the same ground. The young men of both these squads used the “sir” at once, having been previously warned by one of the naval officers.

“That will be all for to-day, Mr. Benson, and thank you and your friends for some excellent work,” said Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, when the third squad had filed away.

“Say, for hard work I'd like this job right along,” yawned Eph Somers, when the three were alone in the cabin. “Just talking three times a day—what an easy way of living!”

“It's all right for a while,” agreed Jack. “But it would grow tiresome after a few weeks, anyway. Lying here in the Basin, and talking like a salesman once in a while, isn't like a life of adventure.”

“Oh, you can sigh for adventure, if you wish,” yawned Eph. “As for me, I've had enough hard work to appreciate a rest once in a while. Going into the town to-night, Jack?”

“Into town?” laughed the young skipper. “I went last night—and some of the folks didn't do a thing to me, did they?”

“Aren't you going to report the robbery to the police?” demanded Hal, opening his eyes in surprise.

“Not in a rush,” Jack answered. “If I do, the police may start at once, and that mulatto and his friends, being on the watch, will take the alarm and get away. If I wait two or three days, then the mulatto's crowd will think I've dropped the whole thing. I reckon the waiting game will fool them more than any other.”

“Yes, and all the money they got away from you will be spent,” muttered Eph.

Jack, none the less, decided to wait and think the matter over.

Supper over, the submarine boys, for want of anything else to do, sat and read until about nine o'clock. Then Jack looked up.

“This is getting mighty tedious,” he complained. “What do you fellows say to getting on shore and stretching our legs in a good walk?”

“In town?” grinned Eph, slyly.

Jack flushed, then grinned.

“No!” he answered quietly; “about the Academy grounds.”

“I wonder if it would be against the regulations for a lot of rank outsiders like us to go through the grounds at this hour?”

“'Rank outsiders'?” mimicked Jack Benson, laughing. “You forget, Hal, old fellow, that we're instruct—hem! civilian instructors—here.”

“I wonder, though, if it would be in good taste for us to go prowling through the grounds at this hour?” persisted Hal.

“There's one sure way to find out,” proposed Benson. “We can try it, and, if no marine sentry chases us, we can conclude that we're moving about within our rights. Come along, fellows.”

Putting on their caps, the three went up on the platform deck. The engine room door was locked and Williamson and Truax had already turned in. There was a shore boat at the landing. Jack sent a low-voiced hail that brought the boat out alongside.

“Will it be proper for us to go through the Academy grounds at this hour?” Jack inquired of the petty officer in the stern.

“Yes, sir; there's no regulation against it. And, anyway, sir, you're all stationed here, just now.”

“Thank you. Then please take us ashore.”

At this hour the walks through the grounds were nearly deserted. A few officers, and some of their ladies living at the naval station, were out. The cadets were all in their quarters in barracks, hard at study, or supposed to be.

For some time the submarine boys strolled about, enjoying the air and the views they obtained of buildings and grounds. Back at Dunhaven the air had been frosty. Here, at this more southern port, the October night was balmy, wholly pleasant.

“I wonder if these cadets here ever have any real fun?” questioned Eph Somers.

“I've heard—or read—that they do,” laughed Hal.

“What sort of fun?”

“Well, for one thing, the cadets of the upper classes haze the plebe cadets a good deal.”

“Humph! That's fun for all but the plebes. Who are the plebes, anyway?”

“The new cadets; the youngest class at the Academy,” Hal replied.

“What do they do to the plebe?” Eph wanted to know.

“I guess the only way you could find that out, Eph, would be to join the plebe class.”

“Reckon, when I come to Annapolis, I'll enter the class above the plebe,” retorted Somers.

The three submarine boys had again approached the cadet barracks building.

“Here comes a cadet now, Eph,” whispered Jack. “If he has the time, I don't doubt he'd be glad to answer any questions you may have for him.”

Young Benson offered this suggestion in a spirit of mischief, hoping the approaching cadet, when questioned, would resent it stiffly. Then Eph would be almost certain to flare up.

The cadet, however, suddenly turned, coming straight toward them, smiling.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” was the cadet's greeting.

“Good evening,” was Jack's hearty reply.

“You've never been here before, have you, sir?”

“Never,” Jack confessed.

“Then I take it you have never, sir, seen the camelroorelephant?”

“The cam—” began Eph Somers.

Then he stopped, clapping both hands to his right jaw.

“Won't you please hand that to us in pieces?” begged Eph, speaking as though with difficulty.

The cadet laughed heartily, then added:

“Don't try to pronounce it, gentlemen, until you've seen the camelroorelephant. It's a cadet joke, but it's well worth seeing. Shall I take you to it?”

“Why, yes, if you'll be good enough,” Jack assented, heartily.

The cadet glanced quickly about him, then said in a low voice:

“This way, please, gentlemen.”

He led the strangers quickly around the end of barracks to an open space in the rear. Here he halted.

“Gentlemen, I must ask you to close your eyes, and keep them closed, on honor, until I ask you to open them again. You won't have to keep your eyes closed more than sixty seconds before the camelroorelephant will be ready for inspection. Now, eyes closed, please.”

Lingering only long enough to make sure that his request had been met, the cadet stole noiselessly away.

Nor was it many seconds later when all three of the submarine boys began to feel suddenly suspicious.

“I'm going to open my eyes,” whispered Eph.

“You're on honor not to,” warned Jack Benson, also in a whisper.

“I didn't give my word,” retorted Eph, “and I'm going to—oh, great shades of Santiago!”

The very genuine note of concern in Eph's voice caused Jack and Hal to open their own eyes instantly.

Nor could any of the three repress a quick start.

From all quarters naval cadets were advancing stealthily upon them. Something in the very attitude and poise of the young men told the submarine boys that these naval cadets were out for mischief.

“We're in for it!” breathed Jack, in an undertone. “We're in for something real and startling, I reckon. Fellows, brace up and take your medicine, whatever it is, like men!”

XI. But Something Happened!

Nor was Jack's guess in the least wrong.

Even had the submarine boys attempted to bolt they would have found it impossible. They were surrounded.

The cadets closed quickly in upon them. There were more than thirty of these budding young naval officers.

It was Cadet Merriam who stepped straight up to Jack, giving him a grotesque and exaggerated salute, as he rumbled out:

“Good evening, SIR!”

Like a flash Jack Benson comprehended. These cadets intended fully to even up matters for having been obliged to say “sir” to these very youthful “civilian instructors.”

“Good evening,” Jack smiled.

"You have come to see the camelroorelephant, SIR?"

“We've been told that we might have that pleasure,” Jack responded, still smiling.

“Perhaps you may,” retorted Cadet Merriam, “though, first of all, it will be necessary to prove yourselves worthy of the privilege, SIR.”

“Anything within our power,” promised Jack.

“Then, SIR, let me see you all three stand 'at attention.'”

“At attention” is the rigid attitude taken by a United States soldier or sailor when in the presence of his officers. Jack had already seen men in that attitude, and did his best to imitate it in smart military manner. Eph and Hal did likewise.

“No, no, no, you dense blockheads!” uttered Cadet Midshipman Merriam. “'At attention' upside down—on your hands!”

The other cadet midshipmen now hemmed in closely about the three. Jack thought he caught the idea. He bent over, throwing his feet up in the air and resting on his hands. Unable to keep his balance, he walked two or three steps.

“I didn't tell you to walk your post, blockhead!” scowled Mr. Merriam. “Stand still when at attention.”

Jack tried, but of course made a ludicrous failure of standing still on his hands. So did Hal and Eph. The latter, truth to tell, didn't try very hard, for his freckled temper was coming a bit to the surface.

“You're the rawest recruits, the worst landlubbers I've ever seen,” declared Cadet Midshipman Merriam, with severe dignity. “Rest, before you try it any further.”

The smile had all but left Jack Benson's lips, though he tried to keep it there. Hal Hastings made the most successful attempt at looking wholly unconcerned. Eph's face was growing redder every minute. It is a regrettable fact that Eph was really beginning to want to fight.

“See here,” ordered Mr. Merriam, suddenly, taking Jack by the arm, “you're a horse, a full-blooded Arab steed—understand!”

He gave young Benson a push that sent that youngster down to the ground on all fours.

“You're General Washington, out to take a ride on your horse,” announced Mr. Merriam, turning to Hal. “It's a ride for your health. Do you understand? It will be wholly for your health to take that ride!”

Hal Hastings couldn't help comprehending. With a sheepish grin he sat astride of Jack Benson's back as the latter stood on all fours.

“Go ahead with your ride, General,” called Mr. Merriam.

Jack pranced as best he could, on all fours, Hal making the load of his own weight as light as he could. Over the ground the pair moved in this nonsensical ride, the cadets following and grinning their appreciation of the nonsense.

Two of the young men followed, holding Eph by the arms between them. Mr. Merriam now turned upon the unhappy freckled boy.

“Down on all fours,” ordered Mr. Merriam. “You're the measly dog that barked at General Washington on that famous ride. Bark, you wretched yellow cur—bark, bark, bark!”

Though Eph Somers was madder than ever, he had just enough judgment remaining to feel that the wisest thing would be to obey instructions. So, on all fours, Eph raced after Jack, barking at him.

“See how frightened the horse is,” muttered one of the midshipmen.

Taking the hint, Jack shied as well as he could.

“That's all,” said Mr. Merriam, at last. “All of that, at least.”

As the three submarine boys rose, each found himself gently held by a pair of cadet midshipmen. It was a more or less polite hint that the ordeal was not yet over. Mr. Merriam turned to whisper to one of the cadets, who darted inside the barracks building. He was back, promptly, carrying a folded blanket on his arm.

A grin spread over the faces of the assembled cadet midshipmen. The bearer of the blanket at once unfolded it. As many of the cadets as could got hold of the edges, bending, holding the blanket spread out over the ground.

Jack Benson's two captors suddenly hurled him across the length of the blanket with no gentle force. Instantly the cadets holding the blankets straightened up, jerking it taut. Up into the air a couple of feet bounded Jack. As his body came down the cadets holding the blanket gave it a still harder jerk. This time Jack shot up into the air at least four feet. It was the same old blanket-tossing, long popular both in the Army and Navy. Every time Jack landed the blanket was given a harder jerk by those holding it. Benson began to go higher and higher.

Eph Raced After Jack, Barking at Him.

And now the cadets broke into a low, monotonous chant, in time to their movements. It ran:

Sir, sir, surcingle!

Sir, sir, circle!

Sir, sir, with a shingle—

Sir, sir, sir!

As regular as drumbeats the cadets ripped out the syllables of the refrain. At each word Jack Benson's body shot higher and higher. These young men were experts in the gentle art of blanket-tossing. Ere long the submarine boy was going up into the air some eight or nine feet at every tautening of the blanket.

As for escape, that was out of the question. No sooner did the submarine boy touch the blanket than he shot skyward again. Had he desired to he could not have called out. The motion and the sudden jolts shook all the breath out of him.

“Ugh! Hm! Pleasant, isn't it?” uttered Hal Hastings, grimly, under his breath.

“If they try to do that to me,” whispered Eph, hotly, under his breath, “I'll fight.”

“More simpleton you, then!” Hal shot back at him in warning. “What chance do you think you stand against a crowd like this?”

Just as suddenly as it had begun the blanket-tossing stopped. Yet, hardly had Jack been allowed to step out than Hal Hastings was unceremoniously dropped athwart the blanket. The tossing began again, to the chant of:

Sir, sir, surcingle!

Sir, sir, circle!

Right plentifully were these cadet midshipmen avenging themselves for having had to say “sir” to these young submarine boys that day.

“Woof!” breathed Jack, as soon as breath entered his body again. Eph clenched his fists tightly, as Hal continued to go higher and higher. But at last Hastings's ordeal was over.

“I suppose they'll try that on me!” gritted Eph Somers to himself. “If they do—”

That was far as he got, for Eph was suddenly flung upon the blanket.

Sir, sir, surcingle!

Then how Eph did go up and down! It was as though these cadet midshipmen knew that it would make Eph mad, madder, maddest! These budding young naval officers fairly bent to their work, tautening and loosening on the blanket until their muscles fairly ached.

It was lofty aerial work that Eph Somers was doing. Up and up—higher and higher! Without the need of any effort on his own part young Somers was now traveling upward at the rate of ten or eleven feet at every punctuated bound.

Then, suddenly, there came a sound that chilled the blood of every young cadet midshipman hazer present.

“Halt! Where you are!”

Under the shadow of the barracks building a naval officer had appeared. He now came forward, a frown on his face, eyeing the culprits.

It is no merry jest for cadet midshipmen to be caught at hazing! And here were some thirty of them—red-handed!

XII. Jack Benson, Expert Explainer

At the first word of command from the officer several of the cadet midshipmen who were near enough to an open doorway vanished through it.

As the officer strode through the group of startled young men a few more, left behind his back, made a silent disappearance.

There were left, however, as the officer looked about him, sixteen of the young men, all too plainly headed and led by Cadet Midshipman Merriam.

“Young gentlemen,” said the officer, severely, “I regret to find so many of you engaged in hazing. It is doubly bad when your victims are men outside the corps. And, if I mistake not, these young gentlemen are here as temporary civilian instructors in submarine work.”

Mr. Merriam and his comrades made no reply in words. Nor did their faces express much. They stood at attention, looking stolidly ahead of them, though their faces were turned toward the officer. It was not the place of any of them to speak unless the officer asked questions.

Severe as the hazing had been, however, Jack and Hal, at least, had taken it all in good part. Nor was Jack bound by any of the rules of etiquette that prevented the cadets from speaking.

“May I offer a word, sir?” asked Jack, wheeling upon the officer.

“You were one of the victims of a hazing, were you not?” demanded the officer, regarding Jack, keenly.

“Why, could you call it that, sir?” asked Jack, a look of innocent surprise settling on his face. “We called it a demonstration—an explanation.”

“Demonstration? Explanation?” repeated the officer, astonished in his turn. “What do you mean, Mr.—er—?”

“Benson,” Jack supplied, quietly.

“I think you would better tell me a little more, Mr. Benson,” pursued the unknown naval officer.

“Why, it was like this, sir,” Jack continued. “My two friends—Hastings and Somers—and myself were talking about the West Point and Annapolis hazings, of which we had heard and read. We were talking about the subject when a cadet came along. I suggested to Somers that we ask the cadet about hazing. Well, sir, to make a long story short, some of the cadets undertook to show us just how hazing is—or used to be—done at Annapolis.”

“Oh! Then it was all thoroughly good-natured, all in the way of a joke, to show you something you wanted to know?” asked the naval officer, slowly.

“That's the way I took it,” replied Jack. “So did Hastings and Somers. We've enjoyed ourselves more than anyone else here has.”

This was truth surely enough, for, in the last two minutes, not one of the cadet midshipmen present could have been accused of enjoying himself.

“Then what took place here, Mr. Benson, really took place at your request?” insisted the naval officer.

“It all answered the questions that we had been asking,” Jack replied, promptly, though, it must be admitted, rather evasively.

“This is your understanding, too, Mr. Hastings?” demanded the officer.

“Surely,” murmured Hal.

“You, Mr. Somers?”

“I—I haven't had so much fun since the gasoline engine blew up,” protested Eph.

“We entered most heartily into the spirit of the thing,” Jack hastened on to say, “and feel that we owe the deepest thanks to these young gentlemen of the Navy. Yet, if our desire to know more about the life—that is, the former life—of the Academy is to result in getting our entertainers into any trouble, we shall never cease regretting our unfortunate curiosity.”

For some moments the naval officer regarded the three submarine boys, solemnly, in turn. From them he turned to look over the cadet midshipmen. The latter looked as stolid, and stood as rigidly at attention, as ever.

“Under this presentation of the matter,” said the officer, after a long pause, “I am not prepared to say that there has been any violation of discipline. At least, no grave infraction. However, some of these young gentlemen are, I believe, absent from their quarters without leave. Mr. Merriam?”

“I have permission to be absent from my quarters between nine and ten, sir.”

“Mr. Caldwell?”

“Absent from quarters without permission, sir.”

So on down through the list the officer ran. Nine of the young men proved to have leave to be away from their quarters. The other seven did not have such permission. The names of these seven, therefore, were written down to be reported. The seven, too, were ordered at once back to their quarters.

Having issued his instructions, the naval officer turned and walked away. Jack and his comrades, too, left the scene.

Yet they had not gone far when they heard a low hail behind. Turning, they saw Cadet Midshipmen Merriam hastening toward them.

“Gentlemen,” he said, earnestly, as he reached them, “it may not be best for me to be seen lingering here to talk with you. But my comrades wanted me to come after you and to say that we think you bricks. You carried that off finely, Mr. Benson. None of us will ever forget it.”

“It wasn't much to do,” smiled Jack, pleasantly.

“It was quick-witted of you, and generous too, sir,” rejoined Mr. Merriam, finding it now very easy to employ the “sir.” “Probably you agree with us that no great crime was committed, anyway. But, just the same, hazing is under a heavy ban these days. If you hadn't saved the day as you did, sir, all of our cadet party might have been dismissed the Service. Those absent from quarters without leave will get only a few demerits apiece. We have that much to thank you for, sir, and we do. All our thanks, remember. Good night, sir.”

“My courage was down in my boots for a while,” confessed Hal Hastings, as the three chums continued their walk back to the Basin.

“When?” demanded Eph, grimly. “When your boots—and the rest of you—were so high up in the air over the blanket?”

“No; when the cadets were caught at it,” replied Hal.

“Say, Jack,” demanded Eph, “do you ever give much thought to the future life?”

“Meaning the life in the next world?” questioned Benson.

“Yes.”

“I sometimes give a good deal of thought to it,” Jack confessed.

“Then where do you expect to go, when the time comes?”

“Why?”

“After the whoppers you told that officer?”

“I didn't tell him even a single tiny fib,” protested Jack, indignantly.

“Oh, you George Washington!” choked Eph Somers.

“Well, I didn't,” insisted Jack. “Now, just stop and think. Weren't we all three discussing hazing?”

“Yes.”

“Then that part of what I told the officer was straight. Now, Eph, when we saw that first cadet come along, didn't I suggest to you to ask him about hazing?”

“Ye-es,” admitted Somers, thoughtfully.

“Then, didn't the cadet midshipmen offer to show us all about hazing pranks, and didn't they do it?”

“Well, rather,” muttered Eph.

“Now, young man, that's all I told the officer, except that we enjoyed our entertainment greatly.”

“Did we enjoy it, though?” demanded Eph Somers, bridling up.

“I did,” replied Jack, “and I spoke for myself. I enjoyed it as I would enjoy almost any new experience.”

“So did I,” added Hal, warmly. “It was rough—mighty rough—but now I know what an Annapolis hazing is like, and I'm glad I do.”

“Well, I want to tell you I didn't enjoy it,” blazed Eph. “It was a mighty cheeky—”

“Then why did you let the officer imagine you enjoyed it?” taunted Jack.

While Hal put in, slyly:

“Eph, you're too quick to talk about others fibbing. From the evidence just put in, it's evident that you're the only one of the three who fibbed any. Won't you please walk on the other side of the road? I never did like to travel with liars.”

“Oh, you go to Jericho!” flared Eph. But, as he walked along, he blinked a good deal, and did some hard thinking.

“I'll tell you,” broke out Jack, suddenly, “who thanks us even more than the cadets themselves do.”

“Who?” queried Hal.

“That officer who caught the crowd at it.”

“Do you think he cared?”

“Of course he did,” said Jack, positively. “He'd rather have gone hungry for a couple of days than have to report that bunch for hazing.”

“Then why was he so infernally stiff with the young men?”

“He had to be; that's the answer. That officer, like every other officer of the Navy detailed here, is sworn to do his full duty. So he has to enforce the regulations. But don't you suppose, fellows, that officer was hazed, and did some hazing on his own account, when he was a cadet midshipman here years ago? Of course! And that's why the officer didn't question us any more closely than he did. He was afraid he might stumble on something that would oblige him to report the whole crowd for hazing. He didn't want to do it. That officer, I'm certain, knew that, if he questioned us too closely, he'd find a lot more beneath the surface that he simply didn't want to dig up.”

“Would you have told the truth, if he had questioned you searchingly, and pinned you right down?” demanded Eph Somers.

“Of course I would,” Jack replied, soberly. “I'm no liar. But I feel deeply grateful to that officer for not being keener.”

Before nine o'clock the next morning news of the night's doings back of barracks had spread through the entire corps of cadet midshipmen.

With these young men of the Navy there was but one opinion of the submarine boys—that they were trumps, wholly of the right sort.

As a result, Jack, Hal and Eph had hundreds of new friends among those who will officer the Navy of the morrow.

Not so bad, even just as a stroke of business!

XIII. Ready For the Sea Cruise

For the next ten days things moved along without much excitement for the submarine boys.

During that time they had an average of four sections a day of cadet midshipmen to instruct in the workings of the Pollard type of submarine torpedo boat.

During the last few days short cruises were taken on the Severn River, in order that the middies might practise at running the motors and handling the craft. At such times one squad of midshipmen would be on duty in the engine room, another in the conning tower and on the platform deck.

Of course, when the midshipmen handled the “Farnum,” under command of a Navy officer, the submarine boys had but little more to do than to be on board. Certainly they were not overworked. Yet all three were doing fine work for their employers in making the Navy officers of the future like the Pollard type of craft.

After waiting a few days Jack Benson reported to the Annapolis police his experience with the mulatto “guide.” The police thought they recognized the fellow, from the description, and did their best to find him. The mulatto, however, seemed to have disappeared from that part of the country.

There came a Friday afternoon when, as the last detachment of middies filed over the side into the waiting cutter, Lieutenant Commander Mayhew announced:

“This, Mr. Benson, completes the instruction desired in the Basin and in the river. To-morrow and Sunday you will have for rest. On Monday, at 10 a.m., a section will report aboard for the first trip out to sea. Then you will show our young men how the boat dives, and how she is run under water. As none of our cadet midshipmen have ever been below in a submarine before, you will be sure of having eager students.”

“And perhaps some nervous ones,” smiled Skipper Jack.

“Possibly,” assented Mr. Mayhew. “I doubt it, though. Nervousness is not a marked trait of any young man who has been long enrolled at the Naval Academy.”

“Can we have a slight favor done us, Mr. Mayhew?” Jack asked.

“Any reasonable favor, of course.”

“Then, sir, we'd like to spend a little time ashore, as we've been confined so long aboard. If I lock up everything tight on the boat until Sunday night, may we know that the 'Farnum' will be under the protection of the marine guard?”

“I feel that there will not be the slightest difficulty in promising you that,” replied Mr. Mayhew. “I will telephone the proper authorities about it as soon as I go on shore.”

All hands on board were pleased over the prospect of going ashore, with the exception of Sam Truax.

“You don't need any guard on the boat,” he protested. “I don't want to go ashore. Leave me here and I'll be all the guard necessary.”

“We're all going ashore,” Jack replied.

“But I haven't any money to spend ashore,” objected Truax.

“I'll let you have ten dollars on account, then,” replied Jack, who was well supplied with money, thanks to a draft received from Jacob Farnum.

“I don't want to go ashore, anyway.”

“I'm sorry, Truax, but it doesn't really make any difference. The boat will be closed up tight, and there wouldn't be any place for you to stay, except on the platform deck.”

“You're not treating me fairly,” protested Sam Truax, indignantly.

“I'm sorry you think so. Still, if you're not satisfied, all I can do is to pay you off to date. Then you can go where you please.”

“I'm here by David Pollard's order. Do you forget that?”

“He sent you along to us, true,” admitted Jack, “but I have instructions from Mr. Farnum to dismiss anyone whose work on board I don't like. Now, Truax, you're a competent enough man in the engine room, and there's no sense in having to let you go. You're well paid, and can afford the time on shore. I wouldn't make any more fuss about this, but do as the rest of us are going to do.”

“Oh, I'll have to, then, since you're boss here,” grumbled Truax, sulkily.

“I don't want to make it felt too much that I am boss here,” Jack retorted, mildly. “At the same time, though, I'm held responsible, and so I suppose I'll have to have things done the way that seems best to me.”

Sam Truax turned to get his satchel. The instant his back was turned on the young commander Sam's face was a study in ugliness.

“Oh, I'll take this all out of you,” muttered the fellow to himself. “I don't believe, Jack Benson, you'll go on the cruising next week. If you do, you won't be much good, anyway!”

Ten minutes later a shore boat landed the entire party from the submarine craft.

“Going with the rest of us, Truax?” inquired Jack, pleasantly.

“No; I'm going to find a boarding-house. That will be cheaper than the hotel.”

So the other four kept straight on to the Maryland House, giving very little more thought to the sulky one.

It was not until after supper that Eph turned the talk back to Sam Truax.

“I don't like the fellow, at all,” declared young Somers. “He always wants to be left alone in the engine room, for one thing.”

“And I've made it my business, regular,” added Williamson, the machinist, “to see that he doesn't have his wish.”

“He's always sulky, and kicking about everything,” added Eph. “I may be wrong, but I can't get it out of my head that the fellow came aboard on purpose to be a trouble-maker.”

“Why, what object could he have in that?” asked Captain Jack.

“Blessed if I know,” replied Eph. “But that's the way I size the fellow up. Now, take that time you were knocked senseless, back in Dunhaven. Who could have done that? The more I think about Sam Truax, the more I suspect him as the fellow who stretched you out.”

“Again, what object could he have?” inquired Benson.

“Blessed if I know. What object could anyone have in such a trick against you? It was a state prison job, if the fellow had been caught at the time.”

“Well, there's one thing Truax was innocent of, anyway,” laughed Captain Jack. “He didn't have any hand in the way I was tricked and robbed by the mulatto.”

“Blamed if I'm so sure he didn't have a hand in that, too,” contended Eph Somers, stubbornly.

“Yet Mr. Pollard recommended him,” urged Jack.

“Yes, and a fine fellow Dave Pollard is—true as steel,” put in Hal Hastings, quietly. “Yet you know what a dreamer he is. Always has his head in the air and his thoughts among the stars. He'd as like as not take a fellow like Truax on the fellow's own say-so, and never think of looking him up.”

“Oh, we've no reason to think Truax isn't honest enough,” contended Jack Benson. “He's certainly a fine workman. As to his being sulky, you know well enough that's a common fault among men who spend their lives listening to the noise of great engines. A man who can't make himself heard over the noise of a big engine hasn't much encouragement to talk. Now, a man who can't find much chance to talk becomes sulky a good many times out of ten.”

“We'll have trouble with that fellow, Truax, yet,” muttered Eph.

“Oh, I hope not,” Jack answered, then added, significantly:

“If he does start any trouble he may find that he has been trifling with the wrong crowd!”

Very little more thought was given to the sulky one. The submarine boys and their companion, Williamson, enjoyed Saturday and Sunday ashore.

All of them might have felt disturbed, however, had they known of one thing that happened.

The naval machinists aboard the first submarine boat, the “Pollard,” now owned by the United States Government, found something slightly out of order with the “Pollard's” engine that they did not know exactly how to remedy.

Sam Truax, hanging around the Basin that Sunday forenoon, was called upon. He gladly responded to the call for help. For four hours he toiled along in the “Pollard's” engine room. Much of that time he spent there alone.

The job done, at last, Truax quietly received the thanks of the naval machinists and went ashore again.

Yet, as he turned and walked toward the main gate of the grounds, there was a smile on Sam Truax's face that was little short of diabolical.

“Now, if I can only get the same chance at the 'Farnum's' engines!” he muttered, to himself. “If I can, I think Mr. Jack Benson will find himself out of favor with his company, for his company will be out of favor with the Navy Department at Washington!”

XIV. The “Pollard” Goes Lame

“The submarine boats when out in the Bay will keep abreast of the 'Hudson,' two hundred yards off on either beam. The speed will be fourteen knots when the signal is given for full speed. The general course, after leaving the mouth of the Bay will be East.”

Such were the instructions called from the rail of the gunboat, through a megaphone, Monday forenoon.

On each of the submarine craft were sixteen cadet midshipmen, out for actual practice in handling a submarine in diving and in running under water. On board the gunboat were eighty more cadets. Thus a large class of the young men were to receive instruction during the cruise, for the detachments aboard the submarines could be changed at the pleasure of Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, who was in charge of the cruise.

Captain Jack, his own hands on the conning tower wheel, ran the “Farnum” out into the river, first of all. Then the “Pollard,” under command of a naval officer, followed. Both backed water, then waited for the “Hudson” to come out, for the gunboat was to lead the way until the Bay was reached. Then the formation ordered would be followed.

Though it was nearing the first of November, the day, near land, was ideally soft and balmy. As many of the midshipmen as could sought the platform deck of the “Farnum.” Those, however, who belonged to the engineer division were obliged to spend the greater part of their time below.

By the time that the three craft were in the ordered formation, abreast, and well started down Chesapeake Bay, the parent vessel signaled that the designated cadets were to take charge of the handling of the submarine boats.

Jack Benson cheerfully relinquished the wheel to Cadet Midshipman Merriam, and stepped out on to the platform deck. At need, as in case of accident or misunderstanding of signals or orders, Benson was still in command. While all ran smoothly, however, Mr. Merriam enjoyed command.

Hal, being likewise relieved in the engine room, came also out on deck.

“Where's Eph?” inquired the young commander of the “Farnum.”

“In the engine room,” smiled Hal. “He said I could leave, if I wanted, but that he'd be hanged if he'd let Truax out of his sight while I was away.”

“Eph seems to have Truax on the brain,” laughed Jack.

“Well, Truax is a queer and surly one,” Hal admitted. “This morning he gives one the impression of peeking over his shoulder all the time to see whether he's being watched.”

“So Eph means to humor him by watching him, eh?” asked Jack.

Hal laughed quietly.

Some of the cadets who were familiar with the landmarks of Chesapeake Bay pointed out many of the localities and sights to the two submarine boys.

At last, however, Eph was obliged to call for Hal.

“You know, Hal, old fellow, I've got to look out for the feeding of a lot of boarders to-day,” complained Eph, whimsically.

This task of Eph's took time, though it was not a hard one. The food for the cadets had been sent aboard. Eph had to make coffee and heat soup. For the rest, cold food had to do. The young men, on this trip, were required to wait on themselves.

Hal found Sam Truax sitting moodily in a corner of the engine room, though there was something about the fellow's appearance that suggested the watchfulness of a cat.

“Why don't you go on deck a while, Truax?” asked Hal, kindly.

“Don't want to,” snapped the fellow, irritably. So Hal turned his back on the man.

“Doesn't that part need loosening up a bit, sir?” asked the cadet in charge of the engineer division.

“Yes,” replied Hastings, after watching a moment; “it does.”

“I'll do it, then,” proposed Truax, roughly. He attempted to crowd his way past Hal, but the latter refused to be crowded, and stood his ground until the midshipman passed him a wrench. Then Hastings loosened up the part.

“You might let me do a little something,” growled Sam Truax, in a tone intentionally offensive.

“Don't forget, Truax, that I'm in command in this department,” retorted Hal, in a quieter tone than usual, though with a direct, steady look that made Sam Truax turn white with repressed wrath.

“You won't let me forget it, will you?” snarled the fellow.

“No; for I don't want you to forget it, and least of all on this cruise,” responded Hal Hastings.

“You don't give me any chance to—”

“Silence!” ordered Hal, taking a step toward him.

Sam Truax opened his mouth to make some retort, then wisely changed his mind, dropping back into his former seat.

The noon meal was served to all hands. By the time it was well over the mouth of the Bay was in sight, the broad Atlantic rolling in beyond.

The sea, when reached, proved to be almost smooth. It was ideal weather for such a cruise.

Then straight East, for an hour they went, getting well out of the path of coasting vessels.

“Hullo! What in blazes does that mean?” suddenly demanded Hal, pointing astern at starboard.

The “Pollard” lay tossing gently on the water, making no headway. Hardly ten seconds later the “Hudson” signaled a halt.

Then followed some rapid signaling between the gunboat and the submarine that had stopped. There was some break in the “Pollard's” machinery, but the cause had not yet been determined.

“Blazes!” muttered Jack, uneasily. “It couldn't have happened at a worse time. This looks bad for our firm, Hal!”

The “Farnum” now lay to, as did the “Hudson,” for the officer in command of the “Pollard” signaled that his machinists were making a rapid but thorough investigation of the unfortunate submarine's engines.

Finally, a cutter put off from the “Hudson,” with a cadet midshipman in charge. The small boat came over alongside, and the midshipman called up:

“The lieutenant commander's compliments, and will Mr. Benson detail Mr. Hastings to go over to the 'Pollard' and assist?”

“My compliments to the lieutenant commander,” Jack replied. “And be good enough to report to him, please, that Mr. Hastings and I will both go.”

“My orders, sir, are to convey you to the 'Pollard' before reporting back to the parent vessel,” replied the midshipman.

The cutter came alongside, taking off the two submarine boys, while Eph Somers devoted himself to watching Sam Truax as a bloodhound might have hung to a trail.

Arrived on board the good, old, familiar “Pollard,” Jack and Hal hurried below.

“The machinery is too hot to handle, now, sir,” reported one of the naval machinists, “but it looks as though something was wrong right in there”—pointing.

“Put one of the electric fans at work there, at once,” directed Hal. “Then things ought to be cool enough in half an hour, to make an examination possible.”

After seeing this done, the two submarine boys left for the platform deck, for the engine room was both hot and crowded.

“How long is it going to take you, Mr. Hastings?” asked the naval officer in command of the “Pollard.”

“Half an hour to get the parts cool enough to examine, but I can't say, sir, how long the examination and repairs will take.”

So the officer in command signaled what proved to be vague and unsatisfactory information to Lieutenant Commander Mayhew.

“This is a bad time to have this sort of thing happen,” observed the naval officer in charge.

“A mighty bad time, sir,” Jack murmured.

“And the engines of the 'Pollard' were supposed to be in first-class condition.”

“They were in A-1 condition, when the boat was turned over to the Navy,” Jack responded.

“Do you imagine, then, Mr. Benson, that some of the naval machinists have been careless or incompetent?”

“Why, that would be a wild guess to make, sir, when one remembers what high rank your naval machinists take in their work,” Jack Benson replied.

“And this boat was sold to the Navy with the strongest guarantee for the engines,” pursued the officer in charge.

Jack and Hal were both worried. The sudden break had a bad look for the Pollard boats, in the success of which these submarine boys were most vitally interested.

At last, from below, the suspected parts of the engine were reported to be cool enough for examination. The naval officer in charge followed Jack and Hal below.

Taking off his uniform blouse and rolling up his sleeves, Hal sailed in vigorously to locate the fault. Machinists and cadets stood about, passing him the tools he needed, and helping him when required.

At last, after disconnecting some parts, Hal drew out a long, slender brass piston.

As he held it up young Hastings's face went as white as chalk.

“Do you see this?” he demanded, hoarsely.

“Filed, crazily, and it also looks as though the inner end had been heated and tampered with,” gasped Jack Benson.

“This, sir,” complained Hal, turning around to face the naval officer in charge, “looks like a direct attempt to tamper with and damage the engine. Someone has done this deliberately, sir. It only remains to find the culprit.”

“Then we'll find out,” retorted the naval officer, “if it takes a court of inquiry and a court martial to do it. But are you sure of your charge, Mr. Hastings?”

“Am I sure?” repeated Hal, all the soul of the young engineer swelling to the surface. “Take this piston, sir, and examine it. Could such a job have been done, unless by sheer design and intent?”

“Will the lieutenant permit me to speak?” asked the senior machinist, taking a step forward and saluting.

“Yes; go ahead.”

“Yesterday morning, sir,” continued the senior machinist, “we thought the engines needed some overhauling by someone more accustomed to them than we were. We saw one of the machinists of the 'Farnum,' sir, hanging about on shore. So we invited him aboard and asked him to look the engines over.”

“Describe the man,” begged Jack.

The senior machinist gave a description that instantly denoted Sam Truax as the man in question.

“Did you leave him alone in here, at any time?” demanded Hal.

“Let me see. Why, yes, sir. The man must have been alone in here some three-quarters of an hour.”

Jack and Hal exchanged swift glances.

There seemed, now, very little need of carrying the investigation further.

XV. Another Turn At Hard Luck

When he could trust himself to speak Hal Hastings addressed the naval officer.

“I think Mr. Benson and myself understand, sir, how it happened that this damage was done. There are extra parts in the repair kit. In twenty minutes, sir, I think we can have the engines running smoothly once more.”

The naval officer was wise enough not to press the questioning further just then. Instead, he went on deck.

Working like beavers, and with the assistance of others standing about, Jack and Hal had the piston replaced and all the other parts in place within fifteen minutes. Then, once more, Hal turned on the gasoline, set the ignition, and watched.

The engine ran as smoothly as ever.

“There won't be any more trouble, unless someone is turned loose here with files and a blast lamp,” pronounced Hal. Then he and his chum sought the deck, to report to the officer in charge.

“You think we're in running order, now?” asked that officer.

“If you give the speed-ahead signal, sir, I think you'll feel as though you had a live engine under your deck,” Hal assured him.

The signal was given, the “Pollard” immediately responding. She cut a wide circle, at good speed, returning to her former position, where the propellers were stopped.

“You suspect your own machinist, who was aboard?” asked the naval officer, in a low tone, of the submarine boys.

“If you'll pardon our not answering directly, sir,” Captain Jack replied, “we want to have more than suspicions before we make a very energetic report on this strange accident. But we shall not be asleep, sir, in the matter of finding out. Then we shall make a full report to Mr. Mayhew.”

“Success to you—and vigilance!” muttered the naval officer.

The gunboat's cutter came alongside, transferring Jack and Hal back to the “Farnum.”

Hal went directly below to the engine room.

“You fixed the trouble with the 'Pollard'?” demanded Eph Somers, eagerly.

“Yes,” Hal admitted.

“What was wrong?”

“Why, I don't know as I'd want to commit myself in too offhand a way,” replied Hal, slowly, as though thinking.

“What appeared to be at the bottom of the trouble?”

“Why, it may have been that one of the naval machinists, not understanding our engines any too well, allowed one of the pistons to get overheated, and then resorted to filing,” Hal replied.

“What? Overheat a piston, and then try to correct it with a file?” cried young Somers, disgustedly. “The crazy blacksmith! He ought to be set to shoeing snails—that's all he's fit for.”

“It looks that way,” Hal assented, smiling.

Artful, clever Hal! He had carried it all off so coolly and naturally that Sam Truax, who had been closely studying Hastings's face from the background, was wholly deceived.

“This fellow, Hastings, isn't as smart as I had thought him,” muttered Truax, to himself.

The interrupted cruise now proceeded, the parent vessel signaling for a temporary speed of sixteen knots in order to make up for lost time.

Twenty minutes later came the signal from the “Hudson:”

“At the command, the submarines will dash ahead at full speed, each making its best time. During this trial, which will end at the firing of a gun from the parent vessel, all cadets will be on deck.”

Word was immediately passed below, and all the cadets of the engineer division came tumbling up.

To these, who had been in the engine room constantly for hours, the cool wind blowing across the deck was highly agreeable.

For the speed dash Captain Jack Benson had again taken command. He passed word below to Eph Somers to take the wheel in the conning tower.

Eph, therefore, came up with the last of the cadets from below. In the excitement of the pending race it had not been noticed by any of the submarine boys that Williamson was already on deck, aft. That left Sam Truax below in sole possession of the boat's engine quarters.

The gunboat now fell a little behind, leaving the two submarines some four hundred yards apart, but as nearly as possible on a line.

“Look at the crowd over on the 'Pollard's' decks,” muttered Hal. “They're all Navy folks over there.”

“And they mean to beat such plain 'dubs' as they must consider us,” laughed Captain Jack, in an undertone.

“Will they beat us, though?” grinned Hal Hastings. “You and I, Jack, happen to know that the 'Farnum' is a bit the faster boat by rights.”

Suddenly the signal broke out from the gunboat.

“Race her, Eph!” shouted Captain Jack.

“Aye, aye, sir!”

Eph Somers's right hand caught at the speed signals beside the wheel. He called for all speed, the bell jangling merrily in the engine room.

A little cheer of excitement went up from the cadets aboard the “Farnum” as that craft shot ahead over the waters. The cadets were catching the thrill of what was virtually a race. At the same time, though, these midshipmen could not help feeling a good deal of interest in the success of the “Pollard,” which was manned wholly by representatives of the Navy.

In the first three minutes the “Farnum” stole gradually, though slowly, ahead of the “Pollard.” Then, to the disgust of all three of the submarine boys, the other craft was seen to be gaining. Before long the “Pollard” had the lead, and looked likely to increase it. Already gleeful cheers were rising from the all-Navy crowd on the deck of the other submarine.

Behind the racers sped the “Hudson,” keeping just far enough behind to be able to observe everything without interfering with either torpedo craft.

From looking at the “Pollard” Captain Jack glanced down at the water. His own boat's bows seemed to be cutting the water at a fast gait. The young skipper, knowing what he knew about both boats, could not understand this losing to the other craft.

“The Navy men must know a few tricks with engines that we haven't guessed,” he observed, anxiously, to young Hastings.

“I don't know what it can be, then,” murmured Hal, uneasily. “There aren't so confusingly many parts to a six-cylinder gasoline motor. They aren't hard engines to run. More depends on the engine itself than on the engineer.”

“But look over there,” returned Captain Jack Benson. “You see the 'Pollard' taking the wind out of our teeth, don't you?”

“Yes,” Hal admitted, looking more puzzled.

“Do you think our engines are doing the top-notch of their best?” asked Benson.

“Yes; for Williamson is a crackerjack machinist. He knows our engines as well as any man alive could do.”

“Do you think it would do any good for you to go below, Hal?”

“I will, if you say so,” offered Hastings. “Yet there's another side to it.”

“What?”

“Williamson might get it into his head that I went below because I thought he was making a muddle of the speed. As a matter of fact, he knows every blessed thing I do about our motors, and Williamson is loyal to the core.”

“I know,” nodded Captain Jack. “I'd hate to hurt a fine fellow's feelings. Yet—confound it, I do want to win this burst of speed. It means, perhaps, the quick sale of this boat to the Navy. If we're beaten it means, to the Secretary of the Navy, that he already has our best boat, and he might not see the need of buying the 'Farnum' at all.”

“Give Williamson two or three minutes more,” begged Hal. “You might tell Eph, though, to repeat, and repeat, the signal for top speed. That'll show Williamson we're losing.”

Jack Benson walked to the conning tower, instructing Eph Somers in a low tone.

“I've signaled twice, since the first time,” Eph replied. “But here goes some more.”

“I wonder what's going wrong with our engines, then,” muttered Captain Jack, uneasily.

“It ain't in careless steering, anyway,” grumbled Eph. “I'm going as straight as a chalk line.”

“I noticed that,” Captain Jack admitted.

He continued to look worried, for, by this time, the “Pollard” was at least a good two hundred and fifty yards to the good in the lead.

“I'm afraid,” muttered Hal, rejoining Benson, “that I'll simply have to go below.”

“I'm afraid so,” nodded Jack. “We simply can't afford to lose this or any other race to the 'Pollard.'”

“Williamson knows that fully as well as we do, though,” Hal Hastings went on. “And Williamson—”

Of a sudden Hal stopped short. He half staggered, clutching at a rail, while his eyes stared and his lips twitched.

“Why—why—there's Williamson—aft on the deck!” muttered Hastings.

“What!”

Jack, too, wheeled like a flash. Back there in a crowd of cadets stood the machinist upon whom the submarine boys were depending for the best showing that the “Farnum” could make.

“Williamson up here!” gasped Hal. “And—”

“That fellow, Truax, all alone with the motors!” hissed Captain Jack. Then, after a second or two of startled silence:

“Come on, Hal!”

The naval cadets were too much absorbed in watching the race to have overheard anything. Williamson, too, standing at the rail, looking out over the water, had not yet discovered that Hal Hastings was up from the engine room.

Jack Benson stole below on tip-toe, though with the machinery running so much stealth was not necessary. Right behind him followed Hal.

As the two gained the doorway of the engine room Sam Truax had his back turned to them, and so did not note the sudden watchers.

There was a smile of malicious triumph on Truax's face as he turned a lever a little way over, thus decreasing the ignition power of the motors.

Both Jack and Hal could see that the gasoline flow had been turned on nearly to the full capacity. It was the poor ignition work that was making the motors respond so badly. A little less, and a little less, of the electric spark that burned the gasoline and air mixture—that was the secret of the gradually decreasing speed, while all the time it looked as though the “Farnum” was doing her level best to win the race.

Whistling, as he bent over, Sam Truax caught up a long, slender steel bar. With this he stepped forward, intent upon his next wicked step.

“Gracious! The scoundrel is going to run that bar in between the moving parts of the engine and bring about a break-down!” quivered Hal.

Sam Truax stood watching for his chance to thrust the steel bar in just where it would inflict the most damage. Then raising the bar quickly, he poised for the blow.

“Stop that, you infernal sneak!” roared Jack Benson, bounding into the engine room.

XVI. Braving Nothing But a Sneak

“You—here?” hissed Truax, wheeling about.

He had not had time to make the thrust with the steel bar.

Instead, as he wheeled, he raised it above his head, drawing back in an attitude of guard.

As he did so, a vile oath escaped Truax's lips.

“Put that bar down!” commanded Jack Benson, standing unflinchingly before the angry rascal.

“I'll put it down on your head, if you don't get out of here!” snarled the wretch.

“Put it down, and consider yourself off duty here, for good and all,” insisted Jack.

“Are you going to get out of here, or shall I brain you?” screamed Truax, his face working in the height of his passion.

“Neither,” retorted Captain Jack, coolly. “I command here, and you know it. Put that bar down, and leave the engine room.”

“Come and take the bar from me—if you dare!” taunted the fellow, a more wicked gleam flashing in his eyes.

“Hal!” called Jack, sharply.

“Aye!”

“Call two or three of the cadets down here. Don't make any noise about it.”

This order was called without Benson's turning his head. He still stood facing the sneak while Hal sped away.

“Now, I've got you alone!” gloated Truax. “I'll finish you!”

A scornful smile curled Jack's lips as he gazed steadily back at his foe.

“Truax, you're a coward, as well as a sneak.”

“I am—eh?”

With another nasty oath Truax stepped quickly forward, the steel bar upraised.

He took but one step, however, for Captain Jack Benson had not retreated an inch.

Nor did Jack have his hands up in an attitude of guard.

“Are you going to put that bar down, Truax?” the young skipper demanded, in a voice that betrayed not a tremor.

“No.”

“Then you'll have to make good in a moment, for we're going to attack you.”

“Bah! I can stave in two or three heads before any number of you could stop me,” sneered the fellow, in an ugly voice.

“You could, but you won't dare.”

“I won't?”

“Not you!”

At that instant rapid steps were heard. Hal Hastings returned with three of the midshipmen, behind them Williamson trying to crowd his way into the scene.

“Just tell us what you want, Mr. Benson,” proposed Cadet Merriam, amiably.

“This fellow has been 'doping' our engines,” announced Captain Jack. “And now he's threatening to stand us off. We'll close in on him from both sides. If he tries to use that steel bar on any of us—”

“If he does, he'll curse his unlucky star,” declared Midshipman Merriam. “Come on, gentlemen. We'll show him some of the Navy football tactics!”

The three midshipmen approached Truax steadily from the right. Jack, Hal and Williamson stepped in on the left.

With a yell like that of a maniac Sam Truax swung the bar.

Having to watch both sides at once, however, he made a fizzle of it. The bar came down, but struck the floor.

Then, with a yell, the midshipmen leaped in on one side, Jack leading the submarine forces on the other. Mr. Merriam's trip and Jack's smashing blow with the fist brought Truax down to the floor in a heap.

“Now, cart this human rubbish out of here!” ordered Jack Benson, sternly. “Don't hit him—he isn't man enough to be worthy of a blow!”

Swooping down upon the prostrate one, Hal and the midshipmen seized Sam Truax by his arms and legs, carrying him bodily out of the engine room.

“Williamson,” commanded Captain Jack, “stop the speed.”

“In the race, sir. We—”

“Stop the speed,” repeated Benson.

“You're the captain,” admitted Williamson. Grasping the twin levers of the two motors he swung them backward.

“Disregard any signal to go ahead until we've had a chance to inspect the motors,” added Captain Jack.

Then the submarine skipper darted out into the cabin.

Sam Truax lay sprawling on the floor. Midshipman Merriam, a most cheerful smile on his face, sat across the fellow, while Hal and the other two midshipmen stood by, looking on.

“Hold him please, until I can have the wretch taken care of,” requested Captain Jack, making for the spiral stairway to the conning tower.

Just as the young skipper stepped out on deck he heard the “Hudson's” bow-gun break out sharply in the halting signal.

Taking a megaphone, Benson stood at the rail until the gunboat ranged up alongside.

“Have you broken down?” came the hail from the gunboat's bridge.

“I thought it best to stop speed, sir. We'll have to look over our engines before it will be safe to attempt any more speed work,” Captain Jack answered. “I've caught a fellow tampering with our machinery. We hold him a prisoner, now. Can you take him off our hands, sir?”

“One of your own men?” came back the question.

“Of course, sir.”

“We'll send a marine guard to take him, on your complaint, Mr. Benson.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The gunboat's engines slowed down. Ere long her port side gangway was lowered. Jack saw not only two marines and a corporal come down over the side, but Lieutenant Commander Mayhew appeared in person. That officer came over in the cutter.

“You've had treachery aboard, have you?” asked the lieutenant commander, as he climbed up over the side.

“Rather. A new machinist, taken aboard just before we sailed from Dunhaven. The same fellow who must have played the trick on the 'Pollard's' engines yesterday,” Benson replied.

“I'll be glad to have a fellow like that in irons in the brig aboard the 'Hudson,' then,” muttered Mr. Mayhew. “I couldn't understand, Mr. Benson, how you were doing so badly in the full speed ahead dash.”

“The prisoner below is the answer, sir,” Captain Jack replied. He then led the corporal and two marines below. The corporal produced a pair of handcuffs, which he promptly snapped over Truax's wrists.

“You'll be sorry for this, one of these days,” threatened Truax, with a snarl that showed his teeth.

“Some day, then, if you please, when I have more leisure than I have now,” Jack retorted, dryly. “This man is all yours, corporal.”

Truax was foolish enough to try to hang back on his conductors. A slight jab through the clothing from one of the marines' bayonets caused the prisoner to stop that trick. He was taken on deck and over the side.

“Coxswain, return for me after you've taken the prisoner to the 'Hudson,'” directed Mr. Mayhew. “Now, Mr. Benson, I would like to see what has been done to your engines.”

“That's just what I want to know, too,” responded Jack.

They found Hal and Williamson hard at work, inspecting the motors.

“The ignition power was lowered, and that may have been the most that the fellow did,” said Hal. “Yet, at the same time, before putting these engines to any severe test, I believe they ought to be cooled and looked over.”

Lieutenant Commander Mayhew frowned.

“These delays eat up our practice cruise time a whole lot,” he grumbled.

“I'll put the engines through their paces, and chance mischief having been done to them, if you wish, sir.”

“No; that won't do either, Mr. Hastings,” replied the naval officer. “This craft is private property, and I have no right to give orders that may damage private property. I'll hold the fleet until you've had time to inspect your engines properly. By that time, however, we'll have to put back to the coast for the night, for our practice time will be gone.”

“In the days to follow, sir,” put in Benson, earnestly, “I think we can more than make up for this delay. We won't have the traitor aboard after this.”

“What earthly object can the fellow have had for wanting to damage your motors?” demanded the naval officer, looking hopelessly puzzled.

“I can't even make a sane guess, sir,” Jack Benson admitted.

An hour and a half later the “Hudson” and the two submarines headed back for a safe little bay on the coast. Here the three craft anchored for the night.

XVII. The Evil Genius of the Water Front

It was nearly eight in the evening when the three craft were snug at anchor.

The bay was a small one, hardly worthy of the name. The only inhabited part of the shore thereabouts consisted of the fishing village known as Blair's Cove, a settlement containing some forty houses.

Hardly had all been made snug aboard the “Farnum” when Jack, standing on the platform deck after the cadets had been transferred to the “Hudson” for the night, saw a small boat heading out from shore.

“Is that one of the new submarine crafts?” hailed a voice from the bow of the boat.

“Yes, sir,” Jack answered, courteously.

No more was said until the boat had come up alongside.

“I thought maybe you'd be willing to let me have a look over a craft of this sort,” said the man in the bow. He appeared to be about forty years of age, dark-haired and with a full, black beard. The man was plainly though not roughly dressed; evidently he was a man of some education.

“Why, I'm mighty sorry, sir,” Captain Jack Benson replied. “But I'm afraid it will be impossible to allow any strangers on board during this cruise.”

“Oh, I won't steal anything from your craft,” answered the stranger, laughingly. “I won't be inquisitive, either, or go poking into forbidden corners. Who's your captain?”

“I am, sir.”

“Then you'll let me come aboard, just for a look, won't you?” pleaded the stranger.

Such curiosity was natural. The man seemed like a decent fellow. But Jack shook his head.

“I'm sorry, sir, but I'm positive our owners wouldn't approve of our allowing any strangers to come on board.”

“Had any trouble, so far, with strangers?” asked the man.

“I didn't say that,” Jack replied, evasively. “But the construction of a submarine torpedo boat is a secret. It is a general rule with our owners that strangers shan't be allowed on board, unless they're very especially vouched for. Now, I hate to appear disobliging; yet, if you've ever been employed by anyone else, you will appreciate the need of obeying an owner's orders.”

“You're under the orders of the boss of that gunboat?” asked the stranger, pointing to the “Hudson.”

“On this cruise, yes, sir,” Jack nodded.

“Maybe, if I saw the fellow in command of the gunboat, then he'd give me an order allowing me to come on board.”

“I'm very certain the lieutenant commander wouldn't do anything of the sort,” Benson responded.

The stranger gave a comical sigh.

“Then I'm afraid I don't see a submarine boat to-night—that is, any more than I can see of it now.”

“That's about the way it looks to me, also,” Jack answered, smiling. “Yet, believe me, I hate awfully to seem discourteous about it.”

“Oh, all right,” muttered the stranger, nodding to the two boatmen, who had rowed him out alongside.

“Good!” grunted Eph. “I'm glad you didn't let him on board, Captain. On this cruise our luck doesn't seem to run with strangers.”

“It doesn't, for a fact,” laughed Jack Benson.

“Hi, ho—ah, hum!” yawned young Somers, stretching. “It will be mine for early bunk to-night, I reckon.”

At this moment a boat was observed rounding the stern of the “Hudson.” It came up alongside, landing a marine sentry.

“Anybody on the 'Farnum' want to go ashore to-night?” hailed a voice from the gunboat's rail. “The shore boat will be ready in five minutes.”

“I believe I would like to take just a run through the village,” declared Jack, turning to his chum. “Do you feel like a land-cruise with me, Hal?”

“I think I'd better go,” laughed Hastings. “You seem to get into trouble when you go alone.”

“All right, then. And, Eph since you're so sleepy, you can turn in as soon as you want. The boat will be under sufficient protection,” Jack added, nodding toward the marine slowly pacing the platform deck.

Williamson was called too, but declared that he felt like turning in early. So, when the shore boat came, it had but two passengers to take from the submarine. There were a few shore-leave men, however, from the gunboat.

“This boat will return to the fleet, gentlemen, every hour up to midnight,” stated the petty officer in charge, as Jack and Hal stepped ashore at a rickety little wharf.

“Judging from what we can see of the town from here, we'll be ready to go back long before midnight,” Jack Benson laughingly told his companion.

“All I want is to shake some of the sea-roll out of my gait,” nodded Hastings. “It surely doesn't seem to be much of a town.”

By way of public buildings there turned out to be a church, locked and dark, a general store and also a drug-store that contained the local post-office. But the drug-store carried no ice cream or soda, so the submarine boys turned away.

There was one other “public” place that the boys failed to discover at once. That was a low groggery at the further end of the town. Here two of the sailors who had come on shore leave turned in for a drink or two. They found a suave, black-bearded man quite ready to buy liquor for Uncle Sam's tars.

Three-quarters of an hour later Jack and Hal felt they had seen about as much of the town as they cared for, when a hailing voice stopped them.

“Finding it pretty dull, gentlemen?”

“Oh, good evening,” replied Captain Jack, recognizing the bearded man whom he had refused admittance to the “Farnum.”

“Pretty stupid town, isn't it, Captain?” asked the stranger, holding out his hand, which Jack Benson took.

“As lively as we thought it would be,” Hal rejoined. “We just came ashore to stretch ourselves a bit. Thought we might lay a course to an ice-cream soda, too, but failed.”

“These fishermen don't have such things,” smiled the stranger. “They are content with the bare necessities of life, with a little grog and tobacco added. Speaking of grog, would you care to try the best this town has, gentlemen?”

“Thank you,” Jack answered, politely. “We've never either of us tasted the stuff, and we don't care to begin.”

“Drop into the drug-store and have a cigar, then?”

“We don't smoke, either, thank you,” came from Hal.

“You young men are rather hard to entertain in a place like this,” sighed the stranger, but his eyes twinkled.

“We are just as grateful for the intention,” Jack assured him.

“Tell you what I can do, gentlemen,” proposed the stranger, suddenly. “I might invite you down to my shack for a little while, and show you my books and some models of yachts and ships that I've been collecting. I'm quite proud of my collection in that line. Won't you come?”

Anything in the line of yacht or ship-models interested both of these sea-loving boys from the shipyard at Dunhaven. Jack graciously accepted the invitation for them both.

“And, though I have no soda fountain,” continued the bearded one, “I can offer you some soft drinks. I always keep some about the place.”

“How do you come to be living in a place like this, if I'm not too inquisitive?” queried Benson, as the three strolled down the street.

“Doctor's orders,” replied the bearded one. “So I've rented the best old shack I could get here, down by the water. I spend a good deal of my time sailing a sloop that I have. Curtis is my name.”

Jack and Hal introduced themselves in turn.

Curtis's shack proved to be well away from the village proper, and down near the waterfront. A light shone from a window near the front door as the three approached the small dwelling.

“I think I can interest you for an hour, gentlemen,” declared the bearded one, as he slipped a key in the lock of the door.

He admitted them to a little room off the hallway, a room that contained not much beyond a table and four chairs, a side-table and some of the accessories of the smoker.

“Just take a seat here,” proposed Curtis, “while I get some sarsaparilla for you. I'll be right back in a moment.”

It was four or five minutes before Curtis came back, bearing a tray on which were three tall glasses, each containing a brownish liquid.

“The stuff isn't iced, yet it's fairly cold,” the bearded one explained. “Well, gentlemen, here's to a pleasant evening!”

Hal, who was thirsty, took a long swallow of the sarsaparilla, finding the flavor excellent. Jack drank more slowly, though he enjoyed the beverage.

“If you don't mind,” suggested Curtis, “I will light a cigar. And say, by the way, gentlemen, what if we take a little walk down to my beach? Before showing you the models I spoke of, I'd like to have your opinion of the lines of my sloop.”

“We'll go down and take a look with great pleasure,” Jack Benson agreed, rising. “And I'm glad, sir, that you're able to show us more courtesy than we were able to offer you to-night.”

“Oh, that was all right,” declared their host, smiling good-humoredly. “Rules are rules, and you have your owners to please. No hard feelings on that score, I assure you.”

Curtis led the way through a dark yard down to a pier. Moored there lay a handsome white sloop, some forty-two feet in length—a boat of a good and seaworthy knockabout type.

“This is a sloop, all right,” Jack agreed, cordially. “Rather different from the lumbering fishing craft hereabouts.”

“Oh, hah, yum!” yawned Hal, at which Curtis shot a quick glance at him.

“Come on board,” invited Curtis, stepping down to the deck of the craft. “Let me show you what a comfortable cruising cabin I have.”

“Hi, oh, yow!” yawned Hal, again. “Jack, I think I shall enjoy my rest to-night.”

“Same case here,” agreed Benson, stifling a yawn that came as though in answer to Hal's.

“I won't keep you long, gentlemen, if I am boring you,” agreed their host, amiably. “Now, I'll go below first and light up. So! Now, come down and take a look. Do you find many yacht cabins more comfortable than this one?”

It was, indeed, a cozy place. Up forward stood a miniature sideboard, complete in every respect with glass and silver. In the center of the cabin was a folding table. There were locker seats and inviting looking cushions. The trim was largely of mahogany. On either side was a broad, comfortable-looking berth.

“Just get into that berth and try it, Mr. Hastings,” urged the bearded one.

“I—I'm afraid to,” confessed Hal, stifling another yawn.

“Afraid?”

“Very sure thing!”

“Why?”

“I'm—hah—ho—hum!” yawned Hal Hastings. “I'm afraid I'd—yow!—abuse your hospitality by going to sleep.”

Jack Benson leaned against the edge of the opposite berth, feeling unaccountably drowsy.

“Oh, nonsense,” laughed Curtis. “Just pile into that berth for a moment, Hastings, and see what a soft, restful place it is. I'll agree to pull you out, if necessary.”

Not realizing much, in his approaching stupor, Hal Hastings allowed himself to be coaxed to stretch himself at full length in the downy berth.

Almost immediately he closed his eyes, drifting off into stupor.

“Why, your friend is drowsy, isn't he?” laughed the bearded one, turning to the submarine skipper.

Jack Benson's own eyelids were suspiciously close together.

“Why—what—ails you?”

Curtis spoke in a low, droning, far-away voice that caused Jack Benson's upper eyelids to sink. Curtis stood watching him, in malicious glee, for some moments. Then, at last, he took hold of the young skipper.

“Come, old fellow,” coaxed the bearded one, “you'll do best to join your friend in a good nap. Get up in the berth.”

“Lemme alone,” protested the boy, thickly, feeling that he was being lifted. Jack struggled, partly rousing himself.

“Come, get up into the berth. You'll be more comfortable there.”

“Lemme alone. What are you trying to do?” demanded Jack, swinging an arm.

Curtis dodged the light blow, then gripped Jack Benson resolutely.

“Now, see here, young man,” hissed the bearded one, “I'm not going to have any more nonsense out of you. Up into the berth you go! Do you want me to hit you?”

Another man thrust his head down the cabin hatchway, showing an evil, grinning face.

“Got 'em right?” demanded the one from the hatchway.

“Yes,” snapped the bearded one, then turned to give his attention to Jack Benson, who was putting up an ineffectual fight while Hal slumbered on. “Now, see here, Benson, quit all your fooling!”

“You lemme up,” insisted the submarine boy, in a low, dull voice, though he swung both his arms in an effort to assert himself. “'M not goin' t' stay here. Lemme up, I say! 'M goin' back to—own boat.”

“The submarine?” jeered the bearded man.

“Yep.”

“Guess again, son,” laughed Curtis, jeeringly. “You're not going back aboard the submarine to-night.”

“Am so,” declared Benson, obstinately, though his tone was growing more drowsy every instant, and his busy hands moved almost as weakly as an infant's.

“Listen, if you've got enough of your senses left,” growled the bearded men. “You're not going back to the 'Farnum'—neither to-night, nor at any other time during the next few months. You're bound on a long cruise, but not on a submarine boat. I am the captain here, and I'll name the cruise!”

XVIII. Held Up By Marines

It was barely a minute afterward that Jack Benson lapsed into a very distinct snore.

“No more trouble from this pair,” laughed the bearded one to his companion at the hatchway. “Now, I'll douse the cabin light, and then we'll cast off. This thing has moved along very slickly.”

Eph, after having made up his mind to turn in early, had found his sleepy fit passing. He read for a while in the cabin, then pulled on a reefer and went up on deck. Williamson was already in a berth, sound asleep.

“It would be a fine night if there was a moon,” Eph remarked to the marine sentry on deck.

“Yes, sir.”

The marine—“soldier, and sailor, too”—not being there for conversational purposes, continued his slow pacing, his rifle resting over his right shoulder.

As Eph strolled about in the limited space of the platform deck he heard a distant creaking. It was a sound that he well knew—the hoisting of sail.

“I wonder if the local fishermen start out at this time of the night?” Eph Somers remarked, musingly, to the sentry.

“It may be so, sir; I don't know,” replied the marine.

Presently Eph made out the lines and the spread of canvas of a handsome knockabout sloop standing on out of the harbor.

The course being narrow, the sloop was obliged to sail rather close to the fleet.

“That's no fisherman!” muttered Somers, watching, his hands thrust deep in his pockets.

Presently the sloop's hull was lost to Eph's sight beyond the gunboat. Then the boy heard a voice from the “Hudson's” deck roar out:

“Look alive, you lubber! Do you want to foul our anchor chain?”

“No, sir,” came from the sloop's deck. “We'll clear you all right.”

“See that you do, then!”

Then the sloop's hull came into view again, as the craft headed out toward the open water beyond.

“That's the kind of a craft Jack would give a heap to be on,” thought Eph. “Queer that he should spend all his time on gasoline peanut-roasters when he's so fond of whistling for a breeze behind canvas.”

As the sloop neared the mouth of the little bay, and her lines became rather indistinct in the darkness, Eph Somers turned to resume his pacing of the deck.

“Hullo,” muttered the submarine boy, two or three minutes later. “Here's the shore boat coming on its regular trip. I wonder if Jack and Hal are in it? It's about time for them to be coming on board.”

But the shore boat, instead of coming out to the submarine, lay in at the side gangway of the gunboat opposite, and Eph discovered that his two comrades were not in the boat.

“I say,” hailed Eph, “have you seen Mr. Benson and Mr. Hastings on shore!”

“No, sir,” replied the petty officer in charge.

Then one of the sailors in the boat spoke in an undertone.

“This man says, sir,” continued the petty officer, “that he saw your friends, sir, going aboard a white knockabout sloop.”

“He did, eh?” demanded the astonished Eph. “How long ago was that?”

“Only a few minutes ago, sir,” replied the sailor.

“You're sure you saw Mr. Benson and Mr. Hastings?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That's queer,” reflected Eph. “It wouldn't be like them to go sailing at this time of the night, and without notifying me, either. But, then, I didn't see anything of 'em aboard that sloop, either.”

Eph was silent for a few moments, thinking. Then, suddenly, he leaped up in the air, coming down flat-footed.

“Crackey!” ejaculated Eph Somers.

For a moment or two his face was a study in bewilderment.

“Mighty strange things have been happening all through this cruise,” Eph muttered, half-aloud. “Especially happening to Jack! Now, the two of them go aboard that sloop, and immediately after the boat puts out to sea in the dead of night. What if Jack and Hal have been shanghaied on that infernal sloop?”

Cold chills began to chase each other up and down the spine of Eph Somers. He was not, ordinarily, an imaginative youth, but just now the gruesome thought that had entered his mind persisted there.

He began to pace the platform deck in deep agitation.

“Anything wrong, sir?” questioned the marine sentry, halting and throwing his rifle over to port arms.

“That's just what I'd give a million dollars and ten cents to know!” exploded Eph.

“Gunboat, ahoy!” he shouted, some twenty seconds later.

“'Farnum,' ahoy!”

“I half believe, sir,” Eph rattled on, “that my two comrades, Mr. Benson and Mr. Hastings have been tricked, in some way, and carried out to sea on that knockabout. They'd have been back from shore by this time, if nothing had happened.”

“What do you want to do, Mr. Somers?”

“Want to do, sir?” retorted Eph. “I know what I'm going to do. I'm going to slip moorings and chase after that knockabout. What I wish to know from you, sir, is whether you'll send another marine or two on board, so that I can back up my demand to find my friends?”

“I'll have to ask the lieutenant commander about that, Mr. Somers.”

“Can you do it, now, sir?” asked Eph, energetically.

“Instantly. I'll let you know the decision as soon as it's made.”

Eph, hanging at the rail in the silence that followed, had no notion of whether his request had been a correct one. All he knew was that his suspicions had surged to the surface, and were threatening to boil over. It was a huge relief to the boy when Mr. Mayhew's voice sounded from the rail of the gunboat. Somers swiftly answered all questions.

“Your craft and crew are in a measure under our protection and orders,” decided Mr. Mayhew. “I think we may properly extend you some help. I will send some men to you, and a cadet midshipman who will have my instructions.”

“Will you send them quickly, sir?” begged Eph.

“I'll have men on board of you by the time that your engines are running,” promised the lieutenant commander.

“Engines?” That word came as a fortunate reminder to the submarine boy. He darted below, almost yanking Williamson from his berth, nearly pulling the machinist into his clothes. By the time that Williamson was really wide awake he found himself standing by the motors forward.

Then young Somers darted onto deck again, just in time to see the boat coming alongside. It brought two more marines, one of them a corporal. There were also two sailors. A cadet midshipman commanded them.

“Mr. Somers,” reported the cadet midshipman, “I am not intended to displace you from the command of this boat. I am here only with definite instructions in case you succeed in overhauling that white sloop.”

“What—” began Eph. Then he paused, with a half-grin. “Really,” he added, “I ought to know better than to quiz you about your instructions from your superior officer.”

“Yes, sir,” assented the midshipman, simply.

Eph turned on the current to the search-light, swinging the ray about the bay. Then, too impatient to sit in the conning tower, the submarine boy took his place by the deck wheel.

“Will your seamen cast loose from the moorings?” Somers asked.

“Yes, sir,” replied the midshipman.

“If there's anything wrong, good luck to you,” sounded the cool voice of Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, from the gunboat's rail.

“Thank you, sir.”

No sooner had the moorings been cast loose from than Eph sounded the slow speed ahead bell. Within sixty seconds the propellers of the “Farnum” were doing a ten-knot stunt, which was soon increased to fourteen.

One of the seamen now stood by to swing the searchlight under Eph's orders.

By the time that the submarine reached the mouth of the bay the light faintly picked up a spread of white sail, off to the East.

“That's the knockabout,” cried Eph, excitedly. “Now, see here, keep that ray right across the boat as soon as we get half a mile nearer.”

“It'll show the boat that you're chasing 'em, sir,” advised the midshipman.

“I know it,” admitted Eph. “But it will also keep the rascals from dumping my friends overboard without our catching 'em at it.”

“What do you think the men in charge of that boat are, sir—pirates?”

“They're mighty close to it, if they've shanghaied Mr. Benson and Mr. Hastings and put to sea with 'em,” rejoined Eph. Then he rang for more speed. Down below, Williamson almost instantly responded. The “Farnum” now fairly leaped through the water.

“Turn the light on the knockabout, now, and keep it there,” directed the submarine boy.

There was a seven-knot breeze blowing. At the speed at which the submarine boat was traveling the distance was soon covered.

And now the searchlight revealed two men in the standing-room of the sloop, one of whom, a bearded man, was looking backward over his wake much of the time.

“Can one of the marines fire a shot to stop those fellows?” asked Eph Somers.

“In the air, do you mean, sir?” asked the midshipman. “Certainly.”

“Then I wish he'd do it.”

Bang! The discharge of the rifle sounded sharply on the night air.

“It ain't stopping 'em any,” muttered Eph, after a few seconds had gone by.

“Nothing would, unless fired into them,” volunteered Midshipman Terrell.

It did not take long, however, to run the submarine up alongside of the sloop, at a distance of about one hundred yards.

“Now, we want you men to stop,” called Midshipman Terrell, between his hands. “We are United States naval forces, from the gunboat, and you will regard this as an order that you must obey. No!” thundered the midshipman, suddenly, as the bearded one started to step down into the cabin. “You will both keep on deck. Otherwise we shall be obliged to fire into you. We mean business, remember!”

“What do you want to board us for?” demanded Curtis, pausing.

“We will explain when we come aboard.”

“How are you coming, aboard? You've no small boat.”

“We can land this submarine right up beside you,” responded the midshipman, “if you keep straight to your present course.”

“And scrape all the paint off our side,” objected Curtis.

“That has no bearing on my instructions, sir. I direct you to keep straight to your present course. We will come up alongside.”

“What if we don't do it?” demanded Curtis, with sudden bluster.

“Then your danger will be divided between being shot where you stand and having your craft cut in two by the bow of our craft,” retorted Mr. Terrell. “You will realize, I think, that there can be no parleying with our orders.”

The bearded one swore, but the corporal and his two marines stood at the rail with their rifles ready, waiting only the midshipman's order to aim and fire.

Eph allowed the “Farnum” to fall back a little way. Then he exerted himself to show his best in seamanship as he ran the submarine up to board the sloop by the starboard quarter. The two boats barely touched. Mr. Terrell, his three marines and two seamen leaped to the standing room of the yacht. Eph, all aquiver, let the nose of the “Farnum” fall back slightly. Then he trailed along, under bare headway.

Then a shout came from the sloop, as the two seamen reappeared, bearing the forms of Jack and Hal.

“We've found them aboard, Mr. Somers,” shouted Terrell. “Drugged, I think, sir. Will you come alongside, sir.”

Eph quickly rang the signal, then did some careful manœuvring. As he touched, one of the marines leaped back to the platform deck, then passed a line to Mr. Terrell. The two craft were held together until Jack and Hal had been passed, still unconscious, over the side. The naval party quickly followed, then cast loose from the sloop.

“This whole proceeding is high-handed,” growled Curtis, as soon as he saw that he was not to be molested.

“Oh, you shut up, and keep your tongue padlocked,” retorted Midshipman Terrell, in high disgust. “You're lucky as it is. Now, Mr. Somers, are you going back to the bay, sir?”

“Aren't you going to take those two—body-snatchers?” demanded Eph, glaring venomously at the pair on the sloop.

“My instructions don't cover that, sir,” replied the cadet midshipman.

“Then hang your orders!” muttered young Somers, but he kept the words behind his teeth. Eph veered off, next headed about, while the two seamen bore Jack and Hal below to their berths.

“Will you take the wheel, Mr. Terrell?” asked Eph, edging away, with one hand on the spokes.

“Yes, sir.”

Eph hurried below to the port stateroom. Jack lay in the lower berth, Hal in the upper. The two seamen, after feeling for pulse, stood by looking at the unconscious submarine boys.

“What's been done to them?” demanded Eph.

“The same old knockout drops, sir, that sailors in all parts of the world know so well, sir, I think,” answered one of the men, with a quiet grin.

“Humph!” gritted Eph, bending over Jack's face. “Smell his breath.”

“Yes, sir,” said the sailor, obeying.

“There's no smell of liquor, there, is there?”

“No, sir,” admitted the sailor, looking up, rather puzzled.

“There is some infernally mean trick in all this,” growled Eph. “I am mighty sorry we didn't bring those rascals back with us.”

When he went on deck again the submarine boy relieved Mr. Terrell at the wheel, completing the run in to moorings.

“Did you find your comrades aboard the sloop, Mr. Somers?” hailed the lieutenant commander, from the gunboat.

“Yes, sir.”

“Are they all right?”

“Drugged, sir.”

“Hm! Mr. Terrell and his detachment will return to this vessel.”

The boat took them away. It was five minutes later when the boat returned, bringing the lieutenant commander, Doctor McCrea, the surgeon, and a sailor belonging to the hospital detachment aboard the “Hudson.” Eph conducted them below.

“Drugged,” announced the medical officer, after a brief examination.

“Humph!” uttered Mr. Mayhew. “That sort of trick isn't played on folks in any decent resort on shore. I don't understand Mr. Benson's conduct. I remember his mishap at Dunhaven. I remember the plight he got into at Annapolis; and now he and Mr. Hastings are found in this questionable shape. I am very much afraid these young men do not conduct themselves, on shore, in the careful manner that must be expected of civilian instructors to cadets.”

Eph Somers felt something boiling up inside of him.

XIX. The Lieutenant Commander's Verdict

“Let me try to get at your meaning, sir, if you please,” begged Somers, after standing for a few seconds with clenched fists. “Do you mean that my friends have been going into tough resorts on shore?”

“Where else do sailors usually get drugged?” inquired Mr. Mayhew. “What kind of people usually feed sea-faring men with what are generally known as knock-out drops?”

“How should I know?” demanded Eph, solemnly.

“You see your friends, and you see their condition.”

“Smell their breaths, sir. There isn't a trace of the odor of liquor.”

The surgeon did so, confirming Eph's claim.

“But I remember that Mr. Benson came aboard, at Dunhaven, with a very strong odor of liquor,” continued the lieutenant commander.

“That had been sprinkled on his clothes, sir,” argued Somers.

“Perhaps. But then there was the Annapolis affair.”

“Mr. Benson explained that to you, sir.”

“It's very strange,” returned the lieutenant commander, “that such things seem to happen generally to Mr. Benson when he gets on shore. I know I have been ashore, in all parts of the world, without having such things happen to me.”

“There is something behind this, sir, that doesn't spell bad conduct on the part of either of my friends,” cried Eph, hotly. “There's some plot, some trick in the whole thing that we don't understand. And we might understand much more about it, sir, if your midshipman had arrested that pair of blackguards on the sloop, and brought them back with us.”

“Had Mr. Benson and Mr. Hastings been members of the naval forces we could have done that,” replied Mr. Mayhew. “Probably you don't understand, Mr. Somers, how very careful the Navy has to be about making arrests in times of peace, when the civil authorities are all-supreme. We carried our right as far as it could possibly be stretched when we boarded and searched that sloop for you.”

“I don't care so much about that,” contended Eph, warmly. “But it does jar on me, sir, to have you take such a view of my friends. You don't know them; you don't understand them as Mr. Farnum and Mr. Pollard do.”

“Perhaps you wouldn't blame me as much for my opinions,” replied Mr. Mayhew, “if you could look at the matter from my viewpoint, Mr. Somers. I am in charge of this cruise, which is one of instruction to naval cadets, and I am in a very large measure responsible for the conduct and good behavior of young men who have been selected as instructors to the cadets. If you were in my place, Mr. Somers, would you be patient over young men who, when they get ashore, get into one unseemly scrape after another? Or would you wonder, as I do, whether it will not be best for me to end this practice cruise and sail back to Annapolis, there to make my report in the matter?”

“For heaven's sake don't do that,” begged Eph Somers, hoarsely. “At least, not until you have talked with Mr. Benson and Mr. Hastings. You'll wait until morning, sir?”

“I'm afraid I shall have to, if I want to talk with your friends,” replied the lieutenant commander, smiling coldly. “And now, Mr. Somers, you and I had better leave here. The doctor and his nurse will want the room cleared in order to look after their patients. I hope your friends will be all right in the morning,” added the naval officer, as the pair gained the deck.

“Now, see here, sir,” began Eph, earnestly, all over again. “I hope you'll soon begin to understand that, whatever has happened, there are no two straighter boys alive than Jack Benson and Hal Hastings.”

“I trust you're right,” replied Mr. Mayhew, less coldly. “Yet, what can you expect me to think, now that Benson has been in such scrapes three different times? And, in this last instance, he drags even the quiet Mr. Hastings into the affair with him.”

“I see that I'll have to wait, sir,” sighed Eph, resignedly.

“Yes; it will be better in every way to wait,” agreed the lieutenant commander. “It is plain justice, at the least, to wait and give the young men a chance to offer any defense that they can.”

“Now, of course, from his way of looking at it, I can't blame him so very much,” admitted Eph Somers, as he leaned over the rail, watching Mr. Mayhew going back through the darkness. “But Jack—great old Jack!—having any liking at all for mixing up in saloons and such places on shore! Ha, ha! Ho, ho!”

Williamson, now able to leave his motors, came on deck, asking an account of what had happened. The machinist listened in amazement, though, like Eph, he needed no proof that the boys, whatever trouble they had encountered, had met honestly and innocently.

“Of course that naval officer is right, too, from his own limited point of view,” urged Williamson.

“Oh, yes, I suppose so,” nodded Somers, gloomily. “I've been trying to tell myself that. But it would be fearful, wouldn't it, if the 'Farnum' were ordered away from the fleet, and Jack disgraced, just because of things he really didn't do.”

“It's a queer old world,” mused the machinist, thoughtfully. “We hear a lot about the consequences of wrong things we do. But how often people seem to have to pay up for things they never did!”

“Oh, well,” muttered Eph, philosophically, “let's wait until morning. A night's sleep straightens out a lot of things.”

Williamson, however, having had some sleep earlier in the night, was not drowsy, now. He lighted a pipe, lingering on the platform deck. Eph, not being a user of tobacco, went below to find that Doctor McCrea, from the gunboat, was sitting in the cabin, reading a book he had chosen from the book-case.

“I've brought the young men around somewhat,” reported the physician. “I've made them throw off the drug, and now I've left some stuff with the nurse to help brace them up. They'll have sour stomachs and aching heads in the morning, though.”

“But you noticed one thing, Doctor?” pressed Somers.

“What was that?”

“That there were no signs of liquor about them? Those boys never tasted a drop of the vile stuff in their lives!”

“I'm inclined to believe you,” nodded the surgeon. “They have splendid, clear skins, eyes bright as diamonds, sound, sturdy heart-beats, and they're full of vitality. I've met boys from the slums, once in a while—beer-drinkers and cigarette-smokers. But such boys never show the splendid physical condition that your friends possess.”

“You know, then, as well as I do, Doctor, that neither of my chums are rowdies, and that, whatever happened to them to-night, they didn't get to it through any bad habits or conduct?”

“I'm much inclined to agree with you, Mr. Somers.”

“I hope, then, you'll succeed in impressing all that on Lieutenant Commander Mayhew in the morning.”

With that the submarine boy passed on to the starboard stateroom. He would have given much to have stepped into the room opposite, but felt, from the doctor's manner, that the latter did not wish his patients disturbed.

Eph slept little that night. Though Jack and Hal fared better in that single respect, Somers looked far the best of the three in the morning.

Jack and Hal came out with bandages about their heads, which buzzed and ached.

The two, however, told their story to Somers and Williamson as soon as possible.

“Just as I supposed,” nodded Eph, vigorously.

“Why, how did you guess it all?” asked Benson, in astonishment.

“I mean, I knew you hadn't been in any low sailor resorts.”

“Who said we had?” demanded Jack, flaring in spite of his dizziness.

“Some of the Navy folks didn't know but you had,” replied Eph, then bit his tongue for having let that much out of the bag.

Doctor McCrea came aboard early. He looked the boys over.

“Eat a little toast, if you want, and drink some weak tea,” he suggested. “After that, eat nothing more until to-night.”

“But the day's work—?” hinted Jack.

“I don't know,” replied the doctor, shrugging his shoulders. “I'm not a line officer, and therefore know nothing about the fleet's manœuvres.”

That reply, however, was quite enough to send Jack Benson's suspicions aloft.

“Eph,” he cried, wheeling upon his friend the moment Doctor McCrea was gone, “there's something you haven't told us.”

“Such as—what?” asked Somers, doing his best to look mighty innocent.

“Doctor McCrea as good as admitted that we won't have anything to do to-day. What's wrong?” Then, after a brief pause: “Good heavens, does Mr. Mayhew believe we've been acting disgracefully? Are we barred out of the instruction work?”

Hal had been raising a glass of cold water to his lips. The glass fell, with a crash. He wheeled about, then clutched at the edge of the cabin table, most unsteadily.

“We—e—ll,” admitted Somers, reluctantly, “Mr. Mayhew said he would want to question you some, perhaps, this morning.”

“What did he say? Out with it all, Eph!”

A moment before Jack Benson had been pallid enough. Now, two bright, furious spots burned in either cheek.

The red-haired boy, however, was spared the pain of going any further, for, at that moment, a heavy tread was heard on the spiral staircase. Then Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, holding himself very erect, one hand resting against the scabbard of the sword that he wore at his side, came into view below.

Many were the questions that the naval officer put to the victims of the night's mishap.

“Well, gentlemen,” Mr. Mayhew said at last, rising, “your story is strange. Yet, I believe you are young men of honor. I'm sorry we have not in custody the men who sailed that sloop.”

“Pardon me, sir!” burst out Eph.

“Well, Mr. Somers?”

“Perhaps, sir, if you should question Truax you could learn something from him. I tell you, sir, there's a scheme to ruin Jack Benson; and that's only part of a bigger plot to discredit our company with the Navy!”

Mr. Mayhew, looking thoughtful, replied:

“I'll find some way of questioning Truax. And now, Mr. Benson, since you and Mr. Hastings are not fit to instruct the cadets to-day, I'll send out sections under Lieutenant Halpin on board the 'Pollard' only. To-morrow you should be in shape to resume your duties. Meanwhile, I must make one condition.”

“It will not be necessary, sir, to make any conditions with us,” Jack replied. “Your instructions will be sufficient.”

“While you are on this present tour of duty, I shall ask Mr. Benson and Mr. Hastings not to leave the 'Farnum' without my consent.”

As soon as Mr. Mayhew had left the “Farnum” Eph Somers cried bitterly:

“You heard the verdict in the case! A great verdict! Not guilty—but don't do it again!”

At half past eight the next morning a section of cadets, under the command of Ensign Trahern, came aboard the “Farnum.”

“The lieutenant commander sends word, with his compliments,” reported Trahern, “that after leaving the bay the formation will be as usual. The signal to halt and be ready for the tour of instruction will be given when we're about ten miles off shore.”

Six of the cadets, of the engineer division, went below to the engine room. To one of the ten left on deck Jack turned and said:

“You will take charge, Mr. Surles. Assume all the responsibilities of the officer of the deck.”

In all, five of the midshipmen had commanded briefly before the laying-to signal was given. Hal Hastings then appeared on deck.

“Captain Benson,” Hal stated, saluting, “I have inspected all the submerging machinery, and I find everything in good order. We can go below the surface at any time.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hastings. All below!” ordered Jack crisply.

After the cadets and the ensign had filed below, Jack, having seen that all was in order, followed. He made all fast in the conning tower, then called Midshipman Surles up the stairway to the tower wheel.

“Do you think you can head due east and keep to that course under water, Mr. Surles?”

“Yes, sir.”

Going down to the cabin floor, Jack ordered two more midshipmen to the tower as observers.

“The rest crowd about me and ask questions while I handle the submerging machinery.”

Under the impetus from the electric motors, the propeller shafts began to throb. The next instant the submarine shot below, going down at so steep an angle that many of the middies were forced to reach for new footing.

“The gauge registers sixty feet below,” announced Jack.

In another moment, by the quick flooding of some of the compartments astern, the young skipper brought the boat to an even keel.

Having finished the prescribed distance under water, Captain Jack turned on the compressed air to expel the water from the compartments. The conning tower soon rose above the water, and a moment later the “Pollard” also emerged.

Other cadets were transferred from the gunboat to the submarines, and the instruction proceeded. The manœuvers for the day were ended with a half-hour run under water.

“By the way, sir, did you question Truax to see what you could learn about his reasons for acting as he did on the 'Farnum'?” asked Jack Benson the next day. Jack and Doctor McCrea were talking with Mr. Mayhew.

“I had him before me last night, and again this morning,” replied Mr. Mayhew. “He said he hadn't an idea what I meant, and that is all I could get out of him.”

Jack looked thoughtfully at Doctor McCrea for a moment before he exclaimed:

“Doctor, if I had anything like your chance, I'd have Sam Truax talking!”

“How?” Doctor McCrea looked interested.

“Why, I'd—” Jack hesitated, glancing toward the gunboat's commanding officer.

“I'd better go and see how the midshipmen are doing,” laughed Mr. Mayhew, rising.

For some minutes Jack talked with Doctor McCrea. As the medical officer listened, he grinned, then laughed unrestrainedly.

“Mr. Benson, you're certainly ingenious!”

“Will you do what I've suggested?”

“Why, I—er—er—” Doctor McCrea hesitated. “I—well, I'll think it over.” Again Doctor McCrea roared with laughter.

XX. Conclusion

Sam Truax sat in the brig, between decks on the “Hudson,” his scowling face turned toward the barred door, when the marine guard, taking a turn, peered in.

“Good heavens, man! What ails you?” demanded the marine.

“I'm all right,” growled the prisoner.

“I'll be hanged if you look it.”

“What are you talking about!” demanded the prisoner angrily.

“Man alive, I wish you could see your face!”

Three minutes later a sailor halted at the door, looked at Truax, then wheeled about to the marine.

“Say, what ails that man? What's the matter with his face?”

“Don't know. Looks fearful, doesn't he?”

“Awful! Ought to have the doctor.”

Sam shifted uneasily.

Five minutes later a sailor wearing on one sleeve the Red Cross of the hospital squad came along.

“Say,” said the marine, “I wish you'd look at the feller in the brig.”

The hospital man showed his face at the grating and looked at Truax keenly.

“Wow! The sawbones officer has got to look at this chap!”

Sam Truax sprang to his feet, but his legs wobbled. He felt his heart-beats racing and his face flushing.

“I felt all right a little while ago, but I certainly feel queer now,” he muttered.

Doctor McCrea soon hurried below.

“Sentry, unlock the door! Let me in there!”

Doctor McCrea made a brief examination.

“How long have you been feeling ill?”

“N—not long,” faltered Truax.

“Hospital man!” called Doctor McCrea.

“Aye, aye, sir!”

“Have the stretcher brought here at once.”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

The stretcher was brought, and the attendants put Truax on it.

“I can walk, Doctor,” he protested feebly.

“Can't risk it! To the 'sick bay,' men.”

“What's wrong, Doctor?” Truax asked, when he was lifted from the stretcher and placed in one of the berths.

“Don't talk, my man. Just lie quietly and let us get you on your feet—if we can,” he added under his breath, but not so softly but that Sam Truax heard him.

The attendant came with a glass of liquid.

“Drink this,” ordered the surgeon, “and in a few minutes you'll feel better.”

“I—I feel awful,” Truax groaned.

The dose was repeated, but the patient continued to grow worse. His nausea was overwhelming and he vomited over and over. In an interval of quiet the doctor leaned over him.

“Have you anything on your mind, man? Any wrong you'd like to set straight before—before—”

A look of fright came into Truax's eyes.

“Doctor, I—I wonder if Jack Benson would come to see me?”

“I'll see,” replied the doctor, rising and leaving the “sick bay.”

Ten minutes later the naval surgeon returned with Benson. Hal Hastings, Mr. Mayhew and Ensign Trahern followed Jack and the doctor.

“Here's Mr. Benson, Truax,” announced Doctor McCrea. “If there's anything you wish to confess, the rest of us can bear witness and help straighten matters out if you've done any wrong that you now regret.”

Sam Truax feebly stretched out a hand that was hot and dry.

“Benson, will you give me your hand?”

“Certainly.”

“Can you ever forgive me?” moaned the man.

“Why, what have you done?” asked Jack.

“That assault back in Dunhaven—”

“Was it you who knocked me out there?” demanded Benson sharply.

“Yes.” In a shaking voice Truax confessed the details of the affair and from that passed to Jack's trip to the suburbs of Annapolis.

“I found the mulatto in a low den. I told him you carried a lot of money and that he could have it all if he'd decoy you somewhere, keep you all night, and send you back to the Naval Academy looking like a tramp.” He then added the name of the mulatto.

“But why have you done this?” demanded Jack. “What have you against me?”

“I didn't do it on my own account. I did it for Tip Gaynor, a salesman for Sidenham.”

“The Sidenham Submarine Company?” cried Jack, deeply interested. “The Sidenham people are our nearest competitors in the submarine business!” he exclaimed.

“Yes; and they wanted to get the business away from the Pollard Company. They told Tip Gaynor it would be worth ten thousand dollars to him for each Sidenham boat he could sell to the Government. Tip hired me—”

“One moment, please,” interrupted Jack. “Did the Sidenham officials know that Gaynor intended to use such methods?”

“I don't believe they did,” replied Truax.

“Humph! So Gaynor hired you to do all you could to disgrace me in the eyes of the naval authorities and to injure the machinery in the engine room of the submarine!”

“Yes. Tip said it was highly important that the Pollard boats should break down while under the eyes of all Annapolis, so that it would seem that they could not be depended upon.”

Truax here became so ill that his audience had to wait until he could proceed. Then Jack asked:

“What sort of looking fellow is Gaynor?”

“He was the black-bearded man who shanghaied you in the white knockabout. He doesn't usually wear a beard. He grew it for the occasion.”

“So, acting for Tip Gaynor, you undertook to ruin us all and the good name of our boats! You even met Dave Pollard and got him to take you on as a machinist for our boats!”

“Tip knew a man who was willing to introduce me to Mr. Pollard.”

“It was like kindly, unsuspicious Dave Pollard to be taken in by a rascal like that,” muttered Jack to himself.

Sam Truax added a few more details to his confession, then said:

“I couldn't die without telling you this, Benson. I hope you forgive me.”

Before Jack Benson could reply Lieutenant Commander Mayhew stepped forward.

“Truax, have you told us the exact truth?”

“I have.”

“You thought it would be easy to get the better of a boy like Benson, I suppose.”

“Easy enough,” admitted Sam. “So did Tip.”

“You shot far below the mark in guessing at Benson's ingenuity and brains,” remarked Doctor McCrea, laughing. “It was he who suggested this way of inducing you to make this confession after you had refused to answer the lieutenant commander's questions.”

“What?” demanded Truax harshly.

“When I was first called in to you, you were not sick, only scared by the remarks of others. After we got you in here, we dosed you with ipecac. That started your stomach to moving up and down.”

“What? You poisoned me?”

“The ipecac was my choice. It isn't poison. The general idea was Captain Benson's. With a lad like him you haven't a chance.”

“Benson, you infernal cheat, you!” muttered Truax, and started to get out of the berth. But he was weak, and the attendant had no difficulty in thrusting him back.

“In view of what you've been telling us, you'd better not sprinkle bad names about,” said the surgeon, turning on his heel. He was followed by the others, all chuckling.

“Mr. Benson,” said Doctor McCrea, when the party was in the cabin, “are you my friend?”

“I certainly am, sir,” cried Jack warmly.

“Thank you,” said the doctor, making a comical face. “With your head for doing things, Mr. Benson, I feel safer with your friendship than I should if I had your enmity.”

While they were still chatting in the cabin of the gunboat a shot sounded on deck. Then a corporal of marines rushed in, saluting.

“The prisoner, Truax, sir, escaped while walking under guard on deck. He dived headlong, sir. The marine guard fired after him through the darkness, sir. The officer of the deck sends his compliments, sir, and wants to know if Truax is to be pursued in a small boat.”

“At once, and with all diligence,” ordered the lieutenant commander.

Though a thorough search was made, Truax was not found. It was thought that the fellow had been drowned. But months later it was learned that he was skulking in Europe with Tip Gaynor, who had received word in time to make his escape also.

For two days more the instruction continued at sea. Then, the tour of instruction over, the little flotilla returned to the Academy at Annapolis. From there Captain Benson wired Mr. Farnum for further orders. Without delay came back the dispatch:

“Navy Department requests that for present 'Farnum' be left at Annapolis. You and crew return by rail when ready.”

Soon after this Jack was informed that the Annapolis police had run down the mulatto who had decoyed the young submarine skipper on that memorable night. Jack's money, watch and other valuables were later recovered and returned to him.

Just before Jack and his mates were to leave the “Farnum” for the last time, Lieutenant Commander Mayhew came aboard, followed by Ensign Trahern and three of the midshipmen who had been under submarine instruction.

“Mr. Benson and gentlemen,” said Mr. Mayhew, “I shall not make a set speech. What I have to say is that the cadet midshipmen who have been under your capable and much-prized instruction of late wish each of you to take away a slight memento of your stay here.”

Machinist Williamson had not been omitted. Each of the four received from the lieutenant commander a small box, each containing a small gold shield. In the center was the coat of arms of the United States Naval Academy. At the top of each pin was the name of the one to whom it was given. Across the bottom were the words:

FROM THE

BATTALION OF NAVAL CADETS

IN KEEN APPRECIATION

OF ADMIRABLE INSTRUCTION

"I think," said Mr. Mayhew, "that none of you will hesitate to wear this pin on vest or coat lapel. The gift is a simple one, but it practically makes you honorary members of the United States Navy of the future, and I am glad of it."

THE END

The Submarine Boys and the Spies

or

Dodging the Sharks of the Deep

First Published 1910

Contents

I. "Guess Day" at Spruce Beach

II. Trouble in the Making Stage

III. On the Edge of the Spider's Web

IV. Kamanako Appears on the Scene

V. Eph Learns Something New

VI. The Little Russian has His Way

VII. A Pointer Jolts the Submarine Captain

VIII. Even Up for Mr. Kamanako

IX. "Dog, Who is Your Master?"

X. M. Lemaire Proves His Training

XI. Jack's Friends Do Some Fast Guessing

XII. In the Power of the Spies

XIII. The Fellow Who Showed the White Flag

XIV. A Remembrance From Shore

XV. Captain Jack Becomes Suspicious

XVI. The Government Takes a Hand

XVII. Drummond's Little Surprise—For Himself

XVIII. "Remember What Happened to the 'Maine'!"

XIX. A Joke on the Secret Service!

XX. A Bright Look and a Deadly Warning

XXI. A French Rat in the Corner

XXII. Gallant Even to the Foe

XXIII. "Good-Bye, My Captain!"

XXIV. Conclusion

I. "Guess Day" at Spruce Beach

"Has anyone sighted them yet?"

"No."

"What can be the matter?"

"You know, their specialty is going to the bottom. Possibly they've gone there once too often."

"Don't!" shuddered a young woman. "Try not to be gruesome always, George."

The young man laughed as he turned aside.

Everyone and his friend at Spruce Beach was asking similar questions.

None of the answers were satisfactory, because nobody knew just what reply to make.

Everyone in the North who has the money and leisure to get away from home during a portion of the winter knows Spruce Beach. It is one of nature's most beautiful spots on the eastern coast of Florida, and man has made it one of the most expensive places in the world.

In other words, Spruce Beach is a paradise to look at. The climate, in the winter months, is mild and balmy. Health grows rapidly at this favored spot, and so fashion has seized upon it as her own. True, there are yet a few cottages and boarding houses left where travelers of moderate means may find board.

The whole air of Spruce Beach is one of holiday expectancy. The winter visitors go there to enjoy themselves; they expect it and demand it.

They are gratified. From the first of December to the middle of March, life at Spruce Beach makes you think of a great, jolly, unending picnic.

The greatest cause for regret is that more people of ordinary means cannot go there and reap some of the plentiful harvest of fun and frolic.

The thousands of tourists, hotel guests and cottagers at Spruce Beach had been promised that by the middle of December they would have a treat the like of which few of them had ever enjoyed before. The Pollard Submarine Boat Company, so named after David Pollard the inventor—the company of which Jacob Farnum, the shipbuilder, was president—had promised that by that date their newest, fastest and most formidable submarine torpedo boat, the "Benson," should arrive at Spruce Beach, there to begin a series of demonstrations and trials.

Still more extraordinary, the captain of this marvelous new submarine craft of war was known to be a boy of sixteen—Jack Benson, after whom the new navy-destroyer had been named.

Newspaper readers were beginning to be familiar with the name of Captain Jack Benson. Though so young he had, after a stern apprenticeship, actually succeeded in making himself a world-known expert in the handling of submarine torpedo boats.

Those lighter readers of newspapers, who scoffed at the very idea of a sixteen-year-old boy handling a costly submarine boat, were sometimes reminded that the same thing happens at the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis, where the young midshipmen are given instruction and often are qualified as young experts along similar lines.

More remarkable still, as faithful readers of newspapers knew, Captain Jack Benson had associated with him, on the new torpedo boat, two other sixteen-year-old boys, by name Hal Hastings and Eph Somers. It was also rumored, and nearly as often believed, that these three sea-bred young Americans knew as much as anyone in the United States on the special subject of submarine boat handling.

Be that all as it might, it was known to every man, woman and child at Spruce Beach that the "Benson" was due to arrive on this December day and the whole picnicking population was out to watch the incoming from the sea of the strange craft.

More than that, the United States gunboat, "Waverly," had been for two days at anchor in the little, somewhat rockbound harbor just north of the beach. It was to be the pleasant duty of the naval officer commanding the "Waverly" to extend official welcome to the "Benson" as soon as that craft pointed its cigar-shaped nose into the harbor.

The first boat built by the submarine company had been named, after the inventor, the "Pollard." The second had been named the "Farnum," in honor of the enterprising young shipbuilder who had financed this big undertaking. And now Spruce Beach was awaiting the arrival of the company's third boat, the "Benson," so-called in recognition of the hard and brilliant work done by the young skipper himself.

That this was to be something of a social and gala occasion, even on board the gunboat, was evident from the fact that on the naval vessel's decks there now promenaded some two score of ladies and their escorts from shore, and on the hurricane deck lounged musicians from hotel orchestras on shore, these men of music having been combined to form a band, in order to make the occasion more joyous.

"Look at that shore, black with people!" cried a woman to one of the naval officers on the deck of the "Waverly."

"There must be at least ten thousand people in that crowd," laughed Lieutenant Featherstone. "I wonder whether they're more interested in the boat, or its boy officers?"

"Are Captain Benson and his comrades really as clever as some of the newspapers have made them out to be?" asked the woman doubtfully.

"Judging by letters I've had from friends who are officers at the Naval Academy," replied Lieutenant Featherstone, "the young men must be very well versed, indeed, in all the arts of their peculiar profession."

A cheer went up from the principal throng over at the beach. Smoke had been sighted off on the eastern horizon, and this must come from the long expected craft.

From boat to boat the news passed, and so it traveled to the deck of the "Waverly," where the sailors received it with broad smiles. The leader of the impromptu band raised his baton, rapping for attention.

But Lieutenant Featherstone, below, caught the leader's eye in time and held up his hand for a pause.

"If you play, leader," called the officer, in a low voice that carried, nevertheless, "don't imagine that your music is to welcome the 'Benson.'

Submarine boats don't travel under steam power. They can't."

So, too, on shore, the understanding was quickly reached that the smoke did not indicate the whereabouts of the expected submarine. Half and hour later it was found that the smoke came from the tug of a fruit transporting company.

Where, then, was the "Benson?"

It was not in the least like young Captain Jack Benson to be behind time when he had an appointment to get anywhere. Nor did that very youthful companion expect to arrive late on this day of days.

Some miles away from Spruce Beach the submarine boat, as shown by her submersion gauge, was running along at six miles an hour some fifty-two feet under the surface of the ocean.

Young Eph Somers, auburn-haired and ofttimes impulsive, now looked as sober as a judge as he sat perched up in the conning tower, beyond which, at that depth, he could not see a thing. However, a shaded incandescent light dropped its rays over the surface of the compass by the aid of which Eph was steering with mathematical exactness.

Out in the engine room stood Hal Hastings, closely watching every movement of even as trusted and capable a man as Williamson, one of the machinists from the Farnum shipyards.

At the cabin table sat Captain Jack Benson himself, his head bent low as he scanned a chart. His right hand held a pair of nickeled dividers.

Near his left lay a scale rule. A paper pad, half covered with figures, also lay within reach.

On the opposite side of the table sat Jacob Farnum, owner of the Farnum shipyard and president of the Pollard Submarine Boat Company. Beside Mr. Farnum sat David Pollard, the inventor.

Readers of the preceding volumes in this series are familiar with all these people, now decidedly famous in the submarine boat world. In the first volume, "The Submarine Boys on Duty," was related how all these people came together; how the boys, by sheer force of character "broke into" the submarine boating world. In that volume the building of the first of the company's boats, the "Pollard" was described, and all the exciting adventures that were connected with the event were fully narrated.

Our former readers will also remember all the wonderful adventures and the rollicking fun set forth in the second volume, under the title of "The Submarine Boys' Trial Trip." In this book, bristling with adventures, and made lighter, in spots, by accounts of humorous doings, was told how the boys gained fame as submarine experts. It was their fine, loyal work that interested the United States government in buying that first boat, the "Pollard."

The third volume in the series, entitled "The Submarine Boys and the Middies" told how our young friends secured the prize detail at Annapolis; where, for a brief time, the three submarine boys served as instructors in submarine work to the young midshipmen at the Naval Academy. Nor was this accomplished without serious, and even sensational, opposition from the representative of a rival submarine company. Hence the boys went through some rousing adventures. Incidentally, they fell against practical instruction in hazing at the Naval Academy.

Adventures enough had befallen the submarine boys to last any man for a lifetime. Yet, as fate decreed it, Captain Jack Benson and his staunch young comrades were now destined to adventures greater and further reaching than any of which they could have dreamed. In advance, this winter trip to Spruce Beach promised to be little more than a pleasant relaxation for the youngsters. What it really turned out to be will soon be made clear in the pages of this volume.

"It seems a very risky plan that you're trying, Jack," remarked Jacob Farnum, at last.

"Don't you want me to do it, sir?" asked the young skipper, looking up instantly from his chart.

"Why, er—"

But here David Pollard, the inventor of these boats broke in, eagerly:

"Of course we ought to do it, Farnum. Jack is wholly right. If we enter the harbor at Spruce Beach in this fashion, and carry through our entire plan successfully, what on earth can there be left for opponents of our class of boats to say?"

"Not if we succeed, of course," smiled Farnum. "It's only the pesky little 'if' that's bothering me at all. I don't want any of you to think me a coward—"

"We know, very well, you're not, sir," Captain Jack interposed, very quietly.

"But if we make any slip in our calculations," continued Jacob Farnum,

"the first bad thing about it is that we'll smash a fine boat which, otherwise, the United States Government is likely to want at a price around two hundred thousand dollars. That, however, is not the greatest risk that I have in mind. On board this craft are five people without whom it would be rather hopeless for anyone to go on building the Pollard type of boat. Therefore, besides risking a valuable craft and our own rather inconsequential lives, we go further and put the United States Navy in danger of having only a couple of our boats. Now, the fact is, we want the Navy to have three or four dozen of our submarine craft, for we ourselves believe implicitly in the great worth of the Pollard boats."

"That's just the point, sir," cried Captain Jack Benson.

"Eh? What is?" inquired Mr. Farnum, looking at his young skipper in some bewilderment.

"Why, sir," laughed Jack, "the point is that we believe our boats to be infinitely ahead of anything owned in any other navy on earth. We believe it possible to do things, with boats like this one, that can be accomplished with no other submarine craft in the world. Now, it's a fact that, in all the navies, lest an accident happen to a submarine, that craft is obliged to travel about, always, in the company of a steam craft of war, which is known as the parent ship. Yet we've come, straight from the shipyard at Dunhaven, many hundreds of miles, without any such escort. We've been running along under our own power, night and day, without accident, stop or bother. Thus we've shown that the Pollard boat can do things that no other submarine craft are ever trusted to try alone. And now, all that remains to show is that, at the end of a long voyage, we can approach a coast, unseen, even though thousands of people are probably looking for us, and that we can get into a harbor without being detected; that, in fact, we could do anything we might have a mind to do to an enemy's ships that might be in that harbor. But now, sir, you propose that, lest we have accidents, it will be best to rise to the surface and enter the harbor at Spruce Beach as plainly and stupidly as though the 'Benson' were some mere lumber schooner."

"I see the thing just the way Jack Benson does," murmured David Pollard, thrusting his hands down deep in his trousers pockets.

"Oh, well, if I'm voted down, I'll give in," laughed Jacob Farnum. "I wonder, though, how Hal and Eph feel about this?"

"I don't have to ask them," nodded Captain Jack, confidently.

"Why not?"

"We settled it all, days ago, sir."

"And they both agreed with you?"

"Down to the last jot, Mr. Farnum. They saw the beauty and the boldness of the plan."

Oh, well, go ahead, then, responded Mr. Farnum, rising and standing by the cabin table. "Of course, the picturesque and romantic possibilities of the scheme are plain enough to me. We'll have the people at Spruce Beach agape with curiosity, then wild with enthusiasm. And, really, to be sure, we have to arouse the enthusiasm of the American people over this whole game. That's the surest way of forcing Congress to spend more money on our boats."

"Where are you going, Jake?" called the inventor, as his partner started aft.

"To the stateroom, to get a little nap," replied the shipbuilder. "We're not by any means due at Spruce Beach yet."

"Jake Farnum is surely not a coward," chuckled Mr. Pollard, as the stateroom door closed. "Nor is he over anxious about any detail in our little game, or he couldn't go to sleep at this important time. I know I couldn't get a wink of sleep if I turned in now. I've simply got to sit up, wide awake, until I see the finish of your bold stroke, Jack Benson."

Captain Jack laughed easily, then glanced at his watch to note the lapse of time since he had made his last calculation of their whereabouts. It is one thing to be in the open air, navigating a vessel, but it is quite another affair to be fifty-odd feet below the surface, calculating all by the distance covered and the course steered.

"Any deviation in the course, Eph?" Captain Jack called up into the conning tower.

"Not by as much as a hair's breadth," retorted young Somers, almost gruffly, for with him, to depart from a given course, was well nigh equal to a capital crime.

Jack touched a button in the side of the table. Obeying the summons, quiet Hal Hastings thrust his head out into the cabin.

"Just the same speed, Hal?" the young captain asked.

"Hasn't changed a single revolution per minute," Hastings answered, briefly.

With his watch on the table before him, and employing the scale rule and dividers, the young submarine skipper placed a new dot on the chart.

"Something ought to be happening in three quarters of an hour," Benson remarked, with a chuckle, to Mr. Pollard.

Less than half an hour later the young submarine skipper climbed up into the conning tower beside Eph.

"Same old straight course, eh, lad?" asked Jack quietly.

"You know it," retorted Eph.

"Then we're where we ought to be," responded Jack Benson, bending forward. With his right hand on the speed control he shut off speed.

"Now, just sit where you are, Eph, until I come up again," advised the young commander.

"Going to the surface?" demanded Somers, with interest.

"Pretty close," nodded Benson.

Calling Mr. Pollard to his aid, Jack began to operate the machinery that admitted compressed air to the water tanks, expelling the water gradually from those same tanks. This was the means by which the submarine boat rose to the surface. All the time that he was doing this, Jack Benson kept his keen glance on the submersion gauge. At last he stopped.

"How is it up there, Eph?" he called, pleasantly.

"Why, of course there's a lot of good daylight filtering down through the water now," Somers admitted.

Captain Jack went nimbly up the spiral stairway. Now, he had still another piece of apparatus to call into play. This affair is known to naval men as the periscope.

In effect, the periscope is a device which in the main is like a pipe; it can be pushed up through the top of the conning tower, through a special, water-proof cylinder, until the top of the periscope is a foot, or less, above the surface of the water.

The top of this instrument is fitted with lenses and mirrors. Down through the shaft of the periscope are other mirrors, which pass along any image reflected on the uppermost mirror of all. At the bottom of the periscope is the last mirror of the series, and, opening in upon this, there is an eyepiece fitted with a lens.

As Captain Jack Benson applied his right eye to the eyepiece he was able to see anything above the surface of the water that lay in any direction that the periscope was pointing.

"Right opposite Spruce Beach, as the chart showed!" chuckled the young commander. Under the magnifying effect of the eyepiece lens Benson could see the beach, the flag-bedecked hotels, and the moving masses of people on the shore. Yet, all this time, he was out at sea, more than a mile from the beach. The periscope itself, if seen from a boat an eighth of a mile away, would undoubtedly have been taken for a floating bottle.

"Let me have a peep," demanded Somers.

Eph looked briefly, then chuckled:

"Must be thousands of people over yonder, wondering what on earth has happened to us!"

"Do you make out the gunboat, at anchor to the north of the hotel section?" inquired Captain Jack.

"Oh, yes. Say, they'll have an awakening on that gray craft, won't they?"

"If we don't make any slip in our calculations," answered Benson, gravely.

"Well, we're not going to make any slip," asserted Eph Somers, stoutly.

"Now, keep quiet, please, old fellow. I want to do a little calculating before we take the last, desperate step."

All this time the conning tower of the submarine was just a bit below the surface. Nothing but the slender shaft and the small head of the periscope was above the wash of the lazy waves.

Captain Jack soon had his calculation made. Then, with a quiet smile, he remarked:

"I guess you'd better get below, Eph, for your part. I'll take the wheel, now, and Mr. Pollard will attend to the submerging mechanisms."

Eph laughed joyously as he darted below. He had a part assigned to him that was bound to be enjoyable.

"Mr. Pollard!" called down the young skipper, a few moments later.

"Aye, Captain Jack!"

"Let her down slowly, please, until the gauge shows just fourteen feet.

That's the greatest depth I dare try for the course we're going to follow."

"Aye, Captain Jack. Fourteen feet it shall be."

For the benefit of some readers who may not understand, it is to be stated that the charts of harbors bear markings that show the exact depth of water at every point in the harbor at low tide. Thus, the chart of the harbor just north of Spruce Beach had already told the young submarine skipper just how far below the surface he could travel with safety to his craft.

Further, he knew the draft of the "Waverly" to be eleven feet. So the youthful commander could feel quite certain that he would be in no danger of colliding, below the water-line, with Uncle Sam's gunboat.

On the deck of the "Waverly" itself there was the same spirit of expectancy that there had been an hour earlier in the afternoon.

Lieutenant Featherstone, executive officer of the gunboat, was not, however, impatient. In fact, he stood at the rail, aft, a pretty girl beside him, and both were looking down musingly at the rippling water below.

"As I was saying," drawled the lieutenant, "when—"

Just then he stopped, though he did not appear startled.

Straight up out of the watery depths shot a Carroty-topped boy, his wet skin glistening in the sun.

"Good gracious!" gasped the girl. "Where did that boy come from?"

"Say, sir," called up Eph Somers, distinguishing the lieutenant in his swift look, "where do you want the submarine boat to anchor?"

"What's that to you, young man?" called down Mr. Featherstone, bluntly.

"Oh, just this much, sir," retorted Eph, treading water, lazily; "I belong aboard the 'Benson,' and I've been sent to inquire where you want us to find our moorings."

"You from the 'Benson'?" snorted the lieutenant, incredulously. "Then where is your craft!"

"Coming, sir."

"Coming?" jeered the lieutenant "So is Christmas!"

"The 'Benson' will be here first, sir," retorted Eph, splashing, then blowing a stream of water from his mouth. "The 'Benson,' sir, is due here in from twenty to thirty seconds!"

"What's that?" demanded the naval officer, sharply. Then a queer look came into his face as a suspicion of the truth flashed into his mind.

He was about to speak when his feminine companion pointed, crying:

"What can that commotion mean out there?" There was a little flurry in the waters, then a parting as something dull-colored loomed slowly up.

Barely a hundred feet away from the port rail of the gunboat the new submarine boat, "Benson," rose into sight.

Eph Somers had left the craft, while still below surface, by means of the clever trick worked out by Jack Benson and his comrades, as described in "The Submarine Boys' Trial Trip."

Almost instantly the manhole cover was thrown open. Jack Benson, natty as a tailor's model, in his newest uniform, stepped out on deck, waving his hand to the gunboat.

"You'll have to consider that we got you, won't you, sir?" shouted the young submarine captain.

Then, both on shore and on the decks of many craft, a realization of what had happened dawned in the minds of thousands of people at about the same instant. A great, combined cheer shot up—a cheer that was a vocal cyclone!

II. Trouble In the Making Stage

On the hurricane deck of the "Waverly" stood one man, mouth wide open and eyes a-stare, who couldn't seem to get the meaning of it all. That man was the leader of the combined band from the winter hotels.

Turning, glancing upward, the lieutenant looked at the leader with a glance of cool wonder.

"Play, man! Why don't you play? What are you there for?"

Then, all of a sudden, reddening, the band leader rapped his music stand with his baton, next gave the signal, and the band crashed forth into the exultant strains of:

"See! The Conquering Hero comes!"

At the third measure the band was all but drowned out by renewed cheering, that came more uproariously than ever.

Captain Jack Benson had surely chosen a dramatic manner of making his appearance at Spruce Beach. Ten thousand tongues were set wagging all at once. When there came a lull, a man's voice on a tug not far from the gunboat could be heard, asserting loudly:

"Well, that's what submarines are for—to sneak in while you're wiping a speck of dust from your eye!"

That remark, coming just as the band ceased its strains, was plainly audible, and brought a laugh from everyone aboard the submarine, including Eph, who was just climbing, in his bathing suit, up to the platform deck.

Lieutenant Commander Kimball, hurrying from his cabin, had joined Lieutenant Featherstone at the rail, the pretty girl slipping away to join a group of civilians.

"What do you think of us?" called Jacob Farnum, a broad grin of delight on his face.

"You'll do," admitted Kimball.

"Do you consider yourself sunk?" demanded David Pollard, laughingly.

"Theoretically, yes," assented Lieutenant Commander Kimball. "I wonder if you could do it as well in war time?"

"Couldn't possibly do anything like it in war time," called back Captain Jack Benson. "For, sir, you fly the Stars and, Stripes!"

That was a happy speech, delivered at just the right second. It set all within hearing to cheering again. And then the thousands beyond caught it up.

"I'll say this much," shouted back Lieutenant Commander Kimball, as soon as he could make himself heard: "We'd rather have you with us, Mr. Benson, than against us."

"You'll have your wish, sir, as long as I'm alive," Jack answered, turning and lifting his hat in simple yet eloquent salute to the Flag waving at the gunboat's stern.

All this time Hal Hastings stood by the deck wheel, one hand occasionally straying to the engine room signal buttons, as he kept the "Benson" just about a hundred feet from the gunboat and nearly abeam.

"Where shall I anchor, sir?" called Captain Jack, presently.

"Better take it about four points off our port bow and at least four hundred feet away, Mr. Benson," called back the lieutenant commander.

"Four points off port and four hundred feet it is, sir," answered the young submarine skipper, saluting. Then he gave the order to Hal.

"As soon as you're anchored, I'll send you over a boat to be at your disposal this afternoon," called Lieutenant Commander Kimball.

"We'll use the boat, sir, to pay you a visit, if you permit," Jack shouted back.

"By all means come aboard. Then we'll visit you. We're anxious to see the works of such a wonderful little craft."

Within ten minutes a man-o-war's cutter was alongside, rowed by six alert-looking young sailors, while a coxswain held the tiller ropes.

Messrs. Farnum and Pollard, Jack and Hal made up the visiting party, leaving Eph Somers aboard the submarine, with Williamson to help him at need.

Cordial, indeed, was the reception of the submarine folks aboard the gunboat. There was a great amount of handshaking to be done.

In the meantime, Eph Somers was having something in the way of trouble back on the platform deck of the "Benson."

Two small boats, manned by harbor boatmen, and each carrying a few passengers, had put off from shore, and now ranged alongside.

"How do you do, Captain?" shouted a young man at the bow of one of the boats.

"Louder!" begged Eph.

"How do you do, Captain?"

"Louder. I'm afraid the captain can't hear you yet," grinned the carroty-topped submarine boy. "He's over on the gunboat."

"Then who are you?"

"Who? Me?" demanded Eph, innocently. "Oh, I'm only the Secretary of the Navy."

"All right, Mr. Secretary," laughed the same young man. "We are coming aboard."

"Aboard of what?" inquired Eph.

"Why, you're submarine boat, of course," came the answer.

"Guess not!" responded Eph, briskly.

"Why, yes; we're newspaper men, and it's business, not fun with us."

The boat containing the speaker lay lightly alongside at this moment.

In another moment the young man in the bow would have clambered up on deck, but Eph called down to him:

"Hold on! Stay where you are. My orders are to hit any fellow with a boathook who tries to come up here in the captain's absence."

"But we've got to have a look at your boat, don't you see?" insisted the newspaper man, though, as Eph carelessly picked up a boathook, the would-be caller waited prudently in the bow of his boat.

Young Somers was surely in a state of uncertainty. He had strict orders to allow no one aboard unless he knew them to be United States naval officers. On the other hand, the auburn-haired boy knew how necessary it was for the submarine folks to keep on good terms with newspaper writers if the American people were to be favorably impressed with the claims of the Pollard boat.

"Now, see here," said Eph, balancing the boathook, "I'm sorry to stand here making a noise like a crank, but have you any idea at all what orders mean on shipboard? And I'm under the strictest orders not to let anyone aboard."

"Get your orders changed, then," proposed another newspaper man, cheerfully.

"If you'll wait, I'll see if I can," muttered Eph, hopefully.

"Oh, we'll wait."

Williamson's head had appeared in the manhole way.

"Come out on deck, and don't let anyone on board unless we get orders to that effect," murmured Somers, passing the conning tower. Then, through a megaphone, the submarine boy hailed the gunboat, asking if it would be possible for him to talk with Jack Benson. Benson soon afterward came forward on the "Waverly." Eph explained the situation.

Jack shouted back to allow the visitors on the platform deck, but not to let any of them into the conning tower, or below.

So Eph turned to the two boatloads of visitors, explaining:

"Perhaps you men can get that all changed if you come out to-morrow, when the captain is here. But the best I can do to-day is to let you up here on the platform deck."

"Oh, well," returned the first newspaper man to get up there beside the boy, "you can tell us, as well as anyone, about your trip down the coast and the way you slipped in here."

"And also," chimed in another, "you're the young man who came straight up through the water when she was beneath the surface?"

Eph admitted that he was.

"That's the thing I want to know about," continued the second newspaper man. "I've heard before about that wonderful trick of leaving a submerged submarine, and coming to the surface. How is the thing done?"

Eph regarded this questioner with wondering patience, before he replied:

"You want to know so little that I'm sorry I'm deaf in my front teeth and dumb in my right ear."

"That's on you, Paisley!" chuckled one of the newspaper men.

Then three or four began to ask questions at the same time, which caused young Somers to wait, then remarked blandly:

"Now, if you'll all kindly talk at once, I'll give you, in a few words, a straight account of the plain features of our trip down here, including our run under water. But, if there's any question I don't answer for you, you'll understand, I hope, that it's because I know it would be bad manners for me to tell you anything that only officers of the Navy have a right to know."

"All right, Commodore," nodded one of the newspaper men, good-humoredly.

"You're all right. Go ahead and spin your yarn in your own way."

Thereupon, without telling anything that he had no right to tell, Eph managed none the less to give his hearers an entertaining account of the "Benson's" long trip down the coast without stop or help.

"And, unless I'm in a big error, gentlemen, ours is the longest trip that a submarine boat ever took by itself."

"You're right there, too," nodded one of the newspaper men, who made a study of naval affairs and records. "And the way this craft came in this afternoon beat anything, so far as I'm aware, that was ever done with a submarine."

"That's Captain Jack Benson's specialty," replied Eph Somers, his eyes twinkling.

"What's his specialty!"

"Doing things with a submarine boat that have never been done before.

Captain Benson is the latest wonder in the submarine line."

"He has a very steady admirer in you, hasn't he?" inquired one of the newspaper men, laughingly..

"Yes; and the same is true of anyone else who knows him well," declared Eph, warmly. "Jack Benson is about the best fellow on earth—and one of the smartest, too, his comrades think."

Thereupon one of the newspaper correspondents began tactfully to draw out young Somers about the history and past performances of the young submarine captain. On this subject Somers talked as freely as they could want.

"It was Benson, too, who discovered the trick of leaving a submarine boat on the bottom, and coming to the top by himself, wasn't it?" slyly asked one of the visitors.

"That was his discovery," nodded Eph, promptly.

"What's the principle of the trick?"

Eph's jaws snapped with a slight noise. He remained silent, for a few moments, before he replied:

"So far, that trick is known only to the Pollard people and a few officers of the Navy. The fewer that know, the better the chance of keeping it a secret. Don't you believe me?"

"That's one way of looking at it, perhaps," nodded a reporter. "But there's another side to that, too, Somers. The United States now own some of your boats, and the money of the people paid for those boats.

Now, don't you think the people of this country have a right to know some of the secrets for which they pay good money, and a lot of it?"

On hearing the question put that way Eph looked tremendously thoughtful for a few seconds.

"Why, yes, undoubtedly," admitted the carroty-topped submarine boy.

"I never thought of it that way before."

"Then—"

"See here," interrupted Eph, "it was the Secretary of the Navy, who on behalf of the people, bought our boats."

"Yes—"

"He acted as the agent of the people," Eph continued.

"Well—"

"Therefore," asserted Eph Somers, with a roguish twinkle in his eyes,

"the Secretary of the Navy is the proper official for you to go to in search of that information. And you may tell the Secretary—"

"Stop making fun of us," interposed a newspaper man.

"You may tell the Secretary," finished Eph, "that I said I had no objection to his giving you the information you want."

The newspaper men after gazing briefly at the innocent-looking face of the carroty-topped one, began to grin.

"Young Somers is all right," declared one of the visitors. "He knows when to talk, and also when to hold his tongue."

"I never was sized up so straight before," grinned Eph, "since I was caught stealing grapes behind the Methodist church."

Before the newspaper men departed in their boats they had obtained some amusing and interesting points for a news "story." Yet not one of them had gained any inside information as to the closely guarded secrets of the submarine. Eph, from his very disposition and temperament, made undoubtedly the best press agent the Pollard Company could have had.

Hal Hastings, while wishing to be obliging, probably would have said his whole "say" in twenty or thirty words. Jack Benson would have sung the praises of the Pollard boats readily enough. But it was Eph, alone of the three, who could give to such an interview the humor and wit that American newspaper readers enjoy.

One "reporter" in the party that was rowed back to the beach was not known to his associates. Wherever several newspaper men are gathered at a point on business it is generally easy for a stranger, not connected with the press, to push himself into the group. The stranger, in this instance, had given the name of Norton, claiming to be from an Omaha paper.

Arrived at the beach, however, "Norton" did not hasten to the telegraph office. Instead, he hurried to the Hotel Clayton, the largest and most expensive of the hotels at Spruce Beach.

Entering one of the elevators, Norton stepped off at the third floor.

He stepped briskly down a corridor, stopping before a door and giving an unusual style of knock.

"Come—in," sounded a drawling voice, and Norton entered.

From a seat by a table, in the center of the large room, rose a man somewhat past middle age This man was tall, not very stout, with a sallow face adorned by a mustache and goatee. The man's eyes were piercing and black. His hair was also black, save where a slight gray was visible at the temples.

As Norton entered, the man, who rose, threw a cigarette into the fire place, then reached over, selected another cigarette and lighted it.

The room was thick with the odor of some foreign tobacco.

"Well, Norton?" challenged this stranger, in a low voice.

"I've been aboard the new submarine, Monsieur Lemaire," replied the young man. "I went with a party of newspaper writers, pretending to be one of their calling."

"An excellent idea, Norton. And you saw the very boyish officers of the boat?"

"Only one of them. The other two were paying a call on board the gunboat. I saw Somers."

"You gathered some idea of how to pump him for the information wanted, of course?"

"No; I didn't," retorted Norton, scowling. "I learned, very soon, that Somers is one whom we want to leave out of our count in getting information?"

"Why so?"

"Well, M. Lemaire, if you meet that young fellow, and try to draw him out, you'll understand. He can talk longer, and tell less, than any young fellow I've met. He seems to guess just what you want to know, and then he carefully tells you something else."

"Ah, well, out of three young men, we shall find one who will tell us all we need to know," laughed M. Lemaire, gayly. "So it is only a question of learning which of the three to make the first attempt upon."

"If you want a suggestion—" began Norton.

"By all means, my dear fellow."

"Then turn your batteries of inquisitiveness loose upon Jack Benson, first of all. He may be easy game. As for the third, Hal Hastings, I hear that he is a silent fellow, who says little, and generally waits five minutes, to think his answer over, before he gives it."

"Benson it shall be, then," nodded M. Lemaire. "I shall find it easy to meet him. And now, good-bye, Norton, until this evening. You will know what to do then."

After Norton had gone out, closing the door behind him, M. Lemaire carefully flecked the ash from his cigarette as he murmured to himself:

"Then it shall be Captain Benson whom we first attack! Nor do I believe I can do better than to enlist the services of Mademoiselle Sara. Ah, yes! Her eyes are fine—perfect. One looks into her eyes, and trusts her. Captain Jack Benson, you shall have the pleasure of meeting a most charming creature!"

III. On the Edge of the Spider's Web

An hour after dinner the orchestra of the Hotel Clayton crashed out into the first two-step.

The big ballroom was already two thirds as well filled as it could be with comfort. Potted green palms stood everywhere at the sides. The orchestra in the gallery was nearly concealed behind a fringe of green.

The air was sweetly odorous with the fragrance of southern blossoms.

Scores of young women in all varieties of handsome evening dress enlivened the appearance of the scene. Their gems cast glitter and enchantment. There were men enough, too, for partners in the dance, the men behind expanses of white shirt-front and clad in the black of evening dress.

Just a few of the men, however, lent additional color to the scene.

These were officers and midshipmen from the "Waverly," who came attired in the handsome blue, gold-braided dress uniforms of the service.

Among the guests of the hotel who attended the dance were Jacob Farnum and his two young submarine experts; Jack Benson and Hal Hastings. The shipbuilder had come ashore with his young friends, registering at the Clayton and taking rooms there.

"It's time for you youngsters to get ashore and have a little gaiety,"

Farnum had declared. "If you don't mix with lively people once in a while, you'll rust even while you keep the 'Benson's' machinery bright."

Jack and Hal had agreed to this. Eph, however, had expressed himself decidedly as preferring to remain on board the submarine for the time.

Williamson, too, had elected to remain on board, and so had David Pollard, who rarely cared for anything in the social line.

On the floor, even before the music struck up, was M. Lemaire. He was in the usual black evening dress, though on his wide shirt front glistened the jeweled decoration of some order conferred upon him by a European sovereign.

A handsome and distinguished figure did M. Lemaire present. He nodded affably to many of the ladies in passing, and the interest with which his greetings were acknowledged proved that M. Lemaire was in a gathering where he could boast many acquaintances.

Almost at the first, M. Lemaire had succeeded in having Captain Jack Benson pointed out to him. The tall, sallow man looked over the submarine boys eagerly, though covertly. He beheld them in handsome dress uniforms, very much like those worn by the naval officers, for Jacob Farnum had insisted that his young submarine officers, wherever they went must be appropriately attired.

In the throng, as M. Lemaire passed, stood one handsomely dressed girl.

Her face, which was interestingly beautiful, had a slightly foreign look.

The jewels that she wore must have cost a fortune. The girl herself was a finished product in the arts of good breeding and grace.

As M. Lemaire approached her, this girl recognized him with a smile and a half-quizzical look.

"Ah, good evening, Mademoiselle Nadiboff," murmured M. Lemaire, as he bent low before the handsome young woman. "I am charmed."

Then he murmured, in a low tone, swiftly:

"Yonder are, the two boys. Jack Benson is the one you will interest.

You, Sara, know the arts of conversation well enough. Make him your slave, until he is willing to tell all that we want to know. Invite him to drive with you in your auto car to-morrow. But, bah! You will know how to make him talk!"

All this was said swiftly, unheard by anyone else. Then M. Lemaire, having appeared hardly to pause, passed on.

A minute later Mademoiselle Nadiboff was chatting laughingly with Lieutenant Featherstone.

"Who are those two young men over there?" questioned the young woman.

"Are they of the Navy?"

"No, though related to us in interest," replied the lieutenant. "They are the captain and chief engineer of the submarine that arrived this afternoon. Youthful, aren't they?"

"Very," agreed Mademoiselle Sara. "But I like their faces. You will present me, will you not, Lieutenant?"

"Gladly."

So Jack and Hal found themselves bowing before the handsome young foreigner. Mlle. Sara had the appearance of being, equally interested in both of them, though she soon managed, with her social arts, in drawing somewhat aside with Jack Benson.

And then the music crashed out. One of the young woman's feet began to tap the floor, her eyes glistening.

"Entrancing music," she murmured.

"If you are not engaged for this dance—" murmured Jack, hesitatingly.

This beautiful creature seemed so superior to the usual run of the human kind that the submarine boy felt he was too presuming.

"You are very kind," replied the young woman, with a swift smile. "I shall enjoy it greatly."

Jack took one of her hands in his, resting his other hand lightly at her waist. A moment later they glided over the polished floor.

"Benson is doing famously," laughed Lieutenant Featherstone, half-enviously. "But before I think of myself, Hastings, I must seek an interesting partner for you, also."

"Kind of you," returned Hal, gratefully. "But I fear I must remain a wall-flower, or a human palm to-night. I don't know how to dance."

"You don't?" murmured Featherstone, in amazement. "Good heavens! I thought even the bootblacks knew how to dance in these modern days!"

Jacob Farnum knew how to dance, but did not care for it this evening.

He was much in love with his young wife, and, as she was not here, the ballroom floor had no attractions for him. So he and Hal retired to seats at the side of the ballroom.

"Jack is dancing with a famously pretty girl—the loveliest of many that are here to-night," smiled the shipbuilder. "I trust he won't have his head turned."

"Don't worry, sir," Hal rejoined, briefly.

The second dance, also, Jack Benson enjoyed with Mlle. Nadiboff. The young woman herself arranged that gracefully. At the end of the second dance Jack led his partner to a seat. Then she sent him for a glass of water.

Her cobwebby lace handkerchief fell to the floor. M. Lemaire, passing at that instant, espied it, picked it up, and returned it to her with the bow of a polished man of the world.

"Flatter the young fellow! Make him dance attendance on you to the point that he forgets all else," whispered the man.

"Trust me for that," murmured the girl.

"I do." And M. Lemaire was gone, swallowed up in the increasing throng.

As Jack Benson brought the glass of water Mlle. Nadiboff sipped at it daintily. Raising her eyes so that she could read the placard now suspended from the balcony rail, she announced:

"The next number is a waltz, Captain Benson. Truly, I am eager to know how you waltz. It is a sailor's measure."

"Then perhaps you will favor me with a waltz, later in the evening," returned Jack, courteously. "But if I had the impudence to ask you for this waltz, and if you were generous enough to grant it to me, I know what would happen."

"What, my friend?"

The word "friend" was gently spoken, but Jack Benson replied bluntly:

"Some of the men here would lynch me, later in the night, Mlle.

Nadiboff."

The young woman laughed musically, though, as Jack glanced away for an instant, a frown flashed briefly over her face.

"You will not disappoint me, I know, Captain," she murmured, persuasively. "Besides, you are too brave to fear lynching for an act that grants pleasure."

This was so direct that Jack Benson could not well escape. Nor, truth to tell, did he want to. He found Mlle. Nadiboff's bright, gentle smile most alluring. So, when the music for the waltz sounded the submarine captain led her forth on to the floor.

At the finish, after Jack had led his partner to a seat, Lieutenant Featherstone joined them. One or two others approached, and Benson slipped away, though just before he did so the young woman's eyes met his with a flash of invitation to seek her again later.

"You've been extremely, attentive, but I, imagine some of the other men are combining to thrash you, Jack," smiled Farnum, when Benson returned to his friends.

"Mlle. Nadiboff is a very delightful young woman," Jack answered, heartily. "I'm sorry you don't dance, Hal."

"If I were very sorry, I'd learn," rejoined Hastings, simply.

During the waltz and the number that followed Jack remained with his friends, looking on.

Then Lieutenant Featherstone, feeling that the Navy must look to the enjoyment of these strangers, came over to them.

"How many of you dance?" inquired the lieutenant.

"Two of us," answered Hal. "I don't."

"Mr. Farnum, I must introduce you to an agreeable partner," urged the Navy officer. "Who shall it be? I know most of the ladies here."

"Don't think me a bear, Mr. Featherstone, but I don't believe I'll dance to-night, though I thank you tremendously," replied the shipbuilder.

"Then, Benson, you must uphold the honor of your party," laughed the lieutenant, linking his arm in Jack's and drawing him forward.

Captain Benson's next dance was with a California girl; after that he led out a jolly young woman from New York. As he left the latter partner, Mlle. Nadiboff, on the arm of a gentleman, passed close enough to murmur:

"Captain, you are neglecting me—and I have saved the next, a waltz, for you."

Not being engaged for that waltz, Jack could hardly do, otherwise than claim it. Indeed, he greatly enjoyed dancing with this gracious, handsome young woman. Yet, soon after he had taken Mlle. Nadiboff to her seat, and another partner appeared to claim her favor, Benson slipped away.

"Go after Captain Benson, I beg of you, and bring him back here for a moment," requested the young woman of her new partner. That gentleman obeyed, even if with a poor grace. Jack returned, bowing, while the gentleman walked away a few feet.

"Captain, you are a stranger here at Spruce Beach?" murmured Mlle.

Nadiboff, directing the full gaze of her luminous eyes at Jack's.

"Yes, truly."

"I go motoring at eleven in the morning. I shall expect you here, at that hour, to drive with me."

Jack looked as regretful as he felt.

"I'm very, very sorry, Mademoiselle" he replied. "But I am here on duty, and—"

"Duty?" she interrupted, with a light laugh. "And pray what is duty, Captain, but a something with which to flavor our pleasures in life?"

"With me, Mlle. Nadiboff," Jack Benson replied, earnestly, "duty is everything, pleasure included."

"I am not accustomed to having my commands disregarded," exclaimed the young woman, though in a low tone, while her eyes flashed some of her displeasure.

"You are giving me pain, Mademoiselle," Jack responded, gravely.

"Perhaps, at another time—"

"Enough sir!" the young woman interposed. "And now I behold my next partner glancing this way appealingly. I shall speak with you the next time we meet, Captain."

Jack bowed, withdrawing. Making his way around the ballroom, he dropped into a seat beside Mr. Farnum.

Even before Mlle. Nadiboff's partner could rejoin her, M. Lemaire appeared around a palm at Mlle. Nadiboff's back as naturally as though he had not been playing the eavesdropper.

"Have a care, Sara," he whispered, mockingly, "or you will fail in making a fool of that young fellow!"

Half way through the next dance Jack and his friends remained in their seats. Then Hal, stifling a yawn behind his hand, remarked:

"I've a notion that I shall be asleep in a few minutes. Late hours, except on duty, don't jibe with our line of work."

"They don't," admitted Captain Jack, rising.

"Good, boys!" nodded Mr. Farnum, approvingly, as he also rose. "The more rest you have the keener your wits will be for your work."

So they left the ballroom, observed by but few.

Five minutes later Mlle. Nadiboff sat surrounded by three men, with whom she was chatting gayly. M. Lemaire approached her. She greeted him so pointedly that the other three men soon fell away.

"I can hardly congratulate you, Sara," hissed M. Lemaire, speaking in French.

"You think I have not made young Benson attentive enough to my whims?" the young woman asked, plaintively.

"Attentive?" sneered M. Lemaire. "Do you know where he is now?"

"No," admitted Mlle. Nadiboff.

"He has gone away upstairs with his friends, that they may all be prepared for an early and full day's work."

"You are jesting with me," protested Mlle. Nadiboff, indignantly.

"Take my arm, then, if you will," requested M. Lemaire. "We will stroll about, and we shall see if your eyes are keen enough to discover your young submarine captain."

The young woman defiantly accepted the challenge. By the time that they had strolled around the ballroom scarlet spots glowed in her cheeks.

In either eye a tear of anger glistened behind the lash.

"Are you satisfied?" murmured M. Lemaire, in a low voice.

"I fear that I shall have to teach the young cub a lesson or two in the art of showing devotion to a woman's wishes," Mlle. Nadiboff answered, tremulously.

"Shall we walk in the grounds?"

"I beg you to take me out into the air," replied the young woman.

"Yes, it will be better," whispered her companion, cruelly. "Your face is aflame. You will attract too much attention here, and too much curiosity. The American naval officers have sharp eyes—sometimes!"

Procuring his companion's wrap at the coatroom, and throwing a light topcoat about himself, M. Lemaire led the way to a distant settee from which they could look out over the star lit waters beyond the beach.

The man had an especial reason for choosing this seat. From that place they could quickly catch sight of anyone who came near enough to overhear.

"Sara," began M. Lemaire, less brutally than his companion had expected him to speak, "for once I fear that you are going to fail utterly."

"Then you do, not know me," she replied, with spirit. "I shall win!

I shall have Captain Jack Benson carrying my fan and craving my smile.

And that shall be quickly, too!"

"If you do not succeed, Sara," retorted the man, "then sterner measures will have to be tried. This youthful Benson may even have to lose his life in the attempt that must be made, at all hazards, to wrest from him a set of drawings of the boat he commands, and a description of all her working parts, and all the secrets of managing the boat!"

"If he could hear you, he would be charmed with the outlook," muttered the young woman, shrugging her shoulders.

"Sara, do you comprehend the situation altogether? The Pollard type of submarine boat is now the most formidable and dangerous in the world—and only the United States Government can buy boats from the makers! Any country in the world that goes to war with the United States must be beaten unless that country knows how to provide itself with submarine boats equal to those of the Pollard make. You may be sure that, at this moment, Spruce Beach is overrun with spies representing every great government in the world. The first country to buy, steal, coax or drag out the Pollard secrets wins! You know the master we serve, Sara, among the governments. We must be the spies who win—even though all the Pollard crew have to be destroyed!"

IV. Kamanako Appears On the Scene

Had Jack Benson or Hal Hastings heard that strange talk, perhaps neither of them would have slept as soundly that night.

As it was, both submarine boys slept more soundly and sweetly than any other human being in that great hotel, unless, possibly, it were Jacob Farnum.

At daylight all three were astir.

Wrapped in bathrobes that concealed their bathing suits the three made their way down to the beach. There, for ten minutes, they enjoyed themselves in the surf.

"Seems mighty queer to be bathing in salt water in December, doesn't it?" demanded Hal, gleefully, as, with both hands, he launched a column of salt water that caught Jack neatly in the face.

"Anyway, I believe it's just what the family medical man ordered," chuckled Mr. Farnum, as he stepped shoreward, then ran briskly up and down the beach before he went in again for a final plunge.

Over to the bath house, where an attendant had carried their clothing, the three now hastened. After a brisk rub-down and dressing, these three from the "Benson" presented themselves in the hotel dining room, where, at this very early hour, they were privileged to breakfast all by themselves.

"The way my appetite feels," laughed Jack, enjoyably, "I pity the guests who have to follow us at table."

"There won't be any breakfast left. They can have lunch," declared Hal Hastings, gravely.

Hardly had the food been placed before them when Mr. Farnum glanced up, to find at his elbow a bowing, smiling little Japanese.

"Honorable sir, may I address you while you eat?" inquired the little brown man.

"Why not?" asked Farnum, good-humoredly. "Take a chair, won't you, Mr.—"

"Kamanako is my name, honorable sir," replied the Japanese, with three more bows.

"Take a seat, won't you, Mr. Kamanako?" Mr. Farnum invited him again.

"It is much better, honorable sir, that I stand."

"Why?"

"Because I am servant."

"Not here, surely," replied the shipbuilder. "All the waiters here are negroes."

"Not all in kitchen, honorable sir," responded the Japanese, with an air of great deference. "Some in kitchen are Japanese."

"Are you employed in the kitchen, Mr. Kamanako?" asked the shipbuilder.

"Until to-day, honorable sir."

"Meaning you have left the employ of the hotel?"

"Yes, honorable sir."

"Then you're going away from here?"

"I hope to follow the sea, honorable sir. I am a sailor. All my ancestors before me were sailors. We love the salt water."

"There is something, then, that I can do for you, isn't there?" guessed the shipbuilder.

"If you will be so good, honorable sir. I seek to become steward aboard your boat."

"Oh," replied M. Farnum, understanding, at last. "You will have to speak to Captain Benson about that."

He indicated Jack by a nod, so the little Japanese turned to Benson with another bow.

Now, as it happened, a steward was just what Captain Benson wanted.

Such duties, formerly, had fallen upon Eph Somers. But now cooking and serving meals did not exactly jibe with Eph's present position aboard the "Benson" Eph was really first officer or mate.

"Yes, we want a steward," Jack admitted. "There's just one drawback, though, Kamanako. We can carry very few people aboard, so that everyone who does ship with us has to count. In other words, our steward must also cook the meals in the galley."

"I think that will be all right, honorable Captain," replied the Japanese, thoughtfully. "How many have you on board?"

"Six," answered the young submarine commander.

Kamanako thoughtfully counted that number on his fingers.

"It is not too many," replied the Japanese. "What do you pay, honorable Captain?"

"Forty dollars, and found."

"I will accept, honorable Captain."

"Are you sure that you can cook well enough for hungry sailors?"

"I am satisfied that I can cook for anyone, honorable Captain," rejoined the little brown man, rather proudly.

"That sounds well enough," smiled Jack. "Have you had your breakfast, Kamanako?"

"Oh, yes, honorable Captain."

"Then, if you'll wait for us, we'll take you aboard. We shall be going in a half an hour, or sooner."

"Would it not be as well, honorable Captain, if I go out before you?" asked Kamanako, respectfully.

"No," smiled, Benson. "Our first officer, Mr. Somers, does not take kindly to strangers who are not introduced."

"Then, if I may suggest—if honorable Captain will write note for me—then I might go out sooner."

"If you want to go aboard, Kamanako, we'll take you out when we go,"

Jack replied. He was annoyed, though he could not have told why, by the little brown man's insistence.

Smiling and bowing again, Kamanako left the dining room. He was waiting, though, when the others came out. As all three carried dress suit cases the Japanese quietly took those belonging to Mr. Farnum and Captain Benson.

"Most sorry I have not three hands, honorable officer," Kamanako assured Hal Hastings.

There were always plenty of shore boats at Spruce Beach. Just now, on account of the visit of the submarine, there appeared to be more of the small craft than usual. So the submarine party had no difficulty in finding transportation at once. Looking out into the harbor they beheld the "Benson," surrounded by more than a score of rowboats containing sight-seers. Eph Somers, backed by Williamson, stood on the platform deck, doggedly driving away people who wanted to come on board. Yet Eph kept wholly good-natured about it, for he could quite appreciate the curiosity of the sight-seers.

As this last boat from shore made its way, through the concourse of boats Jack heard a sudden, joyous hail in a woman's voice.

"Oh, here he is—my gallant young captain."

"Mlle. Nadiboff!" ejaculated Jack, under his breath.

Jacob Farnum turned his head away for an instant, but the young captain heard the unmistakable sound of a chuckle from the shipbuilder.

Kamanako turned his mild eyes inquiringly in the direction of the handsome young woman, as though he wondered who she might be.

"Good morning, Mademoiselle," was Jack's greeting, as he courteously lifted his uniform cap. Hal and Mr. Farnum also uncovered. Then the boat ran alongside, and all four clambered on the deck.

In another instant. Mlle. Nadiboff's boat was also alongside.

"You are going to be kind, my Captain, and invite me aboard?" asked the young woman. Eph Somers, who was never intentionally rude to a woman, found himself staring with all his eyes, whereat he colored hotly.

"I shall be very glad to invite you as far as I am permitted to invite visitors," Benson replied. Then, turning briefly to Eph, he muttered:

"The Japanese is to be cook and steward. Take him below, and show him the galley and the supplies."

Then Benson turned to reach down his hand to Mlle. Sara Nadiboff, who trustingly extended her hand to him. She slipped. Jack was obliged to throw his left arm lightly around her waist in order to draw her in safety to the platform deck. Mr. Farnum, after seeing her safely aboard, vanished inside the conning tower, going below to smile quietly to himself.

"As gallant as ever, my Captain!" murmured the handsome young woman spy, gazing almost tenderly into Jack's face. "What a very strange craft! And now, conduct me below, please. I am much interested in seeing how you all live aboard such a little and odd vessel of war."

"I am utterly sorry, Mademoiselle," Jack Benson replied. "But my orders are that no visitors except naval officers, or those brought aboard by naval officers, may see the interior of the boat."

"Yet that Japanese has just gone below!" remonstrated Mlle. Nadiboff.

"The Japanese," replied the young captain, "is our cook and steward, and belongs below."

A light glowed swiftly in Mlle. Nadiboff's eyes, but disappeared almost instantly.

The handsome young woman opened her mouth as though to speak, then compressed her lips tightly.

V. Eph Learns Something New

"You are not as gallant as you were last night," murmured Mlle. Sara, in a low tone.

"Last night I was ashore, on social pleasures bent," replied Jack.

"To-day, I am on duty, and duty must go ahead of everything else."

"And I am hungry," continued the young woman, pathetically. "In my eagerness to see that boat that you command, my Captain, I came away from the shore before going through the ceremony of breakfast. Do you mean to say, Captain Benson, that you cannot conduct me to your cabin, there to have that—your Japanese—serve me with at least a sandwich?"

"Mademoiselle," cried Jack, apologetically, "you can't have the faintest idea how sorry I am that my instructions are what they are I feel wicked as I look at your distress, but it is simply wholly impossible for me to ask you below. I can have food served to you on deck, however."

"What? Eat here before the eyes of all Spruce Beach? And have it made perfectly plain to every onlooker that I am not welcome here?" cried the woman spy, reproachfully.

"Oh, but, indeed, you are welcome here," protested Jack. "As welcome as I am permitted to make anyone. My orders, you know—I am a slave to those orders."

"Yet there is some one aboard," urged Mlle. Nadiboff, in her most pleading voice, while there was an almost tearful look in her pretty eyes, "some one who can change the orders. Your Mr. Farnum, I take it.

Go to him, won't you, and plead with him for me? Go!"

One of her little, gloved hands rested on his arm, pushing gently.

But Jack Benson, though she made him feel inwardly at odds with himself, thought more of his duty than of anything else.

"I am very sorry—awfully sorry, Mlle. Nadiboff. But won't you understand that what you ask is wholly impossible?"

"Good-bye, then!" she said, resentfully, though gently, half turning from him.

"You'll shake hands, won't you?" asked Jack, holding out his own right hand.

"Perhaps, after I have talked with you on shore—when we meet again," she replied, a bit distantly. Then she turned to Williamson as her boat came in close alongside. "Your hand, please. I am afraid I may slip."

Williamson helped that most attractive young woman down over the side, lifting his cap after he had seen her safe aboard the rowboat. As the harbor craft veered off, Captain Jack Benson lifted his cap with all courtesy. Mlle. Sara Nadiboff bowed to him rather coldly.

"I suppose," sighed Jack, to himself, as he turned away, "a woman can't begin to understand why we must be so secret aboard a submarine craft that all the naval men in the world would like to know about. If she only could understand!"

Had Benson been able to guess just how well the handsome young spy did understand, and how much she had hoped to learn through appealing to his interest in her, he would have been furious at the thought of his own great simplicity.

"Your charming partner of last night was rather disappointed," observed Hal Hastings.

"Yes; she must feel that I have used her mighty shabbily," Jack responded. "I am afraid she won't forgive me."

"Oh, well, after a few days you'll never see her again," murmured Hal.

"Just because a girl is pleasant—and pretty—one can't forget all the orders that he's working under."

Captain Jack Benson talked to himself in about the same strain, yet he couldn't wholly get over the notion that he had been—though helplessly—rude to a woman.

"You won't need me on deck any more, will you, sir?" asked Williamson, saluting.

"No; I shall be on deck," Jack replied, returning the salute. "Very likely Mr. Hastings will be here with me, for that matter."

Soon after the machinist had gone below Eph Somers returned to the deck.

"I've been posting that Kimono," Eph explained.

"Kamanako," laughed Captain Jack.

"Oh, it's all the same to me," sighed Eph. "To my untrained ear all Japanese names sound alike."

"Whatever you do," warned Jack, "don't, hurt the poor fellow's feelings by calling him Kimono."

"Why not?"

"Well, the Japanese are a proud and sensitive race.

"Suppose they are?"

"Do you know what 'Kimono' means, Eph?"

"Haven't even a guilty suspicion."

"It's the Japanese name for a woman's dress."

"Wow!" muttered Somers. "I shall surely have to, forget 'Kimono,' then.

What do you call his truly name?"

"Kamanako," Jack responded, and spelled it. Eph wrote the name down on a slip of paper, saying:

"Thank you, Jack. I'll try to commit this name to memory. I don't want to hurt the feelings of a sensitive little fellow. It would be a shame to have to punch him if he felt insulted and made a pass at me."

"Punch him, eh?" laughed Jack in genuine enjoyment. "Eph! Eph! Don't make any false start like that!"

"What are you talking about?" questioned Somers.

"Don't make the mistake, at any time, Of trying to punch that Japanese."

"Trying to?" gasped Somers. "Say, if I made a swing at that light colored little chocolate drop, do you think I'd make a false pass and hit my own nose?"

"You might be lucky if nothing worse happened," grinned Jack. "Eph, did you never hear of the Japanese jiu-jitsu?"

"What's that?" demanded young Somers. "Slang name for something else in the Jap wardrobe?"

"No; it's the Jap way of fighting," Captain Benson explained. "And you want to remember, Eph, that's it's a mighty sudden system, too. It hits like lightning. When the smoke clears away you see a little Japanese bowing over you, and apologizing for having rudely tipped you over."

"And little Cabbage-Jacko could do that?" Eph grinned, incredulously.

"Say, it's wrong to tell me such funny things when I have a cracked lip."

"All right," sighed Jack. "But at least you've been warned."

Truth to tell, the young submarine commander wasn't much worried about Eph's deliberately provoking any fistic encounter with a fellow much smaller than himself. In the first place, the carroty-haired boy wasn't quarrelsome, unless actually driven into a fight. At all times Somers was too manly to take out wrath on anyone merely up to his own shoulder height.

Nearly an hour later Jack Benson stepped through into the conning tower; then moved down the spiral staircase.

His rubber-soled deck shoes made no noise. Thus it happened that the young submarine commander came upon the new steward most un expectedly, and without being seen by the little, brown man.

"Kamanako—you scoundrel!" shouted the young captain, beside himself with sudden wrath.

For the Japanese, wholly absorbed in his present task, had deftly removed the gauge from the midships submergence apparatus, and was now dissecting the gauge itself, eyeing the parts with the knowing look of an expert.

At sound of the captain's voice Kamanako wheeled calmly about, holding up the gauge. The smile on the face of the Japanese was childlike and bland.

"This very queer thing," he murmured. "What for you use it—thermometer."

"No," retorted Jack Benson, frigidly, eyeing the detected one. "It's a barometer, and it shows which way a meddler blows in!"

"I don't understand," remarked the Japanese, looking perplexed.

"Then I'll help you to understand. First of all, put that gauge down on the table!"

Kamanako did so, then made a little bow.

"Now," continued Jack Benson, "take cap and go up on deck."

"What shall I do there, Captain?" asked Kamanako, politely.

"Well, you'll stand there until I see if you've done anything else on board. If you haven't, you can then take a boat to the shore—and stay there."

"What this mean, honorable Captain?" demanded Kamanako, a look of offense beginning to creep into his little, brown face.

"Well, if you must have it," returned Benson, coldly, "it means that I've found you spying into our mechanisms here. Now, a spy is a creature no one cares to have about—least of all on a warship."

"You call me spy—call me ugly name like that?" cried Kamanako, showing his teeth.

"Get your hat and go up on deck. Do you hear me?" insisted Captain Jack.

"I hear you, but I please myself about when I do it," retorted the Japanese, drawing himself up to his full though not very imposing height.

"Then you'll go without waiting for your hat," retorted Benson, his patience rapidly oozing now. He started toward the Japanese, just as Eph, hearing the sound of talking, looked in and down the staircase.

"Gunpowder and smoke!" ejaculated the carroty-topped boy. "It's little chocolate drop!"

"Are you going up on deck quietly and in an orderly way?" demanded Benson, a resolute glitter in his clear, blue eyes.

"I please myself," retorted Kamanako, defiantly.

At that Jack Benson promptly forgot the warning he had given Eph, and sprang at the inquisitive steward.

"You'll go—" began Benson.

He was in error, though. It was he himself who "went." As he reached out with his right hand to seize Kamanako something happened. Exactly what it was the young submarine captain never quite knew. But he found himself sprawling under the seat at the opposite side of the cabin.

"Hi, yi! Wow!" exploded Eph, darting down the stairs. "Save some of that for me!"

It was ready and waiting.

The carroty-topped boy crouched low, resting his hands on his knees, after the manner of a football player awaiting an assault.

Kamanako slid in close. Ere Eph could seize him the Japanese let himself fall lightly on one side. One of his feet hooked itself behind Eph's advanced left ankle, the other foot pressing against the knee of the same leg. Eph's ankle was yanked forward, his knee pressed back, and Somers went toppling as a tree in the forest does.

Kamanako was so quickly on his feet again to suggest that he had fallen and risen in the same movement. There was a quiet, yet dangerous, smile on the face of the Japanese.

The door of the engine room opened swiftly though noiselessly.

Williamson, the machinist, took in the whole scene instantly. Hardly a full step forward he took when his fist landed between the shoulders of Kamanako, sending that young Japanese through the air, to land sprawling.

As Kamanako leaped to his feet he found himself blinking at the muzzle of a revolver that the machinist held in his right hand.

VI. The Little Russian Has Her Way

"Don't get troublesome," advised the machinist, softly. "I've never shot a Jap, but I've always wanted to."

There was a flicker of a grin in Williamson's face that found a reflection in Kamanako's own features.

By this time Jack Benson was on his feet, a bit ruffled though with all his wits about him. At the same time Hal Hastings peered down from the top of the staircase.

"You've had all the fun so far, Kamanako," Jack admitted. "But now you've got to get off this boat mighty quick. Do you choose to go without any more fuss?"

"I go when I get ready," retorted the Japanese, sullenly.

"What's the matter, Jack?" asked Hal, slowly.

"I've caught a dirty spy at work overhauling our mechanisms," replied the young submarine boat commander.

With something of a snarl Kamanako turned as though to spring at Benson again. The sight of Williamson, immovable as a piece of marble, yet holding that revolver suggestively, cooled the Japanese ardor.

"How will it do, Captain," queried Hal, "if I pass the word to the gunboat and, have a file of marines come over to take charge of this spy?"

"First rate," clicked Benson, and Kamanako looked decidedly uneasy. He had his own reasons why he didn't care to be placed under arrest by United States troops.

Eph, striking on his head, had been knocked senseless. He was too strong, however, too full of vitality, to remain knocked out for long.

Now, he half opened his eyes, as he murmured:

"How beautifully the birds are singing today! And there's mother, letting down the bars so the cows can go to the milking shed!"

Jack laughed, in spite of himself. Then he turned to the Japanese.

"Kamanako, do you want to go quietly, or remain to see what the Navy officers do with you?"

"I go now," replied the Japanese, with a shrug of his shoulders.

Turning, he started up the step, while Hal Hastings, regaining the deck before him, hailed one of the harbor boats.

Jack darted to where Eph was trying to sit up, and raised him to one of the cabin seats.

"What do you think, now, of jiu-jitsu?" asked the young captain.

"I don't know," confessed Somers, sheepishly. "I didn't see any of it."

At this moment a stateroom door opened and Jacob Farnum thrust his head out.

"Anything happening?" inquired the ship builder.

"No, sir," Jack answered. "It's all over."

Mr. Farnum came out, to ask further particulars. Williamson, as soon as he had seen the Japanese disappear up aloft, dropped his revolver back into his pocket, closing the engine room door.

Eph, however, had his own private idea of vengeance to execute. Up the stairs he went, holding hard to the spiral rail, for he was still a bit dizzy. Kamanako, having dropped into the stern of a shore boat, looked unconcerned as he was pulled away.

"Yah!" grunted Eph, shaking his fist. "You kimono! Kimono! Kimono!"

"What does that mean when it's translated?" inquired Hal, looking interested.

"That's a Japanese insult," grinned young Somers.

"Do you think Kamanako understands it?" queried Hastings.

"If he doesn't then what good does it do him to be Japanese?" Eph demanded.

Jacob Farnum listened with great interest to what his young captain had to tell him. David Pollard, being still asleep, had no notion, as yet, of what had happened.

"I reckon," muttered the shipbuilder, "It won't be any use to have any Japanese aboard here as steward, or as anything else."

"I shan't hire any more of them," Benson replied. "I shall always suspect a spy, after this, when I see any Japanese aboard any kind of a war craft, or serving at any military post."

"I'm sorry I missed seeing Eph do the flying somersault act, though," laughed Mr. Farnum.

"I missed it as much as you did," admitted Jack Benson. "At the moment my face was buried in the carpet."

When the two ascended to the platform deck Captain Jack asked, soberly:

"Well, Eph, what is your present opinion about the ability of a Japanese to look after himself?"

"Don't rub it in," muttered Somers, with another sheepish grin.

"Oh, that's all right," retorted Jack. "I came in for pretty nearly as much as you did. I may meet Kamanako again, however. If I do, I'll pay him back."

"What?" gasped young Somers. "Jack Benson, I thought you knew enough to be sure when you've had plenty!"

"I'll pay that little fellow back, just the same, if I ever get a half-way chance," insisted Benson.

"Please yourself," muttered Eph, grimly. "As for me, I'm not looking for any damages. I've had plenty of 'em already."

Not much later the submarine people were favored by a visit from some of the officers of the gunboat.

Plans were discussed for making some displays of the submarine's strong points on another day. When the officers had gone, Mr. Farnum turned to the boys to propose:

"You've never seen any of the country around Spruce Beach. Neither have I. What do you say if we go ashore? I'll charter an auto, and we can have quite a trip before it's luncheon time. Then we'll come back and eat at the hotel."

Right under the shadow of the gunboat, Williamson could be relied upon as being sufficient guard. But David Pollard declined to go ashore, on the plea that he had some letters to write, which left a guard of two on board.

It was eleven o'clock, just to the minute, as the automobile chartered by Mr. Farnum came around the corner of the hotel veranda. At that same instant another and handsomer car came rolling into sight. The door of the ladies' parlor opened, and Mlle. Sara Nadiboff, arrayed with unusually pleasing effect, came out.

As she caught sight of Jack she started, then came eagerly over to him, holding out her hand.

"Here comes my car," she murmured. "And I see, my Captain, that you have changed your mind. You will drive with me this morning."

"I'm sorry that I can't," Benson replied, and he meant it. "But I am engaged to go with Mr. Farnum and our party."

"You prefer to avoid me?" cried Mlle. Nadiboff, reproachfully, raising her eyes swiftly to his.

"Now, please don't say that," begged Benson. "I wish you could understand, Mademoiselle, how far from the truth it is."

"Say but the word, and Mr. Farnum will pardon you," coaxed the charming young Woman.

"I couldn't even think of that," replied Benson. "It is business to go with one's employer."

"Business?" repeated Mlle. Nadiboff, with an accent half of disdain.

"Surely, you are not sufficiently a petty shop-keeper or serf to think always of that word, 'business!'"

"I fear I am," Jack nodded.

"Bah! Then you will never be a success with the ladies," taunted Mlle. Nadiboff, though her eyes were laughing, challenging.

"Of course, I'm only a green country boy," Jack replied, with admirable coolness, and without any tone of offence. "So my highest ambition is to be a success in the submarine business."

The young woman had tact enough to perceive that she had not quite scored by her contempt for business. She was about to change subject adroitly, when Mr. Farnum called, laughingly:

"Are you coming with us, captain? Or, have you found pleasanter company for a drive?"

Jack's hand started toward his uniform cap. He was about to excuse himself, when the young woman answered for him:

"He was just assuring me, Mr. Farnum, that he would gladly go with me, but that you had the right of prior engagement."

"Oh, I'll release, him," volunteered Mr. Farnum, his eyes twinkling.

"Now, my Captain, you can no longer find excuse, unless you truly prefer other company to mine."

Though Jack was interested in the vivacious manner of Mlle. Nadiboff, he had not yet lost his head under any of her flatteries. He was secretly irritated against Mr. Farnum for letting him off so easily. So Jack swiftly determined upon his own plan of evening matters.

"The way the affair has turned out, Mademoiselle, I shall be delighted to go in your cars. Yet I am going to ask one every great favor."

"A thousand, if you wish!" cried the young woman spy, graciously.

"Will you permit me to invite my chum, Mr. Hastings?"

"Assuredly," she replied, with a very pretty pout, "if you feel that you will find my company, alone, too dull."

"It isn't that," Jack replied, with ready gallantry. "I am anxious to have Hastings share my rare good fortune."

Then raising his voice he called:

"Hal, Mlle. Nadiboff desires me to invite you to come, too."

Young Hastings was quick-witted enough to understand that this was all but a command from his chum. So he hastily left Mr. Farnum, stepping over to join the other party. Mlle. Nadiboff's little booted right foot tapped the flooring of the veranda impatiently, but that was the only sign of displeasure she gave. Her eyes were as laughing and as gracious as ever. She extended her hand to Hal, who bowed low over it in knightly style—a trick he had caught from his observation of naval officers.

Then, as though to punish Jack, Mlle. Nadiboff asked:

"You will hand me into the car, Mr. Hastings?"

Hal did so, taking the seat beside her in the tonneau. Jack Benson, suppressing a twinkle that struggled to his eyes, closed the tonneau door, then stepped in on the front seat beside the chauffeur.

Despite her own cleverness, the young woman gave a slight gasp of astonishment over this swift arrangement.

"Decidedly, my young captain is not wholly, a fool," she told herself.

"When I seek to snub him, he puts it past my power. However, it may be that this young engineer will be better suited to my purpose. I will study him."

"Toot! toot!" The Farnum auto, getting away first, went past them, sounding its whistle while Mr. Farnum and Eph lifted their hats.

"Our gallant friend, the captain, must feel out of conceit with me," laughed Mlle. Nadiboff to Hal. "He prefers the chauffeur's company to mine. So we must console ourselves."

Though he had not been able to hear any of the conversation, M. Lemaire, looking out from behind the lace curtains of a parlor window, had seen what had happened.

"Sara is doing better this morning," he muttered to himself. "Though why should she take two of the young men with her? Ah, I see that she has the engineer at her side, while young Benson rides on the front seat. Clever little woman! She is going to make the young captain jealous! Well enough does she know how to do that!"

Not quite so well pleased was the young woman herself, as the drive proceeded. Though she did all in her power to charm Hal, and though she did succeed in interesting him, she could not draw the boy out into much conversation. Hal usually had little to say. Though he answered Mlle.

Nadiboff courteously from time to time, he did not utter many words.

Indeed, he appeared to be thinking of something far remote from the present scene.

"Are you bored, Mr. Hastings? Does the sound of my voice annoy you?" asked Mlle. Nadiboff, as the auto flew over the quiet country roads inland from Spruce Beach.

"Good gracious, no!" replied Hal.

"Then why do you say so little?"

"Because you say it so much better, Mademoiselle."

"But flattery will never take the place of interested conversation."

"Engineers don't talk much," protested Hal.

"So they think a great deal. Of what were you thinking?"

"Oh?" murmured Hal. "Oh, I was thinking of my engine, I guess."

Mlle. Nadiboff bit her lips in secret rage. If she had felt that she was doing poorly with Captain Jack Benson, evidently she was now seated beside an absent-minded sphinx.

"What place is that over there?" inquired Hal, coming out of a brown study as he felt some reproach in the stiffening attitude of his companion.

Hal's eye had been caught by what looked like the ruins of an old castle.

Such sights are at least rare in the United States.

"That ruin, do you mean?" asked Mlle. Nadiboff. "Oh, it is a quaint bit of a castle, only some three hundred years old, though long past in ruins. I believe it was erected as a stronghold by some wealthy man, in the old days when the pirates from Havana now and then swept along the coast on their raids. Would you like to see the place, Mr. Hastings?"

"Very much indeed," Hal admitted, "if you have the time."

"The time?" Mlle. Nadiboff's laughter rippled out merrily. "Why, I have all the time in the world, Mr. Hastings. I live only to enjoy myself."

"That must be rather a dull existence, then," thought Hal, while his pretty companion leaned forward to give the order to the chauffeur, who turned up a road leading to the ruined castle of the old piratical days.

Jack had heard the conversation, and so knew, without asking, for what they were now heading.

As they drew closer they discovered other automobiles near the old castle.

"The place has several visitors to-day?" hinted Hal.

"Oh, yes; it is one of the show spots of this section," replied Mlle.

Nadiboff. "It does well enough to look about there for a few minutes.

But a ruin like that suggests death and decay, and I—I love life."

"Still, that castle is now a part of history," suggested Hal, "and history, it seems to me, should always be interesting."

"This stupid young engineer!" fumed Mlle. Nadiboff, to herself. "He would drive me wild, if I saw much of him. I think even my slow little captain will prove more romantic."

Though neither of the submarine boys could yet suspect it, they were soon to stumble into much more than relics of the past.

They were destined to find themselves exposed to one of the greatest surprises of their already eventful lives.

"Here we are," cried Mlle. Nadiboff, as the auto stopped near the north end of the castle. "May you discover something to interest you!"

The submarine boys certainly did!

VII. A Pointer "Jolts" the Submarine Captain

There was not much left of the old castle, save the walls, and some badly crumbled ruins of inner buildings.

"The Florida climate doesn't seem to agree with castles," suggested Jack.

"I have, an idea that, in Europe, a castle only three hundred years old would last much longer and keep much better."

"In Europe?" repeated Mlle. Nadiboff. "Oh, yes; much better. But then, perhaps in Europe there would be a feeling of veneration for the old that would lead the people to take much better care of their castles.

It would be so in my country, I know."

"May I ask what is your country, Mademoiselle?" asked Jack, looking up and into her face.

"Guess, Mr. Yankee!"

"Why, I would guess that you are a Russian."

"You are worthy of the name of Yankee, then. Yes; I am a Russian."

Another party of sight-seers passed them at that moment, and one man was heard to remark:

"At the south end of the castle is a stairway leading down to an underground dungeon. Legend tells us that some forty Spanish pirates were once confined there, for a month, before permission was received from the governor to hang the Spaniards."

"Did you hear that?" murmured Jack, interestedly. "A real, old dungeon, with an interesting history."

"Such a history merely afflicts me with a shudder," replied Mlle.

Nadiboff, shrugging her shoulders.

"By Jove, I believe I'd like to have just a glimpse of that old dungeon, Mademoiselle, if I am not tiring you or wasting your time."

"You will have to go alone, then," replied the young woman. "I will wait, my Captain."

"I will remain with Mlle. Nadiboff," volunteered Hal.

So Jack Benson, after raising his cap, stepped off rapidly toward the southern end of the old ruin.

With much difficulty he found the entrance to the stairway leading below.

At the head of the stairs two youngish men were standing. The face of one of them looked familiar.

"How do you do, Captain?" nodded that one. "You don't recall me, I guess. I saw you, yesterday, only for a moment at the rail of the gunboat. My name is Hennessy, one of the newspaper men who visited your wonderful craft yesterday."

"I am glad to meet you again," Jack replied, "and sorry that we couldn't show you more."

"This is my friend, Mr. Graham," continued the newspaper man. "Graham is the Washington correspondent for my paper, so of course he has heard of your boats before."

"If you had been aboard," smiled Jack, "you might have seen something in the way of a little news happening."

"What was that?"

"Why, we found a new Japanese steward, whom we had engaged, absorbed in his study of some of our mechanisms. So we had to induce him to quit our service and go back to shore again."

"A spy, eh?" smiled Graham. "There are many of them about. Wherever there is anything connected with our national defense the spies of Europe are sure to flock, until they have learned all they want to know.

And I suspect that they rarely fail, in the end. You were fortunate to catch your Japanese at his tricks at so early a stage in the game."

"I wish all these spies could be herded together and hanged!" muttered Captain Jack, in honest indignation.

"Do you?" asked Graham, looking at the boy, with a queer smile.

"Can you doubt it?" challenged Jack.

Graham was silent for a few moments, puffing at his cigar. Then, speaking very slowly, he went on:

"Captain Benson, I wonder if you would be much offended if I offered you some information that might prove of much value to you?"

"What makes you think, sir, I'm such a fool as that?" asked Jack, gazing at the Washington correspondent in great astonishment.

"One sometimes has to use a good deal of caution, even in offering well-intended information," replied the Washington correspondent,

"Benson, I've been stationed at the national capital for eight years, now. I meet all kinds of people, and I see a good many others whom I don't get to know, and don't want to know, and yet I become familiar with their histories."

"I don't doubt that, sir," Jack assented. "The life of a Washington correspondent must be full of interesting things and experiences."

"Washington itself is full of foreign spies," pursued Graham, studying the ash on the end of his cigar. "After a newspaper man has been in Washington a while he begins to have people pointed out to him who are either known or believed to be in the employ of foreign governments for the purpose of getting information that our national authorities would much rather conceal."

"That must be true," agreed Benson. "And I suppose there are some very clever men engaged in that peculiar line of business."

"Some of the smartest of them are not men, but women," continued Mr. Graham. "Men, perhaps, direct them, but the women spies, when they are young and good-looking, can usually coax a lot of information."

"Oho! I'd like to get a look, some time, at one of these clever women spies," declared Jack, much interested.

"That's just what I'm coming to," pursued the Washington correspondent.

"I hope you won't be offended, Benson, but I understand you have already paid some attention to one of the brightest women in this line."

"Mlle. Nadiboff?" cried Jack, guessing instantly what the other sought to convey.

"Yes," nodded Graham. "Though I believe, when I first saw her, eight years ago, she was using some other name than Nadiboff."

"Eight years ago," smiled Jack, "she must have been about thirteen years old. Do they employ, spies at such a tender age?"

"Eight years ago," retorted Graham, "this young woman was, I should say, about twenty-one years old. I am aware that she looks hardly older to-day. When I saw you with her ten minutes ago it was the first hint I had that she was in Florida."

"So she's a spy?" muttered Jack Benson, speaking more to himself. "Then I can understand why she seemed so anxious to interest me. I was not wrong about that."

"No," laughed Graham. "Beyond a doubt the young woman is very anxious to please you, and to keep your interest. You happen to command a type of submarine torpedo boat in which all the world is at present much interested. By the way, I wonder if Mlle. Nadiboff, as you call her, works under the directions of the same chief? He was a man—"

Here the Washington correspondent gave a description that caused Jack Benson to exclaim:

"Why, that's M. Lemaire, to a dot!"

"I guess there's no doubt about it, then," laughed Mr. Graham. "You've fallen into the hands of a pair of the boldest, wickedest and cleverest of foreign spies."

"I thank you heartily for informing me about them," breathed Jack Benson, his eyes gleaming as he thought of the pair. "But there's one thing that puzzles me. Mlle. Nadiboff is a Russian, and M. Lemaire must be a Frenchman. Then which country owns that precious pair?"

"Spies rarely have any country," smiled the washington correspondent.

"They work for whichever government will pay them best. Today they will sell out their employers of yesterday."

"They're a noble lot, then," grunted Jack, disgustedly.

Mr. Hennessy proposed that they go down to have a look at the dungeon underground. While they were examining that damp, slimy old cell, the conversation continued.

"Has either of that pair seen you, Mr. Graham?" asked Jack.

"I don't believe it. I'm not stopping at the Hotel Clayton."

"Then neither of them will suspect that I've been posted," muttered Benson, with a short laugh.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I rather think," smiled the young submarine captain, "that I may attempt to pay that pair back in their own coin—somehow. By the way, do either of them know you well when they see you?"

"They might remember me as a newspaper writer," replied Graham. "So I'll keep out of the way."

"It won't be necessary for me to keep out of the way," added Hennessy.

"I don't know either Mlle. Nadiboff or her companion; and, besides, I'm here openly as a reporter interested in the submarine craft."

By this time the three had returned to the upper air.

"I'll vanish, now," proposed Mr. Graham. "But you, Hennessy, if Captain Benson doesn't mind, might as well go along with him. You may get a good look at the Nadiboff woman. You, too, may think her very young.

She has a knack of keeping so. Yet she's at least twenty-eight or thirty. Good-bye, for the present!"

Graham turned, losing himself from their sight amid the ruins. Hennessy walked with Jack back to where Hal and the woman awaited them.

Jack's mind was rapidly revolving plans for teaching some one a lesson that would not be forgotten.

VIII. Even Up For Mr. Kamanako

"This is Mr. Hennessy, one of the newspaper men who visited our boat yesterday afternoon," said Jack, on rejoining his companions. "Mr. Hennessy has been returning good for evil. While I am unable to tell him any of the things he wants most to know about our boat, he, on the other hand, has been telling me much of interest about these ruins."

"There are a lot of legends about this old wreck of a castle," laughed Hennessy. "Most of them are too silly to consider for a moment. One of the old stories has to do with a secret passage. Some of the guides hereabouts show what they solemnly explain was one of the outlets of the secret passage in bygone days. Do you care to devote five minutes to looking at the ridiculous thing?"

Mlle. Nadiboff smilingly accepted the suggestion, so Hal and Jack also agreed. The reporter led the way across a field, pausing at last before a fringe of weeds and low bushes.

"Now, just step through this wild hedge," Hennessy proposed, smilingly,

"and you'll see how little it takes to start a yarn. Look out, though, that you don't fall down."

As they stepped through the fringe cautiously the members of the party found themselves peering down the shaft of what appeared to be a very ordinary well. It was circular, in shape, and had been laid, on the inside, with a masonry of stones.

"There is water at the bottom, isn't there?" inquired the woman Spy.

"Yes," replied Hennessy. "It was never anything more than a well. Yet, day before yesterday, one of the local guides brought me here and insisted on telling me all about its having been an outlet of a famous secret passage from the castle. I had some fishing tackle in my pocket, so I rigged up a line and weight, and let it down. I satisfied myself that there were about four feet of greenish, slimy water at the bottom of a well. I wish you could have seen the guide's face!"

"Here come some visitors, now," nudged Hal.

Two men and four women, led by a guide, approached the place.

"This shaft looks dark and mysterious enough," began the guide, reeling off a well learned lesson, "to be as full of historic interest and mystery as it really is. This shaft is what is left of one of the outlets of the famous secret passage to and from the castle."

While the new visitors crowded about, asking questions and offering remarks, the party that Hennessy was guiding stepped into the background, secretly enjoying the guide's buncombe.

"If people would only stop to use their good sense a bit," whispered Hennessy, "they'd know, at once, that the shaft is only a long disused well."

"Great Scott!" whispered Jack. "Here come Mr. Farnum and Eph with a guide. Let's see if they will be buncoed."

Guide number two came up, with the shipbuilder and Somers in tow.

Greetings were exchanged. Then the last arrived pair stepped forward in the guide's wake. Farnum listened with an amused smile.

"Oh, pshaw!" grunted Eph. "Is this the best you can show us? This is nothing but an old well, with ten feet of malaria at the bottom. Show us, for a change, something that we can believe."

Hal began to laugh quietly. Then all hands stepped forward for another look down the shaft. As they stepped outside again Benson happened to turn just in time to see a familiar figure coming along a path near by.

It was Kamanako, better dressed than he had been earlier in the morning, and carrying a bulging dress suitcase.

"Hullo!" muttered Jack Benson, in a tone loud enough to carry to the ears of the newcomer. "There's that infernal Jap spy—that scoundrelly thief of other men's secrets!"

Kamanako halted as abruptly as though he had been challenged by a sentry.

As he saw the young captain a dark, red flush crept into the cheeks of the little, brown man.

"You talk much," sneered the Japanese his anger rising.

"I say what I think about spies and fellows who would steal other men's secrets," retorted the young submarine captain.

"You will hold tongue better, if you please," snapped Kamanako.

"I? Hold my tongue for any scamp like you?" taunted Jack Benson.

The taunt had the effect for which Jack wished. Kamanako, looking furious, dropped his dress suit case and ran angrily forward.

Just in time, as the Japanese bounded through the fringe of weeds, Captain Jack dodged adroitly to one side.

So Kamanako plunged past him—and, the next instant, there came a smothered yell from the inside of the well shaft.

"Oh, that was a shame!" came indignantly, from one of the women in the party of strangers.

But Jack, paying no heed to her, had stepped back to the edge of the well shaft. Dimly, down at the bottom, he could make out Kamanako, standing in slimy water that reached nearly up to his arm-pits.

"Is the water fine, eh?" Jack called down, laughingly.

"I show you—some time!" came the answer, in smothered rage.

"You showed me Japanese jiu-jitsu," mocked Benson "so I had to do something to return your courtesy. What I have just shown you is called—American strategy!"

By now Kamanako had succeeded in pulling himself part way out of the water, using his hands and feet on projecting bits of the old masonry.

"You'll get out, in time, for you're a patient fellow," Jack called down, in a tantalizing kind of encouragement. "Don't forget the name that I have just given you—American strategy. And, the next time a fellow tries to make you mad, don't let him do it until you've looked the ground over. American strategy—yes, that's the name."

Laughing, as he straightened up, Jack turned away from the shaft "And aren't you going to throw him down a rope, or do something to help the poor fellow out?" demanded the same indignant woman.

"Not in view of his line of offense, madame," Benson replied, raising his cap.

"Offense? What did he do?"

To the whole party Jack explained how Kamanako, that same morning, had been caught spying upon the controlling mechanisms of the submarine boat.

All the young skipper's hearers were satisfied, then, to leave the Japanese there to work his own way out, since no one feels any sorrow over the punishment of a spy.

"Gunpowder and doughnuts! But you did get square," chuckled Eph, as the submarine party turned back to the automobiles.

"So that Japanese was a spy, you said?" murmured Mlle. Nadiboff, in a low tone, as they walked along.

"Yes, beyond a doubt," Jack assured her.

"It must seem strange to be a spy," murmured the young woman. "It must give one a strange feeling."

"Yes, and a mighty mean feeling," agreed Jack, coolly.

As he spoke he raised his eyes carelessly to her face. He did not make the glance so significant as to betray his real thoughts.

Mlle. Nadiboff did not flinch nor change color under that brief scrutiny.

Instead, she appeared to be almost lost in thought as she walked along.

Suddenly she clutched at the young captain's arm.

"I wonder if you would do something very great, to please me?" she murmured, questioningly.

"I'd certainly like to have you try me," responded Jack Benson, in an equally low tone. He spoke the truth, too, for he believed that this charming but dangerous companion was scheming some sudden move in her plans as, a spy. He wanted to find out what that move would be. Above all, if it were possible, he wanted to get knowledge of which foreign country she represented.

"Won't you contrive to drive alone with me in my car, when we reach it?" she whispered, coaxingly.

"And leave your chauffeur behind, also?" asked Jack, smiling.

"That will not be necessary. I do not mind him. But I have much that I wish to say to you, my Captain. As for your friend—pardon me, but he is dull, and—"

"Quiet, I think you mean, Mademoiselle," interposed Jack. "Hal's worst enemy, if he had one, would hardly call him dull."

"Anyway, my Captain," murmured the young woman, "he does not interest me, and I do want a few words with you."

"This charming young spy," muttered Benson quickly, to himself, "is beginning to feel that I'm not enough interested to be coaxed away from my duty by flatteries. I take it she means to show her real hand, and try to play it in earnest. If that's the case, I want to know what she is going to say."

Aloud he replied:

"It will be easy enough to send my friend away with the others, Mademoiselle. When we reach the automobile all I shall have to do will be to look straight at him."

"Ah! You have a code of signals—you two?" Mlle. Nadiboff laughed, delightedly.

"A code?" repeated Jack. "No; we have never needed one. But my chum is an unusually bright and quick young man."

IX. "Dog, Who Is Your Master?"

Seeing Jack and the young Russian woman so interested in their talk, the others had gradually strolled away from them.

Hennessy had already succeeded in securing an invitation to return to Spruce Beach in Mr. Farnum's hired auto.

Hal Hastings presently turned, as though to step over to Mlle. Nadiboff's car, but he caught a swift look from Jack, and turned back. Hal had not yet heard of the grave suspicion against the young woman, and could not guess what this move of his chum's meant. Hastings, however, was swift to take the hint.

"You have not overstated your friend's intelligence," murmured the young Russian gleefully. "At a short look from you he retreats."

"Oh, Hal and I always understand each other," smiled Jack.

"That is very interesting. And yet I do not like Mr. Hastings as I like you," replied the young woman.

She looked at him with a friendly, little flash in her eyes. Had Jack been a few years older, and not warned, he might have been snared by this experienced flirt. As it was, he did not take the trouble to answer her last little speech.

Just before they stepped into the car Mlle. Nadiboff uttered a few quick words, in some foreign tongue, to her man at the steering wheel. The auto sped away. Jack noted only, at first, that they were now going further from Spruce Beach. The road down which they drove, however, was a beautiful one, and the submarine boy did not much mind where they went, provided he could find out how Mlle. Nadiboff meant to make the approach against his loyalty to the submarine company.

"Do you know, my Captain, that you are hardly a flattering escort?" began Mlle. Nadiboff, after they had whirled along for a mile or more.

"Why not?" Jack inquired, bluntly.

"Have you noticed how I seem to please most men?"

"I saw that several were very anxious dance with you last evening, and that, whenever you were seated, men flocked about your chair."

"Why do you suppose they did that?" challenged Mlle. Nadiboff.

"Because you are a very handsome woman, and the men admired you," Benson answered, plainly.

"Ah! Then you think I am handsome?"

"I haven't a doubt of it," Jack answered.

"Do you admire me?"

The challenge came plain and direct. Mlle. Nadiboff now gazed searchingly into the submarine boy's eyes.

"I—I think you a very handsome woman to look at," Captain Jack admitted, readily.

"Is that all you have to say?"

"I—I am afraid I do not understand you, Mademoiselle."

"You have no desire to be especially gallant to me? It would cause you no jealousy if you, saw that I preferred the company of other men?"

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 attitude 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," assented 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?"

"A fair draughtsman," nodded Jack.

"You could draw us a model of the boat you command. You could make drawings of all the important parts. You could supply us with explanations."

"Just what sort of explanations?" Jack asked, coolly.

M. Lemaire shot a swift, sidelong glance at the submarine boy.

"How?" demanded the Frenchman. "You do not understand yet?"

"You promised, Monsieur, to be very exact and explicit. What do you want?"

"Why, then, such drawings and such explanations that any skilled shipbuilder, from the plans you furnish us, could build another boat just like, and just as effective, as the boat you now command?"

"What do you want to do with such plans?" asked Benson.

"Why, would you care about that, if I pay you well enough?"

"Perhaps not," muttered Jack Benson. "Still, when I go into anything, I like to know all about it."

"Well, then," cried M. Lemaire, gayly, "first of all, we will come to the question of a fee to be paid you for your trouble. Such drawings and such papers you could prepare for us in two or three days, could you not?"

"I think that very likely," Jack admitted. He had thrust his hands deep down into his trousers pockets, in order to restrain his very natural impulse to spring at the Frenchman and rain blows in the latter's face.

"Two or three days' work, let us say," continued M. Lemaire. "And, for that we will pay you handsomely—ten thousand dollars in the best money of your land!"

They halted, gazing at each other. For a few seconds Jack Benson did not dare trust himself to utter a word. When he did speak, it was to ask, calmly:

"M. Lemaire, who is your master?"

"My master?" repeated the Frenchman. "I do not understand you."

"Every dog, even a dirty one," thundered Captain Jack Benson, "has a master! Who's yours?"

M. Lemaire's face became livid in an instant. His hands working convulsively, he sprang at the young submarine captain.

Mlle. Nadiboff, snatching a riding whip from under her automobile coat, turned and ran toward them. The chauffeur snatched up a wrench, leaping out of the automobile.

X. M. Lemaire Proves His Training

"You insult me!" screamed M. Lemaire, halting right under the face of Captain Jack Benson, who looked at him undaunted.

"I didn't," denied Jack. "I let you do that yourself. My congratulations, sir. You certainly know how to insult your own manhood as well as the most confirmed scoundrel could wish!"

"You insult again!" quivered M. Lemaire, his French accent asserting itself. "I s'all make you pay for zat!"

He struck wildly, badly, as a Frenchman does who has no knowledge of boxing. Benson merely warded off the blow, at the same time brushing M. Lemaire back a couple of steps.

"Now, you keep away—Gaston, or whatever your name is!" warned Jack, wheeling upon the chauffeur. "If I lose my temper, some one is going to be hurt."

But that defiance served only to draw the chauffeur on. Raising the wrench, he rushed swiftly at the young submarine captain, aiming a blow at his head.

Just as might have been expected, Jack Benson wasn't there at that instant.

Instead, he dodged nimbly to one side, at the same time driving in a blow that landed under one of the chauffeur's ears. The fellow went to the ground. Swift as a flash Jack bent over him, and snatched up the wrench, hurling it off among the trees.

Then Jack wheeled around to face Mlle. Nadiboff, bowing.

"Don't you attempt to do anything, I beg of you, Mademoiselle," Jack urged. "It would come fearfully hard to have to make even the signs of striking at a woman."

Though she did not fear physical violence from him, there was something in Benson's eyes, at just that moment, which caused the Russian woman to retreat three or four steps.

Now Jack drew himself up, for he was becoming master of himself. He at once resolved to play this game, if there was to be more of it, with greater coolness.

"I think you see, Monsieur, that I am not be frightened by your childish gymnastics," Benson uttered.

M. Lemaire, too, had forced himself to greater coolness.

"Why, Captain Benson, I might even kill, if I found it necessary," replied the Frenchman.

"Then don't get any notion that it's necessary," frowned the young submarine captain. "It would get you into a fearful lot of trouble, and could do you no possible good."

"But you called me a 'dog,'" pursued M. Lemaire, plaintively. "To a Frenchman that is the gr-r-r-rand insult!"

"Let it go at that, then," proposed Benson, with a pretense at amiability.

"Ah! Then you will forget what has just happened, if I will?" cried the Frenchman, eagerly. "That is admir-r-r-rable! Now, then, ten thousand dollars I have said you shall be paid for what you will furnish me. Ah, even in this rich country, one can do much with ten dollars!"

"It wouldn't be much, I'm afraid, as compared with my prospects with the Pollard Company," replied Captain Jack, with his most thoughtful air.

"Your prospects with the company?" echoed M. Lemaire. "Why, my bright young captain, your prospects with the company will continue just the same. They will never know that you have taken this little fortune from me. Ten thousand dollars! Think of that!"

"And you'd turn around and sell what I'd, give you for a half a million, very likely."

"Oh, no, no, no!" disclaimed the Frenchman, solemnly. "There would be nothing like that in it for me."

"Then no foreign government wants very badly to know about the Pollard plans," inquired Jack.

"There is no government that would pay a really great fortune for such information,". M. Lemaire assured the submarine boy.

"There is one," retorted Captain Jack, with a cunning smile.

"Which one?" demanded the Frenchman, doubtingly.

"One that you don't happen to represent," laughed Jack, quietly.

"Ah, I much doubt it, though I beg you to pardon me for saying so, Captain Benson."

"Why man alive," grumbled Jack, "are you running away with the notion that you're the only one who ever approached me with a view to finding out how the Pollard boat runs? You claim, to be a spy for some other government, M. Lemaire. Are you such an infant as to think yourself the only spy in the field?"

"You would have to tell me about the others. Name them, or describe them to me," urged the Frenchman. "Then I would know, if they are real agents of any foreign government."

"I would tell you nothing of the sort," muttered Captain Jack. "I am young, perhaps, yet I'm old enough to keep my own secrets."

"Then it is agreed, anyway," hastened on the Frenchman, "that, in three days, you will have ready the plans and descriptions, and that I, after I have looked them over and have found them satisfactory, will hand you ten thousand dollars."

"If you've made any such agreement," laughed Benson, "then you've made it with yourself only. You certainly haven't made it with me."

"Don't you agree, then?" asked M. Lemaire.

"No," said Jack, shortly, turning on his heel.

"Where are you going, Captain?"

"Back to Spruce Beach."

"On foot?"

"Yes, for I know your kind too well to suppose that you'll offer me a ride back."

"Wait!" cried M. Lemaire, persuasively, and Benson, halted, looking at him. "Of course I cannot offer you a lift back to town," continued the Frenchman, smilingly, "for that would be ungallant. But Mlle.

Nadiboff, who had the pleasure of your company out here will, I know, be most delighted at having your company on the return."

"Assuredly," added the young Russian woman, with one of those charming smiles that had failed so utterly with the submarine boy. "I shall feel most offended if Captain Benson does penance by walking all the miles back to Spruce Beach."

"I'd be a fool, then, to take that long walk back, when I can ride," thought Captain Jack.

So he turned, retracing his steps and bowing to the young woman.

"Yet, before we start," proposed M. Lemaire, anxiously, "let us see, Captain, if we cannot yet come to some arrangement."

"Well?" demanded Jack, for boyish curiosity tempted him to find how far this Frenchman was willing to go.

"Captain Benson," proposed Lemaire, "let us say that the price for what I ask shall be fifteen thousand dollars."

"You're not getting anywhere near my price, M. lemaire," laughed the submarine boy, derisively.

"You are playing with me—laughing at me!" cried the Frenchman, yet he spoke cheerily, for now he began to hope that this American boy might yet be induced to sell himself, body, soul and honor.

"We may as well drop this line of talk," hinted Jack Benson. "You were good enough to offer me a ride back to town, I believe?"

"Yet the price? Let us settle that first," begged the Frenchman.

"Captain Benson, I will make you one more offer—but it must be the last. Listen!"

Yet that word was followed by three or four utterly mysterious words, uttered in a low voice in Arabic.

"Yes," nodded Mlle. Nadiboff, as Jack glanced from one to the other,

"but this must be the last offer."

"The last, the only, the highest offer," muttered Gaston, who had recovered from the blow Captain Jack had given him.

"Well, then, Captain Benson, bring me your plans within three days, with all the other data needed for the construction of one of your submarine boats, and I will hand you, in exchange, the sum of twenty thousand dollars. There you are, my good friend! Twenty thousand dollars. Now you are ours, are you not?"

Disgusted, yet crafty, Jack Benson pretended to hesitate.

"You must give me your answer at once," demanded M. Lemaire. "I cannot be played with any longer."

Captain Jack drew himself stiffly erect, looking the Frenchman full in the eyes.

"M. Lemaire, you must have been a spy for a good many years. You have been engaged so long in dishonest transactions that you are unable to understand such a thing as common honesty."

"Do you call it honesty," demanded the Frenchman, with a bitter smile,

"to demand more than twenty thousand dollars for such an easily performed service?"

"You idiot!" broke forth Jack, in sudden contempt. He was no longer able even to play with this rascal. "Your offer is just as good as one of a million dollars would be. I wouldn't take either!"

"What! You have been trifling with me?" demanded M. Lemaire, starting forward.

Now the meaning of those few words in Arabic became plain enough. For Mlle. Nadiboff, who had bent over, her hand toying with the sand, suddenly clutched a handful of the fine grains and straightened up, hurling the sand full in Benson's face.

In that same flashing instant Gaston darted behind the young American.

As the half-blinded young captain dodged back, the chauffeur caught him around the neck, dragging him to the ground, while Lemaire sprang a-top of the boy.

Jack fought desperately enough, but the two men rolled him over, struggling to hold his hands. Then— Click! Snap!

Jack Benson's wrists were handcuffed tightly together.

Now M. Lemaire leaped up, looking down gloatingly at the boy.

"Benson, you young fool," scoffed the Frenchman, "since you refuse to be treated as a friend, you shall know what it is to have us for your enemies. You deem it easy to laugh at us—to call us names! Bah!

You will soon be glad to beg from us! Your hours of misery are now before you—perhaps days of torment that shall end in madness. Defy us? Balk our plans? Pouf? How little you know of the people with whom you have now to dealt."

Then, at a sign from Lemaire, Gaston threw himself upon Benson's legs, swiftly binding the ankles together. This done, Lemaire himself added a gag to Jack's mouth that shut off the last chance of making a sound.

This done, the two men bore Captain Jack to the larger auto, while Mlle. Nadiboff, chuckling softly, covered him completely under robes.

XI. Jack's Friends Do Some Fast Guessing

"So that's the kind of people they are?" Jacob Farnum smiled softly as Reporter Hennessy finished repeating the information volunteered by Mr. Graham, the Washington correspondent.

To this Hal had contributed the little he was able to tell of Mlle.

Nadiboff's conduct.

"You will have to look to your young captain more closely after this," wound up Hennessy.

"Why?" questioned the shipbuilder.

"Even at this moment he is away in the company of that clever woman."

"Oh, he won't be cross with her," retorted Farnum, with an easy smile.

"Jack Benson is always courteous with women."

"But aren't you afraid your young captain will have his head turned by her?" pressed the reporter.

"Who? Jack?" laughed Mr. Farnum. "Say, it's very plain you don't know Jack Benson."

The shipbuilder, two of the submarine boys and the reporter were seated by themselves at one end of the Hotel Clayton's big front veranda.

"Aren't you at all uneasy?" asked Hennessy.

"If I am," proposed the shipbuilder, "I'm going to cure my mental unrest with luncheon. Won't you join us, Mr. Hennessy?"

If appetite were any guide, none of the submarine people felt the slightest uneasiness as to information that the sprightly Mlle. Nadiboff might be able to coax from Captain Jack while on that auto drive.

By the time that the quartette came out again, however, Farnum began to look bothered.

"After two," he declared, "and Jack not here. Now, at three o'clock, I've agreed to take out a party of naval officers from the gunboat. We want to show those Navy fellows some of our prettiest work in the 'Benson.'"

"It looks as though your young captain is finding his companion so pleasant that he forgets to look frequently at his watch," suggested the reporter, slyly.

"Jack Benson doesn't know anything about the three o'clock appointment," replied Mr. Farnum.

"If he isn't here in season," put in quiet Hal, "it won't cause us any real trouble, anyway. Those of us who will be on hand can manage the boat through any ordinary trial or trip."

Eph was very silent—for him. After fifteen more minutes had gone by young Somers sauntered out into the road, where he could command a long view in the direction in which he would naturally look for Jack's approach in Mlle. Nadiboff's car.

After some ten minutes Eph Somers came running up the roadway.

"It's all right," he announced. "The car is coming."

In hardly a minute more the car rolled up to the veranda, and stopped.

Mlle. Nadiboff, catching sight of the little party, smiled and nodded graciously as she stepped to the veranda.

"Where's Captain Benson?" inquired Hal, starting toward her.

"Captain Benson?" repeated Mlle. Nadiboff, looking a trifle surprised.

"Hasn't he returned?"

"Not yet," Hal Hastings answered her, his gaze fixed steadily on the young woman's face. "How could he return ahead of your car, Mademoiselle?"

"Why, he left me more than half an hour ago, and within two miles of here," replied the young woman, easily. "I proposed going to another hotel, a few miles from here, for luncheon. So he asked me to put him down, saying he would walk in. That was not more than two miles from here, was it, Gaston?"

"Much less than two miles," replied the chauffeur.

"And he hasn't returned?" queried Mlle. Nadiboff, looking mildly curious.

"He has not yet come," Hal replied.

"Then he must be a slow walker, or—but will you take my car and go back to look for him? Will take you to the spot where your young captain left us on foot?"

Hal Hastings's first impulse was to accept the offer of the car. Yet Mlle. Nadiboff's acting was so perfect, her air so unconcerned save for mild curiosity, that any suspicion Hal may have felt for a second or two was quickly banished.

"No, though I thank you, Mademoiselle," he replied. "Captain Benson will doubtless be here before we could make a fair start."

Nodding pleasantly, the Russian vanished through the ladies' entrance.

Hal went back to his companions.

"Say," broke in Eph, presently, "if she left Jack to go several miles for her luncheon, she got it and returned mighty quick."

"Probably used a woman's privilege, and changed her mind about driving to that other hotel," suggested Mr. Farnum.

For some minutes more the party waited, then went down into the road, but there was no sign of Jack coming along.

"Mighty strange!" muttered Hal, uneasily. "Well, we've got to aboard, now," announced Jacob Farnum, after glancing at his watch. "Sorry we can't very well invite you to go with us, Mr. Hennessy."

"I shall see you, if you come ashore in the evening," replied the reporter. "In the meantime I shall be about the hotel. If I see Benson, I'll tell him where you all are."

Being well provided with cigars, Reporter Hennessy did not quit the veranda after he had once taken his seat there. So it happened that he noted the arrival of M. Lemaire, alone in a runabout, just about an hour after the time when Mlle. Nadiboff had returned.

Jack Benson, however, did not put in an appearance.

The submarine torpedo boat, with its naval party aboard, sailed out of the harbor, returning just before dark.

Then, as soon as could be, Messrs. Farnum and Pollard and Hal and Eph came ashore, heading straight for the hotel.

"Your young captain hasn't succeeded in walking the two miles' distance to this hotel," announced Mr. Hennessy, who was waiting for them.

"Confound it, I don't like the looks of this," muttered Farnum, uneasily.

"It looks as though something had been done to Benson."

"Will you notify the police?" questioned the reporter.

"I don't believe that would be wise. At any rate, not quite yet," interposed Hal.

"Then what would you do?" demanded Mr. Farnum, turning upon the young engineer.

"If Jack has come to any misadventure through that pair of spies," uttered Hal, anxiously, "it seems to me it will be a heap more promising if we keep a sharp, unseen watch over every move made by M. Lemaire and Mlle. Nadiboff."

"Right-o, every time!" clicked Eph. "If anything has happened to good old Jack through that pair, then they're the only ones to be watched!"

Dinner, that evening, wasn't as confident a meal for the submarine party as luncheon had been. Both Mlle. Nadiboff and the Frenchman were in the dining room, though they did not sit together.

Later, the young Russian woman appeared in the ballroom. She was as eagerly sought as a partner as she had been the night before.

Farnum and his friends did not enter the ballroom, not having brought evening dress ashore with them.

Yet, some of the time, they remained near the entrance to the ballroom.

It was here that M. Lemaire, in evening clothes, saw them and bowed most amiably.

"You do not care for the gaiety of the dance?" he inquired.

"No," replied Jacob Farnum, evasively. "We are looking for Captain Benson, and thought it just possible he had entered the ballroom."

"Did he not tell you, this afternoon, whether he would be at the dance?"

Lemaire inquired, in a tone of polite curiosity only.

"We didn't see him this afternoon," replied Mr. Farnum, rather curtly.

"You astonish me," cried the Frenchman.

"In fact we have not seen Captain Benson since we left him on an automobile ride this morning."

"Ah! I had not heard of that," murmured the Frenchman. "I trust nothing is wrong with the gallant young fellow."

"Oh, that's hardly likely," drawled Jacob Farnum, with an effort.

"Captain Jack Benson a lad with a pretty good idea of how to take care of himself."

While speaking Farnum did not look particularly at the Frenchman, but trusted to the boys to watch the man's face covertly. M. Lemaire, however, proved to be a good actor and a master of facial expression.

As soon as he could, without attracting attention, Jacob Farnum drew his little force to one side.

"Something serious has happened to Jack," muttered the shipbuilder, moodily. "It may have been an accident, but I believe it's ten times more likely that that infernal gang of spies have trapped the lad and brought harm to him. We've got to act, and act fast!"

XII. In the Power of the Spies

Something had, indeed, "happened" to Jack Benson, and much more was likely to happen.

The young submarine captain lay on a pile of dried grass that had been thrown on a board floor. His hands were still manacled. Worse, one of his feet now had an ankle-ring fastened securely, and this was chained to a stout staple driven in the floor.

It was a curious place in which young Benson lay, a place with a strange history.

Years before a tunnel had been bored into the side of a hill. After the tunnel had been lined with a masonry of stone it was not more than three feet in diameter. This tunnel led into an artificial cave some eighteen feet square and nine feet high. This cave had been shored up and boarded as to ceiling, floor and walls.

A great deal of labor had been expended in building this curious place under a low hill. Yet the original builders had figured that their time so spent would yield large returns. This part of the Florida coast lay conveniently near to Cuba. On moonless nights a small sailing craft would put in along the coast, laden with smuggled Havana cigars. There being no safe place along the shore in which to store the cigars, this place, hidden well in a forest, had been constructed as a safe depository. For some time the cigar smugglers had prospered. Then, as was to have been expected, Uncle Sam's sharp eyed customs men ran the illegal business down, arresting the smugglers, all of whom were subsequently imprisoned.

For a while afterwards this cave had been visited by the curious. All this smuggling, however, was now a thing of many years past, and curiosity-seekers had come to leave the place alone.

M. Lemaire, however, in studying the surrounding country, had heard of the artificial cave. He visited it. At need, he saw that it would suit his purposes. And now Jack Benson lay there, having been brought hither in Mlle. Nadiboff's automobile.

The young submarine captain was now not gagged. He had yelled for help perhaps two hundred times in the long hours since his enemies had left him there. Yet there had been no response. Benson was now willing to believe that there was now no likelihood whatever of his being able to summon help.

Unable to consult his watch, and lying there in complete darkness, the submarine boy had lost track of time. It was now nearly two in the morning. He had not eaten since early the morning before. He was famished, and, what was much worse, was parched for want of a drink of water.

"I wonder if they intend to leave me here to die?" thought Jack Benson, for perhaps the five-hundredth time. "It would be fiendish. Yet looking for mercy in Lemaire would be like looking for a lake of pure water in the Sahara."

Jack shifted, as much as the chain at ankle would permit. He groaned with the discomfort of it all.

As if in answer there came another groan, low, hollow, yet unmistakable.

Captain Jack raised himself on one elbow, listening keenly. The groan was repeated.

"Who's there?" he called.

By way of answer there came still another groan. It was hollow, gruesome, and suggested the grave itself. But Jack Benson was a healthy, intelligent boy, with sound digestion and well tuned nerves.

"If you're trying to work any ghostly trick on me," called Benson, derisively, "try something else!"

Again the groan, a bit louder, but Jack's answer was a merry, ringing laugh, in which there, was not a trace of dread.

"Thank you for the company, Mr. Groan," he called cheerily. "I was beginning to feel a bit lonely. But say! Can't you bring a light—even a ghostly one?"

"I am the spirit of Paul Jones," breathed a low, wailing voice.

"Oh nonsense!" jeered Jack. "Paul Jones never spoke with a cheap French accent."

"I come to—to warn—you," sounded the same sepulchral accents.

"Bring the warning right in and let's have look at it," begged Jack, heartily. Some convulsive sobs sounded out by the passageway.

"Oh, say," chuckled Jack, "as a vender of blood curdling noises you're in need of repairs. Listen! I'll sound a much better line for you!"

With that, and in a deep, blood curdling voice, Captain Benson started in on the first verse of "Down among the dead men."

He was interrupted then by a more tangible sound. Beyond, a match was scratched. Then a lantern was thrust in from the low tunnel, followed by the appearance of the rather long body of Gaston, the chauffeur.

"I thought my singing would bring something," chuckled Jack. "In a large town it always brings the police. Well, how are you? I'm really glad to see anything human, and I suppose you'll answer to that description, eh?"

In silence the chauffeur stepped forward resting the lighted lantern on the floor a few, feet from the boy. Then the Frenchman seated himself on the boards, next bringing out a paper package from one of his pockets. As he untied the string Jack watched with lively interest.

"Sandwiches, eh?" chuckled Jack. "Thank you. I'm ready."

"This is my supper," answered Gaston, taking a bite of one of the sandwiches. "You don't get any."

"Oh, I don't?" demanded Captain Jack, feeling the pangs of hunger worse than ever.

Gaston's next move was to take a bottle from another pocket, uncorking it.

"As you're a Frenchman, I suppose that's wine," muttered Jack. "I don't use that kind of stuff, but water—"

"This is water," replied the Frenchman, pouring a few drops onto the floor before the submarine boy's eyes.

Jack's throat ached at sight of the water. "I suppose you've come here to eat and drink, in order to torment me?" asked Captain Benson.

"It must give you huge pleasure to watch me," suggested Gaston, taking a swallow from the bottle.

"About the only pleasure I could get from watching you," retorted the boy ironically, "would be if I could see you swinging from the end of a rope that was tied in a tight noose around your neck!"

"Perhaps that will happen to you—yet," hinted Gaston, looking keenly at the boy.

"Humph!" muttered Jack. "How would that help your rascally crowd?"

It was plain that the chauffeur didn't really want to eat or drink, but that he had been tormenting the captive. Now Gaston carefully placed the sandwiches and the bottle of water where young Benson couldn't possibly reach them.

"You've been having too pleasant a time here," glared the Frenchman, bending over the boy. "You haven't yet suffered enough to be ready for the plans that we have for you."

With that the chauffeur threw himself a-top of the boy, striking him a blow in the face.

"You lean, long-legged coward!" sneered Jack, angrily. "You know about how much punk you'd have if I had my hands and legs free, and stood before you on even terms. How you'd beg, you wretched craven!"

For answer the chauffeur clutched with both hands at Jack's hair, giving a hard pull. Jack gritted his teeth, panting, until at last the torment forced him to utter a pain-wrung "ouch!"

"Perhaps you will soon learn better than to insult me," leered Gaston.

"You wretched dog," shot back the submarine boy, "you're past insult by any decent man!"

"Careful," warned the Frenchman, "or I will soon make you shriek your apologies to me. I can do what I please with you, and sometimes I have an ugly temper. But listen. I come for one purpose only—to find out what answer am to take to my master, M. Lemaire."

"Take him," retorted Jack, dryly, "the assurance of my undying contempt for him and all of his kind."

"You will be left here another twenty-four hours, without food or drink, if you do not give me a better answer to take," warned Gaston, leering down savagely into the boy's face. "Now, consider! Will you send word that you will be glad to see M. Lemaire in the morning?"

"Yes; if he's going to be in state prison," mocked Benson, "and locked in a cell, as he should be."

"Will you see him here?"

"I can't help myself."

"If M. Lemaire comes, will you be sensible? Will you tell him all that he wants to know about your boat and your work?"

"Not if I'm in my right mind!"

"If you continue stubborn, Captain Benson, you will die here, of thirst and hunger."

"Perhaps," admitted Jack, more soberly. "But it will be a full-size man's death, won't it?"

"Oh, you think, then, that you are not afraid to die of thirst and hunger?"

"Since others have done it," retorted Jack, "I suppose I can, if I have to."

"If you have to?" rasped the Frenchman.

"Do you doubt, then, that we would bring such a fate upon you?"

"I don't believe there's anything too low and cowardly for your crowd to stoop to it," admitted Jack Benson, with spirit.

"Have a care, young man!"

"You asked me a question," growled back young Benson, "and I answered you. If it doesn't suit you, don't ask any more questions."

Gaston regarded the boy with a still more sinister look.

"I think, Captain," continued the chauffeur, "that a little pain—will have a good effect in disciplining you."

Jack Benson did not reply.

"Come, now! Let us see if any of your hair will stay in your scalp?" proposed the Frenchman. "Yet, first of all, boy, have you anything to say that will stop me?"

"If I had, I'd say it," muttered the submarine boy, ruefully.

"Then you might give me that message I asked for."

"Is that all that will stop you?" demanded Jack.

"Yes. All."

"Then go ahead with whatever you have in mind," retorted Jack. "As long as my sane mind stays by me I shall never betray the Pollard secrets to any other government!"

"Let us see, then!"

Once more Gaston fastened the long, sinewy fingers of each hand in the submarine boy's hair. He began to tug, gently at first, but gradually increasing the force of the yank.

Jack Benson stood it as long as he could, then at last let out a yell that was dragged from the depths of agony.

"I'm in time, it seems! Stop that! Now, turn and fight like a man—you contemptible hound!"

It was Hal Hastings's voice that rang through the little cave. Hal had just crawled in through the tunnel. Now, the young engineer, his frame shaking with indignation, stood up at nearly his full length, prepared to spring upon Gaston, who, also, had leaped to his feet.

"I thought it would be worth while to watch and shadow you to-night," jeered Hal, angrily. "It turns out I was right. The bushes planted before the mouth of the tunnel bothered me, a while, in finding the way in here after you—but now I'm here!"

Of a sudden Hal leaped forward, intent upon pouncing on the chauffeur.

But Hal's foot caught in a break in the flooring. He pitched and fell forward.

With a snarl of glee Gaston burled himself upon the prostrate body of the second submarine boy, pounding him furiously.

XIII. The Fellow Who Showed the White Flag

Hal lay face down, and subjected to all the brutal fury of the Frenchman's assault.

For a few seconds young Hastings did all in his power to fight back.

He was rapidly losing consciousness, however, and poor Jack lay unable to lend as much as a finger's weight to the defense of his chum.

Then, with an oath in a foreign tongue, Gaston forced Hal's hands back, snapping handcuffs on the engineer's wrists.

"Now, then, you young pest!" snarled Gaston, springing to his feet.

"Instead of one of you, I have two. But two shall give me no more trouble than one. So you thought you could subdue me—me, did you?"

"I'd have thrashed you all right," muttered Hal, his senses returning under the storm of taunts, "if my foot hadn't caught and thrown me.

You wouldn't dare to free my hands and let me to my feet, just to see what would happen to you! You can't fight—unless all the advantage is handed to you. You're a coward—not a fighter!"

"Careful, my young firebrand, or I'll teach you to be more polite to me," sneered the Frenchman.

"Polite to you?" jeered Hal. "Polite to a spy—to a thief of nations!

Polite to a scoundrel who wants to steal the biggest secret of defense that the United States Navy has!"

"Oh, we'll have your secret all right," announced the Frenchman, his voice harsh with triumph. "We now have the two boys who know all about the secrets of the Pollard boats!"

"This sounds so good, I reckon we'd better go right on in, Jerry," broke in another voice.

Gaston started, as did the two submarine boys. Then the chauffeur leaped to the mouth of the tunnel, only to draw back in dismay as a big form emerged and loomed up before his startled vision.

The last comer wore the dress and insignia of a petty officer of the United States Navy.

"Get back there!" warned this big apparition, waving a warning hand that looked big enough to be a ham. "Nobody can't go out until we look into this cargo."

After the big sailor a smaller one crawled out of the tunnel, rising to his feet. Though he was smaller, this second sailor was not exactly what could have been called a little man.

"Now, then," demanded the big sailor, "whose captain of this craft?"

Gaston, his eyes threatening to bulge from his head, had fallen back against the wall opposite. His mouth was wide open, but he ventured no answer.

"Stow my sidelights, Jerry," muttered the big sailor to his mate,

"but this is a queer looking hold! And two young men here who'd look like officers of the service, if they wasn't so young."

"There never was anybody more delighted to you," broke fervently from Jack Benson's. "You belong to the 'Waverly'?"

"Aye, aye, shipmate."

"Then you know the submarine, of course?"

"Aye, shipmate."

"I am the captain, and my friend the engineer, of that craft."

The big sailor's reply was an explosive yell.

"Don't let that snake-in-the-grass Frenchman get away, mates," begged Jack, earnestly.

"Jerry, I reckon you can hold the only gang way that opens in on this place, can't ye?" demanded the big sailor, turning to his sturdy looking shipmate.

"I reckon, Hickey," said the other.

"This Frenchman is one of a gang of foreign spies, who have taken this means to force us to furnish plans, drawings and all information about the Pollard submarine boats," Jack continued. "You see how he has us ironed down here."

"Got the keys to them irons, Frenchy?" demanded the big sailor, turning upon Gaston.

"Yes," shivered the fellow, looking yellow with fright.

"Then turn our shipmates loose. Not too much delay about it, either," ordered Hickey.

Gaston obeyed as meekly as a lamb. There was a look in Hickey's steady eyes which would lead one to suppose that the big sailor might be able to use his strength in tearing a worthless human being apart.

"I hope you can understand all the thanks I feel like giving," remarked the young submarine captain, as he rose to his feet, then offered his hand to the big sailor.

"Oh, stow the thanks, anyway," laughed Hickey. "But Jerry and me ain't in for what we thought might be coming to us."

"What was that?" asked Jack, with interest, turning back as he held out his hand to Jerry.

"Why, ye see," nodded Hickey, after glancing down at the Frenchman, who was now unlocking Hal's handcuffs, "I've got a home, a little plantation about two miles back here, that I'm going to settle on for good one of these days. The wife and kids live there. I'd been telling Jerry about the craft and crew, and, as soon as we got shore leave, I took Jerry in tow. We've seen up there two days, and to-night we started back through the woods, 'cause our leave is up at six in the morning.

"Well, while we was coming through the woods we happened to stop a minute. Then we see this Frenchy sneaking through the woods. We wondered what was up. Then he vanished. We looked about, some quiet-like, and on tiptoe, and then we saw this shipmate o' your'n pry apart some bushes and head in this way. It looked queer to us."

"What did you think was up?" asked Jack.

"Why, as near as we could figger, this was some smuggler's hidin' place, and we was figgerin' that perhaps Jerry and me would have five 'hundred or a thousand dollars' reward to divvy up on. It wa'n't—but, anyway, Jerry an' me are proper glad we stumbled in on this, just the same.

Now, mate, spin yer own yarn."

Hal was on his feet, by this time, and shaking hands with the two rescuers. Gaston, at the furthest end of the little room, again cowered against the wall, frightened and surly.

Jack Benson told as much of the story as he thought wise, though he felt it best to leave out the names of M. Lemaire and Mlle. Nadiboff.

Next Hal described how, at the hotel, he had set himself to watching Gaston; how he had shadowed the fellow.

"Did he come out here in an auto?" asked Jack.

"No; if he had, I couldn't have followed," Hal responded. "But this place is barely four miles from the hotel. We can get back in an hour."

"What ye goin' to do with this feller, anyway?" demanded Hickey, jerking a thumb in the direction of the frightened Gaston.

"Turn him over to the police," spoke Jack, promptly. "Even if we fail to prove anything else Hal can help me fasten a charge of felonious assault on the scoundrel. That will be enough to keep him locked up for a couple of years to come."

Gaston heard this with a falling jaw, though he did not venture to say anything.

"Well, Jerry and me are ready whenever you are, mates," hinted big Hickey.

Jack nodded, and they filed out, Jerry coming last of all to make sure that the Frenchman did not lag behind.

"Now, stand up, me bucko," ordered Hickey, seizing the chauffeur's collar as that worthy crawled through the bushes at the outer end of the tunnel. "Tryin' to steal submarine secrets, was ye? So some foreign nation'd have the trick of blowing our battleships to pieces, and the sailors on 'em? Jerry, wot d'ye reckon 'ud be about right for Frenchy!"

"Pass him over to me and I'll see," grinned the smaller sailor.

Hickey grasped the frightened chauffeur in both hands, then fairly hurled him at the smaller sailor. Jerry struck him once, with each lively fist, then sent the fellow spinning back to Hickey. The latter caught Gaston, tossing him up in the air, then striking him hard as the fellow came down. This done, the chauffeur was again hurled back at Jerry. For some time the two sailors kept this up. It was rough, heavy punishment. Gaston bellowed like a sick bull under all the strenuous handling. He must have ached in every bone in his body when Hickey finally caught him, on a rebound, and held him off at arm's length.

"Had about enough, Frenchy?" demanded the big sailor.

"Oh, mercy, monsieur!" panted the fellow wailingly. "I have had much plenty to last me all my life."

"I wish I knew whether ye was lyin'," muttered Hickey, thoughtfully.

"I don't feel a bit tired, yet. Do you, Jerry?"

"Me? The exercise has warmed me up fine," grinned the smaller sailor.

"Mercy, messieurs, mercy!" wailed Gaston, sinking down to his shaking knees, for he feared that these grim tormentors meant to kill him.

"I'd just as soon you'd let up on the scoundrel, if you don't mind, mates," broke in Jack. "You see what a cur he is when he isn't having it all his own way. I told him, back in the cave, that he'd be just this sort of a fellow if the tables happened to be turned."

"Did ye say ye was going to turn him over to the officers?" asked Hickey.

"Yes," spoke Jack Benson, decisively. "A fellow plying the trade of this one needs to be locked up as long as possible."

"Oh, no, no, no, my brave Captain!" implored Gaston, wobbling around upon his knees so as to face the submarine boy. "Not the jail! Not the prison! Me! I have always been as free as the birds of the air.

I would die in prison."

"I can't see where much loss will come in if you do," retorted Jack, coldly. "Hal, you brought the handcuffs out with you?"

He held up both pairs.

"No, no, no!" pleaded Gaston, almost tearfully. "Not such disgrace as that!"

"Let me have a pair of the bracelets," requested Hickey, holding out one of his hands. "Now, my tine bird, let me clip yer wings."

Gaston submitted meekly enough, then was dragged to his feet.

While Hal had brought out the lantern and the handcuffs, famished, thirst-tormented Jack Benson had looked after the water bottle and the sandwiches. Now, as all hands trudged along toward the beach the young skipper ate and drank to his full content.

Arrived in town, they roused a cottager. From him they learned where to find the police station. Gaston was thrown into a cell, and Jack entered formal complaint against the fellow.

Jacob Farnum still awake, was found at the hotel. When Hickey and Jerry returned aboard the gunboat neither felt so sorry about not having located a smuggler's camp in full operation. Jacob Farnum had taken the sailor pair apart, presenting each with a hundred-dollar bill.

XIV. A Remembrance From Shore

It was a drowsy looking submarine party that retired to a room in the hotel to talk over the situation.

"Now, of course, first of all," declared Jacob Farnum, "we must take word of this whole affair to the commanding officer of the gunboat. As the representative, here, of the United States Government, he can give us some advice as to what to do. I am wondering whether M. Lemaire and Mlle. Nadiboff can be arrested."

"Hal," demanded Jack, turning to his chum, "when you were prowling about at the cave, did you hear Gaston mention the name of M. Lemaire?"

"No," replied Hastings, shaking his head.

"Then there wouldn't be any witness to confirm my testimony," sighed Captain Benson. "Without such a witness to aid me, I don't see how we could expect to prove anything legally against M. Lemaire."

"As for that pretty young Russian woman—" began Mr. Farnum.

"We haven't a single line of proof we could put out against her," interposed Benson. "She will have to escape, I am afraid. For that matter, I'd hate to help in the prosecution of a woman."

"So would I," retorted Mr Farnum. "Yet, if she is helping to undermine the secrets of the United States Government, something will have to be done to stop her."

"Perhaps," hinted Jack, "the best thing to do will be to see the commander of the gunboat."

"Much the better course," observed David Pollard, who, during the last few moments had seemed dreamily silent. "As you yourself suggested, Farnum, that officer should be consulted before a single step is taken in the matter."

"Then we'll all go down to the shore," decided the shipbuilder. "Even at this hour we shall find a boat."

Ten minutes later the party had clambered up on the platform deck of the "Benson." Williamson, having been left to sleep there alone through the night, had secured the entrance to the conning tower.

A few sound thumps on the deck, however, roused that machinist, who, donning slippers and trousers, quickly ran up the spiral stairway, admitting them.

"I'm mighty thankful to see you back, Captain," was the machinist's greeting.

There being still nearly two hours of time to elapse before a call could well be made aboard the gunboat, Jack and Hal threw themselves into the berths of one of the staterooms. That brief, sound nap proved the saving of them when, finally, with Messrs. Farnum and Pollard, they went on board the "Waverly."

Lieutenant Commander Kimball received them in his own cabin, hearing Jack's story with utter amazement.

"What I advise you to do, gentlemen, is to go ahead and prosecute the fellow Gaston on the charge of felonious assault. I would, however, try to avoid having any testimony brought out in court to-day. I will send one of my officers to see the public prosecutor, and ask that official to have the case continued for one week. I will also wire the Navy Department at Washington, and await the reply of the Secretary before taking any other steps or offering you any other advice. But do not needlessly alarm Lemaire or the young woman away from here."

So well did the lieutenant commander accomplish his purpose that, when Jack and Hal went to the local court that forenoon, the public prosecutor promptly asked to have the case against the chauffeur continued for one week, and the court as promptly assented.

Gaston was taken back to jail. Though the fellow was well supplied with money, he did not have anywhere near enough to put up the five thousand dollars cash bail demanded by Florida justice.

At the jail a watch was kept to see whether Gaston would have visitors, but none came. M. Lemaire and Mlle. Nadiboff were known to be still at the hotel, but they did not go near their man in trouble. Neither did Lemaire or the Russian appear about the grounds of the hotel.

At noon a letter from Lieutenant Commander Kimball came aboard the submarine, inquiring whether Captain Benson could make it convenient to take him and several officers out to sea afternoon and give an exhibition of the boat's diving powers.

"After we've taken the boat out ourselves, and tested her," was the answer Captain Jack sent back. "With so many spies about we want to be sure that the boat is in safe running order before we risk the lives of half a dozen naval officers."

A luncheon was eaten, after which, the young submarine captain hastily climbed the stairs to the conning tower.

"Throw on the gasoline, Hal," he called back over his shoulder. "And, as soon as we get way, test all the electric connections, before we attempt to do any diving. Be sure of everything old fellow."

Forward in the engine room the gas motors were soon moving merrily. By the time that Eph had cast loose from moorings Jack signaled for slow speed ahead, and the grim-looking little Benson moved on out of the harbor.

Once out of the harbor Captain Jack rang, successively, for two higher speeds. The "Benson" answered both like a charm.

"The gasoline part of the craft is working all right," declared the youthful skipper to Eph, who had come up into the tower.

Fifteen minutes later Hal shouted up:

"All electric connections appear safe, Captain. And all the air compressors are working."

"Are you ready to shut off the gasoline motors?"

"Yes, sir."

"Go ahead, then, and we'll take a dive." Down they shot below the surface, the boat going on a diving keel. Then, for some minutes, Captain Jack ran his submarine pride along at a depth of fifty feet below surface.

"Might as well rise, Captain," called up Mr. Farnum, coming from his stateroom.

So Eph, at the young commander's orders, stood by to let the compressed air gradually into the water tanks. As gracefully as ever the "Benson" rose to the surface. Gasoline power was turned on again.

"Everything is all safe, Captain," nodded Mr. Farnum. "Run back and get your naval party."

As they were to run, now, on the surface, Jack stepped out to stand by the deck wheel Eph and Hal came out with him, David Pollard standing further aft.

As the submarine rounded in under the gunboat's stern the voice of Kimball called:

"As well done as ever, Mr. Benson! When shall we come on board?"

"As soon as we're moored, sir," Jack shouted As the "Benson" ran to her moorings the youthful captain espied a shore boat that bore, as sole passenger, one of the uniformed, colored bell boys from the hotel.

When Eph made the mooring cable fast, this shore boat ranged alongside.

"Box for Captain Benson, sah," called the negro.

"Right here," acknowledged Jack, going over to the rail. The box proved to be of pasteboard.

"Are you going to open it?" whispered Farnum.

"Why, yes, sir; of course," Jack answered.

"Better do it on deck, then," came the dry answer. "It might contain something explosive, you know."

Though he laughed, young Benson carefully untied the string that held the lid on, also carefully removing the latter. Inside he discovered a handsome bouquet of roses, with a card attached.

"Well, of all the assurance in the world?" gasped Jack Benson.

"What's the matter!" queried Farnum.

"Read what's written on this card, sir."

The inscription ran:

"Mlle. Sara Nadiboff is delighted at learning that Captain Jack Benson has returned in safety from his long walk."

"Any answer, sah?" demanded the darkey in the boat.

"None, thank you," replied Captain Jack, in an even tone.

The boat continued on its way to the shore.

"Say, what do you think of that?" demanded Eph, after he, too, had taken a look at the card tied to the flowers.

"It is plain enough that our charming young Russian doesn't mean to drop Captain Benson's acquaintance just yet, if she can help it," laughed the shipbuilder.

"What are you going to do with the flowers, old man?" asked Hal.

"Flowers should be put in water, to make them keep, shouldn't they" queried the young submarine skipper, innocently.

"Yep," nodded Eph Somers.

"I hope these will keep fresh a long time, then," murmured Benson.

Raising the bouquet he dropped it overboard the harbor—on the side of the boat away from the hotel.

XV. Captain Jack Becomes Suspicious

So successful and enjoyable a trip did the naval officers have that, as the "Benson" was gliding back to the harbor, Lieutenant Commander Kimball broached a subject that had begun to interest the society people among the winter visitors to Spruce Beach.

"Mr. Farnum," inquired the naval officer, "I have a favor to ask of you."

"You know in advance, Mr. Kimball, that it is granted."

"I hope it is, if it's a wise favor to ask," smiled the naval officer.

"In brief, the idea is this: Naturally people in this neighborhood are all agog over this submarine craft. Some of the more daring of the ladies have besought me to arrange for a few of them to have a trip on board, even to running beneath the surface. Will you do that, for a party of our friends, to-morrow afternoon?"

"We've been a good deal beset by spies lately as you have means of knowing," replied Mr. Farnum, slowly. "You'll guarantee all of the guests, of course."

"As a naval officer I wouldn't bring anyone aboard here whom I doubted," replied the lieutenant commander, flushing.

"I didn't mean to be offensive, Mr. Kimball. But I have as great a reason as Uncle Sam can have for wanting to preserve the secrets of this boat from all but sworn officers and men of the Navy. You and I are one in that desire, Mr. Kimball, so we'll gladly take out any party, ladies included, that you bring on board."

"Thank you," answered Kimball. "And I can assure you that I shall be very careful in making up my party. Oh, but won't there be fluttering hearts at Spruce Beach tonight And I'm more than half afraid that I shall make an enemy of every lady of my acquaintance whom I have to leave out of the affair. How many, guests can you take, Mr. Farnum?"

"Not above fourteen, all told," replied the shipbuilder.

"Then I shall go ashore myself this evening, to deliver my invitations."

The shipbuilder also went ashore that evening, just to see whether he could learn anything about M. Lemaire and Mlle. Nadiboff. Almost the first person Farnum encountered was reporter Hennessy.

"Oh, your people are still here," answered Hennessy, in response to the shipbuilder's question. "They're both keeping in the background, though. It looks as though they feared to run away, and were waiting to see whether the lightning were going to strike them. Now, that I've told you so much, Mr. Farnum, can't you give me a little more of the inside of this whole strange business?"

"If I did," smiled the shipbuilder, "you'd send it to your paper."

"Of course," admitted the reporter, honestly.

"I'll tell you the best I can do, Hennessy. You keep your eyes and ears open for us, and I'll give you this news story before I give it to any other newspaper man."

"You surely will?" demanded the newspaper eagerly.

"I will."

"Then I'm here to help you"

As the lieutenant commander had predicted, the ladies at the hotels were in a flutter of excitement that evening. Every one who heard of the projected trip on the submarine boat, it seemed, wanted to be invited.

By the time that Mr. Kimball's list was made up it consisted of three men and nine women, these in addition to the lieutenant commander himself and Mr Featherstone.

As Jack paced the far end of the veranda that evening a girlish figure, only poorly concealed under a light wrap, stole after him. As the young woman reached him she threw back a light veil, revealing the very pretty face of Mlle. Nadiboff.

"So, my Captain," she cried, "you would forget me when you are getting up a party to take a cruise on your wonderful craft?"

If young Benson felt anything as he looked, he was staggered by this amazing bit of effrontery.

"You do not answer me," cried Mlle. Nadiboff. "You feel guilty indeed, then?"

"Perhaps 'astonished' would be the more accurate word," Jack replied, smiling now.

"My Captain, you were very pleasant with me, the first evening that we met."

"That was before," nodded Captain Benson, still smiling. He stood cap in hand, his whole bearing respectful, for he did not intend to be discourteous even to this known adventuress. He would grant her at least the courtesy due her sex.

"Before what?" she asked.

"Well, er—before that automobile ride the day."

"And why should that change your attitude toward me, my Captain?" asked the young Russian. Her tone was coaxing, almost cooing; her eyes extremely moist, as though the tears would spring forth in another instant.

"Why, you see, Mademoiselle," laughed Jack, coolly, "the finish of that automobile ride was just a trifle too exciting for me. I have plenty of the strenuous side of life out at sea. When on shore my tastes are all for the quiet, peaceful life."

"But surely you do not reproach me with having made the automobile ride unpleasant?"

"Only that, as I remember it, you dropped some dust—or something—into my eyes, and right after that two men took me away in your car—and then things happened to me."

"Why, that was all a joke," protested the handsome young woman, gazing keenly into his eyes.

"Then I'll laugh now—ha! ha! But seriously, Mademoiselle, I haven't a sense of humor that will appreciate carrying a joke quite as far as that one was carried."

"It was all a joke," Mlle Nadiboff insisted. "At least, M. Lemaire so assured me. What ever you may have thought, my Captain, I beg you will not believe that I had any notion of helping to cause you real discomfort."

Her tone was so sincere in its ring, her eyes looked so honestly and appealingly into the boy's that Jack, for an instant, had to wonder whether he were dreaming.

"My Captain," continued the Russian girl, in a voice that trembled softly, "I see, now, that I have been fearfully—cruelly—misunderstood by you. That is more than I can bear. Come, let us take a little walk together in the grounds. I want you to tell me just what part you thought I had in some affair against you. I insist; it is my right to know this. Your arm, my Captain!"

As she spoke, Mlle. Nadiboff slipped her soft little right hand inside of Captain Jack's arm.

Captain Jack took hold of that hand to disengage it. But Mlle. Nadiboff merely held the tighter, while the boy was conscious that she was gazing up at him appealingly.

"I don't wish to be rude, Mademoiselle; don't, force me to be," the submarine boy urged. "Will you kindly release my arm?"

Then, with a subdued though angry exclamation, the girl obeyed.

"You will not even hear me?" she cried, stamping one foot lightly against the veranda boards, while now her eyes brimmed with tears.

"By jove, but she's a bully actor," thought Benson, with a sort of admiration.

"I am sorry, Mademoiselle," he replied, "But I am wanted now. I am forced to say 'good evening.'"

With a bow he turned and left her, replacing his cap as he strode away.

"Oh, that fool, that unnatural young man!" she cried, angrily, to herself. "He prefers what he calls 'duty' to the friendly glance of a pretty eye. Bah! Perhaps he is laughing at me at this moment. If he is, he is laughing much too soon, for I shall teach him a lesson or two.

You are not yet beyond my reach, my brave young Captain!"

The veil that Mlle. Nadiboff carefully wound so that two folds fell across her face concealed a hard, sneering, almost barbaric look that had crept quickly into that handsome young face.

But Jack joined his own party at once. Through the rest of the evening he did not encounter either the young woman or M. Lemaire. The latter, in fact, had made himself practically invisible of late.

The next afternoon, early, a launch from the gunboat brought off the pleasure party that was to make the trip on the submarine boat.

Mr. Farnum and David Pollard were ashore at this time. Captain Jack and Eph Somers stood on the platform deck to receive and welcome the party.

The first young woman to whom Benson extended his hand to help her aboard held up a camera for him to take first of all.

"Thank you," responded the young skipper, gravely. "We will send this camera to the engine room. It will be returned to you at the end of the trip."

As he spoke, he slipped the camera box back to Eph, who started for the conning tower with it.

"But I wish to take some photographs with it," cried the young woman, indignantly. "Especially, a flashlight when we are below the surface of the ocean."

"I am most sorry, madam," Captain Jack replied, politely, "but it is wholly out of the question for any photographs to be made aboard the boat."

"No cameras! No photographs?" cried two other young women, in something like consternation. Then one of them added:

"But we want two or three photos as souvenirs—Mr. Kimball, we appeal to you."

"I am wholly powerless in the matter," replied the lieutenant commander, gravely. "Mr. Benson commands aboard this boat, and enforces the rules.

I may add, however, that am wholly in sympathy with his decision. You will understand, ladies, that there are many secrets in the handling of a submarine craft like this, It would be absolutely out of the question to allow anyone to carry away photographs of the interior or the working parts of the 'Benson.'"

With that, two more cameras were passed up. Eph as quickly handed them through the conning tower to Hal, who took them down to the engine room.

Then Jack helped his visitors aboard, while Eph slipped forward to let go the moorings at the order.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen," announced Captain Jack, "I think there will be room for all on deck. If it pleases you, therefore, I propose that all remain on the platform deck while we make our run out to sea. Then, when it comes time to dive and run under the surface, we can go below."

This plan appeared to suit nearly everyone.

"But I believe I'll go below, now," proposed one tall, blond, strongly built young woman who looked somewhat Swedish. "I am afraid of too much chill air on the sea."

"Then, if it please the rest, we will all go below," Jack answered amiably.

There was instantly a chorus of dissent. The tall, blond young woman had already made her way to the conning tower, accompanied by a young man of English appearance. But Eph unconcernedly barred their way.

"Step aside, if you please, young man," urged the Englishman. "The lady wishes to go below."

"Captain's permission necessary, sir," replied Somers, quietly.

"You see, ladies and gentlemen," Jack explained, "it won't be quite possible to let visitors roam at will over the boat. It would be against my instructions from the owner. Either all must remain on deck, or all must go below."

As he spoke the young skipper thought he saw a swift look pass between the young Swedish woman and her English escort.

"Oh, well," replied the young woman, shrugging her shoulders, "I do not intend to be disagreeable. If the others wish to remain on deck, I will do so, too."

"Very good, Miss Peddensen," murmured the young Englishman.

Jack Benson took his place at the deck wheel, and Eph, after Hal had come to the conning tower opening, hurried forward once more to cast off the moorings. Then speed was called for, and the "Benson" made a graceful sight as she swept out of the little harbor with such a brilliant, interested company aboard.

The submarine continued until she was three miles out at sea.

"Now, if it pleases the company," Captain Jack called out, "we will go below and dive. Then you, will know what it feels like to be running under the surface."

From the ladies came a few little gasps of excitement. Some of them, now that the moment had come, almost wished they had remained ashore.

"No one need be afraid," smiled Jack. "This boat has been thoroughly tested. We shall go below the surface, true, but we shall come up again the instant that the proper devices are applied to our machinery.

Let no one be afraid. There is not even a particle of danger."

"Not a particle," repeated Lieutenant Commander Kimball. "This is an even safer sport than automobiling."

"Let the Navy officers go below first, please," urged Jack, as the ladies began to crowd about the conning tower. He wanted this done in, order that both Mr. Kimball and Mr. Featherstone might be able to use their eyes on the guests below.

At last all had passed down the iron staircase save Eph, who remained by the wheel in the conning tower.

"Pass directly aft, everybody, please," called Jack, quietly.

"What's that for?" asked Miss Peddensen.

"We cannot allow anyone except naval officers to see how our diving apparatus is worked", replied Jack. "Some of you step into the staterooms, on either side, please. All of the visitors must be aft of this curtain."

The extreme after end of the cabin had been rigged with a heavy curtain that could be dropped into place.

"Why, I feel as if we were all being penned up here and held for the slaughter," gasped one American girl, in a tone of fright.

"Yes, indeed!" protested Miss Peddensen. "This is going too far."

"It strikes me as being a good deal like an outrage," blurted the young Englishman. "Mr. Kimball, can't you—won't you interfere in this matter?"

"I am very sorry," replied the lieutenant commander, "but I cannot.

This step is necessary, in order to prevent anyone from having an improper view of the working of the craft. I am going behind the curtain with you. Mr. Featherstone will remain out in the cabin to aid in the handling of the boat. You need none of you feel any uneasiness."

Both Miss Peddensen and the Englishman ceased their objections. But Jack, remembering the glance that had passed between the pair on deck, remained behind the curtain, too, as he dropped it.

"Go ahead, Hal!" he called. "Fifty feet under the surface. Dive gently."

"O-o-o-oh!" came in little screams of alarm as the guests felt the floor on which they stood inclining at a sloping angle.

"We're going below the surface now," young Benson informed them. "We'll soon be running on an even keel."

"All below," called Hal Hastings in a few moments.

"And all clear?" asked Jack.

"All clear, Captain."

"Jack Benson threw aside the heavy curtain, come forward, slowly ladies and gentlemen, and take seats," was Jack's invitation. "I am sorry I shall have to ask you all to remain seated, but we cannot have any serious shifting of weight while we are running under the water."

Though Eph was at the tower wheel Hal Hastings was now virtually in command of the boat, by previous arrangement, for young Benson meant to keep a sharp, though covert, eye on passengers.

The young skipper noted, swiftly, that Miss Peddensen had taken the seat furthest aft in the cabin, while the young Englishman was seated at the forward end of the party of guests.

"Oh, I say, Captain Benson," called the Englishman, "are you permitted to show me how you know just how far below the surface you are?"

"The gauge tells that," replied Jack. "But I will ask you to excuse me from describing it, as I wish to keep my mind on the running of the boat. Mr. Hastings will oblige you; or, I don't doubt, one of the naval officers will."

Even this momentary distraction, however, had given Miss Peddensen time to slip something out of one of her wide sleeves into her lap. And now the young Swedish woman sat so that the object taken from her sleeve was concealed behind the woman who sat next to her.

It wasn't many moments ere Jack noted some thing about the young Swedish woman that caused the young skipper to turn, every now and then, for a swift though hidden glance in her direction.

"What on earth is Miss Peddensen doing?" wondered the submarine boy.

"Hang it, I believe she's up to something that she ought not to be doing!"

Through he did not turn and walk in her direction, Jack, thereafter, kept the young Swedish woman much more under secret observation.

"By Jove, I know what she's doing, now," muttered the young skipper.

"That movement of her elbow betrays her, and her eyes are fixed, much of the time on her lap. If she isn't sketching something, on the sly, then my eyesight isn't as good as it used to be!"

Captain Jack Benson found himself quickly aquiver with suspicion and indignation.

"Yet I can't afford to make any mistakes," he told himself, uneasily.

"I've got to be absolutely sure before I can take the risk of starting a human cyclone about my ears!"

XVI. The Government Takes a Hand

Yet, for a brief interval more, Jack Benson hesitated.

"Is the young woman sketching, or is she merely writing?" he wondered, anxiously. He watched her a little while longer.

"No; she's sketching. Those are drawing strokes she's making."

Then, looking wholly blank, Jack Benson turned on his heel. He looked first at one mechanism, then at another. Yet, presently, stood close to Lieutenant Commander Kimball's ear.

Only a few words were said, but the naval officer understood instantly.

As Captain Jack turned and went back, Kimball also sauntered along, although he did not appear interested in the submarine boy's movements.

Yet it was not long when both appeared before the young Swedish woman.

"Miss Peddensen," murmured the lieutenant commander, "may I see what you are writing?"

The woman looked up, her face composed, her eyes dancing with mirth.

"Why, surely, Mr. Kimball," she replied, laughing. "And very silly stuff you'll find it, too. I have been jotting down my impressions upon finding myself riding under the surface of the sea. I do not handle your English language very well, as you will see."

Mr. Kimball glanced hastily through the three or four pages of rather closely written note paper. It was, as the young woman had stated, a very amateurish composition, in very stilted English.

The naval officer felt a sense of mortification and his face reddened slightly. He had been led to expect that he would find something crime on these sheets of paper. Instead, he scanned a stupid piece of composition.

"I would die of humiliation, to have that read before all these people," murmured the young woman.

Lieutenant Commander Kimball gave Jack Benson a covert elbow-dig in the ribs, a move said, as plainly as words:

"The joke is on you."

Jack, however, through half open eyes, had been watching on his own account. Suddenly he made a dive forward, shooting his hands down close to Miss Peddensen's well-booted feet.

"That same old ship-rat!" exclaimed the submarine boy. "I'll catch the beast before he goes under your skirts, Miss Peddensen."

At the mention of a rat so dangerously close young woman almost shot out of her seat in anxiety to get away.

As she bounded something dropped down out of the wide right sleeve of her coat. It was a small memorandum book.

This was just what Jack Benson caught, in place of the pretended rat.

Moreover, the young skipper was clever enough to catch the book so that it fell into his hands open.

"It wasn't a rat, after all, Miss Peddensen," smiled Jack, straightening up and holding the open memorandum book so that both he and Kimball could see what was traced on the two pages that lay exposed.

There were sketches of the compressors, sketches of the mechanism by which the compressed air was forced into the tanks to drive the water out—in fact, sketches of many vital features in the control of the boat. Nor was more than a glance needed to make it plain that this young woman artist possessed expert knowledge of machinery.

At the cry of "rat" three or four women jumped from their seats. The one nearest Miss Peddensen moved hastily to the forward end of the cabin.

"My dear young woman," murmured the lieutenant commander, dropping into the vacated seat beside the Swedish girl, "you won't mind, will you, if I keep these little matters to look over at my convenience!"

There was something so compelling in the look that flashed briefly in the naval officer's eyes that Miss Peddensen lost color, and stammered:

"No-o-o, certainly not; if such silly things interest you."

"They interest me very much indeed," murmured Kimball, thrusting "composition" and sketches inside his blouse.

As the naval officer plainly intended to remain where he was, Jack Benson turned, sauntering forward.

"Another spy nailed, beyond a single doubt," muttered the young submarine commander. "Will there never be an end to them."

As Captain Jack glanced at the young Englishman, Drummond by name, he saw an unmistakable flash of hostility in the Englishman's eyes.

"So you're a spy, too?" quivered Benson, inwardly, turning on his heel.

After that, howsoever, the submarine boy took good care to keep Drummond under covert watch.

In time the "Benson" returned to the surface, being now much nearer land then when the aft had made its dive. A few minutes later the boat ran into the harbor and made fast at its moorings.

"What are you going to do about the young woman?" Jack found a chance to whisper, as all hands gathered on the platform deck.

"I don't believe I have actual authority to do anything," Kimball returned, also in a whisper. "But we have the drawings, and that writing, which may be a clever cipher. With that I'm afraid we'll have to remain content."

A launch from the gunboat was in waiting. In this the shore guests were taken back to land. Hardly had the launch left the side of the submarine, when a cutter, also from the gunboat, put in alongside. Two men in ordinary citizen's dress clambered aboard.

"Lieutenant Commander Kimball?" inquired one of the pair.

"Yes," acknowledged the naval officer. "May we see you below, in the cabin of this boat."

"No!" replied Kimball, sternly.

"Oh, as you please, of course," smiled the one of the pair who had first spoken. "Probably I am at fault, though, in not introducing my companion and myself. My friend is Mr. Packwood; my name is Trotter.

We are Secret Service men sent down here by the Secretary of the Navy, in answer to your dispatch."

As Trotter spoke he threw back the lapel of his coat, displaying a badge.

"I have also some papers to show you, Mr. Kimball," continued the Secret Service man.

"Oh, of course you may come below," smiled the naval officer. "And, Benson; I guess this business belongs to you, too."

So Jack descended with the party, while the other submarine boys and Williamson remained on deck.

"You have, been bothered with spies, Captain?" asked Trotter, turning to young Benson, when they had reached the cabin table.

"Haven't we, though!" muttered Jack.

"And even took one out with you on this last trip of yours," laughed Mr. Trotter, producing from an inner pocket a book bound in black.

"Miss Peddensen, the Swedish young woman?" demanded Captain Jack.

"Here's the one I mean," replied Trotter, opening the book, which proved to be an album, and turning the pages over rapidly. He pointed to a photograph.

"That's Miss Peddensen," cried Jack, looking up at Lieutenant Commander Kimball for confirmation.

"Well, Peddensen is one of the names she has used," smiled Trotter.

"What foreign government does she serve?" demanded Benson.

Trotter shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, the Department has pretty good information that she has served England, France, Germany, Austria, Russia—oh, these spies have no country! They serve the fattest international purse!"

"Here is what we took from Miss Peddensen," said Kimball, gravely, laying down on the table the sketchbook and the "composition."

Taking up the latter, Mr. Trotter, after a glance declared:

"This is written in a secret cipher, most likely. Packwood, this comes in your peculiar line of work. The sketches are easy enough to understand. They are of the mechanisms displayed in this cabin."

"Yes, this is a cipher," declared Packwood, thoughtfully, after scanning the sheets a few moments. "With some study I can make it out."

"Who's the young Englishman who escorted Miss Peddensen?" demanded Captain Jack.

"Never saw him until I glanced at him in the launch just now," replied Trotter. "He may be another spy, unknown to us, or he may be merely a good-natured and wholly innocent young chap whom the Swedish girl has lured into her service."

"What are these other pictures?" inquired Mr. Kimball, beginning to turn the leaves.

"All of 'em photos of people known to be engaged in stealing naval secrets for foreign powers," replied Trotter. "Captain Benson may keep this album for future use. I've another copy for you, Mr. Kimball."

"Why, here's a good likeness of Mlle. Nadiboff," cried Jack Benson, pausing in turning the leaves and glancing down at the picture of a face he had good cause to remember. "And here, opposite her, is M. Lemaire!"

"Oh, yes; they're both old offenders," nodded Trotter. "Turn along, and see if you remember any more faces."

"Here's Gaston, who is now in jail here," nodded Jack.

"Is he, though?" asked Trotter, with interest.

"What charge?"

"Felonious assault upon Hastings and myself."

"Good," chuckled Trotter. "I shall have to see the judge privately, and ask him to make sure that Gaston Goubet gets the longest sentence possible. Nothing like prison bars to stop the work of these international spies!"

"Why, here's even little Kamanako," smiled as he turned over another page.

"Yes, and a very smooth and slippery little spy that Jap is," declared Mr. Trotter. "He steals all kinds of secrets, from the details of sixteen inch guns down to the method of dyeing a blanket in a mill."

"Are you going to do anything with the Peddensen woman?" inquired Lieutenant Commander Kimball.

"Ain't I, though—just!" answered Mr. Trotter. "You caught her red-handed, with drawings, cipher and all."

"Will she be imprisoned?" inquired Captain Jack.

"Well, that isn't the usual way," replied Trotter. "The young woman is more likely to be taken to New York, given a passage ticket across the ocean, and notified that, if she tries to return to this country, she will find that her photograph is on file at every port of entry. It will spoil her games, without making much of a fuss."

The cutter waiting alongside conveyed Kimball and his brother officer, Featherstone, back to the gunboat. Then it ran into shore; putting Mr. Trotter and his silent companion once more on land.

For some minutes after that Jack, Hal and Eph remained absorbed in the pictures in this album of known naval spies. There were more than two dozen of these photographs, some of men, some of women. On the same page with each picture was given the subject's true name, if known, also the spy's aliases, and other information.

"Sara Nadiboff, twenty-nine, yet looks like twenty," muttered Hal, studying the information under the young Russian woman's photograph.

"And Kamanako is really Lieutenant Osuri," muttered Jack. "Yet the fellow was working in the hotel kitchen until he could get a chance to apply for a job on this craft."

"I don't recognize any other spies among these pictures," muttered Hal. "The only ones here that we know we had already guessed."

"Look at that time," muttered Jack, jumping up. "I must get on shore and see what Mr. Farnum's orders are. And—" thrusting the album in his coat pocket and buttoning it up, "I'll take this picture gallery along. Our employer will be highly interested in it."

It was dusk by the time that Benson reached the platform deck. After a few moments he succeeded in hailing a harbor boat. Yet it was quite dark by the time that Captain Jack stepped on shore.

Instead of going around by the road Jack decided to cross the grounds.

As he was walking briskly toward the hotel, an athletic-looking young man stepped out suddenly, from behind of the big trees, blocking the submarine boy's path.

"Good evening, Mr. Drummond," Jack hailed, quietly.

"Now, you halt and stand right where you are," retorted the Englishman, nervously handling a heavy walking stick that he carried. "I don't know whether it's going to be a good evening for you, or not, young man. Do you know that your cursed meddling has resulted in the arrest of a most estimable young woman?"

"Who?" asked Jack, coolly.

"Miss Peddensen," replied Drummond, angrily.

"Oh, I guess the secret service men know what they're about," said Jack somewhat sarcastically.

"And I know what I'm about, too!" roared the enraged Drummond, raising his cane, wrathfully. "Benson, you young sneak, I'm going to brain you!"

XVII. Drummond's Little Surprise—For Himself

It didn't happen just that way.

As Drummond swung his cane and brought it down with crushing force, aimed at the submarine boy's head, Jack wasn't there.

Instead, Benson sprang about two feet to one, side. It would have been a fearful blow had Jack's head been in the way. As it was, the cane hit the ground with such force as to be thrown from the Englishman's hand.

With a growl, the fellow leaped forward and snatched up his stick. Jack Benson stood leaning carelessly against a tree, in a way that enraged Drummond all the more.

"I'll show you!" snarled the Englishman. With that he aimed a blow, sideways, at Benson's head Jack ducked, then dodged out. The cane hit the tree with a force that jarred the assailant and all but dislocated his wrist. Again he dropped the stick.

Benson gave a hearty ringing laugh and this enraged the Englishman past endurance. Then Jack added, "Is that the best you can do?"

"I'll show you!" roared the other, making a leap forward. He charged straight at the submarine boy, who wheeled and darted on toward hotel.

"Don't run, you coward!" came the flying taunt.

Just then Jack Benson fell, though he did it on purpose. Straight in the path of the irate Englishman the submarine boy dropped, curling himself up.

It was too late for Drummond to halt, or to change his course. He tripped over prostrate young Benson, then lurched forward landing on his face.

Up sprang Jak Benson, planting two sterling good kicks.

"You beast! Wait until I get up!" roared the victim, in a voice like a bull's bellow.

"What's the matter here?" demanded an astonished voice, and Mr. Trotter, after a short dash, bounded through the darkness, arriving on the scene just as Drummond was getting up.

"This fellow—" began Jack.

"'Fellow'?" broke in Drummond, angrily.

"This fellow," Jack continued, calmly, "accused me of causing Miss Peddensen's arrest, and promised to brain me."

"Too bad you've allied yourself with that young woman," muttered Mr. Trotter looking keenly into the Englishman's face.

"What d'ye mean?" demanded Drummond.

"Miss Peddensen turns out to be a well-known military and naval spy, though she hasn't operated in this country before in five years," replied Mr. Trotter, coolly. "However, she has been caught trying to steal the secrets of the submarine boat, and she's under arrest. My side partner, Packwood, is now engaged in unraveling a cipher that was taken from her."

"That's an impudent lie," asserted the Englishman, hotly.

"No it isn't," laughed Mr. Trotter. "It's a Secret Service fact."

"I'm going to go to Miss Peddensen, now, then," asserted Drummond.

"Right-o," drawled Trotter, so significantly that Drummond shot a quick look at the officer, demanding:

"What d'ye mean by that?"

"I'm going to take you to Miss Peddensen," returned the Secret Service man.

"I'll go all the way to Washington, by tonight's express, to see the young lady freed from this outrageous mistake," stormed the Englishman.

"I don't know about your going to Washington—to-night," replied Trotter, yawning.

"What have you to do with that?" demanded Drummond, harshly.

"Why, I reckon, Mr. Drummond, you're my prisoner. You won't very easily go anywhere to-night, without my consent."

"Your prisoner?" demanded the Englishman angrily.

"Yes."

"By what right do you arrest me! What have I done?"

"Well, for one thing, you've tried to injure the captain of the submarine boat, all because he caught your woman friend at strange tricks on board the 'Benson.' For another reason, because we suspect anyone who defends or upholds the spy. Be good enough to step along with me, Mr. Drummond."

"I'll do nothing of the sort," blurted the astounded Englishman "You'll go all the same," warned Mr. Trotter, first of all displaying his Secret Service badge, next running a hand back briefly to a revolver that rested in a hip pocket. "I don't much care, Drummond, whether you walk with me, or whether I have to send for an ambulance to bring you along. But you'll go just where I want you to."

The Englishman was too much terrified to reply. Two or three times he opened his mouth as though to speak, but, instead, merely swallowed.

"Come, now—forward march" advised Mr. Trotter. Drummond, without allowing himself to hesitate, went away at the side of the Secret Service man.

"Don't you want your cane?" called Jack Benson. Drummond did not condescend to answer, so the submarine boy slipped back to the tree, where he found the stick. It was a handsome piece of polished partridge wood, surmounted by a handsomely wrought head of gold.

"This will make an interesting souvenir to keep aboard the boat," mused Benson, swinging the stick as he continued his walk.

At the veranda Jack came face to face with Mlle. Nadiboff, just returning from an unaccompanied stroll down by the water front. To the submarine boy's astonishment the handsome Russian greeted him most amiably.

"You have not forgotten old friends, I hope, my Captain?" she added, smiling and with a pretty little coaxing way.

"There are some old friends," replied Captain Jack, lifting his cap,

"whom it is impossible to forget."

"I hope you will continue to regard me as a friend," responded Mlle.

Nadiboff, more seriously, looking him fully in the eyes.

"Why?" queried Jack.

"I may need a friend," she replied, dropping her glance for a moment.

"You in need of anything—even a friend?" cried Captain Jack, incredulously.

"I may need a friend who can speak a good word for me; who can forget things, or explain them." went on Mlle. Nadiboff, resting a hand pleadingly on his sleeve "My Captain, if need be, I shall send for you.

Do not fail me! You won't?"

It looked as though the tears lay just behind her eyes. The submarine boy felt that the situation was becoming too interesting, so he lifted his cap once more as he turned on his heel.

"Mlle. Nadiboff," he sent back to her, "I trust you will never want for the most reliable friends."

He turned down the veranda to go toward the office door, when he encountered another surprise.

Leaning against one of the posts stood Kamanako, as natty and trim as though he had come from the tailor's.

Looking up with a most friendly smile, the little Japanese saluted.

"Why, how do you do?" Jack greeted him, halting. "I had an idea you had left Spruce Beach."

"I should have done so, but I started too late," replied Kamanako, still smiling. Nothing ever daunts that Japanese smile. One of these little men, being led away to have his head chopped off, goes with a smile on his little brown face.

"Started too late?" asked Jack. "How was that?"

"Now, you laugh at me," replied the Japanese.

"Laughing at you? Not a bit!"

"You have told some one that I am a spy," replied Kamanako, without a trace of grudge in his voice. "So now, I cannot leave Spruce Beach.

Ticket agent, he will not sell me. If I try to go on foot, the roads are watched. If I take to woods, even, I shall be found."

"Sorry," nodded Jack Benson, and passed on. "So the Secret Service net is around the place, and no suspected person can get away?" muttered the submarine boy. "Well, that's it should be. I wonder if there are any more of this strange crew—men or women spies that don't happen to have suspected so far? If there are, I don't believe they'll wriggle through the meshes of old Uncle Sam's Secret Service net, anyway."

His mind full of the doings of the day, Captain Jack Benson found Messrs. Farnum and to whom he surely had much to tell.

XVIII. "Remember What Happened to the 'Maine'!"

"We'll have no more trouble, I imagine," nodded Jacob Farnum, with a satisfied air, when Jack, at a table in the corner of the dining room, had told, in low tones, all that had happened.

"The spies are all on the defensive, now, beyond a doubt," added David Pollard. "They'll be too busy keeping their wrists out of handcuffs to devote any of their time to trying to get at the secrets of the 'Benson.'"

"I hope you're both right," said Captain Jack, gravely.

"Why, what leads you to think that we may not be?" asked Farnum, curiously.

"Nothing in the way of facts," Jack admitted. "Yet there may be others of this infernal spy gang who have not yet shown their hands, of whose existence the Secret Service knows nothing."

"Well, what can they do, if you don't allow any strangers on board the boat?" asked Mr. Farnum, point blank.

"Nothing much," muttered Benson, "unless—"

"Well, unless what?"

"See here," asked the submarine boy, "what is usually done to such spies by the United States Government?"

"Why, the law provides that, in war time, such spies can be shot in mighty quick order," replied Mr. Farnum. "In peace times the law doesn't allow anything but sending spies to prison."

"But what does the Government usually do?" pursued Captain Jack. "It seems to me I've read of suspected spies being caught around American fortifications, trying to make notes, or take photographs."

"Yes," nodded the shipbuilder.

"And I think I've read, also, that such spies are generally warned and then let go."

"That's the usual procedure, I believe," admitted Farnum.

"Then, after the spies who have been bothering us have all been rounded up and scolded, they'll be given railroad tickets and allowed go on their way?" asked Jack.

"Frankly, I'm afraid that's just what will be in the present case," admitted Jacob Farnum.

"Then," grumbled Captain Jack, making a rather wry face, "it would seem that being a foreign spy, in this country, provides one with a calling that is a good deal safer than being just a lightning rod peddler or a bill collector."

"Yes; it's really so," admitted the shipbuilder, thoughtfully.

"If that is the case," muttered Captain Jack, "the spies here at Spruce Beach will probably keep a bit quiet until they see how things are going to turn out. As soon as their minds are made easy by our generous government, then they'll plot their next moves. If they can't accomplish anything more, they may content themselves with a general revenge of some sort on the whole lot of us."

"You're not afraid of their vengeance, are you?" asked Mr. Farnum, looking up, and into the eyes of his young captain.

"I'm not afraid, of anything, sir," retorted Jack. "The master of a submarine boat has no right to be afraid of things. Even if these scoundrels should get me, in the end, all I can to is to smile, and say: 'So be it.'"

Then, in the next breath, Benson added, earnestly:

"It doesn't matter so much if these rascals get me, but I don't want them to work any mischief to the submarine."

"Bravo!" nodded David Pollard, looking on with a smile.

It is a fact that life in a constant atmosphere of danger renders the average man all but indifferent to fear. Those who meet perils daily grow to consider danger as all a part of the day's work. Perils which, a year before, would have kept Jack Benson awake with dread for a week now appeared to him as not worth thinking about until they happened.

Jack remained ashore until half-past nine. He hoped to hear some word of what the Secret Service men might have learned, or of what these representatives of Uncle Sam were doing. But no word came, so the submarine boy went down to the beach. There was but one harbor boat in sight.

"Ah done thought yo'd be gwine back to do little ship, sah, so Ah done waited fo' you'," explained the negro in the boat. "Any mo' ob yo' pahty to go abo'd to-night, sah?"

"No," Jack answered. "I'll be the last one to put off to-night."

Nor did he forget to reward the darkey's enterprise by handing him rather more than the usual boat hire.

As he stepped aboard Jack found Hal pacing the platform deck.

"Keeping deck watch, old fellow? I'm glad see that," Captain Jack said, commendingly.

"Yes; I'm on until midnight. Then Williamson stands watch until three-thirty in the morning. After that Eph comes up and takes the trick until it's time to call us all."

"When do I come on watch?" asked Jack.

"I never heard the captain of a craft had to stand watch in port," laughed Hal Hastings "Besides, old fellow, we couldn't be sure you'd be aboard to-night. So the watches are all arranged. Anyway, you'd better turn in and get a full night's sleep, for you've more on your mind than the rest of us."

"Then tell Williamson, and have him pass the word on to Eph, that watch ought to be very strictly kept," answered the young captain.

A few minutes Benson remained on deck, chatting with his chum. When he at last went below the submarine captain lost little time getting into his berth.

When Machinist Williamson came on deck at midnight a light wind was blowing, but the air was not really chilly. In his heavy reefer the machinist felt wholly comfortable after he had lighted his pipe and started his slow walk back and forth along the deck.

There did not appear to be overmuch sense in keeping this deck watch.

Only a short distance away lay the United States gunboat "Waverly," with her alert marine guard. Though there was no moon, the starlight was bright enough to enable a marine on the gunboat to see anything that might skim over the water toward the "Benson."

Yet Williamson was on watch, under instructions, and he was a faithful fellow who meant to do his full duty.

"Seems kinder tough, of course, to be so long out of one's bunk in the middle of the night," the machinist admitted to himself.

Yet, had his vision been keen enough to know what was happening on shore, almost directly opposite the "Benson," Williamson would have been tenfold more alert.

Over there on the shore, in a clump of flowering, semi-tropical bushes, crouched two men. On the ground with them lay a metal cylinder some two feet long and seven inches in diameter. There was also a coil of wire and a boxed magneto battery.

One of the pair held to his eyes a pair of night marine glasses.

Incessantly this watcher kept his gaze focused on Williamson.

About two o'clock in the morning Williamson found it necessary to go below for a few moments. After reaching the conning tower he paused, for a few moments, to look keenly all about him.

Yet, look as he would through the night, the machinist's vision could not see that the bush hidden pair on shore, guessing his intention from his stop by the conning tower, had silently taken to the water.

With them they towed the metal cylinder, which floated. To the cylinder was attached one end of the light wire.

Some distance out from the shore the pair halted, treading water, only their eyes above the surface. But Williamson could not make out such small objects at the distance. Then he went below.

"Now, for it," breathed one of the swimming pair, tensely.

Both swimmers struck out strongly, yet silently, making fast progress through the water by means of some of the best strokes known to swimmers.

When they reached the port side of the submarine Williamson was still below. Nor had the attention of the marine guard on the "Waverly" been attracted.

In just another swift instant the swimmers made a dive that carried them and their cylinder below the surface.

Straight up against the bottom of the hull the pair went.

When they returned to the surface the metal cylinder was in place below.

Glancing backward only once, to make sure that Williamson was not yet on deck, and that the gunboat's marine guard had not detected their stealthy work, the swimming pair struck out lustily for shore.

Back into the same clump of bushes they made their way. In the first few moments neither of the recent swimmers appeared to dare a glance into the face of his comrade. In silence they fitted the shore end of the wire to the battery.

Then one of the pair seized the handle to pomp the fatal electric spark along the wire to the hidden mine under the "Benson's" hull.

"Remember what happened to the 'Maine'!" this wretch chuckled hideously.

XIX. A Joke On the Secret Service

"What's that noise?" wondered Williamson.

He stopped, listening intently, for he was still below.

Against the bottom of the "Benson's" hull he heard a steady, slow, monotonous bumping. As he listened, his face took on an anxious look.

"We're in a friendly port," muttered the machinist. "It can't be anything very wrong, and yet—"

That slow steady bumping continued.

"Anything bumping against the bull of a boat at anchor, in that fashion may be wrong," concluded the man, swiftly.

His mind made up to this much, the rest was not difficult to decide. The cause of that bumping required instant investigation. Williamson caught up the tool that came quickest to hand, a pair of nippers, thrust them into his jumper and raced up to the deck.

"If it's any real mischief," he muttered, "I hope I won't be too slow—too late!"

With that he dived overboard, at the starboard rail, the side nearest the gunboat. There was a splash—then the waters closed over the machinist.

He came up at about the point he had planned, where he had heard the bumping.

Held below water as he was by the under-hull of the submarine, he could move with certainty, though but slowly.

Groping, the machinist encountered the metal cylinder. Quickly he felt for its connections which, like a flash, he knew must exist. He found the wire, but reached for another. It all had to be done swiftly, for his reserve "wind" was fast giving out. Not finding a second wire, he fastened his nippers against the first wire—then cut. Now, steering the metal cylinder, he pushed it out from under the hull. Cylinder and man rose together.

Whew! What a powerful breath the man took! Then he steered the cylinder carefully against the hull, and managed to hold it there until he could reach a piece of cordage and make the cylinder fast.

This done, he dashed below, thumping hard on the door of the stateroom occupied by Captain Jack Benson and Hal Hastings.

"Eh? What is it?" called Jack, almost instantly.

"You're wanted on deck, Captain—instantly," replied the dripping machinist.

"Oh, all right, Williamson," and Benson's feet hit the stateroom floor.

A minute later he was above, Hal following only some twenty seconds behind his young chief.

Williamson swiftly told how he had heard the bumping against the hull, and how he had found the cylinder, with a wire connection.

"Gunboat, ahoy!" roared Captain Jack, snatching up a megaphone and holding it to his lips.

The response was prompt. In less than three minutes a cutter, containing an officer, a corporal and four marines, was alongside.

"The first thing for us to do is to take that cylinder aboard the 'Waverly' and investigate it," decided Ensign Foss. "I'll leave the marines here until I get further instructions from the commanding officer."

"Anything happening?" demanded Eph, reaching deck just after the cutter had put off. He eyed the marine squad curiously.

"Just what we're trying to find out," replied Jack.

"It must seem to you that I acted amiss in leaving the deck," put in Williamson.

"But you didn't," retorted Jack. "Had you been on deck you wouldn't have heard that infernal machine bumping against the hull."

"Infernal?" echoed Eph Somers, rubbing his eyes. "Say, have I been missing a whole lot by being asleep?"

The other three told him quickly all they knew of what had happened.

Within five minutes the cutter came back, bringing two more marines and a young second lieutenant of that corps.

"Lieutenant Commander Kimball's compliments, sir," reported the second lieutenant. "He will put in an appearance as soon as that cylinder has been investigated. He has sent me with instructions to see what had best be done."

"I don't believe there's much doubt as to what had best be done," replied Captain Jack, quickly. "Williamson reports having cut a wire that was attached to that cylinder. I think we can find that wire again, and, if we do, we can easily follow it to its other end."

"By jove, that's good enough," muttered the lieutenant.

"Williamson is already wet," proposed Jack. "He can dive again, and see whether he can pick up that wire. If he needs any help, I'll go overboard with him."

"Wait until I see what I can do," proposed the machinist.

This time he dived over the port side of the craft. Three or four times he came up for air, next going, below again. At last, however, Williamson came up, calling:

"I have a part of the wire in my hands."

Lieutenant Foster ordered his marines into the cutter, inviting Jack and Hal also to go with him. They rowed out alongside of Williamson, picking up the machinist and his wire.

"We'd better put your man back on the boat, hadn't we, Mr. Benson?" inquired the marine lieutenant.

"I'm not such weak stuff as that, sir," almost grumbled the machinist.

"I can stand a few minutes more in wet clothes, and I want to go along to see where this wire leads."

"Good enough," nodded Lieutenant Foster, he gave the order to row along slowly, while two marines in the bow of the cutter slowly gathered in the wire, at the same time signaling back the direction in which it lay.

Only a few minutes were needed thus to follow the trail straight to the clump of bushes on shore.

"Nobody leave the boat until we have a lantern ready," directed Lieutenant Foster. "We don't want to tramp out the trail of the rascals who laid that mine."

The marine lieutenant himself was the first to step ashore, and Jack Benson was with him.

"Here are the footprints of the rascals," announced Foster, as the two stepped cautiously into the bushes.

"Yes; there were just two of them here, apparently," replied Jack, after studying the prints, and discovering the marks of only two different sizes or kinds of shoes.

"Here's the imprint of a box," added Foster. "Good heavens, the scoundrels had a regular magneto battery, insulated wire and all, for firing that mine from the shore. Mr. Benson, they meant to blow your boat into Kingdom Come!"

"It looks that way," replied Jack Benson, composedly.

On hearing that voice, so even and unaffected in its utterance, Lieutenant Foster looked at the submarine boy keenly.

"By Jove, Benson, you're cool enough to be an admiral," muttered the marine officer, admiringly.

"Why, this doesn't seem to be a joke on me," replied Captain, Jack, smiling back at the lieutenant.

"A joke!"

"It's one on the Secret Service," laughed Jack, quietly. "They are the ones who are supposed to have the job of keeping off spies and all of their kind."

"Yes; this certainly came from the spies, or their friends," muttered Lieutenant Foster. "Jove, but we have a desperate crowd to deal with when they'll go to such a length as this in time of peace!"

"Oh, it may all turn out to be a joke," put Hal, quietly. "Some one may have been doing this to try us out. That metal cylinder may prove to have been loaded with ginger-bread or peanuts. If anyone has been trying a joke on us, then I'm mighty glad we didn't get rattled."

"I reckon we shall soon know just what that cylinder did contain," muttered Lieutenant Foster. "Here's another cutter coming from the 'Waverly,' and I think I make out Lieutenant Commander Kimball in the stern-sheets."

It was, indeed, the lieutenant commander. As he stepped ashore, his face coming into the circle of light cast by the lantern, his features were seen to be white with anxiety.

"We have just looked into the cylinder," he announced, in a low voice.

"We found there enough gun-cotton to blow the 'Benson' into inch pieces.

It was a fearful crime to plan."

Jack Benson and Hal Hastings heard, but did not change color. There was no sense in losing nerve over a disaster that had been averted in time.

"The first thing to do, of course," continued Lieutenant Commander Kimball, "is to send instant word to Messrs. Trotter and Packwood.

They have a heap of work ahead of them."

"As to our own boat's crew," replied Jack, "I fancy the best thing we can do is to go back on board, since we can't do anything here. One of us will keep watch, and the rest of us can get some of a night's sleep yet."

"Why, yes, if you youngsters can sleep, after such happenings," laughed Kimball.

By this time Lieutenant Foster and two of his marines had followed the trail of footprints as far as the hard road. Here all trace was lost.

"What you want to do, Williamson," declared Jack, as soon as the submarine people were back on their own craft, "is to get into some dry clothes and make yourself a pot of hot coffee. Then get in between blankets for a sleep. I'll finish out your watch."

Nor was Benson alone in his watch, for a cutter from the gunboat, containing a corporal and two marines, beside sailors to row the boat, moved slowly around the submarine at a distance of fifteen or twenty yards.

After the rest had gone below, Captain Jack, hanging over the rail of the platform deck, saw other lanterns gleaming in and around the clump of bushes.

"That must be the Secret Service people, pulled out of their comfortable beds," mused Benson, smiling. "Won't they feel upset at any such thing happening hours after they've arrived on the spot?"

After Eph Somers had reported on deck to take his watch, Jack went below, once more dropping into sound slumber. The smell of coffee and bacon was wafted in from the galley when the young submarine captain next awoke.

"Well," announced Eph, as Jack and Hal came forward for their breakfast,

"Trotter and Packwood haven't caught the fellows that laid the mine."

"It doesn't look strongly probable that they'll catch them, either,"

Jack replied. "I don't believe that the fellows who did that trick are any of the regular spies. For that matter, we now of only three spies here who are men. Drummond is under arrest, and so is Gaston. Neither of them could have had a hand in it. And there were two, so, if M. Lemaire was in it, he had an unknown accomplice. But I don't believe M. Lemaire had any personal hand in laying that mine. I've a notion that he considers himself entirely too high class to go into any mere blasting operations."

"'Mere blasting operations' is good," smiled Hal Hastings, "when we stop to think what those 'blasting operations' might have done for us if it hadn't been for Williamson."

"Anyone taking my name in vain?" demanded the machinist, smiling as he put in an appearance at that moment.

"We're trying to see," Eph explained, "whether we can do any better guessing than the Secret Service men as to the fellows who were kind enough to lay that mine under us last night."

"Got it figured out?" asked the machinist, as he transferred, a generous helping of bacon, eggs and fried potatoes, to his plate.

"For myself," put in Hal, "I'd suspect that fellow Gaston, in an instant, if he had only been at liberty. That fellow has an eye that looks like all the letters in the word 'r-e-v-e-n-g-e.'"

"That's so," nodded Jack, thoughtfully, as he ate. "But we happen to know that Gaston is very safe under lock and key. By the way, fellows, I don't suppose Mr. Farnum and Mr. Pollard have heard the news yet, or they'd be out here on the double quick."

After breakfast Jack went ashore alone, to carry the exciting news to his employers. He found Messrs. Farnum and Pollard in the breakfast room at the Clayton. Both were astounded when they heard the news of the night's doings.

"Who on earth could have put up such a job against the submarine?" gasped David Pollard.

"I don't know, sir," Captain Jack replied. "But I've left Hal on board, in command, and I mean to find out something about this business, if there is any way to do it."

With that he excused himself, rising and leaving the table at which his employers were seated.

Jacob Farnum gazed after his young submarine captain, then whispered to the inventor:

"That youngster has some notion in his head of where to look for the infernal criminals. And, ten to one, his idea is a good one that will bear fruit!"

XX. A Bright Look and a Deadly Warning

Jack's employer gave him rather too much credit in supposing that the boy had already worked out the problem of finding those who had made the attack on the "Benson."

As the submarine boy left the breakfast room he felt as much in the dark as ever. The only known spies who were still at large, for some reason known only to the Secret Service men, were M. Lemaire, Mlle. Nadiboff and Kamanako.

"This is rather earlier than either of that pair in the habit of showing themselves," muttered Benson, as the first two names crossed his thoughts. "I wonder whether I could get the least bit of an inkling by going to the jail and talking with Gaston? If I could bluff him into telling me anything, it might be so much gained. I might catch him off his guard, if I could get him angry enough."

Full of this interesting idea, the submarine boy strolled slowly along to the little jail, forming his plans as he went.

Arrived at the jail, Captain Jack found the keeper, as yet, in ignorance of the dastardly attempt that had been made on the submarine boat the night before. He listened, aghast, as Benson told him the whole story.

"Now, I've got a notion that Gaston's crowd are very likely at the bottom of this whole deal," continued the submarine boy, in a low tone.

"For one thing, while perhaps nothing much can be done to the other spies, this fellow, Gaston, is in here for a crime which, under the Florida laws, will go hard with him. It means that he'll be locked up for a few years. That may make both him and Lemaire ugly enough to put them up to almost any mischief. Was M. Lemaire here to see the fellow yesterday?"

"Lemaire has not been hero at all," replied the jailer.

"Was Mlle. Nadiboff here to see him yesterday?"

"No; she has been holding aloof. With the exception of his lawyer, the only people who ye been here to see Gaston were two fellows who came yesterday, about noon."

"Oho!" muttered Benson. "Who were they?"

The jailer turned to reach for a memorandum book.

"I keep the names given by all who come here to see prisoners, so I shall be able to answer you."

"Ah, here are the names. One fellow called himself Leroux, the other Stephanoulis."

"One name French, and the other Greek," muttered the submarine boy, thinking hard. "What did they look like?"

The jailer quickly and carefully described the pair. Jack listened attentively. Then rose, briskly.

"Did you hear any of the conversation they had with Gaston?"

"No."

"If they come again to-day can you lock them up and hold them?"

"If I have proper authority."

"If you get a telephone message from Mr. Trotter, would that be good enough authority?"

"Yes; on that I could hold them long enough to give Trotter a chance to come here and take them or else to get them committed on a regular warrant."

"If you keep within sound of your telephone bell, then, I think you'll have authority within a few minutes," replied Jack, briskly.

"That's a live, hustling boy," muttered the jailer, looking after young Benson through a window, as the submarine boy hurried away.

Before he had gone far, Jack encountered one of the nondescript surreys, hauled by an antiquated nag and driven by a battered darkey, that often do duty as cab in Florida. Poor as the rig was, it offered a chance of greater speed than Captain Benson could make at a walk, so he quickly engaged the rig and was driven to the place where the Secret Service men were stopping.

"You've brought us the only thing like a real clue that we have," declared Mr. Trotter, very frankly, after he had heard Jack's story.

"Wait a moment, and I'll have Packwood get busy over the telephone."

Within the next twenty minutes not only had the jail been telephoned to; Packwood also talked with all the nearby railway stations in that section of the country.

"If those rascals can be found," declared Trotter, "I think we shall have gone a long way in clearing up the matter. As you say, the fellow Gaston has more reason than any of the rest of the crowd to want a complete revenge against you."

Then Mr Packwood left to walk through the little town around Spruce Beach, to see whether he could encounter any two worthies who answered to the description of Leroux and Stephanoulis.

Before half-past nine, however, word came that local constables at a little railway town a dozen miles away had arrested a couple of suspects and were bringing them to Spruce Beach. The prisoners had been taken while waiting for a north bound train, and had tickets all the way through to New York.

Then Jack hastened back to Messrs. Farnum and Pollard to report what was in the air.

"By Jupiter, Jack, I knew you had some thing strong in your mind when you left us," gasped the shipbuilder. "But I didn't imagine you'd run down the wretches as swiftly as that."

"We don't yet know that we've got the right hair," replied Captain Jack.

"I'm willing to wager money on it, if it comes to that," retorted Mr. Farnum.

Before noon the two prisoners were brought into Spruce Beach. Trotter and Packwood stopped, in a 'bus with the prisoners, to show them to Jack at the hotel.

"That pair look rascally enough to do any dirty trick," declared Jacob Farnum, in high disgust, as he looked over Leroux and Stephanoulis.

The prisoners were, indeed, "hard hooking." Both were men below average size, with sullen, defiant eyes. Both were dressed roughly, like laborers. Yet, when taken, each had been found to have a considerable sum of money about him.

"We can't make either of the fellows talk, but maybe they will later, when we begin to employ some of the third degree on them," whispered Mr. Trotter to Jack. "My boy, I think you've put us on the real trail.

If the jailer identifies them as Gaston's callers of yesterday, we'll know where we stand."

Fifteen minutes later the Secret Service men returned. The jailer had pronounced the pair to be Gaston's callers of the day before. Moreover, the jailer had obligingly locked up the pair until Trotter and Packwood could obtain proper authority for him to hold them. Leroux and Stephanoulis had been placed in cells from which they could not possibly communicate with Gaston, whose cell lay in another wing of the jail.

"As soon as that pair found that, for some reason, their mine failed to explode under you last night," Trotter hinted, "they knew that their game was up. They hurried away and lay concealed in the distance. Then they saw the party from the 'Waverly' hunting on shore, with lantern's, and they took to the woods. That pair of rascals knew how risky it would be for them to try to leave at the local railway station today, so they struck off through the woods on foot making for another town at a distance. The constables who brought them down here say that Leroux and Stephanoulis were a surely astonished pair when they found themselves nabbed. We are getting into a bigger nest of trouble down here than we expected when we left Washington."

After, the Secret Service men had gone, Jacob Farnum turned as though to go inside the hotel.

"I'm wondering whether there are any letters for me," he said.

"I'll go to the office and inquire," proposed Jack Benson. At the desk he received two letters for his employer, and turned away with them in one hand when his steps were arrested by the sound of a sweet feminine voice at the further end of the desk.

The speaker was Mlle. Nadiboff.

"She looks as sweet and as contented as ever," thought the submarine boy, with some wonder. "Really, she doesn't look as though a care had crossed her path."

"Can you furnish me with a chauffeur, and order my car up?" Mlle.

Nadiboff was inquiring.

"I am very sorry, Mademoiselle, but we haven't a single chauffeur that we can spare," replied the clerk, respectfully.

"Then may I rent one of your own cars, with a man to drive it?"

"Again, I am very sorry, Mademoiselle, but all the hotel cars are engaged."

The pretty Russian stamped her foot impatiently.

"Oh, no matter, then," she cried. "I will go to the garage and take out my own car. I know how to manage it."

"I regret very much to have to report, Mademoiselle," replied the clerk, speaking as respectfully as ever, "that one of the hind wheels has been removed from your car."

Mlle. Nadiboff stared at the clerk in amazement.

"Who has dared do such a thing?" she demanded, angrily.

"I am sorry, but I do not know," answered the clerk.

"Then I suppose it would be impossible, even, for me to hire one of your livery rigs?" she continued icily.

"You have guessed right, Mademoiselle."

"Oh, but this is insupportable!" cried the pretty Russian, turning away.

As she did so, she caught sight of Jack Benson for the first time.

"Oh, I would like just a word with you, my Captain," she called softly, moving after the boy, who had started toward the door.

She overtook Jack, resting a gloved hand on his sleeve.

"Do not stop," she urged, softly. "I will keep on with you, out onto the veranda."

In silence Jack stepped outside with her. Mr. Farnum had vanished for the moment, so Benson was alone with his pretty companion.

"Now, tell me, my Captain," she begged, "why it is that I cannot get either my own car, or any other conveyance, for a little drive?"

"I could only guess, Mlle. Nadiboff, and you can do that as well as I," Jack replied, gravely.

"But I desire you should guess for me, my Captain. What do you say?" she insisted, her eyes scanning his grave face.

"At the risk of seeming rude, Mademoiselle, I am not going to be prying enough to make any guesses about your affairs," Captain Benson answered, quickly.

He thought he had gotten out of the matter as cleverly as it could be done.

"Some one is taking altogether too great an interest in my affairs, my Captain. I trust you have no hand in it, for it is possible that interference with my comfort will prove dangerous to the offenders.

Yet, pardon me, for I am sure that you, my Captain, would not cause me any uneasiness. Let those who do beware!"

As she let go of his arm and turned to go inside, Mlle. Nadiboff's smile was bright, almost friendly. Yet back of that smile, in her expressive eyes, lurked a look that made the boy start.

It was a look that spoke of deadly, things, and Captain Jack Benson had come quite to believe that Mlle. Nadiboff could be not only quite deadly at need, but also equally reckless.

XXI. A French Rat In the Corner

As Mr. Farnum came around a bend in the veranda Jack hurried to him, handing over the letters. Then he related the little scene he had just witnessed in the office, and described how Mlle. Nadiboff had walked out with him.

"So the little minx was hinting at more mischief to come, was she?" demanded the shipbuilder. "Jack, I believe she's equal to it. Her crowd are anyway, if it's true that Gaston, from his cell in jail, could plan the attempt to blow the 'Benson' last night."

Hal, too, soon came up and heard. He turned anxious gaze upon his chum.

"Jack, old fellow," he pleaded, "I know you're not much given to being afraid of things. But, at least, look out for yourself a bit. Be more prudent than you usually are about yourself. That crowd of foreign spies, having failed and having brought themselves into trouble, mean to have revenge. Any of us are liable, but you'll be the shining mark of all to be picked out."

"There can't be many more of that crowd left at large," laughed Jack, lightly.

"I wonder why the Secret Service men don't arrest Lemaire and the Nadiboff young woman?" asked Mr. Pollard, the last to rejoin the little group.

"Trotter and Packwood must have some good reasons of their own," Jack replied, thoughtfully. "For one thing, they hardly have any evidence that they could use against the pair."

"They could at least drive them from Spruce Beach," retorted the inventor.

"Perhaps the Secret Service man are giving the pair enough rope for their hanging," proposed Jack.

At that moment the two detectives were espied going past in a buggy.

They waved their hands to the party. Jack replied by a signal to halt.

He and Hal ran down to the road to speak to the detectives.

"If it's a fair question to ask," demanded Hal, "what are you going to do with Lemaire and Mlle. Nadiboff?"

"To tell you the truth, we don't know," Trotter answered. "We haven't anything we could very well fasten on them. But of this you may be sure; our various moves are known to them, and they're on the tenterhooks of anxiety wondering what's going to break loose next. More than that, both are sharp enough to have guessed that it would be impossible for either of them to get away from Spruce Beach, now, without our leave. But we'll have to leave you, now, boys. You've been of so much help to us that I don't mind telling you what we're up to at this moment. We're driving back to jail, and we're going to try to put the screws on Leroux and his Greek companion. If we can make 'em think we've gained new evidence against 'em, they may get scared and begin to talk. If they talk fast enough, they'll begin to tell some truth."

The buggy rolled along again.

"You didn't tell them a word about Mlle. Nadiboff's threats to you," muttered Hal.

"I didn't mean to," Jack replied, simply.

"Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, I couldn't swear that she did threaten me. She may have meant it all for nonsense."

"Yes," mocked Hal Hastings. "That, would be just like her!"

The submarine not being due to go out that day, the chums decided to remain on shore, in order to keep in touch with the march of events.

The day was so balmy that Mr. Farnum dropped into a chair on the porch, Pollard occupying the chair next to him. Hal, buying a magazine at the hotel news stand, sat on the edge of the porch, his feet touching the ground. Jack, his mind too full of problems to permit him to read, paced up and down the grounds. Finally he strolled, out past the gate, crossed the road and began to stroll along the shingle of bench.

Jacob Farnum removed his cigar from between his lips long enough to remark:

"As long as the lad keeps in sight, Pollard, it will be worth our while to keep an occasional eye on him."

"And when he goes out of sight—? asked the inventor, slowly.

"It will be high time to call him back. Somehow, Dave, I'm growing uneasy over the boy. I can't help the feeling that he's running into a good deal of danger that's likely to explode under him at any moment, just as that mine was intended to last night."

"It makes one feel uncanny to be at Spruce Beach," growled the inventor, savagely.

"Well, we can't run away," retorted Jacob Farnum, blandly.

"Why not, if we feel like it?"

The shipbuilder laughed.

"Why, Dave, a spirited lad like Jack Benson would be furious over anything that looked like a retreat. He'd be savage. Now, Dave, we can hardly afford to put such a slight on the boy who has had so much to do with our success."

"I suppose not," grunted Mr. Pollard, settling back in his chair.

"The odd part of it," said Farnum, presently, "is, that while we're the center of an international cyclone, so to speak, the rest of the folks at Spruce Beach don't know a word about it. Look at the crowds of folks around us who haven't even a breath of an idea of what has happened, or is, likely to happen. Not a soul around here, except our own few, have any idea that an attempt was made, last night, to blow up that mysterious-looking little submarine craft riding at her moorings out yonder."

"I wonder what the crowd would do, if it did know?" asked Pollard, gazing out curiously over the throngs of pleasure-seekers. "That shows what a dreamer you are, Dave, and how little you know of your own fellow citizens. What would the crowd do? Why, it would change itself into a mob. Mlle. Nadiboff would be hustled off out of town, Lemaire would be lynched, or mighty close to it, and it would be strange if the mob didn't march on the jail itself."

"Then it would never do to let the crowd know all that's happening, would it?" asked Pollard.

Jack, from thinking over the problems that had come up in connection with the spies, had at last let his attention wander to the crowds.

Down at the beach hundreds were taking an afternoon dip. Other hundreds were strolling up and down the sands. Children were building sand castles or houses. A good many small boats were out with pleasure parties. Yet many, both grown-ups and children, looked positively bored. They needed excitement.

"How near this crowd came to having something to talk about," muttered young Benson to himself, with a smile. "If that mine had gone off last night, no one at Spruce Beach would have felt dull to-day."

Finding that the afternoon air was making him dull and inclined to gape, Captain Jack turned back from the beach. He sauntered along the road, and was about to cross it, when he heard a sharp snap. It was like a subdued shot.

In the same instant a hissing sound went pseu! in front of his face.

A distinct breeze, small though it was, fanned his eyes. Then chug!

Something landed in the trunk of the tree he was passing.

"That was a shot!" guessed the submarine boy, like a flash, and in the next breath he muttered: "Aimed at me, too!"

Jack pitched forward, falling upon his face. If one shot had been fired, another might be as soon as the unknown marksman realized that he had missed.

Several people, near by, fancied they had heard a shot, and turned, curiously. Then, as soon as Benson was espied lying on the ground a rush was made in his direction.

At that moment Hal Hastings happened to be looking over toward the beach.

Like a flash he was up and away, his magazine falling from his lap to the ground.

"Now, what on earth has taken Hastings off like that?" demanded Mr. Farnum, looking around in surprise. "There are other people running, too. Come along, Dave!"

Hal shot his way through the rapidly gathering crowd. He reached Jack Benson just as the latter leaped up, laughing.

"Why all this excitement, just because I stubbed my toe against a dew-drop and fell?" demanded Benson, laughing.

"Weren't you shot?" gasped Hal.

"If I was, I'll make the rascal prove it," asked back Captain Jack.

"But, now you mention it, I think the tree was hit."

Jack turned and looked the tree trunk over at about the height of his own head from the ground.

"See here," he remarked, laying a finger on a small perforation in the bark, "I think a bullet, or something of the sort, went in here."

"We'll soon find out then," proposed Hal, whipping out his jack-knife, opening a blade and beginning to dig. The crowd grew in size. Messrs. Farnum and Pollard had great difficulty in forcing their way through.

After some time spent in patient work Hal dug out a steel-jacketed bullet, short and of small calibre.

"You want to find the man with a weapon that bullet fits, and then make it warm for him," advised one man in the front rank of the crowd.

"Why?" queried Captain Jack, coolly, examining the missile, then dropping it carelessly into his pocket. "Some fellow fired an accidental shot, very likely, and is at this moment the most scared man at Spruce Beach.

What's the use of jumping on anyone just because he had a moment of carelessness?"

"That's right, young level-head!" nodded another man, approvingly.

Messrs. Farnum and Pollard hung back somewhat. They were near enough to hear and see, and they had their instant suspicions. But the crowd knew nothing of the spy outrages, and it was not necessary to inform strangers.

So, within a few minutes the crowd broke up, straying off in quest of something more interesting. The submarine party kept on up to the hotel porch.

"That was a revengeful move, pure and simple," declared Jacob Farnum, in a low voice.

"Of course," assented Jack. "It's going to be something of a task though, to find out, for certain, just who fired that shot."

Even as the four stood there on the veranda a door opened, and M. Lemaire, faultlessly attired for an afternoon stroll, stepped out.

"Ah, good afternoon, gentlemen," was his unconcerned greeting, as he recognized the quartette.

This French spy had evidently dressed himself with a good deal of care.

He carried himself with much precision and lightly twirled a natty cane.

"Pardon me, monsieur," spoke Jack, stepping forward, and looking past the Frenchman; "is that one of your friends down the road?"

As the Frenchman turned to look, young Benson swiftly and adroitly took his cane from him.

Like a flash, his eyes full of fire, Lemaire heeled about, then leaped at the young submarine captain.

But Hal Hastings stepped between them so neatly that the Frenchman collided with him instead.

"Hold this fellow a moment, please," requested Captain Jack. "I've found something interesting."

Hal Hastings grabbed Lemaire's right arm. Jacob Farnum instantly possessed himself of the other. David Pollard sprang forward so that he could take a hand, if need be.

Captain Jack stood holding the spy's walking stick, ferule end upward.

It was a rather long, slender-looking ferrule of steel. But what interested young Benson most was that he had found that the ferrule was hollow.

Quickly the submarine boy examined the rest of the cane.

"Release me! Hand that stick back to me!" hissed the Frenchman. "Oh, some one shall pay for this unpardonable outrage!"

But Hal and Mr. Farnum only gripped the spy the more tightly.

"I believe I've found out something," announced Jack, in a low voice.

"Wait a second or two."

He had come upon a concealed spring near the head of the cane. Stepping to the edge of the porch, the submarine boy pointed the ferrule end at the ground, then pressed upon the spring.

A sharp, though not loud report followed, and a bullet plowed into the ground. There was a flash at the end of the ferrule, though but a barely perceptible amount of smoke.

"So, M. Lemaire, you carry a pistol cane, that uses smokeless powder and shoots steel-jacketed bullets?" inquired Jack, turning to the prisoner, who, white-faced, stood gnashing hi's teeth in helpless rage.

"I wonder if the bullet Hastings dug out of the tree trunk will be found to fit this weapon?"

"You miser-r-r-rable dog!" screamed Lemaire. "Thief! Liar!"

"Oh, keep cool about it, do," urged Jack, smilingly.

"What's this?" demanded Trotter, suddenly appearing on the scene.

Packwood was just behind him.

Jack swiftly told what had happened, and what he had just discovered, at the same time passing the cane to the Secret Service man.

"Lemaire, I guess you'd better come with us, for safe-keeping," advised Trotter, dryly.

"You ar-r-rest me?" snarled the Frenchman.

"Oh, yes; if you insist upon a name for it."

M. Lemaire's face looked uglier than Jack had ever dreamed it possible for a man's face to look. As Hal and Farnum let go his arms the spy took a quick step toward Jack Benson.

"Stop that!" commanded Trotter, sharply, leaping to grab the spy.

"I only want to say one word to this young scamp!" hissed Lemaire.

"I will not hurt him."

"You can wager he won't," added Captain Jack, clenching his fists and watching the other alertly. "Let him speak to me, if he wants."

Trotter thereupon halted, though he watched the Frenchman with lynx-like wakefulness.

Lemaire, however, merely leaned forward until he had placed his lips close to one of the young submarine captain's ears.

"See here," hissed the spy, "hold your tongue about everything, and make sure Gaston and myself are released. Else, no corner of the earth will be a safe place for you. You can find no place in the world where you will be safe from destruction—unless you get us out of this one bad fix!"

XXII. Gallant, Even to the Foe!

"You may have him now," announced Captain Jack, ironically. "I reckon he has spoken his piece."

Trotter's answer was to leap upon the Frenchman, pinioning his arms behind him. Packwood snapped handcuffs over the prisoner's wrists.

"Here is the bullet that Hastings dug out of the tree—the one that was probably fired at me," added Captain Jack. "And here is M. Lemaire's cane-pistol. You can see whether the bullet fits the cane."

Trotter took them, with a swift, admiring look at Benson's cool, handsome face.

Then, guiding their prisoner, the Secret Service men moved off hastily, for two or three hundred beach walkers had just discovered that something exciting had happened, and were hurrying forward.

Lemaire was forced into the buggy and driven rapidly away. Once out of sight the Secret Service men turned, driving straight for the local jail.

Before anyone in the excited crowd could ask what had happened the submarine people had vanished.

These four hurried to a room that Mr. Farnum had reserved while they remained at Spruce Beach.

"What was it that rascally Frenchman whispered to you?" demanded the shipbuilder.

Jack promptly repeated the threat, whereat Mr. Farnum's face grew decidedly grave.

"The worst of it is, Jack, I think the fellow not only meant the threat, but has the connections necessary to carry it out," said the ship builder, slowly. "I am quite prepared to believe that these spies work in large groups, when necessary. I am beginning to think that it will be wise move to get you way from here—in time."

"That would give Gaston a fine chance to go clear," retorted young Benson. "I am a very important witness when his case comes up."

"You are also a very important young man for our submarine company," replied Jacob Farnum, "so important, in fact, that I don't want to have you put out of this world through any of their plots for revenge."

"But don't you see, sir, that, if I run away from here, the fellow Gaston is very likely to be liberated?"

"Let him go, then," urged Mr. Farnum, though it was plain that he spoke reluctantly.

"It's just what I won't do, sir. I wouldn't be a good citizen if I should allow a criminal to escape justice just because I was, afraid to stay and testify against him," argued Captain Jack.

"I admit the force of all you say," assented Mr. Farnum, slowly. "Yet, if I should find, after thinking it all over, that it will be best to instruct you to leave here quietly, you won't refuse to obey, will you?"

"Yes," declared Jack Benson.

"What? It would be the first time you ever balked at orders, then."

"But this is different, Mr. Farnum. I refuse to obey any order that will tend to defeat the ends of justice."

Jacob Farnum winced at that statement of the matter. He had been anxious only to save Jack from the attempts of a dangerous crowd.

"Jack is right," broke in David Pollard, decisively.

"When he puts the case in that way, I don't dare say that he isn't," admitted the shipbuilder. "At the same time, I can't bear the thought of the lad being butchered to gratify the grudge of any of the rascally crew that we've offended here at Spruce Beach."

A slight, rustling sound at the door caused them all to wheel about.

Jacob Farnum's eyes beheld a slip of white paper lying on the floor, just inside the door. Jack Benson saw it, also, but he sprang past the paper, pulling the door open.

Around a turn in the corridor the submarine boy heard the sound of fleet footsteps.

Jack pursued, but could find no one, and the sound of moving feet had also ceased. As soon as he was satisfied that he could not catch the prowler, the submarine boy returned to the room.

"Do you see this?" asked the shipbuilder, holding out the slip of paper.

"Another warning, I suppose?" Benson ventured.

"Yes; and it shows that you are being followed and watched. Something worse is almost certain yet to happen."

Jack took the slip of paper, reading these printed words:

"You have been fairly warned. Are you going to be a fool? Obey, or—"

That was all. The meaning of the words was plain enough, but Jack, with as cool a smile as ever, folded the slip, dropping it in one of his pockets.

"This will interest Trotter," he remarked.

"There is no use whatever in advising you, suppose?" asked the shipbuilder.

"If these threats were directed against you, would you cringe from them?" demanded the young submarine captain.

"Of course I wouldn't," replied Farnum, a sudden flash lighting his eyes as he spoke.

"Then why should you expect to see me turn coward?"

"I won't say another word about it, Jack!" replied the shipbuilder, gripping his captain's hand. "I have dreaded to see you go down under the mysterious assaults of these scoundrels. I have hated to see a boy come to that harm while serving me. But I realize, now, that it would hurt you worse to run away than it would to stay and face any kind of punishment or even death itself."

"That's the talk, sir," nodded Hal. "And no one is going to harm him, either. There are too many of us—if we keep our eyes open."

That "if" covered a wide field of possibilities. Not one of them could foresee all that the ingenuity of the enemy would provide in the way of danger.

To quiet his own agitation Jacob Farnum had recourse to a cigar. He lighted it, smoking with a very solemn look on his face.

"What's all the excitement, I wonder?" muttered Hal, presently.

The distant sound of running feet, then cries came to their ears, though none in the little party could distinguish the words.

"There's some big excitement on. Come along," urged Jack, reaching for his cap.

"Humph! We've had excitement enough to last reasonable people for a long time," grumbled the shipbuilder, but he, too, sprang for his hat.

Ere they had run far through the corridor they encountered other guests fleeing.

"What's the matter?" called Jack.

"Fire in the south wing," called back one man. "We don't know, yet, whether the hotel is doomed."

Just then the fire alarm bell of the hotel began to sound loudly in all the corridors.

That brought the remaining guests on the run, some appearing not completely dressed.

As the rushing throng began to thicken at a door on the ground floor the sound of a whistled of clanging gongs was heard without. The Spruce Beach fire department was responding to the alarm.

Captain Jack bounded out. Hal kept close at his chum's heels while Messrs. Farnum and Pollard came along less fleetly.

Through half a dozen windows on the second floor of the south wing flames now leaped, while the smoke curled up in dense clouds. This wing was built wholly of wood, and was doomed, even though the rest of the hotel could be saved.

Jack halted, at last, Hal bumping into him.

Some of the firemen were hauling hose from a cart, while others were attaching an end of one length to a fireplug. A hook and ladder truck was hauled to the scene, its crew standing by ready at need.

Whish! Two four-inch streams struck the flames, yet seemed only to feed them to greater fury.

"We can't put that blaze out, men!" roared the local fire chief. "Turn the streams against the main building and stop the blaze from spreading.

Let the axe crew follow me!"

Swiftly a couple of long ladders were unlimbered and placed close to the main building. The fire chief and his men scaled these with agility and tried to fight their way into the rear of the blaze.

Jack stood scanning the windows on the third floor, just above the present belt of fire. Then, through one of the windows on the upper floor he saw a sudden red glow thrust its way.

"The fire is eating through to the top," he turned to explain to Messrs. Farnum and Pollard, who had just reached the boys.

"I think they'll save the main building, however," returned Mr. Farnum, as the ringing sound of ax-blows reached them and the heavy streams of water were carried after the wielders of the axes.

"I hope everybody is out, up there in the wing," uttered Hal, glancing in that direction.

As if in answer a window was suddenly raised with frantic haste.

A face, a figure appeared there, framed by the sill and sides. Then a red tongue of flame shot up in the background, illumining the face of a terrified woman.

"Why, it's Mlle. Nadiboff!" gasped Jack Benson.

The pretty Russian shouted down appealingly, though her words were drowned by the crackling of the blaze and the lusty strokes of the fire fighters.

"Quick! We must get a ladder up there!" shouted Jack, turning back to the truck. "We can't let a human being be burned before our eyes."

But there were no firemen at hand. They had followed their chief.

Hundreds of citizens stood about, but they needed a leader.

"Come on, men!" roared Jack. "Help me off with this longest ladder."

A dozen pair of hands reached for it at once. Off came the ladder with a bound, while other men pressed up to aid.

"Right up to the sill of the window where that woman is!" shouted young Captain Benson. Up went the ladder, exactly in place, while a score of voices shouted:

"Get out on the ladder and come down, young lady! Can you?"

As if in answer, Mlle. Nadiboff was seen suddenly to reel backward as though overcome by the smoke that poured up at her from the floor below.

"Where are you going?" shouted Jacob Farnum, hoarsely, as the submarine captain threw off his jacket like a flash.

"Up there—of course—to help her!" Jack shouted back at him, as he leaped at the rungs.

"It's the only thing a man can do," admitted Farnum, hoarsely. "Good luck to you, Jack!"

XXIII. "Good-Bye, My Captain!"

The first part of the climb was easy.

Unmindful of the cheers that followed the submarine boy raced up the ladder.

Then he struck the belt of heavy smoke. Flames, too, leaped out at him.

He went through that zone of red with all possible speed, yet swift as he was, he felt as though he were being roasted.

Then, at a greater height, the boy was forced to close his mouth, barely breathing, for the smoke surrounded him. He felt as though he were stifling, but he kept on.

Up on the sill the watching crowd below saw him. Then Jack Benson leaped inside.

Ah! He could breathe, here, just a bit more, though the smoke had followed him.

At the further end of the room, by the door that opened upon the corridor, the flames were eating their way up through from the floor below. There was a red barrier there that shut off any hope of retreat by the corridor.

Yet these things Jack Benson saw only as his gaze swiftly swept the room.

Mlle. Nadiboff lay in an unmoving, unconscious heap on the floor, some ten feet back from the window. She was in evening dress, as though prepared to descend to dinner.

"She can't go through the line of fire in that rig," muttered Jack, even while his head reeled from the weight of smoke on his lungs.

Furiously he sprang at the bed, snatching off the blankets. These he threw on the floor, rolling the Russian woman up in them.

Then he bent over to lift her. Ordinarily he could have performed the task with ease, for his young arms were strong. But now, three-quarters strangled by the smoke he had inhaled, Jack fairly tottered, with the insensible human form in his arms, back to the window:

As he stepped out upon the ladder Jack vaguely heard the cheers that volleyed up at him.

To most of those below it looked as though he were moving easily. But Hal, waiting on the rungs of the ladder, just below the fearful belt of smoke and flames, saw differently at a glance.

Holding firmly to his burden, Jack started down carefully, but as swiftly as his quaking knees would permit.

"Come along! Steady with you!" bellowed up Hal Hastings, as he fought his way up to his chum.

An instant later Hal growled out

"Let her go. I have her—safe!"

Hal was just above the smoke belt, and his own head was reeling, now.

Tongues of flame leaped out at them all. Speed alone could save them from one of the most painful of deaths.

Down through the belt they moved. As they neared the ground willing hands reached out to catch them.

"Pull those blankets off the girl! They're afire," shouted one man, and was obeyed. Mlle. Nadiboff, after the blankets had been stripped away, was carried off, still unconscious though safe as far as fire was concerned.

The clothing of both the submarine boys had caught and was smouldering.

Both Jack and Hal submitted to being thrown on the ground and rolled until the last spark had been extinguished.

"Bring milk—a lot of it, for these young men," ordered a physician who stood in the crowd. For Jack and Hal, on their feet again, leaned almost helplessly against Farnum and Pollard. Their lungs were so filled with smoke that both boys felt as though they could never breathe again.

When the milk was brought, however, and forced down their throats under the doctor's orders, they found that this somewhat oily fluid brought back a good deal of the missing power to breathe. After a while both boys began to move about again. Yet both felt a strange feeling of oppression and weakness.

"For the rest, your feelings will simply have to wear off," the physician told them. "You'll be all right in time. And it was a fine, manly piece of work that you both did."

After nearly an hour of stubborn work the firemen saved the main building, though that southern wing was practically destroyed.

When the danger was over hotel discipline asserted itself once more.

News was passed that the belated dinner was ready, and the lately excited guests filed in for their meal, though many complained of a loss of appetite.

Neither Jack nor Hal felt like eating then. They sat by Messrs. Farnum and Pollard, though the submarine boys contented themselves with sipping more milk.

"That was one way of answering the enemy's threats," laughed the shipbuilder, in an undertone.

"We don't know that Mlle. Nadiboff was in any way connected with the threats," replied Jack, in an equally low tone.

"She belongs in the enemy's ranks," observed David Pollard, dryly.

As the quartette were leaving the table one of the negro waiters stepped up to them.

"De lady dat was brought down outah de fiah done wanter see Marse Benson in de parlor," announced the waiter.

"Mlle. Nadiboff?" inquired Mr. Farnum. "Then I guess we had all better go in Jack, I'm going to keep you in my sight."

As they entered the parlor the submarine people saw three or four women standing about a sofa on which lay the pretty Russian.

At sight of the newcomers the Russian signed to the attendants of her own sex to raise her, and then to withdraw. Jack went forward to the sofa, his friends taking seats on the opposite side of the room.

"Pardon my not rising, my Captain," begged Mlle. Nadiboff, as Jack Benson left his friends to go forward and greet her. "I find I have not my full strength yet."

Since she offered her hand, Jack, under the circumstances, took it simply, then released it. He stood before her in the uniform that had suffered in the fire.

"I am told that you, my Captain, nearly lost your own life in saving my less than worthless one," continued the Russian woman. "It was a strange thing for you to—considering. Will you believe me when I tell you that I greatly respect your courage and your manhood?"

"Yes," bowed Jack. "Though it was nothing but a sailor's easy trick."

"You would make little of it, would you, my Captain?" smiled Mlle.

Nadiboff, plaintively. "True, you risked much for a life that has been worth but little. Still, I sent for you to do more than assure you of my appreciation of your generosity."

As she spoke, the young woman thrust one hand into the bosom of her dress. She drew out a little envelope which she held in her hand for a few moments.

"You have been threatened, my Captain?" she whispered, looking up at him.

"Oh, ye-es," assented Captain Jack Benson, shrugging his shoulders.

"And by very desperate people."

"So far," smiled the boy, "they have injured only themselves."

"Yet you do not know how far their vengeance can reach."

"Nor shall I lose any sleep thinking over it," Captain Jack replied, looking down at her with his baffling smile.

"Your enemies had one trick prepared for you," whispered the Russian,

"that you might have found it hard to meet."

"Yes?"

"Of course you do not suspect it, but we have even one of the waiters here—a worthless, reckless black—in our pay."

"It may have been he who thrust the paper under our door before—before the fire?" ventured Jack.

"It was," nodded Mlle. Nadiboff, seriously. "And it was the same waiter who, on receiving this envelope from me, would have mixed the contents with the next cup of coffee served you in the dining room of this hotel. But I am overcome by your generosity, my Captain. Take this envelope—and do not place what it contains in your coffee."

Though Jack Benson may have started inwardly, his hand did not tremble in the least as he reached out and took the envelope, which he dropped into one of his pockets.

"Thank you, Mademoiselle," he said, simply.

"There is nothing about me, my Captain, that you can admire," spoke the Russian woman, sadly. "I have not led the right kind of life. But I have just that grain of good in me that enables me to admire one as fine and manly as I have found you to be. You have given me my life—a worthless one, at best. So I give you your life—and may you make as splendid use of it as you have started out to do. And now, good-bye, my Captain. You cannot continue to know such as I."

Despite what he knew of this dangerous woman, Jack Benson felt himself touched.

"What is going to become of you, Mademoiselle?" he asked. "Will you be dragged down in the snares that have entrapped your confederates!"

"I do not know. How could I know?" she asked, looking quickly up at him. "Yet, if my accomplices escape, and find that I have served you, my Captain, do you know the forfeit they will exact?"

"Your life?" whispered Benson.

"Yes!"

"Then, if I can, I am going to help you to escape them," promised the submarine boy. "Yet that can happen only on your most solemn word—given, pardon me, in a moment of absolute honesty—that you will never again play the spy, for the secrets of the United States Government."

"Oh, I will promise that," replied Mlle. Nadiboff, quickly. "Yet I hardly need to. After what I have done, just now, no one in my peculiar line of work would ever trust me again. I shall be shunned, hereafter, if not destroyed, by those who have worked with me."

"I shall do my best to get you safely away from Spruce Beach," promised Jack Benson. "Have you more to say to me, Mademoiselle?"

"Nothing, but good-bye, my Captain."

She held out her hand. Once more Jack took it, bending low over it.

Tears shone in her eyes, but Jack did not see them, for he turned, going back to his friends.

Not until they were well away from the parlor did Jack Benson offer any account of the interview that had just taken place.

"Let me have that envelope, then," requested Jacob Farnum, gravely.

"What are you going to do with it, sir?" Jack asked, as he passed it over.

"Do with it?" repeated his employer. "I'm going to take it to the nearest druggist, and find out what the stuff is."

"We'd better take this latest news to our friend Trotter," suggested David Pollard.

"By all means," nodded Farnum. "And I'll meet the rest of you there."

The little house wherein the Secret Service, men had taken up their headquarters was not far away. When the inventor and the submarine boys rang the bell Mr. Packwood admitted them.

"Step right into the next room," advised Mr. Packwood. "You'll find some one there you know."

A the submarine folks entered the room they saw Trotter seated at a table on which were writing materials. At the other side of the table standing very erect, and in a very respectful pose, was the Japanese, Kamanako.

XXIV. Conclusion

"Good evening, honorable gentlemen," said the Japanese, turning when he heard the new arrivals entering.

"Mr. Kamanako is going to leave us," announced Trotter, with a smile.

"He goes north to-night. Here is the slip of paper, my boy, that will take you past any meddlesome inquiry. But it is good only until midnight, so I advise you to be sure to catch to-night's express."

"I shall, and thank you, honorable sir," replied the Japanese, bowing.

"Then I won't detain you any longer, or you may miss your train."

Once more the Japanese bowed, then turned to Captain Jack Benson.

"Honorable Captain," he said, "I had pleasure to show you something about jiu-jitsu. You did me honor to show me most excellent thing you called American strategy. I shall not forget it."

With bows to the others Kamanako quickly took his leave.

"We had nothing very strong on which we could hold that fellow, so we had to let him go," declared Mr. Trotter, after the outer door had closed. Then he added, with a sigh: "That's the worst of catching spies, under such laws as we have in this country. Rarely are we able to punish them as they deserve."

"He won't come back, will he?" asked Jack.

"Not for a while, anyway. We have made the fellow nervous, and he will give us a wide berth for a considerable time."

"Why don't you hit all these people the hardest kind of a blow?" demanded young Benson.

"I wish I knew how to," sighed Trotter.

"Then spoil them with too much publicity," proposed the submarine captain. "Let the whole country know all about them and their records, and just how they look."

"If I could! But how am I to do it?"

"Why, there's a writer here at Spruce Beach," Jack continued; "a man named Hennessy. Let him write all the facts of this whole story, or such of the facts as you want made public. Let Hennessy have the photographs of this spy crew. He can print the yarn in his newspaper and in some magazine, and can use all the photos. Then these people will find themselves so well known that about all of them value as spies will be gone."

"By Jove, but that's a clear-headed idea," muttered Trotter, rising from his chair. "It will do the trick, too. Where is this man, Hennessy?"

"Stopping at the Clayton, sir."

"Packwood, will you go over and get that reporter?" asked Mr. Trotter, turning to his associate.

In the next minute Jack was telling Trotter of the fire-incident and the envelope that Mlle. Nadiboff had given him. By the time the submarine boy had finished his recital Jacob Farnum hurried in.

"That stuff," he reported, "is morphine sulphate, and the druggist says there was enough of it to take you clear out of this world and into the next."

"Hm! That Nadiboff woman!" muttered Trotter. "She has been as dangerous as any of them, and yet it is hard to be rough with her after her one act of gratitude to you, Benson. I could see that she went north on the train, of course, but she'd be liable to suspicion and punishment by some of the members of the gang of that infernal Gaston. He has yet other men, I suspect, who may be watching the trains further on, and Mlle. Nadiboff, after saving you, Benson, from their latest death trap, might run right into their vengeance. She ought to be gotten away from here by some other means."

"She can be—by ship," hinted Jack, quietly.

"Let me see," mused Trotter. "Yes; that can be done, if you want to take some trouble. At about eleven to-night the Savannah freight steamer, bound for Havana, will pass by about a dozen miles out. You could pick her up by watching for her searchlight. Do you feel like sending Nadiboff to Cuba, in that fashion?"

"If it suits her, we'll do it," Jack replied quickly enough.

"It may be very bad for her if it doesn't suit her," replied Trotter, grimly. "Well, hurry along and see if you can do it. Drummond and Miss Peddensen are going north to-night, also."

As the submarine party left the house they met Packwood and Hennessy coming along.

"I think you'll get as good a news story as you can want to-night," said Jack to the reporter. "You remember, Mr. Farnum promised you one before the tip was given to any other reporter."

Hennessy expressed his, thanks warmly, and the quartette hastened on to the hotel. Captain Jack had little difficulty in seeing Mlle. Nadiboff in the parlor. When he explained to her the plan, she gladly accepted.

"You will not believe me, my Captain," she smiled, wearily, "but I am wholly through with spying. I shall never again disgrace my womanhood in that way."

Owing to the fire Mlle. Nadiboff was not burdened with baggage. She carried her evening dress in a new dress suit case bought by Hal at one of the stores. In going away she wore a plain gray dress and dark brown jacket purchased from one of the maids at the hotel. Mlle.

Nadiboff's jewelry and money, with which she was well supplied, had been in the hotel safe, so that she left with the means of pursuing her journey in comfort.

"It is a whim of mine, my Captain," cried the Russian, gayly, as they left the hotel, "but will you give me your arm down to the shore?"

"Gladly," Jack agreed.

They took a shore boat and went out to the "Benson." While Captain Jack helped the pretty visitor aboard Hal hastened below to bring her up a chair.

"You have your wish, at last, Mademoiselle, to visit this craft," Jack laughed, then added, gravely: "I am sorry, indeed, that I cannot invite you below."

"I have lost my desire to see the interior of the boat," she replied, with equal gravity.

A start was made in plenty of time. Gayly the "Benson" bounded out over the waves, as though even that grim little steel craft of war could appreciate the fact that its dangers were over.

In time Captain Jack picked up the Havana bound freighter by the rays of her searchlight, and moved on out to intercept her. He signaled that he had a passenger to put aboard. The steamship lay to, lowering a side gangway, and the "Benson" ran neatly in. The transfer was made.

Just as she was helped over the side Mlle. Nadiboff placed her hand in Jack's.

"Good-bye, my Captain," she said, sadly.

"Good-bye, Mademoiselle," answered the submarine boy. "And remember that you are done with the spies."

"Forever! Again, good-bye, my Captain."

As both craft moved off on their respective courses Captain Benson saw a little white handkerchief fluttering at the freighter's stern rail. As long as it could be visible over the waters that handkerchief fluttered.

"I guess the little Russian must have tied her handkerchief there," observed Eph, dryly, and Captain Jack smiled; while Jacob Farnum turned to whisper to the inventor:

"Dave, our youthful captain has the greatest respect in the world for a woman, but he'll never be made a fool of by one of the wrong kind."

Henceforth, as long as she remained at Spruce Beach, the submarine craft was wholly unmolested and avoided by spies. Gaston, who turned out to be the real leader of one party, instead of M. Lemaire, was sentenced to prison for assault. Leroux and his Greek accomplice confessed to the attempt to explode the mine under the "Benson," and were sent to the penitentiary. There, also, journeyed M. Lemaire, for a long term, on account of his all but successful shot at Jack Benson.

With the exception of those sent to prison none of the spies have as yet been heard from.

For a considerable time the "Benson" remained at, or near, Spruce Beach.

Hennessy's articles attracted great attention to the craft. The Navy people were charmed by the new capabilities shown by this latest of the Pollard submarine boats.

Later the submarine boys were destined to turn their attention to new and thrilling work with submarine craft And now came most stirring times that put their grit, intelligence and resource to the hardest kind of tests.

These newest happenings will be related in full in the next volume of this series, which will appear under the title: "The Submarine Boys' Lightning Cruise; Or, The Young Kings of the Deep." The reader of this new volume will find a rare treat in store for him!

THE END

The Submarine Boys' Lightning Cruise

or

The Young Kings of the Deep

First Published 1910

Contents

I. Why the Danger Sign Was Up

II. Torpedo Practice at Last

III. Struck by a Submerged Foe

IV. A Submariner's Revenge

V. The Mysterious Order Comes

VI. Judas & Co. Introduce Themselves

VII. Eph Sommers Plays Gallant

VIII. One, Two, Three—A Full Bag!

IX. But Something Happened Next

X. John C. Rhinds Advocates Fair Sport!

XI. The Strain of Red-Hot Metal

XII. Let a Sailor Stick to His Deck

XIII. The Trick is Easily Seen Through

XIV. Radwin Doesn't See His Best Chance

XV. The Goal of the Lightning Cruise

XVI. Jack Gives the Order. "Fire!"

XVII. The Message of Terror

XVIII. The Findings on the "Thor"

XIX. On the Other Side of the Forced Door

XX. Captain Jack Pulls a New String

XXI. Jack Meets a Human Fact, Face to Face

XXII. A Cornered Submarine Captain

XXIII. A Coward's Last Ditch

XXIV. Conclusion

I. Why the "Danger" Sign Was Up

"Danger!"

That sign might have been over an air-hole in the ice; or it might have been near rapidly moving shafting and belting in a factory.

As a matter of fact, the letters, white against the red paint on the door of the shed, meant danger in the most terrible form. It was the sort of danger, which, defied too far, would send one traveling skyward.

The shed stood in a lonely corner of the big Farnum shipbuilding yards at Dunhaven. Now, it was the Farnum yard in which the Pollard submarine boats were built, and this shed contained some two dozen Whitehead submarine torpedoes, each with its fearful load of two hundred pounds of that dread high explosive, guncotton.

It was in the month of February, and the day, at this seacoast point, was cold and blustery, when two boys of seventeen, each in natty blue uniforms and caps resembling those worn by naval officers, crossed the yard toward the shed. Over their uniforms both boys wore heavy, padded blue ulsters, also of naval pattern.

"Danger?" laughed young Captain Jack Benson, stopping before the door and fumbling for the key. "Well, I should say so!"

"Something like two tons and a half of guncotton in this old shed," smiled Hal Hastings. "That's not mentioning some other high explosives."

"It's this gun-cotton that begins to make our calling in life look like a really dangerous one," muttered Jack, as he produced the key and fitted it into the lock.

"Once upon a time," murmured Hal, "we thought there was sufficient danger, just in going out on the ocean in a submarine torpedo craft, and diving below the surface."

"Yet we found that submarine travel wasn't really dangerous," pursued Captain Jack. "Really, riding around in a submarine craft seems as safe, and twice as pleasant, as cruising in any other kind of yacht."

"After we've gotten more used to having hundreds of pounds of gun-cotton on board," smiled Hal, "I don't suppose we'll ever think of the danger in that stuff, either."

Jack unlocked the door, swinging it open. Then both young men passed inside the red shed.

It needed hardly more than a glance, from an observing person, to make certain that neither boy was likely to be much bothered by any ordinary form of danger.

For a number of months, now, Jack Benson and Hal Hastings had lived all but continually aboard submarine torpedo boats. They had operated such craft, when awake, and had dreamed of doing it when asleep. Being youths of intense natures, and unusually quick to learn, they had long before qualified as experts in handling submarine craft.

They had yet, however, one thing to learn practically. It needs the deadly torpedo, fired below the water, and traveling under the surface, to make the torpedo boat the greatest of all dangers that menace the haughty battleship of a modern navy.

Now, at last, Captain Jack Benson, together with his engineer, Hal Hastings, and Eph Somers, another young member of the crew, were about to have their first practical drill with the actual torpedo. An officer of the United States Navy, especially detailed for the work, was expected hourly at Dunhaven. The three submarine boys were eager for their first taste of this work. Barely less interested were Jacob Farnum, shipbuilder, and president of the submarine company, and David Pollard, inventor of the Pollard type of submarine craft.

In this shed, placed on racks in three tiers, lay the two dozen Whitehead torpedoes with which the first work was to be done. As Jack stepped about the shed, looking to see that everything was in order, he was thinking of the exciting work soon to come.

Eph Somers was near at hand, though up in the village at that particular moment. There was a fourth member of the crew, however, named Williamson. He was a grown man, a machinist who had been long in Farnum's employ, and who was considered a most valuable hand to have in the engine room of a submarine.

Williamson, during the preceding fortnight, had been away in the interior of the country. He had taken a midwinter vacation, and had gone to visit his mother. Now, however, the machinist knew of the work at hand, and his return was expected.

"Really," declared Jack, turning around to his chum, "Williamson ought to be here not later than to-morrow morning. He had Mr. Farnum's letter in good season."

At this moment a heavy tread was heard on the light crust of snow outside. Then a man's head appeared in the doorway.

"Speaking of angels!" laughed Hal.

"Williamson, I'm mighty glad to see you back," hailed Captain Jack, delightedly.

"I'm glad to be back, if there's anything unusual going to happen," replied the machinist, as they shook hands all around. Then, as they fell to chatting, the machinist seated himself on a keg, the top of which was about half off, revealing, underneath, a layer of jute bagging.

"We're going to have some great practice work," declared Hal, moving about. "We're just waiting for that Navy man, and then we're going out on the new submarine—the one that's named after me, you know."

Out in the little harbor beyond rode at anchor two grim-looking little torpedo boats, each about one hundred and ten feet long. The older one was named the "Benson," after Captain Jack. But the latest one to be launched, which had had its full trial trip only some few days before, bore the name of "Hastings" after the capable young chief engineer of the Pollard boats.

Both of the boys, by this time, happened to be looking away from the machinist. Williamson, in utter unconcern, drew a pipe out of one of his pockets, filled it, and stuck the stem between his lips. Next, he struck a safety match, softly, against the side of the match-box, and lighted his pipe, drawing in great whiffs.

"Just how far does this practice go!" inquired the machinist, still sitting on the keg and smoking contentedly.

At that moment Captain Jack Benson caught, in his nostrils, the scent of burning tobacco.

In an instant a steely glitter shone in the young captain's eyes. Firm, strong lines appeared about his mouth. All that part of the face showed white and pallid. Just a second or two later Hal Hastings also turned.

Like a flash his lower jaw dropped, as though the hinge thereof had broken.

When Captain Jack's voice came to him it sounded low, yet hard and metallic. One would have wondered whether he had suddenly become ugly.

"Williamson," he directed, "just step outside and see if Eph is there!"

Hardly noting the unusual ring in the young commander's voice, the machinist, still with the pipe-stem between his teeth, rose and walked out into the open. With an almost inarticulate yell Captain Jack Benson leaped after him, striking the man in the back and sending him spinning a dozen feet beyond.

Hal Hastings, too, dashed through the door way; then paused, grasping the edge of the door and shutting it with a bang.

"What on earth do you mean by knocking a fellow down like that?" demanded the machinist, angrily, leaping to his feet and wheeling about, leaving the lighted pipe on the snowcrust.

"Look at the sign on this door," ordered Hal Hastings, pointing to the big white letters.

"Danger, eh?" asked Williamson, speaking more quietly. "Well, that door was open and swung back when I came along, so I couldn't see any warning. But what is there in the shed that's so mighty dangerous?"

"What do you suppose is in the half-open keg that you were sitting on?" demanded Captain Jack, rather hoarsely.

"What!" queried the machinist, curiously.

"The head of that keg is half off," Jack continued. "Now, if any sparks from your pipe had dropped down and set the bagging afire—well, that keg is almost full of cubes of gun-cotton!"

"Whew!" gasped Williamson, beginning to look pallid himself.

"Nor is that all," Hal took up. "Of course, if you had touched off that gun-cotton in the keg, it would have sent us all through the roof. But the smaller explosion would have touched off the two tons and a half of gun-cotton in those Whitehead torpedoes. That would have laid the whole shipyard flat. In fact, after the torpedoes went up, there wouldn't have been much left of any part of Dunhaven!"

"Gr—great Hercules!" gasped the machinist, his face now losing every vestige of color.

Then, after a moment:

"With so much sky-high trouble stored in that shed, you should have a sign up."

"There is one, on the door," replied Captain Jack. "But the door happened to be swung open, so that you couldn't see it. Yet I guess you're the only one in all Dunhaven who didn't know what the shed contains."

"And how does the little town like the idea!" demanded Williamson, beginning to smile as his color slowly returned.

"Why, the people can't expect to have very much to say," Jack replied.

"We have a permit to store the explosive, and it's at the request of the United States Government. You're not afraid to be near so much rockety stuff are you?"

Williamson gazed at the young skipper reproachfully.

"Now, what have I ever done, Captain, or what have I failed to do, that should make you think me only forty per cent. good on nerve? Though I'll admit that my appetite for smoking won't be good when I'm near this shed. How long is the stuff going to stay here? That is, if some idiot doesn't play with matches in that shed."

"I expect it will about all be used, after the Navy officer gets on the scene, and drills us in using torpedoes," Captain Benson answered. "It isn't intended to keep that sort of stuff stored here all the time."

"Oh! Then I reckon I won't toss my job into the harbor," grinned the machinist. "How soon are you going to want me?"

"You can go aboard the 'Hastings' at once," replied Skipper Jack. "It won't do any harm to have the machinery of the new boat looked over with a most critical eye."

"Any gun-cotton, rack-a-rock wool or dynamite silk stored on board the new craft?" inquired Williamson, with a look of mock anxiety.

"Nothing more dangerous than gasoline," Captain Jack smiled.

"Oh, I don't mind that stuff,". chuckled the machinist. "I want a smoke. That's why I'm particular about not going to work near any stuff that has such a big idea of itself that it swells up every time a match or a lighted pipe comes around. I'll go aboard now."

With this statement, Williamson strolled down to the beach, untying a small skiff and pulling himself out to the newer of the pair of very capable submarine torpedo boats that lay at moorings out in the little private harbor.

Hal, in the meantime, had quietly swung the shed door to and locked it.

The great white word, "Danger," was once more in plain view.

"What are you going to do now!" asked young Hastings of his chum.

"I reckon I'll spend my time wondering where the Navy man is," laughed Captain Jack.

"Let's go up to the office, then. Mr. Farnum may have had some word in the matter."

As they neared the door of the office building, Eph Somers, who was a combination of first officer, steward and general utility man on board the Pollard boats, came in through the gate, joining his friends at once.

Readers of our previous volumes are now well acquainted with these young men and their friends. In "The Submarine Boys on Duty" was told how Jack and Hal came to Dunhaven at just the right moment, as it happened, to edge their way into the employ of Jacob Farnum, the young shipbuilder, who was then engaged in the construction of the first of those famous submarine torpedo craft. The first boat was named the "Pollard," after David Pollard, the inventor of the craft and of its successors. By the time that the "Pollard" was ready for launching Jack and Hal had made themselves so valuable to their employer that the boys were allowed to take to the water with the boat when it left the stocks.

Eph Somers, freckle-faced and sunny aired, was a Dunhaven boy who had fairly won his way aboard the same craft by his many sided ability. Yet, under the direction of Messrs. Farnum and Pollard these youngsters so rapidly acquired the difficult knack of handling submarine boats that they remained aboard. In the end Jack Benson became the recognized captain of the boat. Some notable cruises were made, in which the great value of the Pollard type of submarines was splendidly proved, thanks largely to the cleverness of the boys who handled her.

The "Pollard" was present during naval manoeuvres of a fleet of United States warships. Captain Jack conceived and carried out a most laughable trick against one of the battleships, which attracted public attention generally to this new craft.

In the second volume of the series, "The Submarine Boys' Trial Trip," our readers found the young men engaged in giving further and much more startling demonstration to naval officers of the full value of the Pollard type of boat. Incidentally, it was told how a grasping financier attempted to get control of the Farnum shipyard and its submarine business, with a series of startling plots that the submarine boys were instrumental in balking. The submarine boat itself passed some of the severest trials that could be invented, yet the trials through which the builders and the submarine boys passed were far greater. Yet, in the end, just as Mr. Farnum and his associates were about to go to the wall, financially, the Navy Department purchased and paid for the "Pollard." In this volume was also told how Jack and his friends were the first to discover a simple, yet seemingly mysterious, method of leaving and entering a submarine boat at will when it lay on the bottom of the ocean.

Then, in "The Submarine Boys and the Middies," was related how Captain Jack and his chums secured the prize detail of going to Annapolis with the company's new boat, the "Farnum," there to teach the midshipmen of the Naval Academy how to operate boats of this class. That narrative was unusually full of adventures, including the laughable recital of how Eph innocently brought down upon the trio a first-class sample of hazing by Uncle Sam's naval cadets. Captain Jack had many startling adventures with the secret agent of a rival submarine company, who sought to discredit and disgrace the young commander of the submarine boys.

In the volume preceding this, entitled "The Submarine Boys and the Spies," the third of the company's boats, the "Benson," named in honor of the young captain, was discovered in Florida waters. This newest submarine had been sent to Spruce Beach, in December, to undergo some tests and to give an exhibition, the U.S. gunboat, "Waverly" being on hand to act as host. In this volume it was related how Captain Jack's very life was at stake, from the foreign spies gathered at Spruce Beach to pry into the secrets of the mysterious submarine.

Here the United States Secret Service officers were called in to aid, yet it was Captain Jack and his friends who contributed to the full success of the government sleuths. At this period of his career Captain Jack's greatest dangers came through the wiles of charming women spies, especially one beautiful young Russian woman, Mlle. Sara Nadiboff, easily the most clever of all international spies. Yet the cleverness of the submarine boys carried them successfully, and with highest honor, through the gravest situations in their eventful, young careers.

Just at this particular time the young men had been going through dull days. Beyond the fact of the mere presence of the heavily charged torpedoes at the shipyard there had been nothing like excitement, for some time. This dullness, however, was destined to turn, suddenly, into the most intense and exciting activity.

As Jack pushed open the outer door of the office building of the shipyard, Jacob Farnum, the owner, happened to be bustling through the corridor.

"Hallo, boys!" came his quick, cheery greeting. "I was just about to send for you."

"Any word," queried Jack, good-humoredly, "as to when that cold-molasses naval officer is going to be here!"

From within the office sounded a light laugh.

"You'll see him shortly," grinned Mr. Farnum. "But come in, boys."

As the three submarine boys entered the office, in a group, their glances fell upon two men, in the uniform of United States sailors, standing at ease near the door. In a chair near Mr. Farnum's desk sat a third man, dressed in ordinary citizen attire. He was a man of about twenty-eight, dark, smooth-faced, slender of figure, yet broad-shouldered.

"Lieutenant Danvers," called Mr. Farnum, smiling broadly, "I want to present my submarine boys to you. First of all, Jack Benson, our young captain."

Realizing that his question had been overheard, Jack went forward with a very red face, holding out his hand. With a quiet smile, Lieutenant Frank Danvers, U.S. Navy, took the boy's hand. Then Hal and Eph were presented.

"I see that I was mistaken about the molasses," laughed Jack.

"Nothing as sweet as all that about the Navy, eh?" smiled Mr. Danvers.

"However, my delay in getting here was due entirely to delay in official orders. I am now on the ground, however, and ready for prompt—"

At this moment the outer door shot open with a bang. Hal looked out into the corridor to see what had caused the disturbance.

"Look a-here!" sounded the voice of machinist Williamson, in an injured tone. "Here I am, looking about for a quiet place for a five minutes' smoke. Captain Benson sends me out to the 'Hastings,' telling me that it will be all right there. So I light my pipe on the platform deck and go below. Great Jehosh! The first thing I run on to is a couple of torpedoes, about a mile long and two hundred yards thick, loaded up with gun-cotton or pistol-satin enough to blow the ocean up into the sky. And I haven't had my smoke yet!"

"That's all right," called Hal, quietly, as the machinist's somewhat shaking voice died out. "You're always safe, man, in following any lead that Captain Jack Benson gives you. Go back on the 'Hastings' and have your smoke out."

"But those two torpedoes, loaded up to the muzzles with artillery-felt, or some other exploding kind of dry-goods!" protested the machinist.

"Those two torpedoes are dummies," laughed Hal Hastings. "They're aboard just for dummy torpedo practice. There isn't a kick in a dozen of 'em. Go back and get your smoke, man!"

Hal must have looked at the machinist with unusual sharpness, for Williamson went promptly out through the door, closing it after him.

"I'm ready to go aboard, Mr. Benson," proposed Lieutenant Danvers, "and make a start whenever you're so inclined."

"We'd better put it off for half an hour," proposed Skipper Jack, with a laugh. "That'll give Williamson a chance to have that smoke of his over with."

"That'll suit me," agreed the naval officer, cheerfully. "In fact, Mr. Benson, if you won't think me too much like cold molasses"—Jack winced—"I would propose that we start at a little after one o'clock this afternoon. Even at that, we'll be out long enough between that time and dark."

"Any arrangement that suits you, Lieutenant, suits me," nodded Jack Benson. "You're going with us to-day, aren't you, Mr. Farnum?"

"Don't you believe, for a moment," retorted the shipbuilder, "that I'd let anything keep me from the first torpedo practice on one of our boats. And I'm almost ashamed of Dave Pollard. That fellow, instead of being here, is away somewhere in hiding, dreaming about a new style of clutch for the after end of the torpedo tube. Oh, yes, I'll be with you!"

"Hallo!" muttered Eph, stepping to a window that looked out on the yard near the street gate. "What's this coming? A hundred people, at least, and they look like a mob!"

There was, in truth, a goodly inpouring of people, and fully a dozen of these new-corners seemed to be trying to talk at the same time.

II. Torpedo Practice at Last

"Perhaps they're coming to make a row about having so much gun-cotton stored close to the village," hinted Lieutenant Danvers.

The same thought was in Captain Jack Benson's mind. However, they were not long to be kept in doubt, for Jacob Farnum had moved hastily to the outer door.

"Good day, friends!" called the shipbuilder, as he pulled the outer door open, for he recognized most of the faces of men and women in the crowd.

"What's wrong, friends!"

At the very doorstep the leaders of the crowd halted.

"The 'Mary Bond' isn't in yet, Mr. Farnum," called one of the men.

That was the name of a fishing smack that put out from Dunhaven at regular intervals through the winter. She carried a Dunhaven captain and mate, and, altogether, fourteen men and boys.

"When should she have been in!" queried Mr. Farnum. The crowd had halted, now, and all but their chosen speaker remained silent.

"Yesterday morning, sir," replied the spokesman.

"Do you people fear that harm has come to the 'Mary Bond!" queried the shipbuilder.

"Why, it must be so, sir. For the smack wasn't due to go out more'n some forty miles. With the winds we've been having lately she could come in, any time, within a few hours."

"Perhaps the captain had a poor run of luck," suggested Mr. Farnum. "He may be staying out longer than usual."

"No, sir, for all the reports that have come in off the sea are of big catches. The ocean has been swarming with fish these last few days," replied the spokesman.

"Then, friends, I take it there's something you want me to do. What is it?" demanded Jacob Farnum.

"We've come to ask you, sir, if you won't have one of your torpedo boats put out and look for the 'Mary Bond.' Your boats can go a big distance in a few hours. We're afraid, Mr. Farnum, that the smack's canvas or sticks may have suffered in the big blow of yesterday. We're afraid, too, that the 'Mary Bond' may be drifting about helplessly on the sea, just for the need of a little aid. We're afraid, sir, that good Dunhaven men may be in great danger of going to the bottom, and leaving behind families that—"

The spokesman stopped, a little choke in his voice. As though in answer sobs came from some of the women.

"Now, now, friends, if that's the trouble, we'll soon know about it," promised the shipbuilder, one of the biggest-hearted men living. "One of our boats is going out for practice. But, if you'll supply a good sea-going hand or two, the second boat shall go out and sweep the seas hereabouts, looking for the 'Mary Bond.'"

A cheer went up at once. Mr. Farnum flushed with pleasure. Not above doing a kind act, he also enjoyed having it appreciated.

"Who'll command the relief boat!" called one of the women. "Jack Benson?"

"No," replied Mr. Farnum, shaking his head. "Captain Benson must go out on naval business to-day."

A murmur of disappointment went up from the crowd. Jack Benson was a young skipper on whose success a Dunhaven crowd would make bets.

"But, see here," proposed the shipbuilder, "I'll go out myself, on the 'Benson,' and take Williamson along with me. Now, you folks find any local salt-water captain and a couple of good deck hands to go with me."

"When will you start, sir?" asked the spokesman.

"The minute you have my helpers ready. There's Captain Allen among you now. If he'll go, he's as good a salt-water dog as I want on a cruise with me. Let him pick two sailors out of the crowd. We can start in five minutes."

Another cheer went up as Jacob Farnum, leaving the outer door open, hurried back to his own party. Captain Allen, a retired master of coasting vessels, had five times as many volunteers in the crowd as he needed.

"Jack, I'm sorry I can't go with you," sighed Mr. Farnum, as he returned.

"But the call of humanity is too big a one. I'm going to take Williamson with me. The rest of you go with Lieutenant Danvers and his men. I'll hope to be able to go with you to-morrow, anyway."

"Isn't there a tug hereabouts that those people could hire?" questioned the naval officer.

"Oh, yes; there's a small one to the south of here, but her captain would charge at least fifty dollars a day," replied the shipbuilder, as he drew on a heavy deck ulster.

"I suppose these people expect you to go out for nothing," hinted Lieutenant Danvers.

"Oh, yes, of course," nodded the shipbuilder. "But one can't be a crank, or a miser, when women are red-eyed and weeping from worry over their missing husbands and sons."

There was a suspicion of moisture in Mr. Farnum's own eyes as he snatched up a cap, bidding his own party a hasty good-bye ere he ran from the office.

"There goes a good-natured man," laughed Lieutenant Danvers.

"A big-hearted one, you mean, sir," corrected Captain Jack Benson.

"He's a man with a heart bigger than any torpedo craft he could possibly build and launch."

"I wish him all luck," said the naval officer, heartily. "And that crowd, and also the poor seafaring men that put out in the like of the 'Mary Bond.'"

The crowd had gone from the office building, now, following Mr. Farnum and his volunteers down to the little harbor. Jack, his chums and the naval party slowly followed down to the water front.

Little time did the shipbuilder lose in getting under way. A rousing cheer ascended when the grim little "Benson" slipped her moorings and turned her nose out toward the sea.

"Your pipe-hungry machinist went on that craft, didn't he!" asked the naval officer, as the crowd began to turn back from the beach.

"Yes," nodded Captain Jack. "So there's nothing at all to prevent our getting the 'Hastings' out on the wave as soon as you like."

"I'm going to send my men up to the hotel, first, for a jolly big feed," proposed Lieutenant Danvers. "They've been on the rail, eating on the jump, and now they'll appreciate a good square meal."

"Suppose we all go up to the hotel for luncheon!" proposed Captain Jack.

"Then how about having torpedoes aboard when we return?"

"How many real torpedoes will you want for to-day, Mr. Danvers?" Benson inquired.

"Two, besides the dummies, will be plenty."

"Then I'll run over to Mr. Partridge, the superintendent of the yard, and he'll have a foreman and a gang attend to it," suggested the young submarine skipper.

Accordingly, this was done. Then the party slated for the afternoon cruise went over to the hotel. By the time that they came back from the midday meal the two service torpedoes were aboard the "Hastings" and the target was in readiness to be towed out to sea.

This "target" was not a handsome-looking affair. It was an old scow, some thirty feet long and broad of beam, that had once been used, up the coast, in sea-wall construction work. Mr. Farnum had bought it a short time before and it now lay at anchor, near the beach, ready to be towed out to sea for its last service to mankind. The scow was heavily laden with rock, this being intended to sink the craft's keel as far as was advisable. The old scow had now something more than four feet draught, with less than two feet of freeboard.

Two of the workmen, in an old whaleboat, waited to row the party out to the "Hastings." Jack was soon able to welcome Lieutenant Danvers on board the submarine.

"You can look around all you want, Ewald and Biffens," suggested Mr. Danvers, "and see if you can find any great differences between this craft and the 'Pollard' and the 'Farnum.'"

The two sailors, accordingly, made themselves wholly at home in the interior of the submarine.

"Both men have put in tours of duty on the first two boats turned out by your company," explained the officer. "They know all about the two Pollard boats that the Navy bought."

"Then they won't find very much that is different on board the 'Hastings,'" Jack replied. "All that is new here is in the way of a few more up-to-date little mechanisms and devices. A man used to running the old 'Pollard' would really be wholly at home here."

A few minutes, only, were allowed for inspection of the newest submarine of the lot. By this time the workmen in the small boat had made fast a towing hawser between the bow of the old scow and the stern towing bitts of the "Hastings."

"Use my men all you need to, in casting off, or in boat handling generally," requested Lieutenant Danvers. Jack therefore ordered Ewald and Biffens forward on the upper hull to cast loose from moorings. Hal stood the trick in the engine-room, while Jack himself sat at the wheel in the tower.

In another minute, despite her rather heavy tow, the "Hastings" was nosing briskly out of the harbor. The gasoline engines this little craft were of a "heavy service" pattern, which adapted the submarine to the work of towing at need.

"How far out do you want to go, sir!" asked Captain Jack, as the Navy lieutenant took a seat beside him in the tower, after Eph and the sailors had gone below.

"We want to be sure to be well out of the path of coastwise vessels," replied Danvers. "That's the main thing, you know. We can't take any risk of sinking a merchantman while we're having our fun."

"With this tow, then, it will be three o'clock before we get out where we really ought to be, sir."

"That will give us at least two hours of good daylight," nodded Mr. Danvers. "Of course you know this coast well enough to pick your way back after dark?"

"I'd run the craft five times the distance, under water, and hit the harbor without thought of an accident," spoke young Benson, seriously, and with no thought of boasting.

"Jove, my young friend, if you can do a thing like that, you're a genius at the work," muttered Danvers, after a swift, side glance at Skipper Jack.

"I've done as much before," laughed Jack. "Either of my friends could do it, for that matter."

"Then you're veritable young kings of the deep!" declared Lieutenant Danvers, heartily.

"Oh, we're not wonders," smiled Jack, goodhumoredly; then added, more seriously, "If we really do anything worth while, my friends and I, we're to be regarded simply as the products of constant practice."

"You're modest enough about it," agreed Danvers.

Presently, the naval officer himself took a hand at managing the submarine. Jack, knowing that the boat was in fine professional hands, slipped unconcernedly below, to chat with Hal Hastings, who sat doggedly by his engines.

"What's the matter? What makes you look so solemn, old fellow?" asked the young submarine skipper, when he caught sight of his chum's solemn face.

"Oh, you'd laugh, if I told you," smiled Hal.

"Seeing omens of ill again!" persisted young Benson.

"I suppose," sighed Hal, "well, I have a sort of premonition."

"Pre—premo—" stuttered Captain Jack, holding comically to the port side of his jaw. "Oh, pshaw! Call it a plain United States 'hunch.'

What's the tip the spooks are giving anyway, Hal?"

Hastings smiled again, though he went on:

"Oh, it's just a queer sort of notion I have that something is going to happen to us this afternoon."

"Right-o," drawled Jack. "You don't have to shove off from that, Hal.

Something is going to happen to us. This afternoon we're going to have the first drill in the actual firing of submarine torpedoes."

"Oh, I know that," Hastings admitted, quickly. "But what I see ahead, or feel as though I see, is some kind of disaster. Now, you'll think I'm a sailor-croaker, won't you, Jack?"

"Disaster?" repeated Jack, slowly. "Well, to be sure, we've the outfit on board for a disaster, if we wanted one. Two real torpedoes that hold, between them, four hundred pounds of gun-cotton—or danger-calico, as Williamson would call it. But cheer up, old fellow. There's no danger, after all. Williamson and his pipe are on the other boat."

"Oh, of course nothing is really going to happen," laughed Hal. "It is just the feeling that is over me. That's all."

It was fully three o'clock by the time Lieutenant Danvers decided they were far enough out to sea, and far enough from any craft in those waters. Not a stick or a stack of another vessel showed within ten miles of them. The scow was accordingly cast loose and allowed to drift.

Captain Jack was at the tower wheel again, as Eph and the two sailors returned from setting the scow loose.

"We've got to be sure to record one good hit against that old barge of stone," muttered Lieutenant Danvers, who stood beside the youthful submarine commander. "The sea is roughening, and I doubt if we could pick up that scow in tow again. We've got to destroy her, or she'd be a fearful menace to navigation, drifting about in the night in the path of incoming vessels."

"Oh, I guess you'll get rid of her easily enough," spoke Jack, confidently. "You're a professional at this business, sir."

"So are the two men with me," nodded the officer. "By the way, Ewald can just as well come on deck and take the wheel, if you want him to do so. Then you can go below and see all that we do with a torpedo."

"Now, that's what I call a great idea," cried Benson, enthusiastically.

"I want to know just how a torpedo is handled at the time of firing."

"It's the only thing you have left to learn about this business," smiled the naval officer. Then he passed the word for Ewald. When that it sailor had taken the wheel, the naval officer and the young submarine skipper went below.

"We'll swing in one of the dummy torpedoes, first, of course," announced Mr. Danvers.

One of the dummies was, therefore, hauled forward on a truck, then forced on into the torpedo tube. Jack watched, intently, this part of the business.

The torpedo itself was a cigar-shaped affair, with a propeller at the after end. This propeller was set in motion by means of an engine in the after part of the torpedo, the engine being so constructed that it was set in operation at the moment the torpedo left the tube and entered the ocean outside. The propeller was fitted with apparatus that would drive the torpedo in a straight line.

"The torpedo looks like a miniature submarine, doesn't it?" muttered young Benson.

"It surely does," nodded the naval officer. "And, since the torpedo has to travel under water, what better model could have been chosen? Now, the engines in these dummy torpedoes can be set for two, four, six or eight hundred yards, and the torpedo, once it enters the water, travels forward, in a straight line until the engine gives out. That is, the torpedo travels ahead if it doesn't hit something. So, in actual war conditions, we would always get nearer to the object than the distance for which the engine is set to run. The speed of a torpedo like this, under water, is a good deal better than thirty miles an hour, but the distance the torpedo can go is naturally short. That is a direct consequence of its speed. Now, Mr. Benson, would you like to know how to fire the torpedo, since it is already in the tube?"

"Certainly, sir," nodded Jack. And then he continued as if reciting a lesson: "Just give that firing lever at the back of the after port a quick shove to the right and downward. That releases the charge of compressed air and forces the torpedo out. At the same instant the forward port opens, so that the torpedo can be shot out into the water.

The compressed air also serves to keep the sea water from rushing in through the torpedo tube. When the lever is swung up and back again that closes the forward port, and it is then safe to open this after port."

"You've committed that to memory," laughed the naval lieutenant.

"Oh, we've often talked this over, all three of us," smiled Jack.

"Then, since you understand this part so well, Benson," proposed Mr. Danvers, "perhaps you'd like to go forward, on deck, and see when this dummy torpedo is fired?"

"I surely would," agreed the submarine boy "And Eph can just as well come with me."

The two submarine boys, therefore, hastened above, out on the platform deck, and then further forward on the upper hull, until they lay out along the nose of the "Hastings."

Danvers reached Ewald's side in the tower, while Biffens waited below, at the lever, for the firing signal.

The "Hastings" was now drifting, rather aimlessly, something more than four hundred yards away from the scow. As the sea was roughening all the while, the two submarine boys out forward were having a hard time of it. Added to that, icy spray was falling over them.

Lieutenant Danvers quickly rang for speed and then brought the submarine boat within about three hundred yards of the scow, and at a position that pointed the nose of the "Hastings" at the middle of the scow's hull, the line of fire making a right angle with the scow.

"Get ready to watch, out there!" warned the naval officer.

"Now, Eph," glowed Jack, "we're going to see the thing we've so often dreamed about! We'll see that dummy torpedo leap forth, like a real one. For a little way, at least, we ought to see the track of the torpedo."

"Feel like betting the dummy will bit the scow?" questioned young Somers, half doubtfully.

"Of course it will," retorted Jack Benson, scornfully, "with naval experts on the job!"

Lieutenant Danvers gave the firing signal.

In the silence that followed, the two submarine boys hanging over the nose of the boat heard just a muffled click below. Then— "There it goes!" shouted Jack Benson, with all the glee in the world.

Down beneath them, under the nose of the "Hastings" an object shot into brief view. First the war-head, then the middle, then the tail and propeller of a fourteen-foot Whitehead torpedo swept away from them, two or three feet below the surface of the waves. A line of bubbles came to the surface, showing that the torpedo was headed, straight and clean, for the stone-laden scow over on the ocean. Then the torpedo, still under water, passed out of their range of view.

"Hurrah!" yelled Jack Benson, leaping to his feet with all the glee and fervor of the enthusiast. "Hurrah!"

"Hurrah!" bellowed Eph Somers, for the glory of the game had gotten into his blood, too. Both submarine boys capered up and down on the platform deck.

But Lieutenant Danvers sat with left hand on the conning tower steering wheel, his watch in his right hand. He was counting the seconds.

"Look out for the signal," called the naval officer, coolly. "When I tell you, then look out for what happens over at the scow. Er—now!"

They were too far away to hear the impact, but the two submarine boys saw a slight commotion in the waters under the scow's rail. Then the dummy torpedo bounded back, rising and floating on the surface—spent!

Had that torpedo contained the fighting service charge of two hundred pounds of gun-cotton it would have shattered and sunk the biggest, staunchest, proudest battleship afloat.

"It's uncanny—isn't it?" gasped Jack Benson, feeling an odd shudder run over him.

III. Struck By a Submerged Foe

"Yep!" agreed Eph Somers, blaster of day-dreams. "But say?"

"Well?" demanded Captain Jack.

"At the same time," muttered Eph, grimly, "I'm glad that scow isn't a real battleship, with a half a dozen twelve-inch cannon turned on us."

"Humph!" muttered Jack, dryly, "if that scow were an enemy's battleship, twelve-inch barkers and all, we'd be twenty feet under the surface, and we'd be out of sight and out of mind."

"Quite right," nodded Lieutenant Danvers. "In a contest of that sort I'd feel fifty times safer here than on the battleship we were after.

Now, Benson, you've seen the first part of it. We have the other dummy to fire. The real gunner, on a submarine, is the fellow at the wheel. Do you want to take the wheel, manoeuvre the boat and give the order for the next dummy shot?"

"Do I?" uttered Jack Benson. "Just!"

Orders were then given to place the other dummy torpedo in the tube, and this done, Jack took his place at the wheel, while Eph Somers and the lieutenant stood outside. At the naval officer's direction Jack Benson came up on the other side of the scow, about three hundred yards away, with the nose of the "Hastings" so pointed that the torpedo dummy could be delivered straight amidships.

At just the right moment Captain Jack passed the order to fire. Then he watched the scow with a strange fascination. Danvers stood, watch in hand.

"Now!" he shouted.

Barely two seconds later the second dummy torpedo rose, a few yards back from the side of the scow.

"That torpedo struck, full and fair," nodded Lieutenant Danvers, turning toward the conning tower. "Mr. Benson, if you always hit as full and well, you'll be an expert torpedoist."

"Why, it's nothing but holding the nose of your own boat full on the other craft, amidships, and the torpedo itself does the rest," uttered the young submarine skipper.

"That's it," nodded Lieutenant Danvers. "But, when you're below the surface, the problem becomes a harder one."

"But then I'd come up enough to use the periscope, and get the bearings of the enemy's vessel," declared Benson. "Then I'd drop below, using the compass for direction, and the number of motor revolutions to give me the knowledge of distance traveled."

"That's just the way it is done," agreed Danvers. "After all, it's just a matter of accurate boat handling, and being able to judge distances by the eye alone. And now, Mr. Benson, if you'll run over yonder, carefully, we'll pick up the dummies. After that, we've got to make as good a shot, with a real torpedo, and sink the scow."

"And, if you don't, sir—?" smiled the young submarine skipper.

"Then we'll be guilty of poor shooting, and have to try the second loaded torpedo," replied the naval officer. "If we miss with the second, then we'll have to contrive either to tow the scow, or to sink her somehow. If either of the loaded torpedoes fails to explode, we'll have to pick it up, at all hazards. If we left a loaded torpedo floating on the surface of the water, here in the paths of coast navigation, it would sink the first ship that struck the war-head of the torpedo."

The sea, by this time, was rough and whitecapped, and a brisk wind was blowing down from the north-east. It was no easy task to get a rope around first one dummy torpedo, and then the other. Yet at last this was done, and the heavy objects were hoisted aboard and stored below.

"Now, we'll get off and sink the scow, before dark," muttered Lieutenant Danvers.

"Are you going to let me fire the torpedo at her, sir?" demanded Skipper Jack Benson, eagerly.

"If you feel sure you can do it," replied the naval officer. "For that matter, if you fail, there'll be one loaded torpedo left, and I can take the second shot."

At a sign from the young skipper Eph hurried below, to relieve Hal Hastings, who wished to see some of the fun. Hal came up into the conning tower to take the wheel while Jack Benson slipped below to direct the loading of the torpedo into the tube. Then Biffens, the sailor, took his post by the firing lever, while Ewald stood back to pass the word from the conning tower.

This loaded torpedo, like the dummies, had been set to run four hundred yards. Captain Jack, therefore, determined to release the torpedo at a range of three hundred yards.

The "Hastings" had drifted somewhat away from the scow, but Jack, one hand on steering wheel and the other at the signals, ran the submarine over so that he could head the craft around to deliver a broadside fire at the scow, at right angles. When he had the "Hastings" in this position he shouted down:

"Be ready, Ewald!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

A breathless instant followed, during which the young submarine commander took his last sight from the conning tower.

"Fire!"

"Fire it is, sir."

Jack and Hal could just barely see, from the tower, the slight commotion that the torpedo made in the water at the bow when released.

Hal, watch in hand was counting: "One, two, three, four—" and so on.

Suddenly there came a low rumble, followed by— Boo-oom!

The explosion was a dull and sullen one, but loud enough to make the blood of the submarine boys tingle. A column of spray shot up, followed by detached whiffs of smoke, for the torpedo had exploded beneath the surface.

In the same instant a sound of rending timbers reached their ears. Then the scow—where was it? Only the waters rolled where the scow had been. Captain Jack and Hal rubbed their eyes.

"The same thing would have happened to a battleship," smiled Lieutenant Danvers, who had come up behind them. "Now, you young men begin to have something like an idea of what an engine of war you are handling, because this craft would be much more deadly, and vastly more nerve-racking to an enemy, because she would approach under water, and those on the battleship would have little or no means of gauging their peril. Incidentally, Mr. Benson, I must congratulate you upon the neatness of the shot."

"To accept congratulations for that would be like robbing a poor-box in a church," laughed Jack. "It called for nothing but aiming the nose of the boat straight."

"And, even under water," replied Danvers, "it calls for but few more calculations. With really trained men all through the crew of a submarine, you can now understand what show the battleship of coming days will have against a single hostile torpedo boat. Why, the captain of a torpedo boat, if he has but one torpedo on board, could sail in under a fleet, pick out his battleship, sink it and then scuttle away, under water, from the rest of the enemy's fleet."

"It seems almost like cowardice, doesn't it?" asked Hal Hastings, soberly.

"Not exactly," replied Lieutenant Danvers, grimly. "In the first place, the game of war is to destroy the enemy with as little loss as possible to yourself. Moreover, the commander and crew of a submarine torpedo boat, during a naval campaign, would have to take risks enough to make most men's hair turn gray."

"I'm not wishing for war," muttered Jack Benson. "Still, if one has to come, I hope I'll be in command of a torpedo craft that sees service."

"And I think you'd have your wish, my lad," nodded Lieutenant Danvers.

"Of course, none but regularly commissioned naval officers may command the craft of the Navy. Still, in our Civil War, and in the War with Spain, we had to commission a good many volunteers. So, in the event of another war coming, I don't believe the Navy Department would feel that it could possibly pass by boys trained as well as you three have been."

"Are you going to use the other loaded torpedo to-day, sir?" asked Jack.

"Against what?" demanded Danvers. "You've sunk the scow as deep as the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean."

"Then I suppose we may as well put back to Dunhaven, sir?"

"Yes, Benson."

Jack accordingly signaled for slow speed ahead, turning the nose of the "Hastings" toward the west. Hal and Eph, as the submarine started back, took a drill in loading and unloading torpedoes into the tube, performing this work with one of the dummies, Ewald and Billens assisting.

Knowing that Hal was not in the engine room, Captain Jack was content to run along at slow speed. Nor had the boat gone more than two miles when something struck the bow.

At the first impact alert Jack Benson felt his heart leap into his mouth. It was as though the "Hastings" had struck, lightly, on a reef. Almost by instinct Jack threw the wheel over to port. Something was rasping, forcefully, under the hull of the submarine. As the helm went to port that something underneath, whatever it was, sheered off.

"What was that, Benson?" called up Lieutenant Danvers, sharply.

"Struck something, sir, I'm sure," Jack called back.

At the first sound of trouble, Hal Hastings leaped into the engine room.

Lieutenant Danvers sprang up the stairs into the conning tower. He was in time to find Captain Jack swinging the nose of the "Hastings" around.

Then the youthful commander signaled for the stop and the reverse.

"Mr. Somers!" shouted Jack, coolly but promptly.

"Aye, sir," called up Eph.

"Take a lantern and get down into the compartments along the keel forward. See whether we're taking in any water."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"We struck part of a derelict, or something else submerged," guessed Lieutenant Danvers. "We're lucky, indeed, if our plates are not sprung."

Then he called down to Biffens to follow and aid Eph Somers.

It was almost dark now. Jack, reaching over, switched on the electric sidelights outside, and also the white light at the signal masthead.

Then he turned on the searchlight, sending its bright ray through the gathering darkness.

"Look over there, sir," muttered Jack, holding the searchlight ray steadily on an object he believed he saw. "Don't you make out, sir, bobbing up and down when the waves part, what looks like the stump of the broken-off mast of a vessel submerged? Is it a death-dealing derelict in the very path of coastwise navigation!"

"By Jove, yes!" gasped Lieutenant Danvers, hoarsely. "Your eyes are sharp, Benson, and your judgment sound. That, then, was what we struck on—the mast-stump of a water-logged, sunken derelict! If our underhull plates are sprung, down we go to the bottom!"

They waited, in dreadful anxiety, for the report of Eph from the region of the keel plates.

They were far out to sea, and a submarine cannot carry a lifeboat!

IV. A Submarine's Revenge

All now waited on Eph's word during the next few moments.

If the "Hastings," striking on that stub of a submerged mast, had had her plates so badly sprang that pumping would not drive out the water as fast as it came in, then this newest of the submarines was doomed to go to the bottom.

All that would then remain to those aboard would be to take to the ocean.

True, they had life-preservers aboard, and with these, officers and men could keep afloat.

In the icy waters of a February night, however, with something like fifteen miles to swim to mainland through an ever-roughening sea, it was almost impossible that the strongest among them could hope to reach shore alive.

Yet, desperately anxious as he was to know the news, Jack Benson did not desert his post by the steering wheel. Some one must be there. Nor had Hal thought of leaving the engine room.

So the naval lieutenant remained with Benson, duplicating, in those awful moments, the boy's cool courage.

It was Ewald who presently came running up the stairs to report.

"Mr. Somers orders me to report that there's a little trickle of water coming in between two plates about twelve feet abaft of the bow, sir.

But Mr. Somers believes that, even without pumping, we could run forty miles without serious danger, sir."

Knowing his friend's ability and good judgment as he did, Jack Benson stood ready to accept that report, without question. But Lieutenant Danvers inquired:

"Did you see the leak, Ewald?"

"Yes, sir."

"What do you think about it?"

"Why, sir, I agree with Mr. Somers."

"I believe I'll go down and take a look at the leak," announced Danvers, slowly.

"Then, while you're gone," said Benson, "I'll keep the searchlight steadily on what I can see of the top of that mast-stump."

"Why not keep on in toward the shore?"

"Because, sir," and Jack's jaws snapped, "if we've been insulted in this fashion by an old derelict, I don't believe in letting the old derelict get off so easily, sir."

Lieutenant Danvers knitted his brow, thoughtfully, as he hurried down the stairs, then followed Ewald through a steel trapway into the cramped compartments under the cabin flooring.

In three or four minutes Mr. Danvers came up again.

"It's all right," he said. "I can't see that the leak threatens to become serious, unless we should happen to hit that mast-stump again."

"I believed it was all right," the young captain replied, quietly,

"after having heard Mr. Somers's report."

"You three boys certainly stick together and admire each other, don't you?" laughed Danvers.

"We've every reason to, sir. We three have been trained together in this work. No one of the three knows anything that the others don't," came Benson's matter-of-fact reply.

"When I went below you made some remark about not letting the derelict off too easily, Benson. What did you mean?"

"Why, I believe we ought to get square with that old sunken hulk," retorted Captain Jack, wheeling around and eyeing the naval officer.

"Great Scott! You mean that we ought to blow up the derelict?"

"Isn't it usually the Navy, sir, that gets such jobs to do?"

"Yes, yes, Benson. But the Navy Department always sends out a vessel fitted for such work."

"This is a submarine boat. We have one loaded torpedo left on board.

Don't you think we answer the description of a vessel fitted for destroying a derelict?" smiled Captain Jack, coolly. "To say nothing of the itch, for revenge that we feel."

"It'll be a ticklish business," muttered Danvers, thoughtfully.

"So is a lot of the Navy's work, isn't it?" persisted Captain Jack.

"See here, lad, do you really mean that you want to make a sure-enough job of blowing up the derelict?"

"That's what I'm staying here for, sir," rejoined Jack, again swinging the searchlight. "And over there, three hundred yards yonder, I can still make out, once in a while, that bit of mast. What do you say, Lieutenant?"

"Why, if you boys have the grit to go ahead and tackle a job like that in the night, the Navy isn't going to feel chilled and run away," laughed Danvers, shortly. "Yet, my boy, do you think you fully understand the dangers of the undertaking?"

"I think I do," nodded Captain Jack.

"It's to be a duel between this submarine and the old derelict. You can't just hang off like this over here, and shoot at that mast. That wouldn't do any good."

"Yes, I know all that," said Jack, eagerly.

"Then what's your plan, Benson?"

"Why, sir, we've got, first of all, to sail as close as we dare to that mast-stump. Then we've got to use a sounding line to find out in which direction the hull of the sunken derelict lies. We must also get an idea of the length of the hull. Then, having gotten our figures, we'll have to glide back a little way, so as to give a right-angle broadside on at the hull of the derelict. Before firing the torpedo we'll first have to go far enough below water so that we'll know we're in fair line with that sunken hull yonder, for we've got to make our one loaded torpedo do the trick."

"You've got the figures down all right," nodded Lieutenant Danvers, thoughtfully. "The risky part is in trying to run over that derelict's sunken hull in order to locate it and make your soundings. Now, you run a big chance of running plumb on to some other stump of a mast.

The 'Hastings' may easily get an injury, from the stump of another mast, that may tear a real hole in our plates and send us all to the bottom."

"There's danger to be considered in any submarine game really worth the while," assented Captain Jack Benson, coolly. "Do you feel then, Mr. Danvers, that we should be satisfied to drive back to Dunhaven and content ourselves with wiring the Navy Department news of the derelict and of her present position?"

Lieutenant Danvers thoughtfully gazed at the young submarine commander's face.

"No," he muttered, at last. "I think the best thing for a fellow like you, Jack Benson, will be to wade in and get your revenge! And make it as complete as you can!"

"All right, sir," nodded Jack. "Thank you. And now, we'll see how complete a job we can make of it. Mr. Somers!"

"Aye, aye, sir," answered Eph, from below.

"Are you going to consult with your crew?" whispered Danvers.

"They're not the kind of fellows who need consulting," muttered Captain Jack. "All they want is their orders. Mr. Somers, bring up the sounding line."

"Aye, aye, sir."

In a moment more young Somers was in the conning tower, and Jack, sounding line in hand, was out on the platform deck, where Lieutenant Danvers followed him.

Eph knew, by this time, what was wanted of him. Hal, in the engine room, was, as yet, ignorant of the game, but all Hal had to do was to obey engine room signals promptly.

Sending the submarine craft ahead at very slow speed, Eph steered as close to the bobbing masthead as the young captain deemed safe. Jack shouted his orders back as he and Lieutenant Danvers crouched over the nose of the boat.

In the rough sea that was running their work was doubly hard. But Eph kept the searchlight all the time turned in the direction of the top of the bobbing mast stump. In a circle they went around it, barely thirty feet from the broken mast, Jack heaving the sounding lead.

At last he felt it rest on the deck of the sunken derelict. The distance below was six fathoms—thirty-six feet.

"Now, we've got the line of the hull," called Benson to the lieutenant.

"Our next job is to find how far back this hull runs under the water."

This knowledge, also, was gained, at last. Then Jack Benson, rising, hastened back to the conning tower, followed by Danvers. Jack himself closed the manhole, while Eph still trained the searchlight through the darkness of the night. Stormy weather was threatening.

"Now, hustle below, Eph, and get that loaded torpedo into the tube," commanded Skipper Jack Benson.

"My men will help you," added Lieutenant Danvers.

Jack quickly had his figures made. He knew where the hull lay, in what direction, and how far below the surface the deck of the sunken derelict lay. He planned to land the torpedo twelve feet below the derelict's deck, which, he believed, would strike a full and fair blow.

"Torpedo's loaded, sir," called Eph, while the "Hastings," under slow speed astern, was gliding back to get into position for the attack.

"Station Biffens by the firing lever, then," called down Captain Benson.

"Tell him to fire on the instant that he gets the order. Now, Mr. Somers, stand by the submerging apparatus. Drop just forty-two feet below the surface, then report instantly to me."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Lieutenant Danvers stood by the submarine boy, intently watching, listening, and digesting Benson's plan. Yet the naval officer ventured no interference.

In another moment the hull of the "Hastings" began to disappear under the waves.

"Forty-two feet—sir—and—stopped!" shouted up Eph Somers.

"Ready to fire!" Jack hailed.

"Aye, aye, sir!"

"Fire!"

"Fire it is, sir."

"Have you fired, Mr. Somers?" rolled down Jack's next question.

"Yes, sir."

"Then turn on the compressed air, and bring us to the surface."

"Aye, aye, sir!"

The instant that the conning tower stood up, dripping, through the waves, Jack turned on searchlight again. Slow speed ahead he next signaled.

As the piercing rays of light gleamed out over the waters before them the surface of the sea ahead was seen to be covered with floating litter.

"Jove, look at the wreckage!" uttered Lieutenant Danvers, jubilantly.

"Everything about that old derelict that could float has come up to the surface."

"Do you think the derelict is utterly smashed, sir?" inquired Jack Benson, respectfully, for this trained naval officer knew more about such things than he did.

"That derelict is blown to kindling wood," exclaimed Danvers, himself manipulating the searchlight as they sailed through a sea littered with small wreckage. "That derelict will never menace any skipper afloat, from now on. Benson, lad, you did a wonderfully keen job."

"You don't think there'd be any risk, then, in sailing back and forth amid this wreckage?" asked Jack.

"Risk? Not a bit," retorted Danvers. "Why, look over there!" as he swung the searchlight in a new direction. "There's that submerged mast-stump, free of the wreck and floating horizontally, now."

Nor was it long before it was clear to trained eyes that the sunken derelict had been efficiently blown up. That water-logged ghost of a ship would never again be a source of peril to navigators.

"Now, you can turn your nose for Dunhaven, and with a clear conscience," chuckled Lieutenant Danvers. "And, while you're doing that, I'm going below for another look at the little leak."

Jack ran the "Hastings" the first few miles of her homeward course.

Then he called Eph Somers to the wheel and went below to relax.

It was well on toward eight o'clock when the "Hastings" ran into the little harbor at Dunhaven and made moorings. The night watchman of the yard rowed out to meet them, bringing the news that Mr. Farnum, in the "Benson," had picked up the crew of the "Mary Bond" from two small boats at sea.

There was a light in the office, so Jack's party went inside. There they found Jacob Farnum at his desk, putting the finishing touches to a telegram.

"By Jove, I'm glad we went out after the poor fellows of the 'Mary Bond,'" cried Mr. Farnum, wheeling around. "We found them in sore straits, in two small boats, with only a pair of oars to each boat, and the sea roughening up every minute. They lost their fishing smack.

Their boat struck on the stump of a mast of a sunken derelict. The smack sprung a big leak, this morning, and went down. I've just written a telegram to the Navy Department, Mr. Danvers, advising them of the location of the derelict as well as I could gather it from the captain of the late 'Mary Bond.'" With this, he handed Danvers the telegram he had written.

Lieutenant Danvers glanced at the telegram, and then handed it back with a smile.

"What do you mean, sir?" demanded Jacob Farnum, wonderingly.

"The telegram isn't necessary—that's all," replied the naval officer, with a smile. "We encountered that same sunken derelict—and Jack Benson blew her to smithereens!"

V. The Mysterious Order Comes

That night a machinist was stationed aboard the "Hastings" to watch the in-coming of water through the slight leak, and to apply the pump occasionally.

In the morning the submarine was hauled up into an improvised drydock and her hull plates examined. It was Lieutenant Danvers's first chance to realize how superbly these Pollard boats were built and put together.

He examined the hull with unbounded enthusiasm. Then a gang of workmen started in to replace the two injured plates.

For the next three days the "Benson" was used in target practice. Jacob Farnum scurried up and down the coast, finding and buying suitable old craft for targets.

All three of the submarine boys had ample practice in the firing of torpedoes. After it was all over there were but four of the loaded torpedoes left in the shed labeled "Danger."

"If you could only have a little more practice," grumbled Williamson, good-humoredly, "this would soon be a safe town for a fellow to take a quiet smoke in."

The "Hastings" was now in the water once more, as sound and staunch as on the first day she was launched.

Then came a few days of idleness. Lieutenant Danvers left Dunhaven, intending apparently to return soon. Ewald and Biffens, the two sailors, were quartered at the hotel at government expense, and were likely to enjoy themselves until orders came.

Eph went home for two or three days. Jack and Hal slept on board the "Benson," while Williamson quartered himself aboard the "Hastings," which craft no longer carried any torpedoes.

One afternoon, as Jack Benson was strolling through the shipyard, Jacob Farnum, in the doorway of the office building, called to the young skipper.

"I suppose both boats are ready, Jack?" asked the shipbuilder.

"Quite, sir," nodded Benson.

He did not inquire for what they were expected to be ready. Jacob Farnum was one who liked to plan by himself, and to announce a new move only when he was ready for it.

"All right, lad," nodded Farnum. "Keep both boats ready for any instant move that may be required of them. That's all."

Again young Benson nodded, then strolled on out of the yard. Up on the Main street of the village he encountered his chum.

"There's something in the wind, Hal, for the boats," Jack announced.

"All right," nodded Hal. "We're ready when needed."

Nor did either one of them waste any time in wondering what the new move was to be. When Jacob Farnum wanted them to know he would tell them and not before.

The chums visited a moving picture show for an hour. Then, tiring of that, they came out into the street. The first, man they encountered, almost, was Lieutenant Danvers, in citizen dress.

"Back from your trip, sir?" Jack asked.

"Yes. Has Farnum told you what's in the wind?"

"He has only given us a hint, sir, that something may happen."

"Oh!" replied the naval officer, next adding: "That's rather queer on the whole."

"Not at all, sir," replied young Benson. "Mr. Farnum has a habit of telling us things only when he's ready."

"Yet when—" began Danvers, but checked himself.

"No matter what is in the wind, Mr. Danvers, there's no real need of posting us about anything until the time comes. Suppose Mr. Farnum wants us to start for China within an hour? The galley cupboard is already as full of provisions as it will hold. Both boats are in the best possible trim. We need only time, perhaps, to fill the gasoline tanks as full as they'll hold. Then we're ready to cast off and sail far the first stopping place on the route."

"You're great fellows for system, then. So I understand why Mr. Farnum doesn't have to post you far in advance."

"He certainly doesn't have to," Jack relied.

"Where are you going? Down to the yard?"

"Not yet. Mr. Farnum hasn't given us any instructions about hanging around."

"Oh!" responded Lieutenant Danvers, with a quizzical smile. "Well, I must be leaving you, now."

Hal gazed after the shore-bound naval officer for a few moments, then observed, dryly:

"I'm not a bit curious. Are you, Jack?"

"Of course not," smiled the young skipper. "All I want to know is what's in the air so suddenly."

"Going back to the yard earlier?"

"No; later," retorted Benson. "What is the use of letting folks suppose they have our curiosity aroused?"

In fact, when evening came on, instead of going to the "Benson" for supper, Jack and Hal stopped at the hotel.

Ewald and Biffens were there, at one of the tables, but the sailors seemed to be eating in more haste than usual. Then, as they left the dining room, they saluted the young captain and engineer.

"Hurrying back to the yard, sir?" asked Ewald.

"No," said Jack, quietly.

"That's queer. Them's our orders. We're going now, sir," replied Ewald.

"You and I appear to be the only two in Dunhaven who don't know what is up," observed Hal Hastings, dryly.

"I don't believe Ewald or Biffens know what is on hand," Jack answered.

"They've orders to report back in haste. That's all."

"Then hadn't we better hurry back to the yard, too?" inquired Hastings.

"No; we haven't any orders."

"But Mr. Farnum may be wondering where we are."

"Then the sailors can tell him; they know."

Jack dawdled over his supper.

"Going back to the yard now?" asked Hal.

"No; to the bookstore."

"Hm!" muttered Hal. "I begin to think you're going to keep Mr. Farnum guessing, to pay him back in his own coin."

"No; I'm going up to the store to pick out a small stack of books. Hal, I believe we're going on a cruise, and I mean to have something to read."

"I wonder if you know more than you've told me?" mused Hal, aloud.

"Not a blessed thing. I'm on the guessinglist, and I'm doing the best I know how at guessing."

Hal didn't say any more, but accompanied his chum to the book-store.

There was a package for each of them to carry when they came out. Then they headed down, toward the shipyard.

It was well on toward one o'clock by the time that the chums stepped through the gate into the yard.

"Mr. Farnum is still at his office. That's late for him," remarked Hal.

"Maybe some one has him on the guessinglist, too," laughed Benson The night watchman came forward out of a shadow.

"Boss wants to see you young gentlemen," announced the watchman.

So Jack and Hal turned in there. As they entered the office a scene of "solid comfort" met their eyes. Shipbuilder and naval officer were lounging in easy chairs, smoking Havanas until the air was thick and white with the smoke.

"Sailing orders, Jack," announced Farnum.

"All right, sir," nodded the young skipper, looking at his watch. "I can pull out inside of twelve minutes."

"But you don't have to," laughed Farnum. "You have until morning.

Where do you suppose you're going?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Curious, Jack?"

"I don't care where we're going," Benson smiled back. "When it's a matter of business all parts of the earth look alike to me."

Lieutenant Danvers laughed heartily.

"Benson, lad," exclaimed the naval officer, "you've got the real make-up to serve in the Navy. It's a pity we had to lose you."

"Don't be too sure yet, sir, that the Navy has escaped having me," smiled back Skipper Jack.

"You don't start until eight in the morning," went on the shipbuilder.

"Pollard got back this evening, and he goes with us. We take both the 'Benson' and the 'Hastings.' Eph will have to command one of the boats, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir; and he'll have to be notified at once, too," replied the young submarine commander.

"He's on one of the craft now," replied Mr. Farnum. "Lieutenant Danvers goes with us, but he's a guest, only, and will not have to help in handling the boats. His two men, Ewald and Biffens, will take steering turns. We've a four hundred and eighty mile sail before us, down to Groton Bay."

"I know of the place, sir," nodded Jack, without emotion or enthusiasm.

But Jacob Farnum's next words all but lifted the submarine boys from their feet.

"Jack, my boy, and you, too, Hal, at Groton Bay you will have to make the very efforts of your lives. We're to go through an official test for the United States Government. We shall be in competition with five other types of submarine boats—the Rhinds, the Seawold, the Griffith, and the Blackson and Day. We shall have to meet—and I hope, vanquish—all the recognized types of submarine boats made in the United States."

"And we will beat them, too!" glowed Jack Benson, his eyes flashing and his fists clenching.

"By the way, Jack," continued Mr. Farnum, "I had two applications for work this afternoon, from men who appear to know all about gasoline marine engines. As we'll be shorthanded for such a long cruise, do you suppose it would be worth while to look these fellows over and make up our minds about them?"

"Great Dewey—no!" burst, vehemently, from the young submarine captain.

"If we're going into the test of our lives—for our very lives, I might say—then we don't want aboard any strangers who show up looking for jobs at the last moment. No, sir; I won't have them aboard—that is, not if I go, too!"

"I guess that's sensible enough," nodded Mr. Farnum. "Well, get aboard, boys. Lieutenant Danvers will be out by ten o'clock. Don't lie awake to-night, thinking too hard of what's before you."

"Don't you expect us to, sir," smiled Captain Jack. "We need our sleep to-night, if we've got such work ahead of us. It's big, work, sir."

"Big enough," nodded Jacob Farnum. "If we come out of this big official test with all the points of the game, then Uncle Sam is likely to buy all the submarine boats we can make for a couple of years to come—and our fortunes will be made—yours, too, boys!"

This talk of the boys' fortunes being at stake was not a matter of idle words. Jack, Hal and Eph well understood that, if they came out successful, they would also be at least moderately well off. Messrs. Farnum and Pollard were not of the kind to be niggardly in giving rewards fairly won.

VI. Judas & Co. Introduce Themselves

Groton Bay, as every student of geography knows, is a nearly landlocked, well sheltered body of water, some seven miles long and three wide. At the mouth of the Groton river stands Colfax, a city of more than thirty thousand inhabitants.

This was about all that the submarine boys knew of their destination, until they arrived in the bay on the afternoon of the day after they left, Dunhaven.

Their run down had been a continuous one. Jack had had Biffens to relieve him at the wheel, while Mr. Farnum had helped Hal in the engine room. Besides, Besides, Lieutenant Danvers had stood a few tricks at the wheel.

While Jack came in the "Benson," which carried the two remaining loaded torpedoes, Eph had handled the "Hastings," with Ewald as relief.

Williamson had handled the engines of the latter boat. David Pollard standing relief engine room watch.

The work had been hard and confining. It was a relief to all hands when they found themselves heading into Groton Bay.

Not far from the city water front lay two United States gunboats, the "Chelsea" and the "Oakland." Near the gunboats a fleet of seven other submarine craft lay at moorings.

"We're not the only crowd, then," mused Jacob Farnum, "that has seen fit to enter more than one boat. I shall have to get busy in the hunt for information."

"I'm not much worried about the triumph of the Pollard boats over competitors," declared Danvers, generously. "And, if anything can win for you, Mr. Farnum, it's the having of such enthusiasts as your submarine boys to handle your boats in the official tests."

"Oh, I can depend upon my boys," replied Jacob Farnum, quickly. "I know all about them."

Yet, as the shipbuilder gazed from the conning tower at the rival submarines actual drops of cold sweat oozed out on his forehead.

Success meant so much to this shipbuilder, who had all his capital, to the last penny, invested in this submarine game.

"The worst of it is, we've got to keep on the lookout for dirty tricks!" groaned the shipbuilder, to himself. "We are willing to play fair to the last gasp. No doubt some of the other competing submarine builders feel the same way about it. Yet, with so many rivals in the field, there are sure to be one or two rascally fellows who won't consider any trick too low to give them an advantage."

Though Mr. Farnum had no particular rival, or rivals, in mind, his fears, as was afterwards proven, were only too well founded.

"Take the wheel, please, Mr. Farnum," Jack, begged. He ran down the steps to call:

"On deck, Biffens!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" replied the sailor, scrambling to obey.

Jack was out on the platform deck, megaphone in hand, by the time that his employer ran up rather close to the "Chelsea."

"Will you direct us to our moorings, sir?" Jack shouted to the watch officer aboard the gunboat.

"Proceed slowly east. Our launch will follow and show you your moorings," came the reply. Then the launch glided around the stern of the gunboat, leading the way.

Ten minutes later the "Benson" and the "Hastings" were moored, at the extreme eastern end of the line of submarine craft.

Then Hal, mopping his face from the engine room heat, came up on deck for a breath of air.

"I don't suppose we can get ashore," murmured young Hastings, gazing wistfully at the city beyond.

"No," muttered Jack, shaking his head. "We're short-handed as it is, and we've got to be on hand to watch these boats. There are too many of the enemy about, in the shape of rival builders and their employees, and among them there may be some mean tricksters who'd do anything in their power to put the Pollard boats out of the running in the tests to come. No; I reckon we won't see much of the shore, except from our decks, though it is mighty cramped and confining on one of these small craft."

Hal took a couple of turns up and down the deck. No one, until he has tried it, can realize how cramped such small craft are when one has to remain any length of time aboard.

Suddenly Hal paused, pointing landward.

"Great Scott!" he gasped. "Look who's here!"

A roomy whaleboat was approaching them. In it, as passengers, sat Grant Andrews, foreman, and five workmen from the home yard.

"What can have happened?" wondered Captain Jack, as he and his chum waved their hands in greeting; then stood staring.

"Surprised, eh, lads?" laughingly demanded Jacob Farnum, who had stolen up behind them.

"Yes; what's wrong?" asked Jack.

"Nothing," replied the shipbuilder.

"Then what are Andrews and the other men doing here?"

"Do you notice," hinted Mr. Farnum, "that the men with Andrews are all picked from among our older, trusted shipyard men."

"Yes, sir. That's true."

"Well, in the first place," pursued Farnum, "if any sudden repairs, fixings or other work are required in a hurry, while we're here, we have a fine lot of our own men to attend to it. Before leaving I told Grant to bring these men with him. Then they'll serve another purpose.

I want you youngsters to be keyed up to your best performances all the time we're here. That you can't do if you're kept confined closely aboard until your very souls ache. So, as much of the time as is wise, you young fellows will be ashore, stretching your legs, and Grant Andrews and his men will be on board as guards."

"That's great!" glowed Jack. "And mighty considerate of you, too, sir."

"Considerate? Not a bit of it!" retorted Jacob Farnum, half indignantly.

"Jack Benson, I want to drain the last bit of performance out of you youngsters that I possibly can while we're here. That's why I am going to take some good care of you, also. Right this way, Grant!"

The hail was directed at the foreman. The whaleboat put in alongside of the "Benson," and the foreman with two of his men came aboard.

"And now, everyone else over the side to go ashore!" called the shipbuilder.

This order was quickly obeyed. Then the whaleboat continued on over to the "Hastings," where Eph and his companions were taken off and the remaining three workmen from the home yard left aboard as guards.

Mr. Farnum had already ascertained that the naval board which was to be in charge of the tests was quartered at the leading hotel on shore.

Hence, in landing, the shipbuilder was really killing two birds with a single stone, as he intended to report at once to the head of the board for whatever instructions the latter had to give.

"We may as well go up, to the hotel in style," announced Mr. Farnum, when the entire party, the naval lieutenant included, had landed at the wharf. The two sailors, Ewald and Biffens, had already gone away to places of their own choosing.

There were three or four automobiles for hire near the wharf. Two of these Mr. Farnum engaged for his own party. In five minutes more they stood about in the handsome lobby of the Somerset House while their host registered for the party.

Jack, Hal and Eph stood at ease, some distance from the men of the party.

Despite their easy attitudes there was yet a certain military erectness about them which was heightened by the handsome, natty uniforms that they wore.

At the further end of the hotel lobby was a doorway before which stood a folding screen. Past that was a clump of potted palms.

Behind the palms stood a man who, once seen, was not likely to be forgotten. He was not a handsome man. About fifty years of age, he was unusually stout; and, though his clothing was of expensive texture, it fitted him badly. On his upper lip was a heavy moustache, now iron-gray. His face was red, almost bloated. There were heavy pouches under his eyes that told of many hours of senseless, vicious dissipation.

A small wart on the left side of the man's nose emphasized his lack of good looks. Though the face was large, the eyes were small, beady, and often full of cunning. There was some iron-gray hair at each side of the head; the top was bald.

This man was John C. Rhinds, head of the Rhinds Submarine Company. Three of the boats now at anchor in Groton Bay were his—or, rather, his company's, though John Rhinds owned nearly all of the stock in the company.

So far, Rhinds had not succeeded in selling a submarine craft to the Navy Department. Twice he had been on the point of a sale, but each time the government had decided upon a Pollard boat, instead.

John C. Rhinds loved money. He was resolved, at any cost, to make the government buy several of his boats. And he was utterly unscrupulous.

As he stood behind the palms, looking toward the group of new arrivals, Rhinds's little eyes seemed to grow smaller. He knew the members of this party, though none of them as yet knew Rhinds. But the cunning man had made it his business to find out all about the people whom he hoped to beat in the coming game.

"Here you are, Radwin!"

Mr. Rhinds almost hissed the summons, calling to his side a man of some thirty years of age, tall, dark, handsome, slender and wearing his fine clothes with an air of distinction.

At first glance one would be inclined to like the appearance of Fred Radwin. A closer study of the somewhat shifty eyes and general reckless expression might have turned one skilled in human nature against Mr. Fred Radwin, who was secretary to the Rhinds Company.

"That's the crowd, right over there, that have sold two boats under our noses to the Navy Department," continued Rhinds, a snarl framing about his thick, ugly lips. "That's the crowd we've got to beat."

"Then those young chaps must be the three young submarine officers with such fine records," remarked Fred Radwin, in an undertone.

"They are," nodded Rhinds, slowly. "They're bright youngsters, too. I wish we had them on our side."

"Couldn't they be lured over into our employ, then?" asked Radwin.

"You don't know the youngsters. They're full of fool notions about loyalty to the Farnum Pollard crowd. And, besides, the boys have an interest in the rival company."

"Couldn't we offer the boys a bigger interest with us?" suggested Radwin, as he peered through the palms at the other submarine group.

"No!" retorted Rhinds, sharply. "I know about that crowd. You don't.

Listen to me."

"I'm listening," said Fred Radwin.

"We've got to make the acquaintance of that whole crowd, Fred. We've got to get personally acquainted with them all. That will be easy enough, I think. Then we've got to lay our plans. The Pollard boats must have no show whatever in the coming tests, do you understand? Their craft must balk, or behave badly. We must destroy all naval confidence in Pollard boats. Then we must engineer matters so that none of that crowd will be fit to find out what ails their boats—in time, anyway. The easiest point of attack will be the boys themselves.

It is absolutely necessary to get them out of the game some way or other—I don't care what! Radwin, you're fertile enough in ideas, and reckless enough in deeds. This is to be your task—put the Pollard boats and those submarine boys wholly out of the running! First of all, we'll get acquainted with them. Come along!"

The Farnum party were just turning away, to follow a bell-boy to the rooms assigned to them upstairs, when John C. Rhinds, his face beaming craftily, approached them, followed by Radwin. Rhinds introduced himself to Farnum, then presented Radwin as secretary to the Rhinds Company.

"We're rivals in a way, of course," declared Mr. Rhinds. "But we want to be good-natured, friendly rivals, my dear Farnum. We hope to see a good deal of you all while here."

Jacob Farnum replied with equal cordiality. When it came Jack Benson's turn to be introduced, Rhinds seized him by the hand, patting his shoulder.

"Captain Benson?" he repeated. "The brainiest young man in America—with two chums who run him a close race. We must all dine together to-night," purred this Judas of the submarine boat world.

VII. Eph Somers Plays Gallant

"I don't know when I've enjoyed myself as much," exclaimed Rhinds, looking round beamingly over the dinner party in one corner of the dining room.

Lieutenant Danvers was not there, having pleaded another engagement. But Rhinds and his lieutenant, Radwin, Messrs. Farnum and Pollard and all three of the submarine boys were around the big table. Radwin had succeeded in seating himself between Jack and Hal.

The dinner had been a fine one. Only one hitch had occurred; that was when Mr. Rhinds, at the beginning of the meal, had tried to order several bottles of wine.

"Just a moment, Mr. Rhinds," Farnum broke in. "None of the wine for us, thank you."

"Oh, then, some lighter kind of wine," proposed Mr. Rhinds, anxiously.

"Something good, in which we can all pledge one another."

"None of that stuff, according to our way of thinking, is any good," replied Farnum, with a good-natured smile.

"Well, perhaps not for the boys," conceded the host of this dinner. "But for the rest of us, as business men ready to cement a friendship."

"Alcohol isn't cement," replied Mr. Farnum, mildly. "At least, not with our party. The time was, I admit, Mr. Rhinds, when business men often tried to cement a business friendship with wine or liquor. But those times have gone by. Drinking is out of date, nowadays. The keenest and most dependable business men are those who do not drink. In fact, I may go a little further, and say that, in our business at Dunhaven, we have come to the point where we no longer have any dealings with business men whom we know to drink. You will understand, of course, that this is said without criticism of whatever views you yourself may entertain."

"Oh, well, then," grunted Rhinds, much taken back by the fairly spoken words of his rival. "I dare say there was too much drinking in the old days. Yes, Farnum, I am much inclined to agree with you, and we will do without the wine."

None the less, it was plain that their host was much annoyed.

"I want to get at the members of the naval board," declared Mr. Farnum, toward the end of the meal. "I want to find out what is planned in the tests that are to take place here."

"The members of the board," replied Mr. Rhinds, "are the three men, in citizen dress, who are at the sixth table down from here. They came into their dinner about ten minutes ago. As to to-morrow, I can tell you that, beginning at eleven o'clock, all the submarine boats entered are to take a straight, out-to-sea speed sail for six hours. The gunboat, 'Chelsea' will start the fleet, and the 'Oakland' will go along with the racers."

"That's short time for us," muttered Mr. Farnum, uneasily.

"Luckily, sir, we're ready, at a single moment's notice," interposed Captain Jack Benson.

"As soon as we get through," proposed Mr. Rhinds, easily, "I'll take you over and present you to Captain Magowan and his associates on the board."

"That is kind of you," nodded Mr. Farnum, gratefully.

Accordingly, a few minutes later, Mr. Rhinds arose, sauntering, cigar in mouth, over to the table of the officers of the naval board. He spoke with them a few moments, then returned.

"Mr. Farnum, and Mr Pollard," announced Rhinds, "Captain Magowan and his associates invite you to come over and sit at their table. Radwin, will you look after our young friends? See whether you can show them any courtesies."

A highly significant look passed between the portly rascal and his secretary. None of the Farnum party, however, noted it.

"Well, what shall we do, boys?" inquired Radwin, genially, as, the four sauntered down the lobby toward the hotel entrance.

"I reckon taking things easily and restfully will suit us as well as anything," smiled Jack. "That is, unless you have some plan you particularly wish to suggest."

"Well," continued Radwin, thoughtfully, "the town is rather full of sailors, just at present, and they're making the nights lively in some sections. Do you care to go around with me, and see what the sailors are doing to drive dull care away?"

"Well, that is a question," said Jack Benson quickly. "We're boys, you know!"

"Sensible young fellows," cried Fred Radwin, in a tone so full of approval as to disarm all suspicion. "Then, for a while, what do you say if we take window seats here near the entrance, and note whatever may be passing on the street? By that time your employers may be through with the board members and come out."

"Why not go outside in the air, and walk up and down the block?" suggested Jack.

"Excellent!" agreed Radwin, readily. He accompanied them outside, though, a few moments later, he excused himself, saying that he had to go to the nearest drugstore to write a short letter and post it.

"What do you think of Radwin?" Hal asked.

"Why, I guess he's a good deal the sort of fellow that Rhinds wants,"

Captain Jack answered, slowly.

"Don't you like Rhinds?" demanded Eph.

"Now, would it be just right to say that?" asked Jack, slowly. "Mr. Rhinds has tried to be very pleasant to us to-night. So has Mr. Radwin.

Probably they're both good fellows, in their own way. Only—"

"Well?" insisted Hal.

"Why, to tell the truth," confessed Captain Benson, "Rhinds impresses me as being just a bit coarse, and Radwin a little too smooth and slick.

To put it another way, they're not just our kind of people. That is, they're not at all in the same class with gentlemen like Jake Farnum and Dave Pollard. Now, that's every word I'm going to say against Rhinds or Radwin, for they've certainly been agreeable to us to-night."

Chatting thus, as they strolled slowly back and forth, none of the submarine boys noted how long Radwin was gone. As a matter of fact, that enterprising, rapidly-moving young man was away for nearly half an hour—and he was tremendously busy on their account.

The Somerset stood on one of the older, quieter streets of Colfax. At this time of the night there were not many passers.

"Here comes Radwin," discovered Hal, at last. "I had almost forgotten that he was coming back to us."

"I thought he had forgotten," laughed Jack.

Then all three turned to greet Mr. Radwin.

"How's this?" he asked. "Haven't Mr. Rhinds and your friends come out yet?"

"They must be talking, yet, with the officers of the naval board," suggested Eph Somers.

"They're sure to be out presently," nodded Radwin, after he had walked the submarine boys to the next corner. "At least, Mr. Rhinds is, for he always takes a walk in the evening, after dinner. Now, I've discovered the place where they serve the finest hot soda—chocolate, at that. I wanted to invite all hands there. But I'm afraid Rhinds and your employers may come out and be looking for us. Benson, do you feel like remaining here, to guide them along, while I take your comrades up to the place? You can tell the older men where we are, and then Mr Rhinds will bring you all around. He knows the place. Come along, Somers and Hastings. Benson, bring the older ones as soon as you see them come out of the hotel."

"Why, say, Jack, you go along now," urged Eph. "You know I don't care much about chocolate, and you do. So run along. I'll stay right here until I see our people."

"Good boy, Eph!" murmured Jack, gratefully. "You know my weakness for hot chocolate. I feel as if I could punish four or five of 'em right now."

As he turned away with Jack and Hal, Mr. Radwin looked rather disappointed. In fact, he was exceedingly disappointed, for he had hoped to leave Captain Jack Benson at this corner on the block below the hotel.

The street was practically deserted there. Yet barely two minutes had passed when, about a block away, in the opposite direction from that of the hotel, Eph heard a quick little feminine scream.

Wheeling about, Somers saw something that aroused his blood.

A girl, or young woman, he could not tell which, at the distance, cowered back from a short, thick-set young man who had raised his hand to strike her.

The next instant Eph saw the blow fall. Again the young woman cried out, though not very loudly. But the brute seemed on the point of once more striking her.

"Wow!" sputtered Eph, angrily. "We'll see about that."

On the run Somers went down the short block. The bully, hearing him come, turned for a look, then darted away down the side street.

"I—I beg your pardon," stammered Eph, as the young woman turned, flashing a look at him through a thin veil. "I—I don't want to interfere, but—"

"I'm very glad you did, sir," responded the young woman, in a voice whose sweetness charmed the submarine boy. "That wretch—"

"I wonder if I can overtake him and thrash him," pondered Eph, glancing down the side street. The bully had disappeared.

"Oh, don't think of that," begged the girl, in a quick, anxious way. "I don't want to set people's tongues to wagging."

"No; of course not," Eph assented, quickly.

"But, if you will escort me safe home—"

"Gladly, miss," nodded young Somers, again lifting his cap.

"Oh, that will be so kind of you," she murmured. "For I am afraid Tom might be waiting for me, on the way to my home—"

"If he gets within hailing distance," uttered Eph, valiantly, "I'll plant a torpedo fist under him!"

"Will you let me take your arm?" begged the girl; for, from her voice and her slight, trim she appeared to be no more. That she was indeed afraid was testified to by the way in which her hand trembled on his arm. It was such a tender little hand, too! Eph was not a flirt. He did not give much thought to girls, as a rule, but he wasn't going to see one struck by a street bully.

So he walked along, down the side street, turning, also, at two or three other corners, talking cheerily to make the girl forget her late fright.

Her face Eph couldn't see very well, on account of the veil, but he decided that the young woman possessed beautiful, flashing eyes, as he caught their expression dimly through the veil.

Down another quiet side street they were passing, when they came to the head of an alley-way. Just as they reached it the girl let go of Eph's arm, uttering a little scream as she darted away. Eph didn't follow her.

He found himself face to face with the thick set young man, Tom. Just of that worthy were two other sturdy-looking young hoodlums.

"Now, you an' me have got something to settle, younker," glared Tom.

"All right," retorted Eph, undauntedly. "But fair play—one at a time."

Eph's fists were up, and he sailed in, fighting manfully, sailor-fashion.

Then the other two closed in behind young Somers. He was struck on the back of the head, and darkness came over him and he fell insensible to the ground.

When luckless Eph came to his senses he found himself lying, bound hand and foot, on a pile of rags. The darkness around him was complete.

"Well, this is a puzzle to unravel!" muttered the astounded submarine boy.

Yet, think and ponder as he would, it never occurred to him to see, in his misfortune, the guiding hand of Fred Radwin!

VIII. One, Two, Three—A Full Bag!

At the hot soda place even Jack Benson, fond as he was of such decoctions, at last had his fill.

"Funny Eph hasn't brought the others here," muttered Jack.

"Pardon me, a moment," urged Radwin, rising. "I'll be back directly."

Radwin slipped out to the sidewalk, for he had seen a hovering figure at the curb. However, Radwin kept on down the street, turning in at the third doorway beyond. Now, the hovering figure sauntered past.

"We got the cub," whispered the prowler.

"Good!" whispered Radwin. "Then you're ready for the rest?"

"Huh! It'll be like sleeping on a haymow, if the other two are as easy as that one was."

"All right, then! Be off, and see that you do your work well!"

With that Radwin walked briskly back and into the hot soda place.

"I'm ashamed to tell you what took me out," he laughed, easily. "Boys, after writing that letter in the drug-store, I forgot to mail it, and just felt it in my coat pocket. Well, it's safe in the mail-box, at last."

"We were just saying," Hal announced, "that it's funny the others haven't come along. We better go back and get Eph, anyway?"

"It will be a good idea," nodded Radwin.

Of course, when they reached the corner at which they had left young Somers, he was not there.

"I wonder if he has gone back and joined the party at the hotel?" queried Hal.

"We can soon find out," declared Jack.

"Suppose you and I walk down there, then, Hastings?" suggested Radwin.

"We can leave Benson here, to tell Somers where we are, if he comes back this way."

"You wait here, Hal," suggested Jack. "There's a little matter I want to speak to Mr. Farnum about, anyway."

So Hastings was left at the corner. He saw Jack and the Rhinds man go in through the hotel entrance.

Then, hearing steps, Hal turned to see two sailors approaching. They wore the uniform of the United States Navy. Hastings regarded them with the friendly interest that he, like most other Americans, always felt for sailors. But the two sailors came along, talking earnestly, and did not appear to see young Hastings, who stood in close to the wall.

"When I first seen him fall," one of the sailors was saying, "I mistook him for a Navy officer. He was pretty young, but the uniform fooled me."

"He had the uniform, all right but no signs of rank on it," nodded the other sailor, thoughtfully. "Was he much hurt?"

"Oh, it won't kill him," replied the first sailor. "But—"

"I beg your pardon," interposed Hal, springing in front of the pair.

"It has just struck me that you are speaking of a comrade of mine."

"Well, he had a uniform on, just like your'n, replied the first sailor, looking Hal Hastings over quickly.

"Only the young feller we're talkin' about has red hair," added the second.

"What has happened to him?" demanded Hal, a feeling of alarm sweeping over him.

"Oh, he got in a little fight—that's all," responded the first sailor.

"Bit off a little bit bigger chunk of fight than he could handle. He's kinder dazed and silly, now, and talkin' about queer things. Half an hour more, though, messmate, and I guess he'll be able to walk down to the water front all right."

Eph knocked out and dazed—among strangers! That was the sole picture that appeared to Hal Hastings's mind at that moment.

"He's a friend of mine—messmate, at that," Hal declared, quickly.

"Where is the place? Or, better still, can you take me to it? I'll reward you."

"Oh, stow the reward, messmate," replied one of the sailors. "We fellers that foller seafighting for a trade have got to stand in together once in a while. When I seen your friend knocked down I jumped in and floored the big rough that hurt your messmate. We'd have brought your friend along, but we didn't know just where to take him."

It was hard for Hal to believe that clear-eyed, level-headed Eph Somers would go into any of the low drinking resorts of the town; but he thought it best not to ask any questions until he found young Somers.

After some two minutes of brisk walking the two sailors turned down into an alleyway.

"The place we're going to is dark on the ground floor," stated one of them. "Don't be afraid to go up a dark stairway, messmate. We'll be with you, anyway."

"I don't believe I'm afraid, thank you," smiled Hal.

One of the sailors, stepping ahead, pushed door open, going in first.

Hal followed, the other sailor bringing up the rear.

Then, like a flash, Hal Hastings felt him self seized on that dark stairway, and a big hand held over his mouth.

Like a tiger Hal fought for a few moments. As nearly as he could judge, in the dark, he had four assailants. He was overborne, at last gagged and tied.

In the meantime Jack and Mr. Radwin had gone to the hotel dining room, to find that the last diners had departed, leaving only a few waiters who were arranging tables.

"No one here," murmured Radwin "Then we'll look through the billiard room, writing room and other places. Young Somers must be with the party somewhere."

Twenty minutes or more they spent in looking through the various public parts of the big hotel. Then they returned to the lobby. Radwin was limping, now, and looked uncomfortable.

"What's the matter?" questioned Jack.

"A nail in my shoe hurts me," lied the other, glibly, sinking into a chair. "Benson, I reckon I'll sit here a few minutes. Then I'll get to my room and call a bell-boy, to see if he can find some one to fix the shoe."

"Too bad," murmured Jack. "But say, I'll go back to the corner, and tell Hal, so he won't be standing on the corner all night."

With that Jack Benson walked briskly out. Up at the next corner, however, instead of finding Hal, the young skipper was accosted by two sailors in United States naval uniform.

"I reckon your name's Benson, messmate?" hailed one of the pair.

"I reckon it is," nodded Jack, looking sharply at them.

"Got a bit of bad news for you, then," added the first speaker. "It ain't so awful bad, though. One of your friends—Winter, I think his name was—"

"No; Somers," corrected the other sailor.

"Well, he saw a row going on, and he had to run down the street and get into it. Too many fellers in the fight, and Winter—"

"Somers," interposed the second sailor.

"Yes; that was it. Somers got pretty badly used up. His scalp was cut some considerable. He was taken into a house nearby, and a doctor called in to stitch him up. Somers sent us to find his messmates. We found your friend, Hastings, and took him around there. Hastings wanted us to find you, and bring you there, messmate."

"Poor old Eph!" muttered Jack. "Tough luck, and at a bad time for us."

"We'll take you 'round to where your messmates are," volunteered the sailor. "Hastings was particular that you come at once."

"I'll get a carriage to bring Mr. Somers home in," Jack suggested.

"Oh, your messmate, Hastings, has sent a feller for a carriage," broke in the first sailor, hastily.

"Good enough," Jack nodded. "Then say, boys, I'll just run back to the hotel. I left Radwin in there. I'll be right back with you. You'll wait for me, surely, won't you?"

"Oh, sure!" chorused both sailors. Then, as Jack Benson scurried down the street, the two supposed sailors turned to each other, chuckling softly.

"Sure we'll waits" repeated one of the pair.

It was several minutes ere Jack returned, coming up almost breathlessly.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, boys," he spoke, hastily. "But I'm here at last."

"Oh, that's all right, messmate. Come along and we'll pilot you straight to your friend, Winter—"

"Somers," corrected the other sailor.

Between the pair, some two minutes later, Jack Benson turned off a side street into an alleyway. The houses down in this alley were dark. Most of the little buildings here were occupied only in the daytime, as junk shops and old rag stores.

"Don't mind the dark," spoke one of the sailors, as he pushed open a door. "There's light enough on the second floor. That's where you'll find your friend, Winter."

"Somers," remonstrated the second sailor.

On the dark stairway Jack Benson found himself suddenly attacked, not only by the sailor pair, but by at least two other men, as well.

IX. But Something Happened Next

"Oh, you—" Jack shot out, hoarsely, he felt himself borne under by crushing weight.

"Go easy, messmate, and you'll sleep more peaceful to-night!" chuckled one of the sailors, holding a big hand over the submarine boy's mouth, while another unseen assailant pinned Jack's hands at the wrists.

Flare! A sudden glow of light illumined the dark hallway. Then more light.

"Jerusby!" howled one of the sailor pair, leaping to his feet.

Instantly there was consternation among all the assailants.

In the excitement, young Benson was forgotten. Freed from assault, he leaped to his feet.

The flare of light had come from two bull's-eye police lanterns, held in the open doorway below.

"There are the scoundrels, men! Grab them!" shouted a voice of authority.

The speaker and two other men were in police uniforms. Four other men there were in ordinary civilian garb.

In the excitement Jack Benson let his fist fly, knocking one of the sailors headlong down the stairs. But the submarine boy did not pause there. His other fist, landed on the second sailor, sending him after the first.

"Club their heads off, if any of 'em put up a fight," commanded the police officer in charge.

Two other men, not in sailors' uniform cowered on the stairs, close to the young submarine captain. There was no fight, beyond the blows that young Benson struck. Cowed by the unexpected appearance of the law's force, the quartette of rascals surrendered. There was a clicking of handcuffs.

"Your chief thought I was crazy, or telling him fairy stories over the telephone," laughed Captain Jack Benson. "Now, I guess—"

"I am the Chief of police," retorted the officer in authority. "I thought that, if anything such as you described were happening in Colfax, then I'd better come along myself to investigate. But now, perhaps you can explain more than you did over the 'phone from the Somerset House?"

"I have the best of reasons," Jack replied, "for imagining that two of my friends have disappeared by the same trick that was tried on me. If that is so, I'm mighty anxious to find them as soon as possible."

"Do any of you scoundrels know where this young gentleman's friends are?" demanded the chief, turning to glare at his prisoners, lined up along the wall in the lower hallway. "The man that talks quickly now may get off easier than the rest, later on."

"There's two boys bound and gagged in the sub-cellar of this place," spoke one of the two prisoners not in uniform.

"Good enough," nodded the chief of police, looking at the informant.

"Officer Davis, you come with me. You may come, too, Mr. Benson. The rest of you wait where you are."

The door to the cellar was locked, but the police chief, with a skeleton key, soon had the lock forced. Passing down into the cellar, their way lighted by one of the bull's-eye lanterns, they found a trap opening upon a stairway down into the sub-cellar below.

Here they came upon Hal and Eph, both securely bound and gagged, and lying on piles of old rags. It was not long ere the two submarine boys were free and on their feet, wholly overjoyed.

"Great Scott! How did you ever find us here?" quivered Eph Somers.

"I'll tell you when we get away from here," smiled Skipper Jack.

Up the stairs they went. One of the police party, in the meantime, had gone out to telephone for a covered police van. Into this the four prisoners were hustled and locked securely in.

Those of the police party who did not go with the van soon vanished, all, save Chief Ward.

"Now, Captain Benson," muttered the chief of police, "I want to congratulate you on your clever wit and sound judgment. I also want to thank you for enabling me to run down a gang like that. I fully understand that in the morning, you have to be away on a very important submarine test, and that it would be wholly inconvenient for you to have to appear in court. So I won't expect you. On the testimony that my men and I can give the judge will continue the case until such time as you can appear. My men already understand that none of the prisoners are to be allowed to communicate with outside friends to-night or to-morrow morning. So you may be sure that no news of their arrest will leak out.

And now, good-night, boys. Congratulations, again, and thanks!"

Nor were Jack Benson and his friends long in vanishing, either. They did not go back at all by the way of the Somerset House. They went down to the water-front by a different route. Yet they were fortunate enough to find a shore boat that put them out on board the "Benson."

"And now, Jack, old fellow," exploded Eph, as they sat in the snug security of their little cabin, "don't you dare think of anything else until you tell us how you brought a seeming miracle about."

"Oh, that was easy," laughed Jack Benson, gleefully. "In the first place, it was mighty queer, Eph, that we left you on that corner—and you vanished. Then we left Hal on that same corner—and the earth swallowed him up. Then two fake sailors stopped me at that very same corner—"

"How did you know they were fake sailors?" broke in Hal. "I never suspected their genuineness."

"Why, see here," glowed Jack, "a United States Man-of-warsman has respect for an officer's uniform drilled into him twenty-four hours in the day. We're not officers of the Navy, but we wear a uniform that is very much like the uniform of a naval officer, all but the insignia of rank. What is the consequence? Every sailor we meet sees the uniform, and says 'sir' to us by sheer force of habit. Why, you both know that a good many sailors who pass us give us the regular salute.

Yet these two fake sailors hailed me as 'messmate' and were as familiar in every other way as they knew how to be."

"Gracious! When they spoke to me, I never thought of that little point," confessed Hal.

"So I told the pretended sailors," continued Captain Jack, "that I'd run down to the hotel, and that I'd be right back."

"Did you tell anyone where you were going?" demanded Eph.

"No one was there that I knew. Instead, I slipped into the telephone room, at the side of the lobby, and called up the chief of police.

I happened to get the chief himself on the wire. He thought I was a drunken sailor, or else that I was out of my head. But he finally agreed to have some detectives on hand to see the sailors take me away in tow."

"Then—?" pursued Eph.

"Why, then I waited long enough to give the detectives a chance to reach the scene. Then I went back and walked into the trap with the fake sailors."

It was a story that was hugely enjoyed by the young submarine captain's comrades.

"But who would put up such a queer job on us?" demanded Hal.

"It must be some one who didn't want us to man a Pollard boat in to-morrow's speed test, of course," nodded Jack. "It seems like a mean thing to say, and we ought to be sure, but I believe Rhinds and Radwin are the offenders."

The more the submarine boys talked it over, the more they were inclined to fall in line with the guess that Rhinds and Radwin had been behind their troubles.

"Some one has got to suffer for this business, before we get through!" cried Captain Jack, his eyes flashing ominously. "But come, now, fellows, we must go to bed, for we must have enough sleep if we're to be good and fit in to morrow's race."

It was rather late, that evening when Messrs. Farnum and Pollard, still with John C. Rhinds, returned to the Somerset House.

"I don't see our youngsters about, anywhere," muttered Jacob Farnum.

"But their room keys are gone from the clerk's rack, so I guess they've turned in, like sensible fellows."

They did not know that Radwin himself had secretly removed the keys in order to create the impression that the boys were in bed.

Rhinds and Radwin talked in whispers, behind the locked door of another room. They chuckled a long while, then shook hands and went to bed.

The boys, however, as we know, were safely aboard the submarine.

Mr. Farnum had left a call for eight o'clock in the morning. It was about twenty minutes later that Farnum and Pollard knocked loudly on the door of the room occupied by Rhinds.

"Well?" demanded Mr. Rhinds, opening the door, and appearing, minus coat and vest. "Ah, good morning, gentlemen. Going down to breakfast? I'll be ready in a few moments."

"Breakfast—nothing!" retorted Jacob Farnum, sharply. "Our young men are missing. We went to their rooms this morning, and could get no answer. We've had their doors opened with pass-keys—our three young submarine officers haven't been in their beds all night long!"

John C. Rhinds allowed his face to express more surprise than concern over this news.

"Oh, well," he remarked, "boys will be boys, you know—especially when they're sailors."

"Our boys are not that sort," retorted Mr. Farnum, sharply. "They are not hoodlums or racketers."

"Then of course you'll find 'em safe on one of your boats," proposed Mr. Rhinds, innocently. "Just two minutes, and I'll go down to breakfast with you."

Radwin, too, joined them. He also expressed surprise, artfully. All four went to the breakfast room together. Messrs. Farnum and Pollard ate well enough, though they seemed badly worried.

"There's just one thing about it, of course," sighed Jacob Farnum, as the party left the table. "If our youngsters are not on one of our boats, then we've got to lose the speed race to-day. None of us can handle the boats the way they do."

"Oh, you'll find the boys all right on one of the boats," asserted Fred Radwin, confidently.

The rivals went down to the water front together. It was well after nine o'clock when they entered a shore boat.

"We'll go out to your craft, first," proposed Mr. Rhinds, "You'll feel so much better, gentlemen, when you find your crew all right. I'll feel better, too, for I wouldn't want to beat you unfairly to-day."

Grant Andrews and two of his workmen stood on the platform deck of the "Benson," leaning against the conning tower, when the shore boat came within hail.

"I am afraid to call out to Grant, and ask him," faltered the shipbuilder.

"Then don't do it," returned Mr. Rhinds, sympathetically. "Just wait until we get alongside, and you'll see your young men popping out of the conning tower, rested and as bright as new buttons."

A moment later the shore boat rounded in alongside. Then, quite suddenly, the three submarine boys projected themselves through the manhole, and stood in full view on the platform deck.

"Eh? Hey?" gasped John C. Rhinds, utterly nonplussed.

Fred Radwin's lower jaw seemed to drop several inches. He stared as though he were seeing ghosts, while a sickly, greenish pallor crept into his handsome face.

"By Jove, you were right, Rhinds!" gasped Jacob Farnum, turning. "Thank you, old man, for keeping our courage up."

"Good morning, Mr. Farnum! Good Morning Mr. Pollard!" chorused the three submarine boys. Then, favoring Rhinds and Radwin with brief glances:

"Good morning—gentlemen!"

"Gentlemen?" repeated Eph, disgustedly, under his breath. "I think not!"

Though Rhinds and his agent speedily managed to look pleasant, they hadn't gotten their spirits back when the shore boat pulled away.

Farnum and Pollard went hurriedly below, where Jack and his comrades followed.

"Jack! Jack! Thank you a million times!" gasped Farnum, seizing the young captain's hand, then giving the other boys the same hearty gripping handshake. "Your note that we got, this morning, gave us the information we needed and we knew just how to act."

"And, from the way Rhinds and his fellow acted, when they caught sight of you boys," added David Pollard, "we can form a pretty good idea of who tried to shanghai you three last night."

"The scoundrels!" glowered Farnum, in righteous rage.

"Now, sir," cried Jack, laughing savagely, "why did those fellows try such a trick on us? Because they hoped, thereby, to beat us in the distance speed race to-day."

"Of course," nodded the shipbuilder, still savage. "Rhinds builds fast submarines. I know that, from the reports I've had. Plainly, the Pollard boats are the only craft he feels much afraid of."

"He'll be more than afraid, to-night," vaunted Jack Benson, proudly.

"More than afraid, sir. When the figures of to-day's distance speed course are in John C. Rhinds will be frozen cold!"

"If we have to turn on gasoline and run the engines so hot we blow the whole deck off!" confirmed Hal Hastings, explosively.

"If I should be inclined to forget to-day," growled Eph Somers, "I have a pain in my head, from a crack I received last night, that will put me in mind of the whole outrage, and keep me strictly on the job of vengeance!"

"I guess you youngsters have the winning fire all right, for to-day," smiled Jacob Farnum, grimly.

"Are you going to enter both boats in to-day's race?" asked Jack, more thoughtfully.

"We can't," replied the shipbuilder. "Captain Magowan told me, last night, that, since the Rhinds people and ourselves are the only makers who have more than one boat here, today's race will be confined to one craft representative of each make. So, which boat do you prefer to take out to-day, Jack?"

"It doesn't make a bit of difference which one," returned young Captain Benson. "Between the 'Hastings' and the 'Benson' there isn't a hair's breadth to choose. But with either boat, sir, I believe that, to-day, we can run any Rhinds boat off the surface of the ocean!"

It was all very good to have such confidence in their boat. Yet was it to be justified?

**********

Almost immediately came the first blow. A telegram came on board, addressed to Williamson. The latter's brother was seriously ill at home, and the machinist had to leave at once, going north by the next train.

As it happened, the brother speedily recovered, but this incident for the time left the Farnum forces the losers of a highly useful man in the engine room.

X. John C. Rhinds Advocates Fair Sport!

Boom! From over the port rail of the "Oakland" a dense cloud of grayish white smoke belched out.

Through it flashed a streak of red.

As the "Oakland" was the temporary flagship of this fleet of two gunboats, this gunfire was the signal for the submarines to move on out of the bay.

Lieutenant Danvers had already come over to the "Benson" from the flagship. Danvers bore with him the orders of the naval board.

Moreover, the lieutenant was to remain on the Pollard craft that day.

Each submarine that was entered for the race had a naval officer on board, who was to give directions, at need, and to act as judge of conduct.

"Just get under way easily, and move out, Mr. Benson," advised Danvers.

"Eight or nine miles will be fast enough to go."

Jack and the naval officer stood by the platform deck steering wheel as the "Benson" left her moorings.

Back by the conning tower stood Messrs. Farnum and Pollard. Eph was below, until otherwise needed, to render Hal any necessary help in the engine room.

"There goes the Rhinds boats" called Mr Farnum, as one of the other submarines left her moorings, making for sea in the wake of the "Chelsea," which gunboat was to act as the starter's boat for that day.

"What's the name of that particular Rhinds boat?" asked Jack.

"The 'Zelda'," replied Lieutenant Danvers.

"Nice, lady-like name for a fighting boat," mocked Jack.

"You don't seem to like the Rhinds people," hinted the naval officer.

"I don't," Jack admitted, bluntly.

"Well, I suppose it isn't human nature to be fond of our rivals," assented the naval officer, slowly.

"I've other reasons, of my own, for disliking Rhinds," muttered the submarine boy.

"He hasn't what you could call a wholesome face," smiled Danvers. "In fact, I think Mr. Rhinds must be a self-made man, made very badly. I can't quite think that he has anything of the human face divine."

Jack laughed, but bitterly.

"The 'Zelda' is the boat we have to beat today," he added.

"I wonder if you'll do it?" muttered Lieutenant Danvers, gazing suddenly over at the "Zelda," now well ahead and cutting a white path of foam.

"Great guns, look at her go!"

Jack did glance up and ahead. He felt a sinking at heart, for the moment. For the "Zelda" was showing a burst of speed that was calculated to make any rival thoughtful.

"Mr. Farnum," Jack called back, "will you pass the word for Hal to come on deck?"

Young Hastings was up in a moment!

"They're forcing that boat," muttered Hal, gazing after the "Zelda" uneasily. "I can overtake her, though, Jack, if you say the word."

"Do you think so?" asked Lieutenant Danvers, dubiously.

"Don't try it, Hal," Jack advised, quietly. "Save all overheated pistons and other parts for the final test."

The "Zelda" was now well ahead of the "Chelsea," which was putting out at cruising speed only.

Too-oot! toot! toot! sounded sharply, hoarsely, from the deep throat of the "Chelsea's" whistle.

"Good enough," muttered Lieutenant Danvers. "They've ordered the Rhinds scooter to slow clown and fall into line behind the gunboat."

"I'm sorry," muttered Hal.

"Why?" asked the naval lieutenant.

"I wish they had let old Rhinds go ahead and get all his machinery red-hot at the outset."

Then, slowly shaking his head, Hal Hastings went back to his post.

"Do you really think we can beat that scooter to-day, Hal?" inquired the shipbuilder, anxiously.

"Yes, sir."

"What makes you so certain, lad?"

"Why, we'll beat her just because we've got to do it, sir," Hastings replied, then hurried below.

"Hal isn't any too sure," muttered David Pollard, restlessly. "Neither am I. Jake, we have a strong fight to make to-day. Somehow, Rhinds has managed to put a pretty lively engine in that boat of his. I had an idea she'd be two or three miles an hour slower."

"Probably we haven't been shown anything like the 'Zelda's' best speed, yet," replied Farnum, moodily.

Building and trying out submarine torpedo boats is the kind of work to make many a man's hair turn prematurely white. As success depends solely upon actual showings made, the anxiety of any builder during a series of competitive tests in which several makes of boat are entered can be easily understood.

Messrs. Farnum and Pollard were plainly on tenterhooks that day. They might well be. Should the Rhinds boat carry away the honors on that day and on the subsequent days of the present tests, then Farnum and Pollard, who had their entire fortunes invested in this business, would have on their hands only so much scrap steel, brass and iron.

Nor would Jack and his comrades fare any better. If the boys were vanquished, Farnum and Pollard would have no more work for them. No other submarine company would want the services of losers.

"Keep your nerve to-day, won't you, Benson?" asked Lieutenant Danvers, in a low tone.

"Why?" queried Jack, with the ghost of a smile, as he glanced into the naval officer's face. "Have I been showing any nervousness?"

"Not yet, and I don't want you to."

"Are you as interested as that in us, Mr. Danvers?"

"I like you, Benson—like you from the deck up, and I don't want to see you lose a single point in the game. That's all."

Eph Somers came on deck, presently.

"Hal says he doesn't need me below for the present, Jack, so I came up to relieve you at the wheel. I don't want to see your steering wrist going stale when the race starts, so you'd better let me have the wheel, while you keep yourself fresh for the real work."

"As the race hasn't begun yet," broke in Lieutenant Danvers, "there is no impropriety in my taking the wheel out to the start, if you'll trust me to handle your boat."

"Trust a naval officer?" laughed Jack Benson, flashing a smile of gratitude at the lieutenant. "That's a funny idea to suggest."

Danvers took the wheel silently, then devoted his whole thought, apparently, to the—for him—simple task that he had in hand.

Outside the bay the "Chelsea" signaled to the submarine boats to slow up.

Then the gunboat moved over to temporary anchorage. A line between the gunboat's bow and the lighthouse on Groton Point, to the northward, was to furnish the imaginary starting line. This line the five competing submarine torpedo boats must, at second gunfire, cross as nearly together as possible. There were penalties, of course, for any one boat trying to steal a lead over the rest.

By this time the fast gunboat "Oakland," which had a safe speed of twenty-four knots an hour, under forced draught, lay to, some two miles further out. The "Oakland's" task was to stick close to the leaders, and, at the end, to decide which craft had won. Boom! The first gun sounded over the starboard side of the "Chelsea."

In five minutes' time the second gun would thunder out—and the racers would be off!

Such a scurrying as there was then among these five little craft of war!

Captain Jack Benson had the wheel again. Henceforth, Lieutenant Danvers was to be but a spectator—a judge, at need, and on his honor, as an officer of the United States Navy, to show no partiality to those on whose boat he found himself.

As Eph might be needed on deck, at any instant, he stood leaning against the conning tower.

David Pollard was missing. He had gone below, had taken off his coat, and was standing in shirt-sleeves, ready to render any possible aid to Hal Hastings, the young chief engineer on whom so much depended in the six hours to come.

Now that one of the supreme moments in his career had come, Jacob Farnum hardly dared breathe. He said not a word to Eph, who, just as anxious, stood at his elbow.

As the submarine craft scurried over the waves, each seeking its best place for a start over the line, the "Zelda" came up within sixty yards, running alongside for a moment or two.

John C. Rhinds, standing at the rail of his own craft, with what was intended to be a smile his face, waved his hat wildly at Jacob Farnum.

"Good luck to you, Farnum—and to us!" bellowed Rhinds. "Of course, I'd like to win today, but if you've the better boat, go ahead and leave us at the finish. May the best craft win, no hard feelings!

Fair sport all the way through, Farnum, old and to you, Benson—may you never be in fitter shape than to-day!"

"The old hypocrite!" gasped Jack, vengefully "I'm mighty sorry I can't head this boat around and run it straight down his lying throat!"

"Then he'd surely gobble you up!" laughed Lieutenant Danvers. "But be careful, lad! Don't let vengeful thoughts get into your head and stick to-day. You've got to keep yourself cool and your nerve steady. Look out, now, for the second gun!"

All five of the submarines were manoeuvering for the starting line.

Boom! The second gun roared out, and the six hours' speed and endurance test was on!

XI. The Strain of Red-Hot Metal

First over the line passed the "Zelda," but it was a fair get-away. How her propellers churned the foam now!

Just as it happened, and through no fault of handling, Jack Benson got the Pollard craft over the line third. At the outset, therefore, his boat was distanced some twenty-four seconds by the leader.

"Steady, now!" called Jacob Farnum, in low tones. "We've six hours in which to make up a few seconds."

If Captain Jack heard, he gave no sign.

For the next few minutes the youthful commander seemed to forget everything but the wheel under his hand, and the course and speed of the craft he commanded.

That the "Benson" was slowly losing was not, at first, clear to anyone on board. It took time to draw out the increasing lead of the other craft, but, after a while, it became more and more evident.

True, the "Benson" was second in the line—but the "Zelda" was first.

At the end of an hour there were drops of clammy ooze on Captain Jack's forehead. He was steering as well as he had ever steered in his life.

Hal had sent up word that the "Benson's" engines were doing all that could fairly be required of them.

That troublesome hour up, Captain Jack called to Eph to take the helm.

A few moments later the youthful commander appeared again on the platform deck, carrying a range-finder on a tripod. Through the telescope he took some rapid sights, then did some quick figuring. When he looked up Benson saw Jacob Farnum standing within four feet of him. The shipbuilder's face looked gray and haggard.

"How much?" asked Jacob Farnum.

"Shade more than a quarter of a mile in the lead of us, sir," Jack replied.

"Have you been down to talk to Hal?"

"What's the use, sir?" demanded Jack. "Hal Hastings knows how much depends on speed. He's doing everything that his engineer's conscience will allow. Besides, David Pollard is there with him, sir."

"I've no orders to give," Jacob Farnum sighed, stepping back. "You youngsters know what you're about, and how much depends upon our success to-day."

Indeed, Jack Benson knew! As he silently took his place at the wheel again deep lines appeared in his youthful face. He knew, this forenoon, what it meant to suffer.

At the end of the second hour, Jack again called Eph to take a short relief trick at the wheel. But Jack, instead of resting, promptly placed the range-finder. As he tried to adjust the telescope the submarine boy's hands shook. Jack glanced over at Lieutenant Danvers, cool and impassive. Danvers knew all about working that range-finder.

But the naval officer was aboard as an official spectator. If the lieutenant aided in any way, then the Pollard submarine would be disqualified.

Jack's work was more slow, this time. It was some moments before he had the new range figured out.

"How far astern of the 'Zelda' are we now?" called Jacob Farnum.

"A shade over a half a mile."

"Whew! And the race only a third run."

"In other words," went on the young captain, "the Rhinds boat is gaining steadily on us at the rate of a quarter of a mile an hour. Not much, yet enough to win the race beyond any dispute."

"Can't we catch up over that distance?" asked Jacob Farnum.

"Not now, anyway, sir."

Jack went back beside the wheel. Somehow, he did not feel like taking the spokes into his own hands. Instead, he wheeled, silently, going back, through the conning tower, and down to the engine room.

"How do we stand with the Rhinds craft?" asked David Pollard, who sat on one of the cushioned seats in the engine room.

"Half a mile behind, sir."

Pollard got up slowly, then went through and up the stairs to the deck.

For some moments Hal and Jack talked together, in low tones. Both looked rather glum, until Hal suggested something that sent a little ray of hope into Benson's eyes.

"We'll see," muttered the young captain. "It looks like a forlorn hope, though, Hal."

At the end of the third hour the "Zelda" had added another quarter mile to the lead, while the "Oakland" showing the way, was a good mile ahead of the foremost racer.

When four hours had gone by the Rhinds boat was discovered to be just about a mile ahead of her nearest competitor. The Seawold boat, third in line, was half a mile behind the "Benson," and the Blackson boat, last of all, was two miles behind the Pollard boat's stern. But Jack and his friends had long ago ceased to feel any interest in the tail-enders.

The race was to be over at five o'clock. At half-past three, or four hours and a half after the start, Jack found, by the help of the rangefinder, that the Rhinds boat led by a mile and an eighth.

"Keep the wheel, Eph!" called the Young commander. "Steer as straight as you can. I'll be up soon."

Then Jack Benson darted below, though his legs trembled a bit under him.

"All ready, Hal!" shouted the youthful commander. "Play our one trump card, and play it as hard as you can! Though I'm afraid Rhinds has just such a card in his own pack."

Then up to the platform deck hastened Jack Benson. He moved quietly to the wheel, taking it from Eph. The young captain did not propose to leave again until the race was over.

Soon after this something happened that must have made those aboard the Rhinds boat feel uneasy. The "Benson" began to crawl up on the "Zelda."

"What are you doing now, Jack?" called Jacob Farnum sharply, as he and Pollard moved forward to stand by the young captain.

"I'll tell you, in a few minutes, if our move seems to be any good, sir,"

Jack answered.

By four o'clock half the space between the Rhinds boat and the Pollard craft had been covered. By this time two men were observed aft on the "Zelda," their gaze turned steadily on the "Benson."

"Take the wheel for two or three minutes, Eph," begged the young captain, on whom the strain was beginning to tell.

Then, turning to his employers, Jack went on:

"The way Hal and I figured it out, sir, the 'Benson' is really the faster boat. But the Rhinds people may have been overheating their engines—slightly, systematically, and using a lot of water to cool the metal. Now, if that is the case, they may be doing their best at forced speed. Hal and I determined, if we didn't lose more than a quarter of a mile an hour, we'd rather let the 'Zelda' keep the lead, and go on slowly overheating her engines. But now, in the last hour and a half of the race, Hal is up to the same trick. If that has been the case with the 'Zelda,' and they now, at this late hour, go to any greater lengths in overheating, they're likely to blow the engines out of their hull. But we can stand the present speed, with its gradual overheating, up to the finish time for the race. If both boats keep going at the speed they're using now, and neither has an accident, we stand to come in half a mile in the lead."

"Good strategy, that, Jack!" cried Jacob Farnum, his eyes gleaming. "To let the other fellow take the risk of overheating his machinery all day, while we do it only in the last part of the race. My boy, I'm hopeful we may win yet."

"So am I, sir," muttered Benson. "Still, there's the risk that John C.

Rhinds may have something more up his sleeve. We'll know before long, anyway."

By twenty minutes past four the "Benson" was almost close enough to the other submarine to throw a biscuit across the intervening space, had any on board the Pollard craft been inclined that way.

John C. Rhinds stood by the starboard rail of his own craft, regarding the rival with anxious eyes. But Jack knew the rascal to be so wily that the look of anxiety might be feigned.

Up, nearer and nearer! Jack was moving to the starboard of the "Zelda," as the "Oakland" was on that same side of the course.

"The old wretch isn't shouting out anything about fair play and good luck to us, now," muttered Jack, vengefully, as, at half-past four, the two craft ran neck and neck, but little over a hundred yards apart.

Then the "Benson" began to forge ahead. The "Zelda" still hung on, but she was plainly in second place.

David Pollard hurried below, to see what he could do to help Hal Hastings in this supreme crisis.

"We're leaving her right behind," rang Jack Benson's voice, exultantly.

"The 'Zelda's' old speed was her best, even at overheating. If nothing happens, now, we'll go in first!"

Interest, now, led those on the "Benson's" deck aft. Eph, being at the wheel, could be trusted not to look around, but to keep his eyes straight on the gunboat mark ahead.

John C. Rhinds could be seen, hanging limply over the rail of the "Zelda," his straining vision turned ahead. But he was being left more and more to the rear.

Boom! The sound came suddenly over the water, at last. All hands aft on the "Benson" ran forward, to find the "Oakland" swinging around so that her bow pointed the path for the leading submarine.

Eph remained at the wheel, steering steadily. He carried the "Benson" past the gunboat's bow, some seventy yards away. A cheer went up from the sailors crowding forward on the gunboat's spar deck. The cheer would have sounded, no matter which submarine had won.

Then Eph cut a wide circle, coming back close to the gunboat.

"You win!" shouted an officer at the "Oakland's" rail.

"Of course," nodded Lieutenant Danvers, "But what distance?"

"The board allows you half a mile and a furlong."

Captain Jack Benson, now that the strain was over, felt as though the platform deck were sinking under him.

"Let me have that wheel," commanded Jacob Farnum, stepping forward.

"Jack, you and Eph, below with you! Coffee, steak—and anything else—for all three of you youngsters!"

XII. Let a Sailor Stick to His Deck

It was after midnight when the "Benson," first in, went to her moorings.

Grant Andrews and two of his men came on board, to stand guard over the little sea-terror.

It was after one in the morning when the Seawold craft strayed into port.

A little later came the "Chelsea" and the remaining submarine rivals, for the gunboat had stood by the slower ones in case aid of any sort was needed.

As the "Zelda" came to her moorings in the inky blackness John C. Rhinds stepped out upon her platform deck. Rhinds, after his disappointment, looked like a very old man. He paced back and forth, moodily, until his captain and crew had gone below. Then Rhinds turned, with a half snarl, when Fred Radwin, after lighting a cigar, stepped outside.

"Feeling glum?" asked Radwin, stupidly, as he gazed at his chief.

"A fool question that!" snapped the older man.

"It is, rather," admitted the younger man.

"Radwin, you're an idiot!"

"Thank you!"

"You told me you had those three Pollard boys taken care of—'canned' was the word you used. Yet, the first thing we saw, when we me out on the harbor, was those same boys, looking their finest. And they went into today's affair and beat us. We've lost the speed and endurance test."

"Those boys were trapped, all right," protested Radwin, in a low tone.

"I can't begin to imagine how they ever got loose again."

"They got loose because you're a fool!" raged the older man.

"I'm good-natured, Mr. Rhinds" cried Radwin, an ugly gleam coming into his eyes, "but I don't stand everything. You'll need me yet so you'll do well to keep a civil tongue behind your teeth!"

"Stop that! Don't try any mighty airs on me!" quivered Rhinds.

"Oh, blow off your steam, quietly, and then become reasonable," yawned Fred Radwin. "First thing you know, you'll really make an enemy of me, and then the trick will be done, Rhinds. For you need me. Just now, you need me worse than you ever did in your life before."

"Need you?" sneered the other. "What for?"

"Well, for one thing, there are other tests ahead of the submarine boats."

"Can you win any of those tests?" jeered Rhinds, harshly.

"No; but I can do what will, perhaps, be the next best thing. I can stop the boys aboard the Pollard craft from being on hand to put their boat through all its paces. All you need is to have the Pollard end blocked. You can more than hold your end against the other submarines."

"Well, what can you do to stop the boys on the Pollard boats?" demanded Rhinds, unbelievingly.

"I can stop them from being on hand at the next tests. Or else I can attend to them so that they'll be of very little use, anyway."

"Bah! You're dreaming, Fred! The boys were too smart for you last time;

Now that they're on their guard, don't you realize they'd be harder than ever to catch."

"Jack Benson and his friends don't know that I was behind what happened last night," retorted Radwin. "Besides, if they're on their guard, now, so am I. I know them to be smarter than I first thought, so I shall spread a deeper, tighter net for them. John Rhinds, you shall win the rest of the submarine tests. At least, the Pollard boats won't win!"

Radwin talked so confidently that John Rhinds began to look at him more hopefully.

"What are you going to do, Fred?" the wretch inquired, at last.

"I'm going on shore—now."

"Everybody will know, if you call a boat at this hour of the night."

"Bosh! You and I are both going on shore—back to the Somerset House.

Anything very strange about that?" demanded Radwin. "We're tired out from the day's cruise, and want to be off the water. So we're going to the Somerset. We'll drift in, get something to eat, and then start upstairs. You can hardly go to sleep, Rhinds, but I shall start out again, on the sly, and go to find some handy people I know in the little city of Colfax. So that's settled, and I'll signal for the boat now."

Jack and his comrades slept on the "Benson" that night. For one thing, they felt so tired, after the day's long strain, that they really lacked the desire even to go to larger, softer beds on shore. So they awoke in the morning feeling as fresh as sea-larks should.

"There are no tests on for to-day, and nothing to be done on board, except to clean the engines," spoke Jacob Farnum over the breakfast table in the little cabin. "So, youngsters, we'll go ashore and refresh ourselves. Grant's men will clean the engines. That's what they're really here for."

"Don't you think it would be wiser, sir, to remain on board?" smiled Captain Jack. "As you will remember, we found the shore rather too lively the last time we were there."

"Things happened because you boys got out of our sight," chuckled the shipbuilder, quietly. "That's the point. What you youngsters need is a brace of guardians. So, while you're to go on shore, Dave and I will go along, and you're not to get out of our sight. Remember that."

"We'll be safe, then," nodded Eph, sagely. "I surely do want to stretch my legs, and take a yawn or two where a sea-gull won't flap down my throat."

Of course, the idea of going on shore really appealed to all hands. So, half an hour later, a shore boat put off with them all, leaving Grant and his men still in charge.

"I wonder what the next test is going to be?" asked Jack.

"I shall have to refer you to the members of the naval board, and they won't tell until this evening," replied Mr. Farnum. "That's one of their rules—no news until the evening before. That prevents too much time being spent in preparation. One of the objects of these tests is to find out how well the different types of submarines can do things on short notice."

"That's right," nodded Captain Jack, thoughtfully. "Really, when you come to think of it, submarine torpedo boats are short notice craft anyway."

"And, best of all, with no notice whatever to the enemy," broke in Eph.

"In future wars it's going to give a good deal of comfort to a fellow to think that he serves on a submarine, instead of on a battleship."

"Where are you going to stop on shore, Jake?" inquired Pollard.

"At the Somerset," responded Mr. Farnum.

"Then we're likely to run into that Rhinds-Radwin crowd."

"We can stand it, if they can," replied Farnum, compressing his lips grimly. "Our consciences are cleaner than theirs."

Indeed, in passing from the lobby to the breakfast room, where the Pollard party intended to take coffee, Messrs. Rhinds and Radwin were encountered just as they were coming out.

"Ah, good morning, gentlemen," hailed John C. Rhinds, halting and holding out his hand. Fred Radwin, too, beamed cordially upon the enemy.

"'Morning," replied Jacob Farnum, ignoring the outstretched hand of Rhinds. Radwin's ready-made smile, too, was overlooked, as the Pollard submarine party filed by into the breakfast room.

"I don't believe they'll waste any make-believe cordiality on us, after that," grimaced Mr. Pollard, as he dropped into a chair at a table.

Fifteen minutes later a stout, rather short, middle-aged man entered the breakfast room in haste. He spoke to the head waiter, who pointed out the table at which the submarine party sat.

Then the head waiter came over with a card and a letter which he handed to Farnum.

"'Mr. Walter C. Hodges,'" read Farnum, from the card. Then, glancing at the envelope "'Introducing Mr. Hodges.' It's from Judson, proprietor of the hotel where I stop when in Washington," continued the shipbuilder, as he glanced through the letter. "He asks me to extend any possible courtesies to Mr. and Miss Hodges, for whom he vouches cordially."

Rising, Mr. Farnum stepped over to meet Mr. Hodges, shaking hands with the stranger. Then the pair walked back to the table. Farnum quickly presented Mr. Hodges to the others.

"Judson asks me to extend to you any possible courtesies," pursued the shipbuilder. "I shall be very glad. Now, what can I do that will be most agreeable to you?"

"Why—er—er—" began Mr. Hodges, hesitatingly, "the thing that my daughter and I are most interested in is your line of boats. In fact, we came over to Colfax to see what we could of the boats and the tests.

Now, my daughter and I would both like very much to go aboard one of your boats. Yet, if this would be at all irregular, or cause you any inconvenience, I beg you to refuse us, and we shall understand your refusal."

None the less, the shipbuilder did feel and look embarrassed.

"I wish it were anything else on earth," Farnum replied, frankly. "For, though it gives me more pain than you can understand, my dear Mr. Hodges, it will be absolutely impossible for us to admit anyone to the submarine boats during the present tests."

"Then say no more about it," replied Mr. Hodges, pleasantly. "I can quite understand your position."

"There is just a bare chance, though," mused the shipbuilder, "that I might manage to obtain an invitation for your daughter and yourself to go out on one of the gunboats, and watch the submarine craft at their work."

"Fine!" cried Hodges, with enthusiasm. "Yet, if it will inconvenience you in the least, Mr. Farnum, I beg you to give no further thought to it. Will you all, as soon as you are finished, come to the ladies' parlor with me? My daughter will be most delighted at meeting real submarine people."

"We are finished, now," replied Mr. Farnum, laying down his cigar, "and it will give us great pleasure to have the privilege of meeting Miss Hodges."

Though Hodges himself appeared a very common type of business man, and was plainly dressed, Miss Elinor Hodges proved to be a beautiful girl of about nineteen, and attired in the height of fashion.

She was, however, most charming and gracious, and evidently greatly interested in everything that had to do with submarine boats.

An hour's very pleasant chat followed in the ladies' parlor. Then Hodges, seeing an automobile pass one of the windows and halt before the ladies' entrance of the hotel, suddenly drew out his watch.

"Elinor, my dear, do you see the time?" demanded her father, holding out his watch. Then, as the submarine party rose, prepared to take their leave, Hodges turned to Farnum, explaining rapidly:

"Yes; unfortunately, we have an appointment, and must defer the further pleasure of seeing you until this evening. But that auto car outside, which I did not order for this hour, and, in fact, cannot use for to-day, gives me an idea. It is a car that I have hired for a week. Now, Elinor and I are not going to use the car. Mr. Farnum, can't you and your friends make use of the car to-day?"

Jacob Farnum would have tried to decline, pleasantly, fearing the acceptance of the use of the automobile might seem to bind him to extend courtesies on one of his boats. But Mr. Hodges was so gently, firmly insistent that, in a very short time, the submarine party found themselves seated in the car.

There was an abundance of room, for it was a seven-passenger car, large and roomy.

"This car is a whizzer, I understand," smiled Mr. Hodges, from the sidewalk.

"It certainly is, sir," agreed the chauffeur.

"Well, chauffeur, take my friends wherever they want to go to-day, and do whatever they want. Above all, when you get out on a country road, show 'em some of your high speed."

"Yes, sir."

Honk! honk! The car rolled away, going slowly enough through the city streets. Jacob Farnum, who sat in front with the driver, lighted a cigar and settled back to enjoy himself.

"Any particular place you want to go, sir?" asked the chauffeur.

"No," replied the shipbuilder. "You know the way around this part of the world better than we do. Take us out into the surrounding country, and show us anything you consider of interest."

"Yes, sir."

After a few minutes the car had left Colfax behind. They were out on the beginning of a country road, now. The chauffeur let out a few notches of speed.

"Smooth-running car," commented Mr. Farnum.

"Runs just as smoothly, sir, at sixty miles an hour," replied the man.

"When we get a little further out, you can us some of that," smiled Mr. Farnum, contentedly.

"I will, sir."

"You boys afraid to go at sixty miles an hour?" asked the shipbuilder, turning to face those in the tonneau.

"Scared to death," laughed Jack Benson, gleefully.

As soon as the chauffeur considered that he had reached a little-enough-traveled part of the country road he let out the speed.

"My, but we're going some," called Farnum.

"Fifty miles," replied the chauffeur. "Now, I'll show you sixty."

The car seemed to leap forward. Then, it seemed to those in the tonneau as though they were beating any speed ever reached by an express train.

Whizz-zz! It was wild, exhilarating—dangerous!

"Say!" gasped Farnum. "If—"

That was as far as he got. The forward end of his side of the car sank to the ground. The car seemed trying to stand on its head.

Then it stopped, and all in it were hurled into the center of awful disaster.

XIII. The Trick is Easily Seen Through

In the next instant all had settled.

There had been a brief moment in which the air around the wrecked auto had seemed full of flying human beings.

Now, they lay by the road side in varying degrees of disaster.

The left front axle had broken, the wheel rolling some yards ere it stopped.

Jacob Farnum, seated right over the axle, was hurled out, head first as nearly as he could afterwards guess. How he avoided landing on his head and sustaining a broken neck or shattered skull was one of those miraculous things that no one can explain.

The chauffeur had plunged out over Farnum's head, alighting beyond the shipbuilder. The chauffeur now lay writhing and groaning.

David Pollard landed first, on one wrist and his chest, a cry of anguish escaping him.

Eph Somers lay in the road motionless. Jack and Hal fell against the padded side of the car. Hal remained there during the next second, but young Benson turned a half-somersault, lightly, landing in the road just outside.

It was young Captain Jack who first got to his feet. Dazed for a few moments, he rose slowly seeking for signs of injury.

"I—I believe I'm not hurt," he congratulated himself. "Thank heaven for that, for there are others here who seem in need of the promptest help."

First of all Jack turned to his chum, young Hastings. But Hal, though his face was white from the shock of it all, smiled back, then helped himself out of the wrecked car.

Within the next few minutes it developed that Eph had been stunned.

Beyond this he had suffered no injury except a bruise along the left thigh.

Jacob Farnum proved to be only stunned and badly shaken. But David Pollard displayed a helpless left wrist and complained of severe pain in the left side of his chest.

The chauffeur had a broken left leg, a broken arm, and a mass of bruises on his face, where he had struck the hard earth.

"Great Scott, but this is almost like the carnage of war!" muttered Jack Benson. "Hal, you and Eph help Mr. Farnum with the others. I'm going down the road to the first house, and send for aid."

Arrived at a farm-house that proved to be connected with the telephone service, Jack 'phoned for the two nearest doctors, and for men to come and help the injured. Then he called up the garage from which the auto had been hired; this address being supplied by the chauffeur.

Then, accompanied by the man of the house, young Benson hurried back to the scene of the wreck. The submarine captain found that he had at least been so bruised and shaken up that speed on his feet hurt.

The first to arrive, of those summoned, was the owner of the garage in Colfax. He came in a large car, burning gasoline fast.

"I'm Graves, from the garage," he introduced himself, shutting off power and leaping out. "Jove, what a smash this is!"

Until two doctors and several men arrived Graves devoted himself to helping make the injured victims as comfortable as possible.

When the doctors and helpers appeared on the scene Graves soon called Jack Benson aside.

"There's something about this affair that must be investigated," declared the garage man, in an undertone. "The cars that I keep are all of one make, and there are no stauncher, safer cars made in the world. No such accident has ever before happened to one of my cars. Come; let's see what we can find out."

Graves didn't have to look far. He halted at the broken axle, staring at it hard. Then he looked over the broken casting from all sides.

"See here," Graves ground out, between his teeth, "all the axles on my cars are branded with the trade-mark of the maker, and the number of the inspector who passes the axles. Yet this axle is unbranded! Now, I happen to know that the left forward axle on this car—last night—was branded as usual, for I had the wheel off and looked it over.

That I can swear to."

"Then another axle has been substituted?" demanded Jack, his eyes flashing.

"Yes, sirree."

"How long, after you saw the right axle in place here, was it before the car was taken from your garage?"

"According to the office books this car was taken from the garage at three o'clock this morning," replied Graves.

"By one of your own men?"

"No, sir! By a stranger who rented the car for a week, paid the rental price, and gave his name as Hodges. He seemed to understand all about running a car. He brought it back at six this morning."

"Was that time enough in which to substitute a defective axle?" Jack asked.

"Oh, yes; a man expert at such work could do it in considerably less time."

"Such a defective axle might run along smoothly, quite a while at low speed?" Benson persisted.

"Yes."

"But at high speed—?"

"Look at this axle!" continued the garage man, excitedly. "You know something about steel, don't you, young man?"

"Enough to run machinery."

"You see what a flawed piece of steel this is—unsuited to any strain? I don't believe this axle could stand the strain of high speed in a big auto for the distance of a mile."

"That's about all it stood with us," muttered Jack Benson, his face white, his jaws firmly set.

"There's been some nasty work here," continued the garage man. "It wasn't done by my chauffeur, either. He's probably the worst hurt of any in your party, which assures his innocence of a hand in the despicable work."

"Oh, I don't suspect your man—not for an instant," Jack assured the garage owner. "The truth is, I think I can guess just where to place the blame."

"Hodges turned this car over to you for a pleasure jaunt, didn't he?" demanded the garage owner.

"Yes."

"And it was the same fellow who took this car out before daylight. It wasn't used again until it was sent around for your party. Mr. Benson, I think we can both guess whom to suspect in this desperately wicked piece of business. If I can find that rascal, Hodges, I'll certainly lay violent hands on him!"

"Don't!" advised Jack, quietly. "In the first place, Mr. Graves, if you took the law into your own hands, you'd only get yourself into trouble.

In the second place"—Jack Benson lowered his voice still more—"I know, as well as I know I'm living, that Hodges was only the agent of some one else. Mr. Graves, do me a great favor—a great favor to all our party. For the present, if you must say anything, say just as little as possible about the accident. Let it go at that. Don't throw out any suspicions against Hodges. Don't let anyone know that I have any suspicions. Just keep the whole thing quiet—and in that way we'll get the authors of this outrage."

"Are you sure?" demanded Graves, his look still darkly vengeful.

"You might talk to just one person—when there's no one else around to overhear you," Jack agreed. "That man is the chief of police in Colfax. In view of some other things that he knows the chief will agree with my view, and will thank you for keeping quiet and looking puzzled over this affair."

"All right," grumbled Mr. Graves. "I'll do as you ask, Mr. Benson—until I've talked with the chief of police, anyway."

By this time the badly-injured members of the party had received first attention from the doctors, and were now being lifted into a big farm wagon that had been brought to the scene. In this vehicle they were taken to the nearest house, where they were placed on beds for better attention.

"I'm going back to the city, now," announced the garage man to the young submarine captain. "I'm going to the chief of police, and I'll also see to it that a big auto ambulance is sent out to take your friends and my man to the hospital in town. Hang it, I hate to keep the truth in this matter quiet, even for a moment, and I wouldn't do it, only to see justice worked out. You see, Mr. Benson, such a fearful accident, from one of my cars, will hurt my business until the whole truth is known.

But I'll stick to my word, and keep quiet."

In three quarters of an hour's time the ambulance had arrived, and also a car that Graves had sent to bring back Farnum and the three submarine boys.

"Don't run back at anything like speed, please," begged Mr. Farnum, with a wan smile. It had cut the shipbuilder to the marrow to find his friend, Pollard, so badly hurt.

"Nothing faster than ten miles an hour," promised the chauffeur.

Once in the city the auto followed the ambulance to the hospital, where Farnum went to see that every possible attention was given his friend.

But Mr. Graves had already made splendid arrangements for the care of both injured men.

Then down to the Somerset went the able bodied survivors of the submarine party. Though they said nothing in the hearing of the strange chauffeur, they were no more than inside Jacob's Farnum's room when they let loose their indignation.

It was not many minutes, however, ere the chief of police arrived.

"I've been talking with Graves, gentlemen," announced the chief, "and I'm wholly satisfied that the rascal, Hodges, is the first one we want to find. When we get him we'll try to make him tell who's behind him."

"Did you get anything out of the four fellows you caught night before last?" asked Jack Benson.

"Not a word to amount to anything, so far," replied the chief. "But their case was continued a week by the court, and I'll find a way to make 'em talk! Just now, my whole thought is centered on finding Hodges."

"He isn't stopping at this hotel?" asked Jack.

"Not much! He wouldn't wait for us to come and gather him in like that," answered the chief. "No; I'm dragging the town, and I also have a man at the railway station, and another watching the water front."

"I can't understand how the fellow who called himself Hodges ever got Judson to write him a letter of introduction to me," muttered Mr. Farnum.

"Do you know Judson's writing?" asked the police chief, suspiciously.

"No-o-o," admitted Mr. Farnum. "But the letter was written on the letter-head of Judson's hotel."

"Anyone can get a hotel letter-head," retorted the police official, sagely. "You'd better let me have that letter, and I'll write Judson to wire me whether he ever signed it."

Farnum passed over the letter, though he muttered, disgustedly:

"Good heavens, have I reached my present only to be taken in with a faked letter of introduction?"

"If you have," responded the chief of police, grimly, "you won't be the only traveled, wide awake business man who has been caught by a trick like that. In this country, where letters of introduction are passed around as freely as cigars, it's very seldom that a man stops to wonder whether the letter handed him is genuine."

An hour later the chief was back, to report that a man answering Hodges' description had taken a train north bound, not buying a ticket.

"I've telegraphed to have the fellow arrested at a point along the route," continued the police official. "I don't expect to get Hodges as easily as that, though. He undoubtedly will have left the train before it gets to where I have some one waiting to receive him."

"But the young woman he called his daughter?" asked Jack "She wasn't with him. The fellow traveled alone. Of course, the handsome daughter was only borrowed for the occasion."

From the hospital came the word that unfortunate David Pollard was resting comfortably.

"The scheme was one that was intended to put our whole party out of business," declared Jack Benson, his eyes shining savagely. "I won't go so far as to say the Rhinds crowd wanted us killed, but they hoped we'd all be too badly hurt to go on with the submarine tests. Oh, what a rascally way to succeed in business!"

XIV. Radwin Doesn't See His Best Chance

Late in the afternoon Farnum went up to the hospital to see David Pollard again.

As too many visitors would not be wise the shipbuilder represented, also, his young submarine officers. He left them in the lobby of the Somerset.

"Don't go away from here," smiled Mr. Farnum, wearily. "Don't let anybody coax you away from here. Just stay right here, and I won't have to worry about you while I'm away. We can't take any chances—can't lose any more of our crowd."

"Those are orders, sir," Jack Benson answered. "You'll be obeyed."

For the better part of an hour the boys remained where Farnum had left them.

Then something happened that brought the flush of anger to all their bronzed, honest young faces.

One of the outer doors opened, and Fred Radwin, catching sight of the submarine boys as he entered, hastened over to where they sat, a look of pretended sympathy on his handsome but snake-like face.

"Boys," he called, in a low voice, as all three rose as though to ward off blows, "it was only little while ago that I heard of the fearful accident. Poor Pollard! I want to tell you how heartily sorry I am to hear—"

"Stop right where you are, sir!"

Jack Benson's voice thundered out. The young submarine captain did not realize that he was using even more than a quarter-deck tone. Everyone in the lobby turned to look on. A few, more curious than the others, hastened to where the little group stood.

"What—what do you mean?" stammered Fred Radwin, looking mightily bewildered.

"In the future, sir," and Jack's voice barely fell, "do us the honor not to speak to us."

"What on earth—" protested Radwin.

"If you don't heed my request," Jack continued, angrily, "I don't believe I shall be able to curb my desire to land both fists in your face."

Radwin drew back before the darkening, menacing glare in the eyes of the young submarine captain.

Hal, however, turned white—though from a cause that few would have guessed.

"Hold on, Benson! One moment—" protested Fred Radwin.

"Oh, get out of my sight, this instant," quivered Jack, taking another step toward his enemy.

Before all the curious throng Fred Radwin, strangely enough, felt too abashed, for the moment, to persist in his expressions of surprise.

"I'll talk with you later," he muttered, with a sickly smile, then turned away.

"If you do," Jack called after him, "I'll—"

Benson's voice died down as the young captain felt Hal Hastings's strong, impassioned grip on his arm.

Radwin, fortunately, did not turn, but kept on until he had taken himself out of sight.

Jack turned an inquiring glance on his chum's face. But Hal's warning look seemed to say:

"Silence! Wait!"

"What was the row about?" asked a stranger among those who had pressed about the boys.

"Nothing," returned Eph Somers, shortly, glaring at his questioner.

At a mute signal from Hal all three of the submarine boys seated themselves once more.

By degrees the little crowd melted away.

Then Jack Benson turned to his chum, to ask, in a low voice:

"What did you mean, Hal, old fellow? I know you had some good reason for checking me as you did."

"I was afraid you would hit Radwin," Hal murmured.

"A case of nothing struck, if I had!" uttered Captain Jack, bitterly.

"Oh, yes! You would have struck at our chances of winning out in these submarine tests," murmured Hal Hastings.

"What do you mean?" demanded Jack, looking startled.

"If you had hit Radwin, in the presence of all those witnesses, you would have been right in line to be arrested for assault."

"Pooh!" jeered Captain Jack. "A small fine, which I could easily pay."

"But the inconvenience of being locked up, at such a time!" asked Hal Hastings.

"Mr. Farnum would bail me out, quickly enough."

"I don't believe you see all of the point yet," murmured Hal, earnestly.

"Suppose Radwin swore out a warrant against you for striking him. Then suppose he paid a court officer to wait and serve the warrant just as the boats were starting out on some new test cruise? Then you'd go ashore, and we'd either have to go on without our captain, or else draw out of the test. Fine business, that, when our first and only business is to make the Pollard boats the number-one winners in as many tests as possible!"

"Great Caesar!" exploded Jack, realizing, now, what a narrow escape he had had from another disaster to their common interests.

"So you be on your guard," Hal went on with his wise counsel. "No one—at least, no one in your own crowd—doubts your grit, or your willingness to clinch with Radwin and fight it out to a copper-riveted finish. I don't blame you for wanting to thrash Radwin every time you think of poor Dave Pollard up at the hospital. I want to do it myself.

Radwin didn't think fast enough, or he'd have sneered at you, and provoked you into hitting him. That was why I grabbed your right arm—to stop you. It'll come to Radwin before long, what a fine chance he missed. Then he'll put himself in your way—when there are witnesses around."

"Thank you, Hal," nodded Jack Benson, his voice unusually quiet. "You've given me a good, big hint. I won't forget it. Until the tests are all over Radwin may parade before me, and mock at me, if he wants. But afterward—!"

XV. The Goal of the Lightning Cruise

On three different days, thereafter, there were various tests in which the submarine craft entered, each striving for points and leadership.

On one of these days the event was firing with "dummy" torpedoes. This work was carried on out in the bay. Then there were two other days of firing, with actual, loaded torpedoes, the work, one day, being with stationery naval targets. On the other day the work with loaded torpedoes was directed against moving targets—perpendicular floats towed by a tug with a very long hawser.

While some of the firing was done by the crews of the respective submarines, a good deal more was performed by members of the naval board, in order that the boats, rather than the crews, might be tested.

In each of these events the Pollard boats were the winners. At the moving targets the Day Submarine took second place away from the Rhinds boats; in the other events the Rhinds craft came in second, though rather close to the records achieved by the Pollard submarines.

Farnum was elated, of course. So were his young officers. Lieutenant Danvers, who was on board at each test, was also much pleased, though he did not express it. The cheering news was taken to David Pollard, in hospital, and greatly lightened his days of suffering and waiting.

And now, for two days, the grim-looking little submarine fleet had lain at moorings. Not one was there among their crews but wondered whether any further competitive tests were to be ordered.

There had been no more meetings, on shore, between the Rhinds party and our friends. Radwin had hoped for such a meeting, for, as Hal had predicted, the dark-faced rascal had soon reasoned out that it would be an excellent thing to stop a few blows delivered by Captain Jack Benson.

But Farnum had kept his party on the "Benson" and the "Hastings."

"Fred, I wonder whether we are going to have any more tests," demanded Mr. Rhinds, as he and his secretary lingered over their breakfast at the Somerset.

"I wish I knew," sighed Radwin.

"We've been beaten, a few points, by that Pollard crowd," muttered Rhinds, his face lowering. "But we're not altogether walloped, Fred.

The government is going to buy a good many submarine boats. Now, it isn't necessary for the government to have the boats all of one type, is it?"

"Of course not," Radwin assented.

"Just so," continued the older man, "now, we've made a pretty good showing, after all. So I have already begun with some telegrams to the Senators and Congressmen of our state—Oh, you mustn't feel that you always have advance information on all I'm doing, young man," chuckled Rhinds, noting the look of surprise in his companion's face. "I've started with our state's members in Congress, and soon I shall begin to go at 'em harder. Now, despite the fact that the Pollard boats have been able to gain a few points over us, I believe I can engineer matters so that the government will order two types of submarine, instead of one. In fact, Fred, when the government gives out its big orders for submarine boats, I hope to land forty per cent., at least, of the business."

Fred Radwin glanced cautiously around him, to make sure that no waiters stood within hearing distance. Then he hissed, sharply:

"Forty per cent. of the business, you say? I still intend to land one hundred per cent. of the submarine business for our company?"

"How?" asked the older man, eagerly.

"I'll think it over a while, before I tell you my definite plans."

"Be careful, Fred," warned Rhinds, "not to make any moves that will be our undoing!"

"Have I gotten you into any trouble yet, Mr. Rhinds?"

"No," admitted the older man, though he added, half-jeeringly:

"Nor have you beaten the Pollard crowd at any point along the road, that I can remember."

"Wait!" retorted Radwin, mysteriously.

These two villains were just sipping from their last cups of coffee when, even in the dining room, there reached their ears the muffled sound of gunfire from the bay.

"What's that?" demanded Radwin. "I want to hear the rest of that!"

He hurried through the dining room to the front of the lobby.

"There it goes," he cried, as Rhinds, puffing somewhat, joined him.

"First, the gunfire, then seven long whistles, followed by—wait!"

As the whistling ceased another gun boomed forth.

"That's the emergency signal, to call all hands back who belong on submarines," uttered Radwin, wheeling about. "We must get our hats and coats, and hustle down to the water front."

Radwin, had in truth, read the signal aright. It was the signal that the naval board had announced in case, at any time, there should be sudden, official news for the officers and crews of the rival submarines.

"What can it be, I wonder?" pondered John Rhinds, as they hurried through a street that led to the pier.

"Probably some test in which the board wants us to start without any preparation," replied Radwin.

"I wish I knew what it was," muttered Rhinds.

"That's just the way every man-jack aboard the submarine boats is feeling about it," jeered Radwin. "Jove, I hope the test, to-day, is one in which we stand a chance to beat the Pollard crowd!"

Jacob Farnum had just started from the "Hastings," in a shore boat, when the first gun boomed forth. The shipbuilder had been on his way to see his friend, at the hospital, when he heard the first gun. Stopping the rowers, he quickly comprehended when the whistle blasts started. He accordingly directed that he be put back alongside the "Hastings."

Jack, Hal and Eph had come tumbling up on deck at the first realization of the signal. Grant Andrews and his men were no longer on board, having gone, at daylight, to their boarding house on shore.

"What do you suppose is in the air, Jack?" called Mr. Farnum.

"I don't know, sir. But whatever it is, we're ready. We can start, on anything, at the drop of a handkerchief. Gasoline tanks full, compressed air by the cubic yard, storage batteries charged."

"It would be hard to catch you youngsters unprepared," laughed the shipbuilder, appreciatively.

They were still on deck, waiting and wondering, when they saw the president and secretary of the Rhinds company put off from shore in haste.

"They don't mean to be left," sneered Eph.

"They're pretty badly left already," muttered Captain Jack, bitterly.

"They haven't beaten us, so far, by a single point."

"I suppose they're hoping they will to-day, whatever the test is to be," muttered Hal Hastings.

Fifteen minutes more passed. Then a little flock of six-oared cutters left the side of the gunboat "Oakland." In the stern-sheets of each cutter sat a naval officer in uniform.

"There's Lieutenant Danvers," cried Jack, eagerly. "He brings us our instructions, whatever they are."

In a few moments more Danvers was along side, making his way up to the platform deck. In his right hand Danvers carried an official looking sealed envelope.

In his eager curiosity Jacob Farnum extended a hand to take the envelope, but Danvers drew it back.

"Pardon me," murmured the shipbuilder, confusedly. "I should have known better. The communication is, of course, for the captain."

Danvers turned the envelope over to Captain Jack Benson, who broke the seal, drawing out the paper enclosed. This is a part of what the submarine boy read aloud: "'The Navy Department has just reported, by wireless, that a semi-submerged derelict, evidently that of a three-master schooner, is drifting in the paths of navigation at a point 385 miles southwest by south of this present station. The Department suggests that it would afford an example of practical use for submarines, if those now on this station would accompany a gunboat, at full speed for cruising, and attempt to discover and blow up this derelict.'" "Great!" glowed Eph. "I vote for it."

"So do those on the other boats, if the observable excitement is to be taken as an indication," laughed Mr. Farnum.

"This letter goes on to request," announced Benson, "that the commander of each submarine willing to enter this affair signal to the 'Oakland' by hoisting the signal 'Ready.' Do you hear that, Eph?"

Somers made a dash for the signal chest. In another moment the appropriate bit of bunting was fluttering on the halliard at the top of the signal mast.

"We are directed," Jack read on, "to be ready within thirty minutes. We must follow the 'Oakland' down the bay at a cruising speed of sixteen miles an hour. Once out of the bay, the 'Oakland' will signal our formation to us."

"Do you see the boat the Rhinds signal is going up on?" laughed Hal Hastings. "It is going up on the submarine 'Thor.' According to the old Norsemen tales Thor was The Thunderer—also the fellow who struck with the big hammer. It looks like a Rhinds boast that they are to do big things on this lightning cruise."

"Yes; Thor was an old Norse god," muttered Captain Jack. "And the early Norsemen were very largely pirates. Perhaps we are to take the signal on the 'Thor' as an intimation that Rhinds is out to play pirate in earnest on this cruise."

As Benson uttered these words he felt an odd little shiver run over him.

Yet he gave it no more thought. Little idea had he, at that moment, how prophetic his words were likely to be!

In half an hour, as planned, the "Oakland," after firing a warning gun, steamed away from her moorings. Gradually the gunboat's speed increased, until the full sixteen miles were being made—miles, instead of knots, since gasoline boats, like these submarines, are usually rated by miles instead of by the longer "knot."

It was a rattling rate of speed to exact from these little craft, when it was considered that the gait would have to be continued, without break, for at least twenty-four hours.

Eph was at the wheel, at the start, and Jack standing back by the conning tower. Mr. Farnum had gone below, for a nap, as he intended to relieve Hal in the engine room after a few hours.

"Benson," remarked Danvers, approaching the submarine boy, "I guess your remark of a few minutes ago exactly defines this trip."

"What remark?" asked Jack.

"You spoke of it as a lightning cruise. It is going to be one, indeed, for these little submarine craft."

"Our boat can stand it, I think," smiled the submarine skipper.

"And so can the Rhinds boat, probably. But some of the others will find themselves sorely put to to keep up the speed for twenty-four hours."

"And, if they don't?" queried Jack.

Danvers shrugged his shoulders.

"Then I guess they'll have to be satisfied with being left far behind, unless they signal that they're in actual distress."

"This speed," mused Captain Jack, "must be part of the government's plans for another test. The Navy Department must have planned to see whether any of these boats could stand such a gait for twenty-four long hours."

"I couldn't tell you if I knew," remarked Lieutenant Danvers, with a quizzical look, then turned and strolled away.

"And I guess," muttered the submarine boy to himself, "that that's about as near as a fellow can go to giving a tip, once he has had the Navy muzzle padlocked to his jaws."

Some of the submarines in this long race—for such it was—were better equipped as to the number of the crew. The Rhinds had this advantage, carrying a captain and four men, in addition to Rhinds himself and his secretary. Yet Jack and Eph relieved each other regularly at the wheel, catching long naps between. Hal and Mr. Farnum did the same thing with the engine room, and the "Hastings" kept well in the van through the day, and also through the long night that followed.

Two hours after daylight the "Oakland" signaled to the submarines to run up close to this "parent vessel," the gunboat.

"Further orders, of course," muttered Jack, who was at the wheel at the time. "Well, we're not such a very long run, now, from the reported location of that derelict."

The fleet was wholly out of sight of land. The wind was fresh and the sea lively with short, choppy waves, crested by white-caps. Yet, for boats as staunch as these submarines, sea was not a difficult one for boat handling.

One after another, while still going at full speed, the submarines drew close to the "Oakland." One after another, as signaled, the boats put in within easy hailing distance of the gunboat.

"The 'Hastings' will keep to the same South West, by South course, but at a distance of two miles off this vessel's port bow," came the order.

"The 'Thor' will take up similar position, two miles off the port side of the 'Hastings.'"

The three remaining torpedo boats were assigned to positions corresponding on the starboard side of the "Oakland."

In this order the boats went ahead at a speed reduced to fourteen miles.

The front of the line extended over some ten miles; in reality the line of vision extended much further than that. Unless the semi-submerged derelict had moved much faster than such derelicts usually do, it was difficult to see how the wreck could get through this line of exploration.

Jack Benson pressed a signal that brought Hal Hastings up on deck.

"Rouse Eph and Mr. Farnum," ordered the young skipper. "We've got to have all hands on, now. And call Lieutenant Danvers, also. He's not allowed to help us, but he'll be anxious to see what is going on."

As soon as Eph Somers reached deck Jack Benson turned the wheel over to him. Then the young captain got his marine glasses, stationing himself, most of the time, beside the deck wheel.

"If it's in any way possible," muttered Jack, "I want to be the first to sight that derelict. I want the honor of sinking her to come to us.

It will all be points in the game we are fighting for."

As Benson spoke he swung his glass around to cover the deck of the "Thor," that craft being, now, her full two miles away off the port beam.

"Rhinds has his whole crowd on deck, too," growled young Benson, using his powerful marine glass with interest. "Yes; everyone on deck, except two men for the engine room."

At this moment Lieutenant Danvers stepped on deck, looking as though he had slept well. The naval officer carried a glass very much like the submarine skipper's.

"It's almost mean of me to bring a glass on deck with me," laughed Danvers. "Under the rules I'm forbidden to give you any information I may find for myself."

Jack nodded pleasantly, then turned to sweep the sea ahead. At a distance of a few miles it would be easy enough to miss the half-submerged derelict.

For some three hours the flotilla swept on, with active officers on every deck. The naval board had ordered this new formation ere reaching the probable location of the derelict.

"We haven't passed the thing, anyway," Jack muttered to Eph. "The sea isn't rough enough for that to be possible."

Part of the time young Benson had surrendered his glass to his first officer, while the captain himself stood by the wheel.

But now, Jack was again pacing the deck, while Eph, his eyes mostly on the compass, steered steadily by course.

Suddenly, Jack Benson started. Quickly he wiped the outer lenses of his glass, then looked again.

"See anything?" demanded Eph.

"Yes, sirree! And the 'Thor' is almost a mile nearer than we are! It's the derelict—not a doubt of it!"

Like a flash Jack sprang to the wheel, ringing the bell for full speed.

"Eph, hustle below! Tell Hal we've sighted the derelict. Tell him to hump the engines. Tell him I don't care how much we overheat the machinery so that we don't blow the craft up. Jump!"

Eph collided with Jacob Farnum, who had started up from below, but he brushed the shipbuilder aside, rushing below as though death pursued him.

XVI. Jack Gives the Order, "Fire!"

The naval officer, too, had made out a bobbing something on the sea, ahead, over at port, which he took to be the long sought derelict.

The lieutenant could not say anything, but, with glass still at his eyes, he leaned back against the conning tower, drawing in his breath sharply.

"Want me to take the wheel?" called out Eph, as he reached deck again.

"Yes. I want to keep the glass to my eyes."

Just one look did Benson take at the supposed derelict. Then he swung his gaze around upon the "Thor."

"They've seen our speed-burst," cried the young submarine skipper. "I don't believe they had spotted the derelict, but now they see us shooting ahead, to cross their course, and that has told them the secret. Yes!

There they go ahead, and pointing straight. They've caught up the old wreck—through our glasses!"

It was provoking, but the rival boat, besides being nearer at the start, had also started forward at greater speed.

"This is the 'Thor's' trick," thought Lieutenant Danvers to himself.

"Too bad, too. I'd like to have seen the boys take it."

Jacob Farnum's private view, not expressed, agreed with the naval officer's.

But Jack Benson? He simply couldn't admit any victory for the rival—not until it was actually won.

"Swing a half-point off port bow, Eph—steady, now!" breathed the young skipper, intensely.

Down below, Hal Hastings was performing as near to wonders as was possible with a gasoline engine. Jacob Farnum stood just inside the conning tower, prepared to rush below with any other orders.

"Yes, it's the derelict!" shouted Benson, presently. "I can make out the stumps of two masts now. We'll be there in a few minutes."

"We'll be lucky if we don't get there too late," grumbled Somers. "Shall I steer direct for the old wreck, or take the course from you?"

"Better take it from me for a time," Benson replied. "My glass will be more dependable than your naked eye."

The "Thor," also, was heading straight for the derelict. So far, the Rhinds boat was still nearer.

It began to look, however, as if the "Thor's" engines were not quite as fast as those of the other Rhinds boat, the "Zelda."

"Are we going to make it?" breathed Eph, the perspiration of sheer strain standing out on his forehead.

"Yes!" almost barked Jack Benson.

"Sure thing, is it?" persisted Somers.

"Sure—only don't talk too much," growled young Benson.

It was the grit, the dogged determination of the born commander—the natural leader of men.

A moment later Jack turned a white face toward the shipbuilder.

"Mr. Farnum, tell Hal he'll have to pour the oil in faster. We've got to have more speed."

Farnum did not even wait for the second sentence. He dived below. All of a sudden the "Hastings" was seen to take a notable leap forward. Then she settled down to a more rapid, steady gait.

Just inside the conning tower Jacob Farnum stood again. In his right hand he clutched a doubled-up handkerchief, with which he made frequent dabs at his face.

The shipbuilder knew that the present speed, with its dangerous overheating of the engines, spelled blank disaster if continued for long.

Hal Hastings, down below, standing like a white wraith beside his engines, realized the same thing.

So, too, did Jack Benson, the young skipper, for whom, in this mad moment, there was but one word in the language—"win!"

Eph didn't stop to realize it. He was worrying about straight steering, and he couldn't worry about more than one thing at a time.

Lieutenant Danvers must have known what was patent to every other mind but he neither said nor did anything. He was a Navy officer, trained not to display emotion.

"Good!" came from Captain Jack's lips. Yet, in the intensity of his strain it was a groan, rather than a note of exultation. "We're cutting into the 'Thor's' water."

A few moments more, and Benson found his craft slantingly across the Rhinds boat's course, well ahead.

"Now, we'll show you!" quavered Jack Benson, as he briefly shook his fist back at the wicked rivals.

"If we don't blow the lid off this sea-turtle!" muttered young Somers, to himself.

At the youthful captain's sharp order Eph swung the course around.

"Now, drive straight toward the derelict, Eph!" breathed the young commander, his eyes glittering. "I leave the deck in your hands for a minute. You're broadside on, now. Keep driving, steady, as you are!"

As Farnum saw young Benson dashing his way the shipbuilder understood and darted down the stairs.

After him plunged Jack Benson. Below, both became cooler, for the task in hand must not be bungled. On one of the trucks they dragged a torpedo forward, fitting it in the tube.

As he closed the after port behind the torpedo, Jack bent over to place Jacob Farnum's hand on the firing lever.

"Stand there, sir, till you've done it!" quavered Captain Jack.

"Will you signal the order?"

"No, sir! You'll get it by voice."

As Benson wheeled, dashing away, he had an instant's glimpse, sideways, of Hal Hastings's face. Great as Jack's haste was, that look at his chum's face haunted him.

There was no time for sentiment, now, though. It was literally do or die!

The "Thor" was now three hundred yards astern, making frantic efforts to lessen the distance, yet actually losing time.

Ahead, the derelict was now some fifteen hundred yards away. The half-sunken wreck still presented a broadside, as shown by the positions of two stumps of masts.

"What range are you going to fire at?" asked Eph Somers.

"The torpedo is set for six hundred yards; we'll fire at three hundred."

Captain Jack's voice was cooler, steadier, now. The first great strain had subsided. He was cool, tense, now—though not a whit less determined to win at all hazards.

As there was still some time to spare, and Eph could handle the "Hastings" as well as any other helmsman on earth, Jack stepped back to the conning tower.

Lieutenant Danvers was there, though with his gaze astern.

"I can just picture old Rhinds," laughed Captain Jack, a bit harshly.

"He's saying hard things about us, for cutting in on his course and getting the derelict away from him."

Danvers laughed.

"The old fellow is swearing a blue streak, and threatening himself with an apoplectic stroke every instant."

"You don't seem to love Mr. Rhinds very noticeably," grimaced the naval officer.

"If I don't," voiced Jack, "neither do any of our crowd. And the reason is more than mere business rivalry, too."

Lieutenant Danvers knew nothing whatever of the dastardly attempts against the Pollard crowd that Rhinds and Radwin had engineered.

It was not a time, however, in which to waste precious moments looking back at the more tardy rival boat.

Jack wheeled, bracing himself against the conning tower. They were now within eight hundred yards of the derelict's broadside-on.

How the "Hastings" seemed to crawl over the last of the intervening water space! Yet Hal realized, if Jack did not, how swiftly the submarine was racing.

"Five hundred yards!" clicked Jack, and stepped inside the conning tower, snatching up a megaphone.

Four hundred and fifty—four hundred—three-fifty—three-twenty-five!

"Fire!"

That last word was bellowed below through the megaphone. Jack, his eyes staring forward, saw something leap near the bow, and saw an upward dash of spray. The torpedo had left the tube.

"Hard-aport, Eph! Swing her right over. So!"

From his own post in the conning tower Benson signaled for slow speed, now. It would never do to stop the overheated engines utterly. Besides, seaway was needed, with the rival craft coming up behind.

His work in the conning tower done, Captain Jack sprang out on the platform deck, bounding beside Lieutenant Danvers at the starboard rail.

Through the manhole opening of, the tower the shipbuilder soon thrust his uncovered head.

Was the torpedo, so carefully aimed, going to strike and do its work?

XVII. The Message of Terror

"Is it a hit, do you think?" gasped Jack.

"I think—" began the naval officer.

Boom! It came suddenly, sullenly. A column of spray shot up between the two mast-stumps of the derelict. The rising water reached a height of eighty or ninety feet, then came down again like a heavy rain.

But the wreck itself? One of the mast-stumps tottered, then the other. In an instant more nothing of the derelict was to be seen, saving some floating wreckage made up of less water-logged wood.

"A fair hit, I'll wager my commission!" cried Danvers, eagerly.

"Yes," nodded Jacob Farnum. "That's the last of the derelict. She's removed from the paths of navigation."

There could be no doubt of the completeness of the work done by the torpedo from the "Hastings." A broad grin now appeared on the shipbuilder's lately white face.

"Mr. Farnum, will you tell Hal, whenever he thinks best, to slow down to mere headway?"

"Aye, aye, Captain," sang the shipbuilder, jovially, and disappeared from view.

"Benson, I congratulate you on your nerve," spoke Lieutenant Danvers, as he turned, his eyes glowing, to the youthful submarine commander.

"I don't know as I deserve that good word," muttered Jack, slowly, shaking his head. "It was win or die with us."

"I realize that."

"And I took a big chance of blowing our engines out."

"I thought so, at the time."

"Then, Lieutenant, you must realize that I risked your life, as well as ours."

"I knew it," nodded Danvers, coolly.

Then he rested a hand half affectionately on young Benson's nearer shoulder.

"My boy, what is risking a life or two, when there's such a prize to win—such a naval lesson to be learned and taught? American naval history is full of the names of officers and men who have thrown away their lives in learning something new for the benefit of the service."

"I like that way of putting it," replied Captain Jack, though he spoke soberly. "I had a notion I was pretty wicked when I took such chances."

"It would have been criminal, if it hadn't been your purpose to show what a craft of this type can do when pushed in emergencies. But I have learned much to-day that will stand me in great stead, should I ever be in command of a flotilla of submarines in war time."

"Then I suppose I ought to forgive myself for my recklessness," laughed Jack.

"You want to forget it, Benson. The thing you want to remember is that men who serve in navies sign their lives away when they enter the service. All must be sacrificed, at the first instant of need, to the service and to the Flag!"

"That idea would frighten some mothers, wouldn't it?" smiled Captain Jack Benson.

"Fighting battles is not a woman's business," replied Danvers, soberly and reverently. "Her task is to rear sons who shall be unafraid, and to leave the rest to the God of Battles."

The "Hastings" now drifted so lazily over the waters that Eph stood by the wheel, one hand resting indolently against the uppermost spokes.

The "Thor" had headed off, after watching the explosion of the torpedo, and was now considerably off the "Hastings's" port beam. The "Oakland," on the other hand, was heading up for an official view of what wasn't there in the shape of a derelict.

As she came in close the gunboat sounded three long, hoarse whistles.

"There are your congratulations from the board, Benson," laughed the naval lieutenant, then walked over to port. Jacob Farnum slipped out on the platform deck to hear any hail that might come from Uncle Sam's gunboat.

Danvers was no longer interested in the scene. Whatever was to come, he felt, would be tame compared with what he had recently seen.

So he stood, looking out dreamily over the waters at port. He saw the "Thor" head for the "Hastings," as though intending to come up. Then she veered off, heading eastward. At this instant the naval officer happened to have his glass to his eyes. He had just counted the number of people in sight on the Rhinds craft.

"All but one of the Rhinds crowd on deck," thought Mr. Danvers. "I don't make out that fellow, Radwin. He must be taking the engine trick."

Jack Benson also sauntered over to port side, though not with any intention of addressing the naval officer. Benson was not thinking of anything in particular as he glanced out over the waves.

Then, all of a sudden, the young submarine commander sprang alert with suspicion—next, certainty and horror!

Out there on the water something was moving—something headed toward the "Hastings." It came on with a swift, cleaving movement. There was a suspicion of a fin throwing up a little spray in the path of motion.

It was horrible—unbelievable!

The mere suspicion galvanized him into action.

Captain Jack's feet barely seemed to touch the deck as he leaped forward.

Eph was at the wheel, but there was no time to shout a frenzied order that might be misunderstood.

Besides, in the instant that he was in the air, young Benson had no sharply defined plan of what he was going to do.

But that fin over to port was the half-visible upper part of a moving torpedo! It was headed so as to intercept the "Hastings" on her slow, forward course.

If he rang for speed ahead, Captain Jack knew it might not come swiftly enough to carry his boat and its human load ahead to safety.

In any case, it must be a job of seconds. If Hal responded slowly to the signal—then destruction!

All this seemed to flash like lightning through the young commander's head as he made that leap for the wheel.

Somers being in the way, young Benson flung him violently aside.

Captain Jack's left hand grasped a spoke of the steering wheel; his right hand signaled violently for speed astern.

Would Hal respond in time to save them all?

XVIII. The Findings On the "Thor"

It was a breathless moment.

Captain Jack Benson, resting one hand on the wheel, gazed off at port side with fascinated stare.

Almost instantly a grating could be heard that must have come from the propeller shafts, though the young skipper, at that moment, was incapable of thinking of anything save that tiny fin-line out on the water.

Then the speed ahead of the submarine boat stopped. In another moment the little steel craft was creeping backward.

On came that fin-line.

There was nothing more that Jack could do, save to hold the wheel rigid.

On for the bow of the "Hastings" came the fin-line. Would that moving torpedo strike, hurling them all to destruction? It must have been by a hair's breath, but that fin-line crossed the bow of the submarine. It had gone on, beyond—harmlessly, now!

"What's that you're saying, Eph?" demanded Jack. "Oh, yes; you want to know why I bowled you over in that fashion. Because there wasn't time to speak. I was crazy to get the reverse gear at work, and take us out of the path of that torpedo aimed for us."

"Torpedo?" demanded Eph Somers, thunderstruck.

"Torpedo?" repeated Jacob Farnum, in bewilderment.

"Yes," broke in Lieutenant Danvers, stepping forward. "See, its force is expended, and now it's floating on the water over there off the starboard bow."

Jacob Farnum stared at it as though utterly unable to comprehend anything.

"I saw the thing coming our way," went on the naval officer, hastily,

"though not as soon as Benson did. By the time that I knew it, he was acting. So I held my peace, for, if Benson had failed—well, nothing would have mattered much—then!"

In a few more crisp, swift sentences; Danvers told the rest of it adding:

"It was Benson's quick coolness that saved us all from going skyward."

"No, it wasn't," broke in the youthful skipper, decisively. "It was Hal, who was right by his engines, who saved us. Had he acted on the signal a second and a half later that torpedo would have struck us plumb and fair."

"But who could have let a torpedo loose in that fashion?" stammered Farnum. "What accident—"

"Accident!" broke in Jack, sneeringly.

"Accident!" repeated Danvers, scornfully.

"Well, then, how—"

"Mr. Farnum," broke in Jack Benson, sternly, "that torpedo was fired by design, with intent to sink us!"

"What? Who—"

"I can't make any positive charge," it was Lieutenant Danvers's turn to say. "But I can offer certain evidence that I'll stick to anywhere.

Just a few seconds before that torpedo got so close to us I was noting the Rhinds boat, the 'Thor.' Her course was toward us, briefly. Then she turned off on another course."

"Do you mean to say that the Rhinds boat was turned our way at just the time when that torpedo could have left her, headed for us?" demanded Jacob Farnum.

"That's the whole indication," replied Lieutenant Danvers, firmly.

"Then what are we doing, waiting here?" cried the shipbuilder, angrily.

"Jack, now that that torpedo is spent, and lying harmless on the water, start up speed and head over that way. Go carefully, for, remember, any sudden shock against the war-head of the torpedo would set it off."

Jack signaled for slow speed ahead, the response coming promptly.

"Somers," directed Lieutenant Danvers, "get the signal bunting out, and I'll help you rig a signal to the 'Oakland.'"

It was the first time, on any of the cruises, that Danvers had attempted to give an order, or to take any part in the handling of the craft. But now he was about to make a serious report, as an officer of the United States Navy.

In a very few moments, Danvers and Somers working together, the necessary flags were out, and knotted to the line in their proper order.

"Hoist away!" ordered the lieutenant, himself giving a hand on the halliard.

Up the signal mast went the line of bunting, fluttering. The little flags spelled out this message to the gunboat:

"Evidence of serious foul play. Join us to investigate."

Almost immediately there came a signal from the bridge of the gunboat, to show that the message had been read.

Jack was now slowing down speed, making ready to lie to, a hundred yards or less from the floating torpedo.

"Mr. Farnum, Hal's always at his post," said Jack, "but call down to him to be sure to stick particularly close for the next few minutes. If the wind shifts, and heads that torpedo our way, I want to be sure of instant speed for getting out of the way."

The gunboat was now cruising leisurely over to where the "Hastings" waited. Danvers signed to the officer on the "Oakland's" bridge to keep an especial eye on the floating torpedo.

As the "Oakland" slowed up, a cutter, in charge of an ensign, put away from the gunboat's side.

"Ensign," shouted Lieutenant Danvers, "we shall feel obliged if you can lie alongside of that torpedo, and render the war-head harmless. We believe the torpedo to be fully loaded, and ready for instant action."

"I'll do what I can, sir, and as promptly as possible," replied the ensign, saluting his superior officer.

A few minutes later the working part of the torpedo's war-head had been removed by the boat's crew, and the torpedo itself was taken in tow.

"Now, Ensign, run in alongside, and take me on board," announced Lieutenant Danvers. "Mr. Benson, you'll go over to the 'Oakland' with me, of course?"

By this time the "Thor" had come about, and up within hailing distance of her Pollard rival.

"What's wrong? What has happened?" demanded John C. Rhinds, in a hoarse, croaking voice.

None aboard the "Hastings" took the trouble even to look in the direction of the speaker.

"Can't you hear, aboard the 'Hastings'?" insisted Rhinds.

But he had no better result than from his first hail.

In the meantime, Danvers and Jack, on reaching the gunboat, went at once before a council composed of the naval board and the commander of the gunboat.

The two witnesses told their story speedily and clearly.

"Can you swear that the torpedo was fired from the 'Thor,' Lieutenant?" inquired Captain Magowan, president of the naval board.

"I cannot, sir, but all the evidence points to the truth of my suspicion.

For one thing, while some of the submarines were in line with us, yet all were too far away to drive a torpedo that far. Besides, as I have stated, the 'Thor' turned briefly toward us, at just the time when the torpedo would have been fired from her, then swung around promptly."

All of the naval officers present showed, in their faces, the horror they felt over the situation.

"It does not seem to me," declared Captain Magowan, glancing around at his associates, "that there can be any doubt as to our course. The evidence, though wholly circumstantial, is about as strong as it could be."

"Besides which, sir," advanced Mr. Danvers, "The 'Thor' was provided with a stated number of torpedoes."

"Four," nodded Captain Magowan; "just as was the case with each of the other submarine boats."

"Then, if you search the 'Thor,' and find but three torpedoes aboard, now—"

"That will be all the evidence needed." admitted Captain Magowan. "We will make the search, and, on finding but three torpedoes aboard the 'Thor,' we will place everyone on board under arrest, and send the 'Thor' into port under charge of one of our own naval crews. Gentlemen, there is no need of further delay. Commander Ellis, I will ask of you a cutter, a crew, a corporal and a file of marines."

"The boat and men shall be ready at once, sir," replied the gunboat's commander, hastening from the room.

Grimly the three officers comprising the board rose and hooked their swords to their belts, for they were going on an official visit.

Nor was any time lost. Jack Benson and Lieutenant Danvers were ordered to accompany the members of the board.

So John Rhinds's question was destined to have a prompt answer, even if of a kind different from what he had expected.

On the platform deck of the "Thor," as the cutter approached, stood several men whose faces expressed the utmost astonishment.

And again Rhinds inquired, this time with a little tremor in his voice:

"What's wrong gentlemen? What has happened?"

"We're coming aboard," retorted Captain Magowan. "Have your men stand by to catch our lines."

John Rhinds submitted, in silence, while the members of the board, the corporal's file of marine rifles and Lieutenant Danvers boarded the "Thor." But when Jack started to bring up the rear Rhinds's voice rose in angry protest.

"That young Benson fellow can't come aboard here!" cried the old man, his cheeks purple, his eyes aflame with anger. "Benson represents a rival submarine company!"

"If he represents a dozen companies, he's coming aboard this time," retorted Captain Magowan, coldly. "Corporal, see to it that no interference with Mr. Benson is attempted."

"Yes, sir," replied the corporal, saluting.

So Jack came aboard, and took his place quietly beside Lieutenant Danvers.

"Mr. Rhinds," began Captain Magowan, solemnly, "a torpedo only just barely missed striking the 'Hastings' a while ago. We have evidence that your craft was pointing nose-on to the 'Hastings,' just before the torpedo appeared by the Pollard craft."

"Do you mean, sir, that we are charged with—or suspected of—firing a torpedo at a rival submarine boat?" demanded John Rhinds, heavily, in a voice vibrating with astonishment.

"Some of the evidence seems to point that way," returned Captain Magowan, dryly.

"Why, sir," began Rhinds, indignantly, "it's preposterous. It's—"

But Captain Magowan cut him short by a wave of the hand.

"What we want, now, Mr. Rhinds, is to go below and examine your stock of loaded torpedoes. You should have four on board. If you prove to have only three—"

"Step this way, gentlemen. Follow me," begged Mr. Rhinds, making a rather ceremonious bow. Then he led the way below. Danvers and Jack followed the others.

And here all hands encountered a tremendous surprise. The "Thor" still carried her full supply of four loaded torpedoes!

Over the intense astonishment that followed this discovery came the oily, tones of John C. Rhinds:

"Now, gentlemen, I won't speak of an apology, for I know you must have strong seeming reasons before you went so far as to suspect anyone aboard the 'Thor' of an atrocious crime. But, in the face of the evidence you have here, you will admit that it is impossible to attach any guilt to anyone aboard this craft."

"Well, Mr. Benson," broke in Captain Magowan, dumfounded.

"So it would seem," murmured the captain's two puzzled associates on the board.

"What the deuce can it mean?" was what Lieutenant Danvers said, but he was discreet enough to say it under his breath.

"Come, young Benson," challenged John Rhinds, "even you must admit that the 'Thor' shows a clean bill of moral health!"

"I'll admit that two and two make five, and that the moon is made of sage cheese," retorted Captain Jack. "I'll admit that the north pole is steam-heated. But—"

"Well, Mr. Benson," broke in Captain Magowan, crisply. "Why do you hesitate?"

"I believe, Captain," Jack went on, "that there are several questions that can yet be asked."

"Ask them, then, Mr. Benson," directed the president of the naval board.

"Yes, sir. Yet I would prefer that the questions be asked on deck, in the presence of the entire crew, and also of the naval officer who had been stationed on this craft during the cruise."

Ensign Pike was the officer of the Navy who had been on board the "Thor."

Pike had remained up on the platform deck during this scene.

"Very good," nodded Captain Magowan. "We will return to the deck. I can see that there are many questions to be asked."

On the deck, on first boarding, Jack Benson had noticed the absence of Fred Radwin. While they were below Jack had caught a glimpse of Radwin in the "Thor's" engine room.

When the naval board and the others reached the deck Captain Magowan had Captain Driggs, of the "Thor," and the members of the boat's crew lined up together.

"Have you any questions that you wish to ask, Mr. Benson?" the president of the board inquired.

"Yes, sir. At the time that the torpedo passed our boat I would like to know just who of the 'Thor's' complement were below."

"Can you answer that, Mr. Driggs?" demanded Captain Magowan.

Driggs was a bronzed, shrewd-looking man of forty, with a face that looked rather sound and wholesome.

"Yes, sir," replied Driggs, promptly. "Mr. Radwin had volunteered to relieve the man on duty in the engine room. Mr. Radwin was below at the time, sir."

"And who else?"

"No one else at that time, sir."

"I think I can confirm that, Captain," broke in Lieutenant Danvers. "I had just studied the deck of this craft through my marine glass, and I remember remarking to myself that Radwin appeared to be the only one of this boat's complement who was not on deck."

Fred Radwin was now summoned, Captain Magowan and Jack both plying him with questions. It all came to nothing, however. Radwin remained wholly cool and gave his inquisitors no satisfaction.

Ensign Pike stated that he had had no knowledge of any torpedo having been driven from the "Thor." Yet Pike admitted that this might very easily have happened without his knowing it, since the discharge of a torpedo would hardly make enough noise to carry from below to the after part of the platform deck.

"But, anyway," insisted John Rhinds, blandly, "you must admit, Captain, that our possession of the full number of torpedoes allowed us is proof positive that we haven't been firing even one of them."

"That showing is certainly in your favor, Mr. Rhinds," admitted the president of the naval board, coldly. "I cannot see that the evidence at present available allows of my ordering anyone under arrest. I am bound, in view of the fact that suspicion has pointed your way, to state that I intend to leave the corporal and four of the marine privates aboard. On the home cruise a marine sentry will be posted, all the time, close to the after port of your torpedo tube."

"It is humiliating—very," sighed Mr. Rhinds. "Still, I shall be the last to offer any objection to any arrangement that seems wise to the members of the naval board."

The corporal and four of his marines were therefore left under command of Ensign Pike, with instructions to see to it that constant guard was kept by the torpedo tube.

No allusion to the evidence could be made before the members of the cutter's crew on the way back. Captain Magowan led his own party to the office of the commander of the gunboat.

"Er—gentlemen—" began Magowan, slowly, "I must admit that our most elaborate case of circumstantial evidence seems to be knocked into a cocked hat by the one substantial fact that the 'Thor' still has her full number of torpedoes on board."

"Then you don't believe that torpedo came from the 'Thor's' tube, Captain?" asked Jack Benson.

"I don't know what I believe," confessed the president of the board, shaking his head. "It seems to be clearly established that no other submarine was near enough to have fired a torpedo to cover the range I have just been informed by Commander Ellis that the recovered torpedo has been examined, and has proved to have contained the full war charge.

More as a matter of form than anything else we will now order the remaining submarine boats alongside, and have them searched for a missing torpedo."

That search was accordingly made, but not one of the boats had a torpedo less than the four that it was supposed to carry.

The object of the lightning cruise having been accomplished, in the destruction of the half-sunken derelict, the order was given to sail back to Groton Bay at less speed than had been used on the outward trip.

As far as evidence went the mystery of the attempt to destroy the "Hastings" appeared to be as big a mystery as ever.

XIX. On the Other Side of the Forced Door

It was nearly dark, on the day following, when the submarine flotilla made its way up Groton Bay.

As soon as the craft was at its moorings the "Hastings" was immediately lighter by the going of one passenger.

Jacob Farnum went post-haste to the hospital, to inquire after David Pollard's condition.

The inventor was in a good deal of pain, yet cheerful. The surgeons reported that his broken bones were healing slowly.

The chauffeur, too, was coming along as well as was possible, though he had been much worse hurt than had the inventor.

Grant Andrews and his workmen were aboard the "Benson." Half of the party was now prepared to come aboard the "Hastings" whenever called.

"Going ashore, Jack?" inquired Eph Somers.

"Not before Mr. Farnum returns. Nor do I believe any of us had better go ashore, without his express permission, old fellow," Benson replied.

Three gentlemen who did go ashore almost immediately after arrival were the members of the naval board.

Soon after, an order came for the removal of all torpedoes from the Rhinds boats. After that the corporal's guard was relieved from duty aboard the "Thor."

"And thus ends that chapter of the story, I reckon," grimly ventured Jack, when he saw the gunboat's cutter convey the corporal's guard away from the Rhinds submarine.

Jacob Farnum came back in the early evening. Lieutenant Danvers was ashore, which left only the regular crew of the "Hastings" on board.

Grant Andrews and his men mounted guard over the two Pollard boats through the night, which left the captain and crew free to sleep—which they did with a royal good will.

No orders came over from the naval board, which fact made it look as though no new tests would be required immediately.

The next forenoon, at about ten o'clock, Eph discovered that the Seawold boat was leaving her moorings. Young Somers watched that lesser rival start down the bay before he dropped below to report the fact to Benson.

"What can it mean?" wondered the young captain, going hastily on deck.

"Is the Seawold craft going into some test that we're not asked to meet?"

"If so," ventured Hal Hastings, "why isn't one of the gunboats putting out to sea with her."

"Here's Lieutenant Danvers coming off shore," announced Somers. "Perhaps he'll have some news."

Danvers boarded the "Hastings," but the shore boat waited alongside.

"I'm not going to stay. Just dropped alongside for a moment," explained Danvers.

"I thought maybe you were coming on board so that we could go out on some test," suggested Captain Jack.

"There are to be no tests to-day," replied Danvers.

"Then what's that craft of the Seawold Company doing down the bay by herself?" Benson inquired.

"By Jove, she's going to have company, too," declared Eph. "There goes the Blackson boat out."

"And, probably, you'll soon see the Griffith and Day craft get under way," smiled Lieutenant Danvers.

"What does it mean?" insisted Captain Jack.

"That's the news," replied the naval officer.

Jack waited, somewhat open-mouthed.

"The fact is," continued Lieutenant Danvers, "such tests as we have already had have been sufficient to eliminate four of the six contestants for the favor of the Navy Department. This morning Captain Magowan, as president of the board, received a telegram from the Navy Department to the effect that four of the submarine types had been outclassed. The contest now lies between the Rhinds and the Pollard boats."

"We've beaten the Rhinds boats, too," muttered Jack.

"Yes; though not by such large margins as to rule the Rhinds boats out of all consideration," replied Lieutenant Danvers.

"So the Rhinds boat is to be our rival in future tests—our only rival?" cried Jack, eagerly.

"Yes, and—not speaking as an official, Mr. Benson—I very much incline to the belief that you can go on beating any one of the three Rhinds submarines with either of the pair that you have here. But the point is that the national government may prefer to have two types of boats. It begins to look, as far as indications can point, as though the Secretary of the Navy has some idea of ordering some Pollard boats for the Navy, and also some Rhinds boats."

"I wonder if the Secretary of the Navy has heard anything about the nasty way in which the Rhinds outfit tried to sink us at sea day before yesterday?" muttered Captain Jack, half savagely.

"I imagine some word of the kind has gone on to the Navy Department," replied Danvers, "I really don't know though."

"That nasty trick ought to be enough to bar the Rhinds boats," grumbled Captain Benson.

"But, you see, my dear fellow, there's just one trouble," answered the naval officer. "Think whatever you may please about the guilt of Rhinds, or of Radwin, or some one under them, but where's the proof. On search the 'Thor' was found to have the full number of torpedoes issued to her.

Now, government departments must be guided by evidence."

"Humph!" sighed Jack. "As things have turned out, I'd sooner beat the Rhinds crowd than all the other submarine crowds together."

"I hope you do," rejoined the Lieutenant. "However, my belief is that the government will order some of your company's boats, and some of the Rhinds craft. About the only question, really, is who gets the larger order—and how much larger."

Jacob Farnum had come from his stateroom, and had listened to this talk in silence.

"How do you feel about it, Mr. Farnum?" asked the naval officer.

"I shall have to be satisfied with whatever share of the business my company can secure, of course," replied the shipbuilder. "Yet we know, and so does everyone, that we have proved the Pollard type of boat to be better than its nearest rival."

"Well, success to you all, and the largest measure of it possible!" wished Lieutenant Danvers, rising and shaking hands warmly all around.

"For my part, I'd like to see you get orders, at once, for fifty boats, leaving all your rivals out in the cold. And now I must go on over to the 'Oakland.'"

Messrs. Rhinds and Radwin were on shore, at the hotel, but they had received word of the departure of four of the rival boats, and knew the reason for that departure.

"This," cried John Rhinds, getting up and pacing the room, while he smoked fast, "is the stage at which the game gets on my nerves!"

"Yes," agreed Radwin, though he spoke rather lazily. "It's fine to have only one rival left in the field, but it's discouraging to know that we're number two, and that the other fellow holds number one rank.

Rhinds, I wonder if we can really get an order for any of our boats from the government. I hope that we can, at least, get rid of the three that we have on hand."

"Three?" uttered the president of the Rhinds Submarine Company, scornfully. "I'm going to sell the government at least a dozen!"

As he spoke, he struck his clenched fists together angrily.

"How?" asked Radwin.

"And, on the strength of having the United States' order for a dozen boats, I'm certain then, of being able to place orders for two or three dozen more boats with foreign governments."

"How are you going to place the order for a dozen with the United States government?" insisted Fred Radwin.

"How? By the very simple method of getting all the Congressmen and Senators of our state at work. Fred, I have just about all of the Congressional delegation from our state pestering the Secretary of the Navy until we get our order. The Congressmen from our own state will be glad to see me get the business."

"Why?"

"Don't be a simpleton, Radwin! If we have to build a dozen submarines, we have to hire a lot of workmen, don't we? And I'm always careful to engage workmen who have votes. Besides, such a volume of business would turn loose a lot of new capital and wages in our part of the state.

Oh, we can trust our Congressmen, Fred, to get us a big slice of this submarine business."

"I hope our miss-fire trick, out at sea day before yesterday, won't hurt our chances any," whispered Fred Radwin, musingly. "Why did you do that fool thing?" whispered Rhinds, with a dark look at his secretary.

"Why did I fail, you mean?" hissed Radwin. "Oh, don't try to throw any reproaches at me, now. You were willing enough to help me send that torpedo over at the 'Hastings.'"

"I can't understand how the torpedo missed," shivered Rhinds.

"Well, you were at the wheel," retorted Radwin in a low undertone. "You held the nose of the boat true enough, too, I guess, when I let the torpedo drive. But that infernal Jack Benson was on the watch, and he saw the thing coming. Of course he stopped his boat and put the reverse clutch on just in the nick of time. That young Benson always appears to be in the nick of time!"

"So much so," wavered John Rhinds, "that I'm beginning to feel decidedly superstitious about that young fellow. He'll land us, yet, in something, and ruin us."

"No, he won't!" hissed Radwin, sharply. "Benson hasn't landed us yet, has he? And he's not going to, either! I've one or two rods in pickle for that forward young scamp, and I'll serve him to a fare-you-well yet!

Rhinds, I may yet find a way that will insure our getting all the submarine orders!"

"You're ingenious enough, I know, Fred," admitted the older man, in a worried voice. "I hope you'll win for us. It will be money enough in your pocket to satisfy even you, Fred. Still, I'm worried by the way your plans against Benson have already missed fire."

Out in the hallway, at that moment, they heard a voice that made them both start. The voice was not loud, but it was angry, determined, and carried well. It was the voice of a man sweeping aside the objections of a hotel servant.

"Don't tell me they're not in, you idiot!"

"The servant I paid to be on the lookout is trying to steer away some one that insists on seeing us," whispered Fred Radwin, listening intently.

"Neither of the gentlemen are in, I tell you, sir," replied the hotel servant, doggedly.

"Get out of the way, fellow! I know the number of their suite of rooms, and I'm going to it. I don't want to hurt you, fellow, but I'm the Chief of Police, and I mean to see Mr. Radwin without delay!"

"The Chief of Police!" gasped Radwin, feeling his knees weaken under him.

He and Rhinds stared uneasily at each other.

"You see him first," whispered Fred Radwin. "I've some things in my pockets that I wouldn't want the chief of police to find. Hold the police fellow by telling him I'll be right in."

With that Radwin slipped to the door of a connecting room in the suite.

He passed through, closing the door noiselessly and slipping the key in the lock.

An instant later John Rhinds opened his door out into the hallway.

"Who is it to see us?" he called.

"It's I, Ward, time Chief of Police," replied the caller, stepping into the room. "You are Mr.—"

"Rhinds."

"I wish to see your Mr. Radwin. I have a message for him."

"Be seated, Chief," urged the rascal. "Mr. Radwin will be here in a moment."

"Where is Radwin now?" demanded the chief.

"In the next room. He'll be here in a moment."

"Did he go through that door?" asked Chief Ward.

"Yes."

"Then I'll see him at once," replied the official.

He stepped over and tried the knob of the door. Finding the bolt shot, Chief Ward promptly put his stalwart shoulder to the door. At the second bump the door yielded. Ward burst into the next room, then on to the third.

"Why did you trick me, Mr. Rhinds?" called the chief, angrily.

"I? Why—I—"

Radwin was not to be found.

The Chief of Police, angry at being baffled in his search for Radwin, went away declaring that he would have an order issued for the arrest of Rhinds as an accessory.

XX. Captain Jack Pulls a New String

Radwin did not return.

Though looking outwardly composed, John C. Rhinds passed the next few hours in a condition of internal unrest.

Why did Chief Ward want to see Fred Radwin? And why had the latter tricked himself off out of sight? These questions tormented Rhinds the more because he could not even invent satisfactory answers to them.

"Is the chief of police acting on anyone else's orders?" quavered the old man. "Has Fred betrayed himself in anything he has done? Is he a fugitive from justice? Oh, mercy! What a situation just when I am trying to put the deals through that shall make the Rhinds Submarine Company the richest concern of its kind in the world!"

By the middle of the afternoon Rhinds heard the newsboys calling something excitedly down in the street.

"What's that? What's that?" gasped the old man, holding one hand to his ear. "Sounds like 'Dastardly plot—submarine mystery.' Can it be anything to injure our chances?"

As he looked down into the street, from the altitude of the third floor window, Rhinds saw that, whatever the news, the boys appeared to be selling papers fast.

For a few seconds Rhinds wavered. Then he crossed the room to the telephone.

"Send me up the latest editions of the newspapers," he 'phoned the clerk in the office. After that he lighted a big, black cigar—and waited, mopping the perspiration from his forehead.

After a few moments there came a knock at the door, and Rhinds opened it. He noticed that the bell-boy looked at him somewhat queerly as the papers were handed over. Then, having closed the door and locked it, John Rhinds sank into a chair, holding up three newspapers, in turn, and scanning the big, black headlines.

Yes; here it all was—the whole story in every essential detail. It told of the mysterious attempt to destroy the "Hastings" at the end of the lightning cruise. The stories contained Lieutenant Danvers's statement that the "Thor" had been headed toward the "Hastings" just a few seconds before the torpedo passed the Pollard boat's bows.

There was an account of the naval party's search of the "Thor," and the fact that the latter craft was found to have her full number of torpedoes on board was set forth in all fairness. Oh, yes! The story was fair enough! No newspapermen could have been fairer than had the chroniclers of this exciting submarine news. There were no accusations against Rhinds or his associates—nothing but the fair, unbiased telling of facts. And yet, in almost any reader's mind the opinion would be quick to form that only from the "Thor" could the treacherous torpedo have been fired.

"Oh, it's—it's awful!" cried John Rhinds, waving the papers over his head like a madman.

Jack Benson had played his master stroke in this new game.

In former times, when the Pollard boats had been all but unknown, Captain Jack had been quick to grasp the importance of newspaper fame.

As told in the second volume of this series, Jack had once invited a big party of newspaper folks to Dunhaven, to observe some startling performances by the Pollard boat. At that time he had given them a programme so full of excitement that the fame of the Pollard boat had been flashed over the country, and the Navy Department had found public opinion clamoring for the United States Navy to own and control a few of these wonderful craft.

And now, Jack Benson, wholly and absolutely convinced of the guilt of Rhinds and Radwin, had gone to the local daily newspaper offices with his account of what had happened out at sea.

It was a great stroke. Yet Captain Jack had not undertaken it without first having secured the permission of Jacob Farnum. After Jack went to the newspaper offices the Colfax reporters had busied themselves with interviewing naval officers, including members of the naval board.

And now the story was out, for the world to read. Yet it was a statement only of bare, easily proved facts. The newspapers were glad to have such a startling yarn, and it had been told in such a way that John Rhinds did not have a single chance in any suit he might bring for libel.

After the first shock that the discovery caused him, John C. Rhinds began to suspect Jack's hand in this straight-from-the-shoulder blow.

"It's that young Benson again!" he raged, silently, rising and stamping on the offending, yet truth-telling, newspapers. "And this will get beyond Colfax! The newspapers of the larger cities will begin to hear of this by evening. To-night this whole yarn will be flashing over the telegraph wires of the country. Tomorrow morning millions of people will be reading this awful stuff. Oh, if I could only tear that young fellow to pieces!"

John Rhinds gnashed his teeth in his fury. Had he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, just then, the man would have been afraid of his own reflection.

Yet, with all his guilty knowledge of what he had encouraged Radwin to do, it did not occur to Rhinds to lay the blame anywhere except upon the shoulders of honest, though hard fighting, Captain Jack Benson.

Presently, John Rhinds cooled down.

He even became suave and smiling—though under the smile a ghastly pallor lay on his cheeks.

This change of outward temper was all because he was forced to become crafty before others.

It is a common way with many newspapers to leap on a man and trounce him, figuratively speaking, and then to send reporters around to see how the victim has enjoyed the flaying.

That was what happened to John Rhinds.

Within half an hour after the newspapers had come to him a message over the telephone from the hotel office informed the president of the Rhinds Submarine Company that a reporter was below who wished to interview Mr. Rhinds.

"Ah! Er—huh!" choked the wretch, swallowing hard. "Have the young gentleman shown up, of course. And send up any other reporters who may ask for me."

By the time that the first reporter reached the door Rhinds had carefully removed all traces of the torn newspapers. The old man was calm. He even smiled slightly, though he affected to be stung to the soul by the thought that any American could think that he, or any of his party aboard the "Thor" could have been guilty of such a fearful attempt of crime.

"But of course, young man," urged Rhinds, suavely, "you will be able, through the great power of the press for right, to set all suspicions at rest. You will, I beg of you, give renewed publicity to the fact that we were found to have our full number of torpedoes aboard. That one fact, of course, disposes of any suspicion that we could have thought of doing such a fearful thing."

The reporter was young, but he was not lacking in shrewdness. This boyish-looking journalist had interviewed smooth-talking scoundrels before.

"There is one little point I would like to inquire about, Mr. Rhinds," hinted this reporter, chewing at the end of his pencil.

"A dozen—a hundred points—anything you want to know!" protested the man who was being interviewed.

"Thank you," nodded the reporter, coolly. "Now, it is a well-established fact that you had your full number of torpedoes aboard, when the naval officers searched. But have you any place on board the 'Thor' that would serve as a hiding place for an extra torpedo—an extra torpedo that might, let us say, have been obtained in any one of a number of ways?"

John C. Rhinds began to feel great waves of chill passing up and down his spine. Hang this smiling, boyish reporter! Rhinds began to feel that he hated this young man next to Jack Benson!

"No!" shouted the interviewed one, hoarsely, angrily. "We have no such hiding place on board. We have no place that could be used for hiding an extra torpedo."

The reporter nodded, then continued with a cool smile:

"Thank you, Mr. Rhinds, for answering so important a question on such a vitally important point. It is very important to have the suspicion disposed of that such a hiding place might exist."

"Very important," confirmed John Rhinds, leaning forward in his most impressive manner. "And you have my authority for settling the point for good and all."

"So that, of course, Mr. Rhinds," pursued the cool, smiling young reporter, "you will be most glad when I suggest to you the importance of allowing a commission composed of, say, an editor and two reporters from the 'Gazette' to go aboard the 'Thor,' search for such a hiding place, and then be prepared to inform the world that no such hiding place exists on the 'Thor.'"

That proposition came like a torpedo itself; it struck, too, below the water-line of John Rhinds's hard-won composure.

"Why do you—?" he stammered. Then the wretch forced himself to be cool again.

"No, my young friend, I am sorry to say that that would not be practicable. You see, a submarine craft is full of secrets. Outside of our own crew none but officers of the Navy can be permitted to go below the platform deck of any of my boats."

"Oh, well, then," nodded the reporter, "the 'Gazette' can clamor for a naval board to be appointed to make the search, and at once. That will serve the purpose as well, Mr. Rhinds—and it will answer the most burning question that the public will want to ask."

Then came the other reporters. Rhinds saw them all, wore before them all the mask of wounded innocence, showed them all how easily they might allay all public suspicions.

Then, when the last reporter had departed, John Rhinds, feeling too weak to stand, sank down upon a sofa, covering his face with his hands.

Thus, for some time he lay, hardly giving signs of life. His fright was great, indeed.

In striking this blow young Captain Jack Benson had struck far harder than he had even dreamed.

When Rhinds began to realize things once more he missed Fred Radwin—Radwin, the seeming fugitive, who had run away from his foul leader at the first sound of a police voice.

Still, it was possible that Radwin was not far away. Possible, also, that in this fact lay time greatest danger that had ever menaced Jack Benson.

XXI. Jack Meets a Human Fact, Face to Face

There was no thought of dinner for John Rhinds that evening.

After the newspaper men had gone the artful schemer spent a long time in drafting two or three telegrams that he felt it necessary to send to members of his state's Congressional delegation at Washington.

In the telegrams that were finally sent, the president of the Rhinds Submarine Company referred to himself as apparently the victim of a very clever but diabolical plot to ruin his company. He asked the members of Congress for his state to see to it that he was given a full opportunity for justice.

"Justice? Ugh!" muttered the old man, as he scanned one of his telegrams. "Well—er—not if it means punishment!"

Hardly had he sent away these telegrams, and even as he was giving thought to sending down an order to have dinner served in his rooms, Rhinds received a telegram from the editor of a New York daily, asking for his version of the torpedo mystery.

From the wording of the telegram, it was plain that the story had gotten as far as New York, and that the editor regarded it as the big, sensational news story of the hour.

Groaning, Rhinds bent over to begin work on this new telegram that was demanded of him. It proved to be a hard message to write. Even while he worked over the difficult problem, a second telegram arrived, this from the editor of a Philadelphia morning paper. Then came two from Boston.

"Good heavens! I can't keep up this pace," groaned John Rhinds. "These editors won't even give me time for sleep."

Sudden blackness came over his eyes as he sat back, trying to think it all out.

"I can't answer any of these telegrams," he muttered, tearing up the offending messages. "Oh, why did Radwin have to take wings at the very time when I need him most! Fred Radwin, with his cool nerve, his steely eyes and his glib, lying tongue, would have been ready with answers for all these questions. But I can't do it. I'll need a strait-jacket, if these telegrams continue to arrive!"

Yet several more telegrams did come in, from newspapers in various Eastern states. Rhinds read them, groaned and tore up the messages.

Then he smoked strong cigars, one after another, but that only made his nerves worse. When he went to bed, late that night, he slept some, yet it was mainly to dream hideous dreams.

In the early morning Rhinds sent for morning newspapers. These contained what he had said to local reporters, but his version, with the newspapers' comments added, only made matters worse. "That infernal 'Gazette,'" in especial, printed, in bold type, the account of his refusal to let a committee of newspapermen examine his boat for a secret hiding place large enough to hold an extra torpedo.

That forenoon shore boats did a thriving business in carrying people out on trips around the Pollard and Rhinds submarines. Trains brought in folks from other towns, all anxious for a glimpse of the submarine craft.

"This will drive me wild, yet," groaned Mr. Rhinds. "It's an outrageous shame."

Still, there was little realization, on his part, that he deserved all this, and more.

**********

"Jack, my boy," muttered Jacob Farnum, looking up from a batch of morning newspapers in the cabin of the "Hastings," "You've been the means of stirring up a bigger hurricane than ever raged at sea."

"Are you sorry?" asked the young submarine captain, coolly.

"Well, considering my private opinion of Mr. John C. Rhinds, and my belief as to what he did—or tried to do—to us, I can't say I'm deeply grieved," returned the shipbuilder.

Then time shipbuilder looked around him, at all three of the submarine boys, as he went on:

"Lads, we've been cramped up on this boat long enough, so I'm going to take you ashore this evening. But remember—not a word to reporters, or to anyone else. If any one of you opens his mouth on this subject, I shall consider that young man no longer a friend of mine."

All this while Chief Ward, of the Colfax police department, was busily engaged in seeking tidings of the missing Fred Radwin. But Radwin, after entering that adjoining room, appeared to have been swallowed up.

Jack had heard, from the chief of police, of the disappearance of Radwin.

This was one feature of the story that the newspapers had as yet failed to discover. However, Ward believed that Radwin was now hundreds of miles away, and still traveling. So, when the Pollard submarine party came ashore that evening, none of them gave much thought to Radwin.

Farnum led his young friends, as heretofore, to the Somerset House.

"We might possibly meet Rhinds in the lobby, or in the dining room," said the shipbuilder, "but I don't deem it likely. Rhinds is undoubtedly keeping hid within his own walls upstairs."

This guess proved to be a good one. Farnum and his friends dined at the Somerset without being offended by a sight of the face of their rival in business.

A special waiter was stationed to head off reporters or other curious people who might attempt to interview the submarine diners. So the meal proceeded in peace, though it was rather late when the diners finished.

"Whew! Nearly nine o'clock," muttered Farnum, glancing up at a big clock on a near-by wall. "And I haven't been out to the hospital, to-day, to see how Dave is coming along."

"Would it do to telephone, and ask the hospital people to let Mr. Pollard know you had inquired?" suggested Hal.

"Don't just like that idea," replied Mr. Farnum, shaking his head. "It doesn't sound just like using Dave Pollard right. I'll tell you what, however. I've been the only one to go out to the hospital, so far.

Dave always asks after the rest of you. Jack, suppose you take a hack and make the trip out. If they won't let you see Dave at this hour, then inquire how he is getting along, and leave your card to be sent in to him. But, if you can see Dave Pollard, he'll be delighted to have a look at your face. There's a cab standing out in front of the hotel, and it won't take you but a few minutes to get out to the hospital."

"Where'll I find you?" asked Jack, rising at once.

"We'll wait in the lobby of the hotel until you get back. Use the cab both ways."

There was, as Mr. Farnum had said, a cab outside the hotel. That cab, in fact, had been hanging about since just before dark.

Most of the time it stood drawn up at the curb on the opposite side of the street.

Three or four times, during the early evening, different persons had tried to engage the use of this cab.

Yet, to each prospective customer, the driver had shaken his head, uttering the one word:

"Engaged."

So the cab still waited, the driver occasionally moving to a somewhat new position, though always keeping well in sight of the hotel entrance.

As Captain Jack Benson stepped out through the broad doorway, however, on his errand of friendship, the driver, throwing away a half-smoked cigar, suddenly whipped up his horse, driving close to the entrance.

"Cab, sir" hailed the driver. "To any part of the city."

"You know where the hospital is?" inquired Jack Benson.

"Oh, yes."

"How long will it take to drive me there?"

"Ten or twelve minutes."

"All right. And I shall want you to wait there, a little while, and then bring me back. How much will that be?"

"Dollar and a half, sir."

"Go ahead," directed Jack, springing inside and pulling the door shut.

The only time Benson had been to the hospital before was on the morning of the accident.

At that time he had not noticed the road very closely. Now, at night, all looked so different to him that he had no idea whether or not he was being driven in the right direction. He left all that to the driver, as most people do when employing cabs.

"I'd like just a little peep-in at Rhinds tonight," thought Jack, as he settled back against the comfortable upholstery. "I reckon he knows, by this time, something of the way of the transgressor."

If the young submarine captain noticed anything at all of the way the driver was taking him, he saw only that the vehicle was rolling through a quiet, rather shabby, ill-lighted portion of the city.

Thus the cab went, down street after street, the horses moving only at the slowest trot.

"What this cab needs is one of our gasoline engines," thought Jack, lazily. Then, suddenly:

"No, sir! By gracious, no! That would make an automobile out of this old tub on wheels, and, until Mr. Pollard gets whole again, anyway, we've had enough of automobiles. One of our crowd in hospital, at a time, is plenty!"

Then there came a moment in which the cab stopped so suddenly that the young skipper was all but thrown from his seat.

"Gracious!" uttered the submarine boy. "Who's torpedoing us?"

But, at that instant, Jack Benson received a more genuine shock.

For the left-hand door of the vehicle was wrenched suddenly open. In the doorway appeared the white, ugly, desperate face of Fred Radwin!

Without a word, Radwin threw himself forward, making a leap into the carriage.

XXII. A Cornered Submarine Captain

"You—get—out!"

Quick as thought Jack Benson raised his left foot, planting it, as vigorously as his sitting position allowed, against the ribs of Fred Radwin.

That worthy, one foot on the sill, and bent in the act of entering fell back, going in a heap to the sidewalk.

Benson fairly hurled himself through the open door in his need of reaching the sidewalk in time.

He stood, now waiting for a second or so.

Then Fred Radwin jumped up, prepared to grapple with this young foeman.

But Jack was ready for that. He had ready a handy sailor jab—a short-arm blow with the fist that sent Radwin once more to the sidewalk.

Then, as scientific boxing rules were not called for in an encounter of this kind, Jack followed up his advantages with two severe kicks.

Down from the seat leaped the driver, heavy whip in hand.

"Oh, you're in this, are you?" panted Jack, seeing that the driver was headed straight for him.

Down low ducked the submarine boy; then came up straight at close quarters. Benson's sudden grapple deprived the driver of a chance to use the butt of his whip in the manner the fellow had intended.

Yet the driver was a powerful fellow, his strength making him about a match for the greater agility of the bronzed young skipper.

Jack managed to land a blow or two against his big assailant, though without doing much harm.

Yet the submarine boy was undismayed and confident, until, out of the corner of one eye, he saw Radwin rising and advancing cautiously to close in.

Young Benson's opportunity came at just that instant. Smack! He landed his right fist in the driver's face, almost dazing him. With the left fist Jack struck himself free.

But Radwin was just upon him as the boy turned.

"No, you don't!" mocked Captain Jack, ducking down, kangaroo-fashion.

"Day-day!"

That low crouch and the following spring had carried the submarine boy just under Fred Radwin's outstretched right arm.

And now, Jack Benson, being past both of his assailants, took refuge in discreet flight, in fact, he ran down the street with about every pound of human steam turned on.

"Come on!" snarled Radwin, setting the sprinting pace. "We've got to catch that rascally boy, and mighty quick, too!"

This block or two of the street appeared to be deserted. There was no telling, however, how soon the submarine boy might run into two or three real men who would take his side in any scrimmage that was due.

Though Radwin had the first start after Jack, and was running well, the driver, a long-legged fellow with splendid "wind" soon passed his leader.

Jack realized that he was in danger of being caught, and tried to put on a greater burst of speed. Yet the driver came closer and closer.

Whizz-zz!

The driver had aimed his heavy whip, lance-fashion, and butt-end first, and launched it after the fugitive.

Had not Jack turned the instant before, to glance backward, the whip would have struck him in the back of the head. But Benson saw it coming, and threw himself forward, his head went down.

The whip, therefore, flew just over his head, striking the sidewalk ahead of him.

At that moment Jack Benson tripped. He did not mean to do it. He simply fell and landed on his knees, his head low.

On came the sprinting driver. It was too late to stop or turn. Over Jack Benson plunged the fellow, then landed in a heap on the sidewalk.

Jack was up like a flash. He heard a yell from the driver, but Benson's gaze was upon the whip.

At a bound the submarine boy possessed himself of this weapon. He got it, just in time, too, to wheel and face Fred Radwin, threatening that fellow with the heavy butt-end of the driver's recent weapon.

"Get up behind the boy, you fool!" hissed Radwin.

"Sure, I can't," moaned the fellow, rubbing himself, real anguish sounding in his voice. "My neck's broke!"

"Come on yourself, Radwin!" mocked Jack, backing against the wall of a house so that he could face either assailant at need.

"Drop that whip, and I will!" hissed Fred Radwin, stealthily manoeuvering about the boy, yet held back by a wholesome awe of that butt-end of the whip.

"No; I like this whip too well," chuckled young Benson. "You can't have it unless you take it from me. Want to try?"

"Come on, and get up, you dolt!" growled Radwin to the driver. "Do you think we have all night to settle with this boy?"

"I can't get up, I tell you. I'm no good," moaned the driver. "I don't know what I did to myself when I went down so hard."

"Hurry up!" insisted Radwin. "A crowd may come along at any moment."

"Let 'em," moaned the driver. "I can't stop it. I'll apologize."

At that very moment there came the sound of a shout further down the street. Other voices answered.

"There, you dolt!" cried Radwin, angrily. "Now, you've wasted our last chance. Here comes a mob!"

Backing off, Radwin grabbed up his useless comrade, forcing the driver to his feet.

Seeing his enemy so occupied, Jack Benson edged off, holding the whip so that he could use it.

From down the street came the sound of flying feet. Then, just as suddenly the speed lessened.

"I'll wait until I get help, and I'll grab this pair," muttered Captain Jack. "The police chief will be delighted at having a good, close look at Fred Radwin!"

At that moment loud yells and coarse cries broke from the eight or ten young men down the street. Then fist-blows sounded.

"Mine's a Chinaman's luck," grunted Jack Benson, disgustedly. "Only a gang of drunken hoodlums down there. They'd stand in with anything that is against the police. No use depending on such human cattle."

Jack, in fact, grasped the significance of the new riot a little before Fred Radwin did. The submarine boy, therefore, wheeled and ran swiftly toward the fighting hoodlums, though wholly intent on getting past them.

Radwin, believing that the young skipper was racing for help, dragged his driver-companion roughly, swiftly along, finally pushing him inside the hack. Then Radwin leaped to the box, gathered up the reins, and was away like a flash.

The young submarine skipper, from what he knew of hoodlum street crowds, hurried by on the other side. Two blocks further along Benson encountered a tardy policeman. Knowing that it was now too late to hope to catch Fred Radwin, Jack contented himself with inquiring the way back to the Somerset House, where he arrived, after a long walk, still carrying the whip as his trophy of the late encounter.

"You'll have to telephone the hospital, after all, I'm afraid," muttered the young skipper, when he met Mr. Farnum and the others in the lobby.

"What happened?" demanded Farnum, eyeing the whip curiously.

"As soon as I can get through with telephoning the chief of police, I'll come back and tell you."

Chief Ward responded in person. He examined the whip, then declared:

"I know the fellow this whip belongs to—Claridy, 'the fox,' as his admiring friends call him. He's a bad character. See; here is a fox's head engraved on the whip-stock. I'll do my best to find Claridy, and, in that way, I may find the fellow, Radwin. But you were wise, Benson, in not trying to enlist help from that hoodlum gang. Our hoodlums are as bad and lawless as are to be found anywhere in the United States."

XXIII. A Coward's Last Ditch

In the morning the Somerset House was favored by two rather distinguished guests.

One was Rear Admiral Townsley, the other Congressman Simms. The two had come down together from Washington on the night train.

While the admiral communicated at once with Captain Magowan, Congressman Simms sent his card up to John C. Rhinds. The latter, all a-quiver, now, and showing a haggard face in which smiles fought for a chance, received his visitor.

"Well, Rhinds," was the Congressman's greeting, "the country is all stirred up over this submarine incident out at sea. So is the Navy Department, which is bound to respond to public opinion in such a case."

"I'm glad you've come," replied Mr. Rhinds, eagerly. "I look to you to save me from a most unpleasant, most unmerited charge."

"No charge has been made against you—yet," replied the Congressman.

"I should have said a suspicion," replied Rhinds, tremulously.

"That suspicion seems to be pretty general," answered the member of Congress. "Have you anything to smoke here?"

Rhinds, with an almost childish eagerness, brought forth a box of cigars, adding:

"I'll ring and order breakfast served for you here, while we talk."

"Thank you, no," responded the Congressman. "I've got to move fast to-day, for I can't spend much time here. I suppose you don't know, yet, that Admiral Townsley is here—sent by the Secretary of the Navy to investigate and report on this matter."

"You'll see him—you'll make him understand, won't you?" demanded Rhinds, eagerly.

"You can't make Townsley understand anything but facts," replied Mr. Simms, dryly. "I know the man. He's a hard-headed truth-seeker. You see, Rhinds, when I received your telegram, I hurried over to the Navy Department to say what I could for you. The Secretary told me that of course he didn't want you injured by any unjust suspicions."

"Of course not," quivered Rhinds.

"At the same time the Secretary made it plain to me that public sentiment demands that the whole case be brought past the suspicion stage. He advised me to come down here with Townsley, and see, for myself, just what I ought to believe."

"You'll act as my friend, won't you?" begged Rhinds, tremulously.

"You'll show Townsley the absurdity of this whole business. Simms, I look to your friendship, for you are my friend, aren't you?"

"Possibly," nodded the other, dryly. "But I'm also a Congressman, responsible to my district, my state and the whole country. Now, Rhinds, the whole thing is just here. I'm going to look into this matter, and I'm going to sift it all I can. If I find you're innocent beyond a question—then—well, you know I'm a pretty good fighter."

"Yes, yes; you'll fight my enemies to a standstill," cried Rhinds, piteously.

"But, if I find the facts against you, then my hands are tied."

"If—if it's a question of money—" stammered the submarine man.

"Money?" demanded the Congressman, crisply. "What for?"

"Why—er—er—for expenses."

"I can pay my own expenses, Rhinds, in a matter that affects the good name of my district. Now, give me your side of this affair."

For an hour the two men remained talking. Rhinds fought for himself as hard as he could, for he was beginning to suspect that a mere matter of politics would not move the Congressman much in this case.

"Now, I'll leave you for a while, Rhinds, and I'll move fast," promised the Congressman, rising. "But I advise you to stay right here. I may want to see you at any moment."

Mr. Simms must have moved rapidly, for, two hours later that morning, after having seen many people, including the admiral, the Congressman sent a message upstairs urging Rhinds to come down at once.

As he stepped out from the elevator, a strange pallor on his face, John Rhinds beheld the Congressman standing with four men one of whom the old man knew for Ensign Pike, the naval officer who had been stationed aboard the 'Thor.' Another was Lieutenant Danvers.

Congressman Simms quickly presented Rhinds to the other two, one of whom was Rear Admiral Townsley, and the other Lieutenant Jasper, the Admiral's aide.

"Now, Mr. Rhinds," pursued the Congressman, "the admiral has decided that the first thing to do is to go aboard the 'Thor,' and see whether any hiding place exists in which you might have stored a fifth torpedo."

"But how could I get such a fifth torpedo?" faltered the old man.

"The Navy issues them."

"They may be bought in the market, too, by one who knows how," replied Rear Admiral Townsley, coolly. "You consent to our going aboard your boat, of course, Mr. Rhinds?"

Had there been any reasonable way of preventing it, Rhinds would not have agreed, but he saw that he must comply with the request.

Admiral Townsley raised a hand in signal. Out of the background came Jacob Farnum and his three submarine boys.

"These people can't come aboard my boat!" protested Rhinds.

"They must, if we do," retorted the admiral, crisply. "These are the human beings who were placed in deadly peril by the torpedo that has yet to be accounted for."

Rhinds no longer objected. All his force, all his will appeared to have departed. He moved along, now, like a puppet.

Down at the water-front a naval launch was in waiting. In this the entire party was taken out to the "Thor." Captain Driggs received the callers on the platform deck, and Admiral Townsley stated the object of the visit.

"Why, Admiral," replied Captain Driggs, honestly, "I have no knowledge that there was an extra torpedo aboard. Yet, of course, there's a place where such a thing might have been hidden."

"Take us to it," requested the Admiral.

Captain Driggs led the visitors below. There, in the cabin floor, he pointed to a well-concealed trapdoor. It opened upon a very considerable space between cabin floor and keel.

"This space certainly would accommodate a torpedo," declared Admiral Townsley. "Mr. Rhinds, if we could prove that you had a torpedo in this space the other day, there would be an almost complete case, wouldn't there?"

"But I didn't have," cried Rhinds, with cunning insistence.

"Mr. Driggs," pursued the admiral, "we shall want you as a witness at the investigation on board the 'Oakland.' My aide will hand you a subpoena. This, I believe, gentlemen, is all we have to do here."

Looking years older, yet holding up his head in a certain kind of bravado, John Rhinds returned to shore with the party.

No sooner had Rhinds entered the hotel than a bell-boy moved over, drawing him aside and saying something in a low tone.

"I'll wager that talk would interest us, if we could hear it," remarked Jack Benson, sarcastically, to his friends.

Rhinds, however, turned and hurried off. In five minutes he was back in the lobby. Eagerly he glanced about for the Farnum party, and located it. Then he moved over to where Farnum and his submarine boys sat.

"Farnum," breathed the old man, anxiously, "I've a favor to ask of you."

"That's strange," replied the shipbuilder, coolly.

"I won't term it a favor, then," went on the other, restlessly. "I will put it another way. As a simple act of justice will you meet two people whom I want you to hear?"

"I've heard a good deal, lately," answered Farnum, reluctantly.

"I ask this as a matter of justice. Won't you and young Benson step down the corridor with me?"

"How long will this interview take?" demanded Farnum.

"Only a very short time."

"Well, lead on, then."

Farnum and Captain Jack stepped down a corridor in the wake of their enemy.

Rhinds led them into the ladies' parlor. Farnum and Jack caught sight of two anxious faced women—one, a refined woman of middle age, the other a beautiful girl of sixteen.

"Mr. Farnum, and Mr. Benson, my dear," announced John Rhinds, in oily tones. "Gentlemen, my wife, and my daughter, Helen. Both have something to say to you, gentlemen. Be seated, won't you?"

With that Rhinds slipped away. Like many another cur, in the hour when he finds himself driven to the wall, John Rhinds had sent for his wife and daughter. He proposed to escape from the consequences of his rascally acts by hiding behind the skirts of pure and good women who had the strange fortune to have their lives linked with his.

"What is all this that I have heard, sir?" asked Mrs. Rhinds, tears filling her eyes fast, as she turned to regard the Dunhaven shipbuilder.

It was the hardest hour Jacob Farnum had ever spent, and the same was true for Jack Benson.

This wife and daughter had the most absolute faith in the goodness of John Rhinds. They pleaded gently, eloquently, for these two enemies to have faith in their husband and father.

"You surely don't believe that Mr. Rhinds was at the bottom of any such scoundrelly plot as the papers are talking about?" asked Mrs. Rhinds, tearfully, at last.

"Madame," replied Farnum, in the gentlest tone he knew how to use, "I'll admit I don't like to believe it."

"And you'll come out in a public interview, saying you're convinced that the whole story is a monstrous lie, won't you?" pleaded the wife.

Jacob Farnum choked.

"I—I can't promise that, Mrs. Rhinds. You'll never believe how hard it is for me to refuse you."

"Then you do believe my husband guilty?" demanded Mrs. Rhinds, in a voice full of agony.

"Oh, I wish I could say what you want me to, Mrs. Rhinds, but—well, all I can do is to remain silent."

"Can't I say something—something?" asked Helen Rhinds, appealingly.

Her moist eyes turned first on Mr. Farnum, then on Captain Jack.

"Ladies," confessed the Dunhaven shipbuilder, "you've already said enough, as I looked at your faces, to make me almost feel that I am one of the worst men alive."

"Oh, no, no, no!" protested the girl. "You are going to prove yourself the most generous."

Then, turning, the girl caught at one of Benson's hands appealingly.

"You urge him!" she begged.

"When the chief has spoken I must be silent," Jack answered, clearly, though in a low voice.

"What can you say to us, Mr. Farnum? What will you say?" cried Mrs. Rhinds, desperately.

"Madame," replied the Dunhaven shipbuilder, "all I can say is this: I will not, of myself make any effort to bring your husband before a court. I will make no effort to have the investigation carried any further. That is all I can say. Jack, if you have anything to say to these ladies that will soften my words, then, in the name of mercy, say it."

"Ladies," spoke Captain Jack Benson, looking mother and daughter full in the eye, in turn, "you have heard the extent of Mr. Farnum's promise.

He is a man who lives by the rules of justice. You are the only two in the world who could have wrung from him such a promise as you have secured."

With that Farnum and his young captain succeeded in taking their leave—making their escape, as they felt, from a most trying situation.

XXIV. Conclusion

Within two hours John C. Rhinds had his head up once more.

He felt as though the battle had been already won. There was nothing to fear from Farnum pushing the situation that had been created against the owner of the "Thor," for Farnum had promised. It was strange that John Rhinds, who had no regard for the moral value of his own given word, felt certain that Jacob Farnum would not break a promise.

Rhinds even telephoned for the reporters, and, when they came, gave out an interview in which he stated that Mr. Farnum was satisfied that no blame over the torpedo incident could be attached to the owner of the "Thor." Farnum, when questioned by the same reporters, declared that he had nothing to say.

That night Rhinds was almost cheerful. He dined in the public dining room of the hotel, with his wife and daughter, and both appeared to be wholly proud of the man.

One thing, however, worried Rhinds a good deal. Congressman Simms did not come near him again. Later in the evening Rhinds sought the Congressman, though wholly in vain.

Rhinds breakfasted with his family, the next morning, in their rooms.

So he was still behind his private doors when a summons reached him to go to the wharf and take the launch to the "Oakland."

"What can it mean, John?" demanded his wife.

"If they want you as a witness before the investigation, you'll be able to clear yourself quickly." predicted Helen.

"I'll soon find out why I'm wanted," declared Rhinds, jauntily.

In fact, he was almost cheerful as he boarded the launch at the wharf.

Rhinds was at least self-possessed when he was shown into a cabin where Captain Magowan was seated at a desk.

"Oh, good morning, Mr. Rhinds," was the greeting of the president of the naval board, as he rose. "My business will take but a very few moments.

I have received definite orders from the Navy Department by wire this morning. Here is a copy of the telegram."

Rhinds took the message, and read: "Inform John C. Rhinds that the Department will give no further consideration, this year, to the purchase of any boats from the Rhinds Submarine Company." "What does this mean!" demanded Rhinds, paling, then flushing with anger.

"Just what it says," replied Captain Magowan, coolly.

"There has been some underhanded work here!" began the old man, wrathfully.

"None in the Navy Department, at all events," replied Magowan, coolly.

"I will not detain you longer, Mr. Rhinds. Good morning."

Captain Magowan, bowing, opened the door. A marine sentry stood on post just outside. There was no use in making a row. John C. Rhinds stepped out like one in a daze, and remained so until he reached the wharf and stepped ashore.

To the railway station went Rhinds. He was ruined. The order from Washington meant that all his capital had been expended on boats that could not be sold. There might be a chance with foreign governments, but creditors would step in and seize the Rhinds shipyards before a good trade could be made abroad.

At the station Rhinds counted the money he had about him. At a bank in another city was a thousand dollars or so more. Rhinds took the train and was borne away. His wife and daughter. The former had a small private fortune of her own; wife and daughter would not starve. So the coward ran away.

That same forenoon Farnum and his submarine boys were summoned to police headquarters. There they were confronted with a rather pretty though almost poorly dressed girl.

"Is this the young woman whom you rescued at a street corner, and whom you were escorting when attacked by a gang of rowdies?" asked Chief Ward.

"I don't know," smiled Eph. "The young woman I was walking with had on a veil."

"Oh, that's all right," laughed the police chief. "This young woman is Katharine Pitney. She has told me the whole story, and I am satisfied that she has told me everything honestly. Miss Pitney is not a prisoner.

She has made a little mistake in becoming engaged to the wrong sort of fellow—the 'Tom' from whom you tried to defend her. Now, it seems that 'Tom'—which isn't his name, had persuaded her to help him in playing a joke, as he explained it to her. So Miss Pitney was foolish enough to agree. She is wholly sorry, now she knows that it was a crime, not a joke in which she helped. And 'Tom' has received his walking papers so far as Miss Pitney is concerned."

"But I beg you'll forgive me, Mr. Somers," spoke up the girl, anxiously.

"I honestly believed it was a joke that I was helping in. As soon as Mr. Ward found me, I told him the whole truth about the matter."

"You certainly did, Miss Pitney," confirmed the chief.

"Why, I haven't anything to forgive," laughed Eph. "It was a joke, the way it turned out."

Chief Ward escorted Miss Pitney from the room, then returned to explain:

"That's a wholly good girl, but her fancy was too easily won by the fellow, 'Tom.' She knows better, now, and will have to know a whole lot more about the next man she allows to capture her affections. Now, I have another pair to show you. They're in cells. Come downstairs, please."

Through a corridor underneath the chief led his visitors, halting, at last, before a barred door of iron.

"Look through, and see who it is," smiled the police chief.

"Why, that's Walter C. Hodges, who sent us off on a pleasure trip in that doctored automobile!" exclaimed Jack.

"Yes; you're right," sighed the prisoner. "I've been cornered, and I've admitted it."

"But that fellow's daughter?" asked Jack, as the chief led them away.

"Hodges hasn't any daughter," replied Chief Ward. "We found the young woman, but we let her go. She is an idle, vain young woman. Hodges told her the same old story—a joke he was playing, and persuaded the young woman to go along and pretend to be his daughter. In payment he bought her the fine clothes she was wearing when you saw her. And now, here's some one you may like to see here!"

For a moment or two not a word was uttered as the submarine people found themselves gazing between bars at—Fred Radwin.

Radwin did not look depressed, but, on the contrary, jaunty and defiant.

"He's the one I'm best pleased of all to have," chuckled Chief Ward.

"The four ruffians who attacked you boys, and held two of you in that deserted house before Benson led our party to the place, have confessed that they were acting for Radwin. And Hodges has confessed, too, that Radwin employed him, and that, between them, they put the doctored axle in the auto."

While Chief Ward was speaking Fred Radwin turned pale.

"You didn't know all this until just this moment, did you, Radwin?" smiled the chief.

"Oh, you needn't think you can down me too easily," snarled the prisoner.

"I have money to fight with."

"I know," nodded Ward. "You have a little over twenty thousand dollars, Radwin. I also know where the money is. An attorney acting for the chauffeur that was hurt so badly in the automobile smash-up has already started in to attach that money in a suit for damages by the chauffeur."

**********

It is time to turn from too disagreeable a picture. The four roughs first hired by Fred Radwin were sent to the penitentiary for a year each.

Hodges, in consideration of furnishing useful state's evidence, was sentenced to the penitentiary for two years and a half for his share in the automobile plot.

Radwin, for conspiracy in setting on the roughs, was sentenced to three years in the penitentiary; for his part in the automobile affair five years more were added. It will be a long time, yet, ere Radwin will breathe the air as a free man.

John C. Rhinds vanished completely. True, one returned traveler reported having seen Rhinds at Nice, performing paltry services for American tourists in return for paltry "tips."

Mrs. Rhinds and her daughter, having decided to make the best of matters, are now living quietly and happily in a western town. They believe John C. to be dead.

The mystery of that torpedo has never been officially cleared. In naval circles, however, there is no doubt whatever felt as to the guilt of Rhinds and Radwin; but it is also felt that both have been suitably punished for their dastardly conduct. The three Rhinds torpedo boats were seized, under court orders, and sold to satisfy the claims of creditors of the Rhinds Company.

The chauffeur recovered twenty thousand dollars damages through the attachment of Radwin's funds and the subsequent civil suit. Besides which, after a few months, the chauffeur had practically recovered from his painful injuries.

David Pollard was out of hospital in three weeks. In twice that length of time he felt as well as ever.

Later on, the Pollard Submarine Boat Company received from the United States Government orders for eighteen torpedo boats in all, the "Benson" and "Hastings" included. One of the new ones, under this order, was named the "Somers." The Navy has accepted all three names, and the boats are now known in the service by these names. Later on the fortunes of the three submarine boys were materially increased by these sales.

One of the first pleasures experienced by David Pollard, after his discharge from hospital, was that of joining the rest of the Farnum party in dining with the members of the naval board and the gunboat's officers in the messroom of the "Oakland."

In the course of a little speech after dinner Captain Magowan referred in glowing terms to the splendid work of the submarine boys on that Lightning Cruise, and their success in being first to reach the derelict and torpedo it.

The president of the board was followed by Lieutenant Danvers, who, among other things said:

"The performances of Captain Benson and of his brother officers on the Pollard boats have, indeed, been wonderful. 'Wonderful' may not be quite the word, but, at this moment, I am so carried away with enthusiasm that I cannot cruise about for mere words." (Laughter and applause.) "The other day, a naval comrade, in talking with me about the performances of Jack Benson and his friends, told me be considered them to be wizards of the deep." (More applause.) "But I took exception to my comrade's well meant remarks. A wizard, as we understand one nowadays, is a mere pretender, a sleight-of-hand man—a jack at cards. I would offer a more fitting title—and in all sincerity—when I allude to Jack Benson, Hal Hastings and Eph Somers as the Young Kings of the Deep!" (Tremendous applause.)

**********

Here we will leave the submarine boys briefly, but we shall come upon them again in their next succeeding adventures—adventures that make a fitting climax, in the next volume, which will be entitled: "The Submarine Boys for the Flag; Or, Deeding Their Lives to Uncle Sam."

THE END

The Submarine Boys For the Flag

or

Deeding Their Lives to Uncle Sam

First Published 1910

Contents

I. "Do You Speak German?"

II. "French Spoken Here"

III. The Man Who Marked Charts

IV. Jack's Queer Lot of Loot

V. Sighting the Enemy

VI. Flank Movement and Rear Attack

VII. A Lesson in Security and Information

VIII. Eph Feels Like Thirty Tacks

IX. Jack Plays with a Volcano

X. "Mr. Gray" Makes New Trouble

XI. Facing the Secretary of the Navy

XII. Navy Officers for an Hour or a Day

XIII. Commander of a U.S. Gunboat!

XIV. The Bow Gun Booms and Eph Puts Off

XV. "The Right Boat and the Right Crew!"

XVI. The Duel Through the Door

XVII. The Last Hour of Command

XVIII. Eph Bets an Anchor Against a Fish-Hook

XIX. Jack's Caller at the United Service Club

XX. The Girl in the Car

XXI. Daisy Huston Decides for the Flag

XXII. The Part of Abercrombie R.N.

XXIII. "Foreign Trade" Becomes Brisk

XXIV. Their Lives Deeded to the Flag

I. "Do You Speak German?"

"Hey, there, Mister!" called out Jabez Holt, from one of the two office windows in the little hotel at Dunhaven.

As there was only one other man in the office, that other man guessed that he might be the one addressed.

With a slight German accent the stranger, who was well-dressed, and looked like a prosperous as well as an educated man, turned and demanded:

"You are calling me?"

"I reckon," nodded Jabez.

"Then my name is Herr Professor—"

"Hair professor?" repeated Jabez Holt, a bit of astonishment showing in his wrinkled old face. "Hair professor? Barber, eh? Why, I thought you was a traveler. But hurry up over here—do you hear me?"

"My good man," began the German, stiffly, drawing himself up to his full six-foot-one, "it is not often I am affronted by being addressed so—"

"There! He'll be outer sight in another minute, while you are arguin' about your dignity!" muttered Holt. "And that's the feller you said you wanted to see—Jack Benson."

"Benson?" cried the German, forgetting his outraged dignity and springing forward. "Benson?"

"That's him—almost up to the corner," nodded Landlord Jabez Holt.

"Run out and bring him back with you," directed Herr Professor Radberg.

"Be quick!"

"Waal, I guess you're spryer'n I be," returned old Jabez, with a shrewd look at his guest. "Besides, it's you that wants the boy."

Running back and snatching up his hat, Professor Radberg made for the street without further argument.

Moving along hastily, the German soon came in sight of young Captain Jack Benson, of the Pollard Submarine Torpedo Boat Company.

"Ach, there! Herr Benson!" shouted the Professor.

Hearing the hail, Jack Benson turned, then halted.

"You are Herr Benson, are you not?" demanded Professor Radberg, as soon as he got close enough.

"Benson is my name," nodded Jack, pleasantly.

"Then come back to the hotel with me."

"You are a foreigner, aren't you?" asked Jack, surveying the stranger coolly.

"I am German," replied Radberg, in a tone of surprise.

"I thought so," nodded the boy. "That is, I didn't know from what country you came. But, in this country, when we ask a favor of a stranger, we usually say 'please.'"

"I am Herr Professor—"

"Oh, barbers are just as polite as other folks," Jack assured him, his laughing eyes resting on the somewhat bewildered-looking face of the German.

"Then please, Herr Benson, come back to the hotel with me."

"Yes; if it's really necessary. But why do you want to go to the hotel?"

"Because, Herr Benson, when we are there, I shall have much of importance to say to you."

"Important to me, or to you?" asked Jack, thoughtfully.

He had no intention of answering a much older man disrespectfully. But there was about Herr Radberg the air of a man who expects his greatness to be recognized at a glance, and who demands obedience from common people as a right. This sort of thing didn't fit well with the American boy.

"Oh, it is important to you, and very much so," urged the Professor, somewhat more anxiously. "Besides," added the German, with a now really engaging smile, "I have met your demand, Herr Benson, and have said 'please.'"

"Then I suppose I'll have to meet your demand," nodded Jack, good-humoredly. "Lead the way, sir."

"Ach! You may walk at my side," permitted the German.

It all seemed a bit strange, but Captain Jack Benson had been through more strange experiences than had most Americans of twice or thrice his age. Besides, as he walked beside Herr Professor Radberg Jack imagined that he had guessed at least an inkling of the other's business. The German had announced himself as a professor; probably, therefore, he was a scientist. Being a scientist, the Professor had very likely invented, or nearly invented something intended for use in connection with submarine torpedo boats, and wanted to interest the concern by which the young submarine skipper was employed. Though this guess was a reasonable one, it soon turned out to be the wrong one. The Professor's real reason for seeking this interview was one that was bound to take the submarine boy almost off his feet.

Readers of the preceding volumes in this series need no introduction to Captain Jack Benson, nor to his chums, Hal Hastings and Eph Somers.

Such readers recall, as told in "The Submarine Boys on Duty," how Jack and Hal drifted into Dunhaven just at the right moment to fight for an opportunity to work themselves into the submarine boat building business. How the boys helped build the first of the now famous Pollard submarines, and afterwards learned how to man her, was all told, together with all their strange adventures in their new life.

In the "The Submarine Boys' Trial Trip" was related how Jack Benson solved the problem of leaving a submarine boat when it lay on the ocean's bottom, and also the trick of entering that submerged boat again, after diving from the surface of the water. The attempt of shrewd business men to secure control of the new submarine boat company was also described, together with the manner in which the submarine boys outwitted them. Through a successful trial trip, and Captain Jack's ingenious ways of arousing public interest, the government was forced to buy the "Pollard," as the first of the submarines was named.

In "The Submarine Boys and the Middies" was narrated how the submarine boys secured the prize detail of going to the Naval Academy at Annapolis as temporary instructors in submarine boating. Many startling adventures, and some humorous ones, were related in that volume.

Then in "The Submarine Boys and the Spies" was shown how the young men successfully foiled the efforts of spies of foreign governments to learn the secrets of the Pollard craft.

In "The Submarine Boys' Lightning Cruise" the adventures of these clever, enterprising boys were carried further. In this book, was told how the boys were trained in the handling of the actual torpedo of, warfare. The Pollard boats, "Benson" and "Hastings" were entered in official government tests in which the submarine craft of several other makes competed. The desperate lengths to which the nearest rival of the Pollards went in order to win were told with startling accuracy. The result of all these tests was that the Pollard company received from the Navy Department an order for eighteen submarine torpedo boats, the "Benson" and the "Hastings" being accepted as the first two boats on that order.

By the time the present narrative opens it was near the first of May.

Over at the shipyard, where facilities had been greatly increased, two of the submarines had lately been finished, and four more were under way in long construction sheds. Work on the government's order was being rushed as fast as could be done while keeping up the Pollard standards, of high-class work.

Of late Jack and his young friends, though their pay went on, had little work to do. Whenever a new boat was completed it was the task of the submarine boys to take her out to sea and put her through all manner of tests in order to determine her fitness. But there were days and days when the submarine boys had naught to do but enjoy themselves as their fancy dictated.

"Shall we sit down here?" asked Jack, as he and the tall German entered the hotel office.

Jabez Holt stood behind the desk, bent over the register, on which the Professor's name had been the only new one in a week. The old landlord pretended to be busy, but he was covertly watching and listening.

"Sit here?" repeated Professor Radberg. "Ach, no! Come along with me."

There was something rather disagreeably commanding in the German's invitation, but Jack merely smiled quietly as he followed in the stranger's wake. Up the stairs they went. The Professor unlocked a door, admitting himself and his guest to the outer of a suite of two rooms. Once they were inside Radberg locked the door behind them.

"Come to the other room, Herr Benson," directed the Professor. The door of this inner room the German also locked, remarking:

"Now, if the man, Holt, chooses to follow and listen, he can hear nothing."

"All this sounds mighty mysterious," laughed Jack Benson, good-humoredly.

However, the submarine boy went and stood by a chair near the window and then waited until he saw that the stranger was about to seat himself.

"Now," asked Jack, stretching his legs, "what's the business about? I haven't a whole lot of time to-day."

"Listen, and you shall hear, as soon as I am ready," came, stiffly, from the stranger. "You are a boy, and I am Herr Professor—"

"Oh, you told me all about being a hair professor before," smiled Jack.

"Now, see here. Whether you're really a barber, or whether you're just amusing yourself with me, we want to have one thing understood. I came here, sir, as a matter of courtesy to you, and you will have to treat me with just as much courtesy. Otherwise, I shall wish you good-morning."

This was said with a flash of the eye which warned Radberg that, in his rather overbearing way, he was going too for.

"Oh, my dear young friend," he replied, persuasively, "you don't understand. In Germany I am—well, perhaps what you would call a rather distinguished man. At least, my neighbors are good enough to say so. And, in Germany, when a herr professor talks, others listen respectfully."

"Just the same way with the hair professors in this country," chuckled Jack. "When an American barber gets wound up and started, all a fellow can do is to listen. It's no use trying to run away from a barber anywhere, I guess. He has you strapped down to the chair."

"Barber?" repeated Professor Radberg, in disgust. "I don't understand you."

"Oh, it isn't necessary," laughed Jack. "It's a sort of Yankee joke.

And I beg your pardon, Professor, if I am wasting your time. Now, go ahead, please, and tell me why you invited me here."

There was something of salt water breeziness and crispness about Jack's speech that caused the German's brow to cloud for an instant. Then, after a visible effort to compose himself, Radberg leaned forward to ask:

"Do you speak German?"

"No, sir." Jack shook his head.

"Ach, that is too bad!" muttered the German, in a voice suggesting severe disapproval of one who hadn't mastered his own native tongue.

"However, you will soon learn."

"Yes; if there's a big enough prize goes with it," agreed Jack.

"Prize?" repeated Professor Radberg. "You will say so!"

Then, leaning forward once more, and speaking in his most impressive voice, Herr Professor Radberg continued:

"Herr Benson, we are going to take you into the German Navy!"

The Professor now leaned back to watch the effect of his words.

"Are you going to do it when I'm awake?" asked Jack, curiously.

"Nein! I do not understand you."

"Are you going to take me in by force, or wait until you catch me asleep?" questioned Captain Jack Benson.

"Ach! Do not be silly, boy!"

"I might say the same to you, Professor," replied Jack Benson, composedly, "but we'll let it pass. How are you going to get me into the German Navy, and what are you going to do with me after you get me there?"

"How?" cried Professor Radberg. "Why we are going to pay you a very handsome sum of money, and we are going to give you a most honorable position in our imperial service. And—"

Here Professor Radberg leaned forward once more, lowering his voice considerably.

"There are three of you boys, all experts at the Pollard works. Well, we are going to take all three of you into the German navy, and we will do something very handsome for you all."

"The other fellows will be delighted when I tell 'em what's coming their way," smiled Captain Jack.

"Ach! So? Of course."

"Now, what do you propose to do with us in your navy?" Jack went on.

"Are you going to make officers of us?"

"Officers?" repeated Herr Professor Radberg, slowly. "Well, no, Herr Benson. We could not exactly do that. Our officers are, as you will understand, very—what is your English word?—aristocratic. They could not be quite persuaded to take American commoners as their brother officers. That you would not expect, of course."

"Certainly not," young Benson agreed. If there was a slight tinge of sarcasm in his it was lost on the German, whose brow cleared as he went on, heavily:

"No, no, my young friend; not officers. But you shall all three have very honorable positions, and handsome sums of money to pay you for entering our service. We in Germany know the rank which you young men have won as submarine experts, and we shall not be niggardly, for we have determined to have you in our service."

"I hope you'll pardon me," proposed young Benson. "There is just one point that has been overlooked. You tell me that you are authorized to come to Dunhaven and kidnap my friends and myself. But, really, how do I know that you have such authority from your own side of the water?"

Radberg looked a bit puzzled, for a moment. Then, as he seemed to begin to comprehend, he replied, heavily:

"Herr Benson, I have already told you that I am Herr Professor—"

"Now, don't hang out the striped pole again, please," urged Jack, his face as sober as that of a judge. "Come right down to the points of the compass. How am I to know that you really do represent the German government?"

"Ach! I comprehend," nodded the German. "Of course you will understand that, on an errand of this kind, I do not travel with too many papers.

But I shall take you and your two companions on to Washington to-morrow, I think—"

"To-morrow ought to do as well as any time," replied Jack, ironically.

"Yes; I think it will be to-morrow," continued the German. "I shall take you to our German Embassy, and one of our officials there will prove to you that I have been acting with authority."

"That'll be right fine of him," agreed Jack, placidly.

"Ach! It is settled, then," replied the German, all but dismissing the matter with a wave of his hand. "Yet you must bring your two comrades here. They must understand just what is wanted of them. And now, Herr Benson, do you wish to understand what is to be paid to you to transfer your services to our German flag?"

"Why, yes; that will be mighty important—if we go under the German flag."

"If you go?" repeated the Professor. "Why, that is all settled!"

"Then I must have missed something, by not watching you closely enough," murmured Jack. "I shall have to sit up straighter and keep my eyes wider open. When was it all settled, sir?"

"Why, did you not tell me—"

"Haven't had a blessed chance to tell you anything," replied Jack, looking astonished. "You've been doing all the telling."

"But you'll go with me, of course, to Washington?" uttered Radberg, looking much taken aback.

"I doubt it," muttered young Benson, shaking his head. "In fact, sir, I may as well tell you that it's waste of our time to carry this line of talk any further."

"Ach! You are cunning," smiled Professor Radberg, no longer nonplussed.

"That is as it should be, too, for you are a clever young man, Herr Benson."

"A thousand thanks," murmured Captain Jack.

"But, instead of talk," pursued the German, "you wish to see some money.

Quite right! I should, were I in your place, Herr Benson. Well, then—ach! Look at this."

Thrusting a fat hand down deep in a trousers pocket, Herr Professor Radberg brought up into view a big roll of money. He held this up so that the submarine boy could feast his eyes on it. Jack looked, composedly.

"Did you ever see anything like this—you, who are such a young boy?" smiled the German, teasingly.

"I—I don't know, really," responded Jack, thoughtfully, thrusting a hand down into his own trousers pocket. Young Benson brought up into the light a very comfortable looking handful of banknotes, rolled and surrounded by a broad elastic band. "Let's measure the two, Professor, and see how they compare."

"Ach!" muttered the German, regarding Jack's money with some displeasure.

"Where did you get all that?"

"Oh, now, Professor!" cried the young submarine captain, reproachfully.

"I didn't ask you where you got yours!"

"Ach! This is all so much foolishness!" cried the German Professor, returning his money to his pocket.

"That's what I think, too," agreed Jack, following suit. "It's what our English cousins call 'bad form,' to go to comparing piles of money."

"Now, sit down, Herr Benson, and I will tell you what a very handsome sum of money, and what excellent wages, the German government will pay you to enter our imperial naval service."

"How much money is there in Germany?" interrupted the submarine boy, thoughtfully.

"How much, in all Germany?" demanded the Professor. "Nein! How should I know?"

"You expect me, of course, to turn my back on this country for good, to tell you Germans whatever I may know about submarine secrets, to drill with your navy, and be prepared to fight in your navy if war comes?"

"Ach, yes! of course," replied Radberg. "Now, we are beginning to understand one another."

"Professor," interrupted Captain Jack Benson, "we've had enough of joking."

"Joking? I assure you—"

"Professor," once more broke in the submarine boy, "I wouldn't sell out my country's flag for all the money you ever saw!"

For a few moments the Professor's face was a study in consternation.

Then he broke forth, angrily:

"Ach! You are a fool!"

"I guess so," nodded Jack, without resentment. "That's just the kind of fools we Americans are generally."

Herr Radberg was a good enough reader of human faces to realize that, at all events, there was no use in continuing the conversation at present.

"Very good," he growled. "You can go. I shall see your friends, instead."

"When you get through with 'em you'll think they're idiots," grinned Captain Jack Benson.

Herr Radberg wasn't a fool. Neither was he a rascal, expert in offering bribes. Brought up within the wall's of a German university, he would have been willing to lay down his life instantly for the good of the Fatherland. Yet he couldn't understand that men of other nations could be just as devoted to their own countries. From Herr Professor Radberg's point of view Germany was the only country in the world that was fitted to inspire a real and deep sense of patriotism.

"No harm done, Professor," said Jack, moving toward the door, and turning the key to unlock it. "I'm sorry you had all the trouble and expense of coming to Dunhaven on a useless errand. Good-bye!"

"Ach! You may go, but you will come back," scowled the other. "If not, your comrades will, I hope, prove to be young men of better sense and judgment."

"Oh, they'll listen to you," smiled Jack. "Good-bye!"

"I shall have two of you, anyway," were Radberg's last words before the door of the outer room closed and Jack's footsteps sounded in the corridor.

II. "French Spoken Here"

"Well, what do you think of that?"

It was Eph Somers who put the question, and the time was some fifteen minutes later.

Captain Jack had met his two comrades up on the main street of the village. He had told them, with a good deal of amusement, of his late talk with the German.

Hal Hastings didn't say a word, but his eyes twinkled.

"I wouldn't have minded," laughed Jack, "but it was the Professor's cock-sureness that I was to be Germany's oyster."

"Is he an old man?" asked Hal.

"Not very," Jack answered. "Perhaps not old enough to know better.

Anyway, if I were going to a foreign government, Germany would be about the last country. Germany is our rival in building a large navy. About every other month the experts in Germany sit down to figure whether they are anything ahead of us in the tonnage of warships, and, if so, whether there is any danger of our catching up with them. Now, unless the Germans have a notion that they may need, to fight us one of these days—"

"Oh, I don't believe anything of that sort," broke in Hal, shaking his head. "I don't believe any country in the world is aching to pick a quarrel with us."

"Not while the United States pocket-book is such a fat one, and so well built for paying war expenses," grinned Eph. Then his look became more solemn, as he added:

"But we don't want ever to get into a naval condition where it will be easy for some other country to snatch that fat pocket-book out of our hands."

"Let's go along, fellows. Drowning and confusion to all possible foes afloat," proposed Hal, the one who could never see "war" on the horizon.

"After a winter on hot sodas, it'll be a relief to know that the druggist put in icecream soda to-day."

So the three boys turned and made their way to the drugstore. While they were exploring with spoons the bottoms of their glasses, the street door opened. Herr Professor Radberg looked in, then came in, beaming condescendingly on the young men.

"Ach! You young men are just the ones I wish to see," he exclaimed, resting one hand on Eph's shoulder, the other on Hal's.

"Lots of folks will pay for that privilege," declared Eph, solemnly.

"Yes? Well, I will pay, too—you shall see. I shall look for you at the hotel, in just one hour. One hour—remember."

"Have you a telescope?" inquired Eph, calmly.

"A telescope. Eh?" inquired the German. "What for?"

"You might need it in looking for us," Eph replied.

"Then, in one hour, I shall see you—at the hotel!"

"You'll be lucky, if you do," grinned Eph.

"Eh? I do not know that I understand," responded Herr Professor Radberg, slowly.

"If you're figuring on seeing us," Eph went on, gravely, "I'm afraid you're in for bad news."

"Bad news? Ach! What do you mean, young man?"

"Just what I said," replied Eph.

Professor Radberg looked so puzzled that Hal Hastings broke in, quietly:

"Professor, unless I'm much in error, you want to see us about a proposition that we enter the German naval service."

"Hush! Not so loud," warned Radberg, looking suspiciously around.

"There's nothing we have to keep quiet about," Hal went on. "You have already spoken to our captain, Jack Benson, about this matter."

"Ach! Yes."

"And Jack has refused."

"Your captain is a fool!" cried the German.

"Then we serve a fool, because he's our captain," retorted Hal, quietly, though there was a flash in his eyes.

"I shall look for you two at the hotel in one hour," declared the German, impressively.

"My friend, Mr. Somers, has already told you that you'll be using your eyesight to poor advantage, then," Hal answered.

"What do you mean?"

"Why, I mean, Professor, that you can't possibly persuade us to go to Germany and tell your people anything that we know about the Pollard submarine boats, or any other type."

"But you shall be well paid!"

"Professor, what would be your price for selling out your country to the United States?" asked Hal, gazing fixedly at the German.

"You insult me!" cried the German, his face growing red. "I am a patriot."

"Yet, you insult us by thinking that we would sell our country," went on Hal, coolly.

"Are you two going to be as big fools as your captain?" demanded Herr Professor Radberg, almost incredulously.

"Bigger!" promised Eph, with a grin.

"Ach! Well, we shall talk this all over when you come to the hotel in an hour," replied the German. He turned and left the store.

"Now, I don't doubt," mocked Hal, "he has gone away firm in the belief that we'll keep his appointment."

"He'll wake up after a while," laughed Eph Somers.

After indulging in a second ice cream soda the submarine boys started down the street toward the Farnum shipyard where the Pollard boats were built.

As they passed a street corner they heard a cautious:

"Hss—sst!"

"Now, who threw that our way?" demanded the irrepressible Eph, turning swiftly. Then he added, in a tone so low that only his comrades could hear:

"Say, fellows, I'll bet that cost something!"

"That" was, a rather undersized little man, of perhaps thirty. Dark of hair, and sparkling of eye, the stranger's rather pallid face was partly covered, in front, by a short goatee, of the French "imperial" sort, and a moustache whose points were waxed out in fierce military fashion.

It was the stranger's apparel that had attracted Eph's notice particularly. The stranger was arrayed almost exquisite fashion; his clothes were of finest texture and latest Parisian type. His little, pointed shoes were almost as dainty as a girl's. Though the day was warm the stranger was gloved, and handled a cane in the head of which a handsome amethyst shone.

"I wonder how that got through the custom house?" was Eph Somers's next undertoned question.

"Ah, good morning, gentlemen," greeted the stranger, coming toward them, all smiles and bows. "Av I have not med ze mistake, zen I am address ze torpedo boys."

"Right-o," drawled Eph. "Regular human torpedoes, as touchy as gun-cotton. Why, I am due to explode this moment!"

Though the stranger looked puzzled at first, his face rapidly broke into a cordial smile.

"Oh, ah! I understand. You mek what is call ze American joke, eh? You have little fun wiz me."

The Frenchman, for that he unmistakably was, laughed in the utmost good humor. The boys found themselves much inclined to like this stranger.

"Now, young gentlemen," continued the Frenchman, "I am ze Chevalier Gari d'Ouray."

"Glad to meet you, Chev," volunteered Eph, with suspicious amiability, holding out his hand, which the Frenchman took daintily. "I'm a 'shoveleer' myself, and this awkward, gawky looking boy with me is our engineer."

Eph had a tight grip on the stranger's hand, by this time, and was surely making it interesting for the Frenchman. The Chevalier d'Ouray was doing his best to retain his politeness, but Somers's hearty grip hurt the foreigner's soft little hand.

"What can we do for you, Chev?" demanded Eph, holding to the Frenchman's hand so persistently that Hastings gave his friend a sharp nudge in the back.

"Let us go somewhere," urged the Frenchman. "Some place were we can sit down and have ze talk about important matters. I have ze message for you zat I cannot deliver upon ze street."

"Now, don't say, please," begged Eph, "that you have heard we are wanted in the French Navy."

The Chevalier d'Ouray looked intensely astonished.

"Parbleu! You are one marvel!" gasped the Frenchman. "You read my most secret thought. But yes! You have made ze one right guess. However, I cannot more say upon ze street. Let us go somewhere."

"All right," nodded Eph. "You go along, now, and we'll be along in an hour."

"Wiz pleasure," nodded the chevalier, eagerly. "But we're shall I go?"

"Anywhere you like," suggested Eph, cordially.

"But, zen, how will you know w'ere I am to be found?"

"Oh, we'll take a chance on that," proposed Eph, carelessly.

"But, unless I am able to say, now, w'ere I shall be—" the Frenchman started to argue.

"We'll guess the meeting place as well as we did your errand," proposed Eph.

"Ten thousan' thanks!" cried, the chevalier. "Yet, for fear we mek ze one mistek, suppose I say—"

Eph Somers had struck such a streak of "guying" nonsense that Jack Benson felt called upon to interpose, for he and Hal both liked the twinkling eyes and good-humored face of this dandified little Frenchman.

"Pardon me, sir," Jack accordingly broke in, "but, if we happened to guess your errand, it was because we have just gotten away from the agent of another government."

"How? Is zat posseeble?" cried the Chevalier d'Ouray, a disappointed look coming into his face.

"Yes; it's true," nodded Jack.

"But you did not come to any terms wiz him?"

"Oh, no!"

"Ah, zen, ze coast is steel clear," cried the little Frenchman, delightedly. "So, as to w'ere we can meet and mek ze one talk—"

"We can get that all over with, right here," Jack replied. "We can make you the same answer that we gave the other man. We are Americans, and would never think of serving any other flag, even in peace time.

Chevalier, I can save your time by telling you that any arrangement to engage our services away from the United States would be utterly hopeless."

"But ze money—" began the Frenchman, protestingly.

"There isn't money enough across the Atlantic to hire us," Jack answered, bluntly.

"And ze honneur—"

"Honor? What would that word afterwards mean to Americans, Chevalier, after they had left their own country to serve another?"

The Chevalier d'Ouray began to look as though he realized he had a harder task before him than he had expected.

"So you see, sir," Jack went on, "it will not be in the least worth your while to try to tempt us. Come what will or may, we are under the American flag for life. You yourself, Chevalier, wouldn't leave the French flag to serve this country, Great Britain or Germany."

"No; but zat is deeferent, for I, monsieur, am French."

"And we are American," Jack responded.

"I will leave you, now, zen, gentlemen," replied the Frenchman, in a tone of disappointment. "But I shall not go away before to-morrow. If you change ze mind—or weesh to hear w'at I have to mek ze offer—"

"Thank you," nodded Jack. "But don't waste any more time on us, Chevalier. And now—good-bye!"

The Chevalier d'Ouray shook hands with them all most gallantly. Eph felt somewhat ashamed of his late nonsense, and, to prove it, hit the Chevalier d'Ouray a friendly slap on one shoulder that set the Frenchman to coughing.

"Say," muttered Jack, as the three now hurried along the street, "I begin to wish I had a good umbrella."

"Humph! You'd look great with one," retorted Hal. "You, who have stood on the platform deck of a submarine for hours, steering unconcernedly, when the skies were trying to drown you."

"But I feel," remonstrated Jack, "that it's soon going to rain foreign agents. I'd like to get in out of the international wet."

"Oh, we won't see any more of these fellows," smiled Hal.

"Now, there's just where I believe you're wrong, messmate," Jack contended. "These foreign governments hire detectives to watch each other. When we hear from one, we're likely to hear from the whole lot at once. Look around you, Eph. Do you see a Jap anywhere?"

"Not a solitary jiu-jitsu fiend," responded Eph, after halting and staring both ways in turn along the street.

"Well, Japan is about due," laughed Benson. "And now, let's get in through the gate of the shipyard. If any more of these foreign agents show up—well, there are two boats in the harbor that are in commission.

We'll find an excuse to put to sea in one of them."

"Just the youngsters I was going out to try to find," hailed Grant Andrews, foreman of the submarine construction work, as he hurried across the yard. "Mr. Farnum told me to get out and find you. He'd have sent some one else, but I guess the business is rather on the quiet."

"Is he in his office?" queried Jack.

"Yes."

"Thank you; we'll go right in, then."

"Now I wonder what country it is whose agent has gotten hold of Mr. Farnum?" asked Eph, plaintively.

"Nonsense!" mocked Jack.

"That's what we try to tell 'em all," mocked Eph. "But the Germans are the hardest."

All three of the submarine boys were laughing so heartily, as they entered the shipbuilder's private office that Jacob Farnum, a youngish looking man to be at the head of so large a manufacturing plant, glanced up quickly.

"What's the joke, boys?" he asked. "I haven't had a laugh since I pounded my thumbnail with a sledge-hammer."

Captain Jack Benson quickly detailed the meetings with Radberg and d'Ouray.

"The Frenchman didn't look a bit like a 'shovelee' either," muttered Eph. "If anything, that looked more in the German's line."

"Well, you'll have a chance to get rid of nonsense, now, for a while," went on Mr. Farnum, after having enjoyed a few laughs with the boys.

"I've some serious business in hand for you, and the time has come."

That was like the shipbuilder. Whatever he was planning, at any time, he kept strictly to himself until the time came to put the plan into operation.

"There's quite an important little job for you up at Craven's Bay," continued Mr. Farnum. "You know, there are important fortifications there, because the Navy people expect, in wartime, to use Craven's Bay as a possibly important naval station and shelter for vessels that have to put in. Now, for some time the Army engineer officers have been perfecting a system of submarine mines for the bay. The engineers have a problem on hand as to whether an enemy's submarine boats could sneak into the bay and blow up the submarine mines before the Army woke up to the danger."

"There's a chance that that could be done," nodded Jack, musingly.

"Jest so," nodded Mr. Farnum. "So I want you to go up in one of the boats. To-morrow the engineer officers at that station will test it out with you whether a submarine can destroy the mines, or the mines could be made to destroy the submarine boats."

"Then the Army engineer officers will use dummy submarine mines, I hope," broke in Eph.

"Oh, of course," nodded Mr. Farnum. "Now, the trip to Craven's Bay is only an eight-hour sail at a good gait, so you won't really need to start until after dark to-night."

"I believe I'd rather start now, though, and go at less speed," suggested Jack, thoughtfully.

"That's just as you please, of course," nodded the shipbuilder.

"It will take us out on the water, for one thing," Captain Jack continued, "and we've been growing stale on shore, of late." Then he added, whimsically: "Besides, if the agents of any more foreign governments show up, they won't find us here."

"And there's a Jap just about due now," grimaced Eph.

"Take Williamson with you, for use in the engine room," advised Mr. Farnum. "That will allow you to take the boat through with two watches above and below. Which boat will you take?"

"The 'Spitfire,' unless you'd rather have us take the other one," young Benson replied.

"Take the 'Spitfire,' by all means," nodded the owner.

Twenty minutes later, Williamson having been found, the crew was all ready for the start for Craven's Bay.

Eph and Williamson cast off from moorings while Hal Hastings, down below at the gasoline motors, started the twin propellers as soon as Jack Benson, at the deck wheel, signaled for speed ahead.

Right after the start, Williamson, a grown man and machinist, dropped below. Eph Somers stood beside the young submarine captain.

For some minutes both boys gazed out over the waters. Then Eph remarked:

"Well, we got away without being overhauled by a Jap or a Russian, didn't we?"

"I don't know," smiled Jack, unsuspectingly. "See that launch over to port? Hanged if she doesn't seem to be putting toward us."

"She does," admitted Eph, solemnly. "Oh, well, with a few more turns of the screw we can easily get away from that launch."

For some moments Captain Jack paid no especial heed to the launch bearing down upon them on the port side. He noted only, at the distance, that the launch contained two men. Presently, however, as the launch came nearer, Captain Benson made a discovery.

"Eph," he gasped, "look over there! Are my eyes going back on me, or is that a Japanese in the bow of the launch?"

"Japanese?" gasped Eph Somers, in turn. "Nothing but!"

Eph made a swift dive for the box that contained the signal flags used in the international marine signaling code. Moving swiftly, young Somers selected the two flags representing "N" and "D." These he strung to the halliard of the short signal mast forward. Nor was he ahead of time, for by this time the launch had described part of a circle, and was coming up alongside.

In the bow of the launch stood the Japanese, smiling, and holding a megaphone in his hand.

"Submarine, a-ho-o-o-oy!" came the hail. "Will you slow down? I have something to say to you."

Up flew the signal flags, fluttering in the breeze. Then Eph snatched up a megaphone, holding the smaller end to his mouth.

"Launch ahoy!" he shouted back. "Just tell your folks that you saw our signal!"

The Japanese read the fluttering flags, then called back:

"N.D.? What does that mean?"

Hoarsely Eph Somers bellowed back:

"Nothing doing!"

III. The Man Who Marked Charts

It was a little before midnight when the "Spitfire" came to anchor in Craven's Bay, after having been piloted to anchorage by a quartermaster's tug that put off from Fort Craven on signal.

"Fine place, if your searchlight is keen enough," yawned Eph, gazing off into the darkness.

Eph and Williamson had slept through the evening, after supper, and were now to take the night watch tricks, the machinist's deck watch beginning at once and lasting until four in the morning.

About an hour after daylight, Eph Somers deserted the deck, except for occasional intervals. After a while the odor of coffee and steak was in the air. Then, snatching up a bugle, Somers sounded the reveille tumultuously through the small cabin of the submarine torpedo boat.

Not long did the other members of the crew take to turn out and dress.

They came out into the cabin to find Eph trotting between table and galley, putting things on the table.

"This seems like old times," chuckled Williamson, as he seated himself with the boys.

"Yes; because you don't have to cook," grimaced Eph. "Wait until after breakfast, when you have to clear away and wash dishes!"

"Even so, I have the best of it," laughed the machinist, good-humoredly.

"I have something in my stomach to work on."

"I always do get the tough end of any job, don't I?" grumbled Eph, resignedly, then buried his troubles under a plateful of steak and fried potatoes.

"You hoisted the signal, 'N.D.', yesterday afternoon," laughed Captain Jack, laying down his coffee cup. "If you don't watch out, Eph, I'll hoist the 'N.G.' flag over this table."

"Breakfast no good?" demanded Eph, looking much offended.

"No; 'N.G.' will stand for 'no grouch.'"

Somers joined heartily in the laugh that followed.

Just as they were finishing a really good meal, for which every breakfaster had a royal, salt-water appetite, a steamer's whistle was heard, not far off to port.

"I'll bet that's the Army tug!" muttered Captain Jack, rising hastily from the table. "Tell you what, fellows, we've got to begin to have something like Navy discipline aboard this craft. In that case, we'd have had breakfast over an hour ago."

Jack was off up the steps as though pursued. Eph went after him as soon as that youth with the sun-kissed hair had time to pull on his visored cap and button his blouse. No matter what the need of haste, Somers never appeared on deck looking less natty than a veteran naval officer.

Forward, on the tug, stood a major of engineers, a young lieutenant beside him.

"Good morning, Mr. Benson," hailed Major Woodruff. "We're going to try to come in close enough to put a gang-plank over. Can you take a bow line from us?"

"Yes, sir," Captain Jack saluted the Army officer, and Eph hurried to receive the line.

In less than two minutes Major Woodruff and Lieutenant Kline were on the platform deck of the "Spitfire."

"This is the first one of your craft we've seen," declared the major, as Eph cast off the bow line, and the tug backed water. "Will you show us over?"

This the submarine boys gladly did, as the Army shares with the Navy in the defense of the country.

"You see what you have to do, Kline," said Major Woodruff, presently.

Then the older officer turned to Jack to say:

"Mr. Benson, since Mr. Farnum has been kind enough to place you and the boat at our orders, Kline is going to remain on board, today, during the tests. He will give Mr. Somers whatever orders are necessary in order to make the tests most successful."

"Why not give the orders to me, sir?" Jack asked.

"Why, you see, Mr. Benson," replied the major, "I plan for you to be on shore, out on the neck, to make certain observations regarding the work of your craft. Those observations you will turn in to me."

"Very good, sir. The neck, I take it, is the narrow strip of land that separates this part of the bay from the ocean?"

"Quite right, Mr. Benson."

It was to be observed that the major, like naval officers, addressed Jack by the title of "mister," not "captain." This was because, in the military service, Army and Navy titles are not recognized unless conferred by government appointment or commission. Hence, though young Benson was "captain" to his crew and to civilians, officers of the United Service could address, him only as "mister."

"The neck, Mr. Benson," continued Major Woodruff, "is the land best suited for watching our work from to-day. And now, I will state what the object of to-day's tests is. This morning our tug will be engaged in planting certain submarine mines. Mr. Somers will watch our work of planting. Of course the mines will contain no explosives. You young men have, I understand, solved the problem of leaving a submarine boat while it lies on the bottom? You are also able to enter the submarine again from the surface?"

"Quite right, Major," Jack nodded.

"Then, if Mr. Somers watches the planting of the dummy mines, he will have the same advantage as would the commander of an enemy's submarine in knowing where our mines are planted. We shall plant four of them, this morning, and Mr. Somers, after seeing each mine planted, will mark down its position on a chart of the bay. He will then take the boat outside, enter under water, and, without touching any of our mines, while handling the boat, will see if he can stop close by and cut the connecting wires."

"If your mines contain no explosive, Major," Eph inquired, "how are you going to be able to tell whether I collide gently with one of your submarine mines?"

"We shall know at once," smiled Major Woodruff. "If you should collide with one, you will cause, a bell to be rung in the camera obscura room over at the fort. The bell that rings will show us which one of the mines you touched against."

The "camera obscura," as used at a modern fort, is in itself a most interesting contrivance. While no elaborate description of it can be attempted here, it will be enough to explain to the reader that, in the camera room, which is darkened, is a large white table covered with white oil-cloth, or other white substance. On this white surface is drawn a plan of the harbor to be defended. The position of each mine sunk under the water's surface is indicated on this map against the white background. Each mine is numbered. Overhead is a revolving shutter, somewhat on the plan of a camera's lens shutter. This shutter, which turns a reflecting lens on the harbor, can be turned in any direction. Any vessel in the harbor can thus be "caught," and its reflection, in miniature, thrown upon the white map surface.

Suppose an enemy's battleship to be entering the harbor. The camera obscura shutter, in being turned about, suddenly throws upon the white screen-map the miniature picture of the hostile battleship. Henceforth the officer in command sees to it that the shutter is so operated as to keep the image of the battleship always upon the white screen map.

Thus the course of the battleship is followed—absolutely. At any second the exact position of that battleship in the harbor is known.

Let us suppose that the officer in command at the white, map-covered table finds that the battleship is gradually approaching the position indicated in the harbor as mine number nineteen; as the officer watches the moving image of the battleship, he sees it going closer and closer to the exact spot numbered nineteen or the white map.

"Be ready, Sergeant," calls the officer, warningly, to a non-commissioned officer who stands before a board on the wall on which are several electric push-buttons, each numbered.

"Yes, sir," replies the sergeant.

At this moment the officer sees the image of the battleship passing fairly over the dot on the white map that is numbered nineteen.

"Fire nineteen, Sergeant," calls the Army officer in charge.

The non-commissioned officer quickly presses electric button numbered nineteen. As he does so the electric current is sent flashing, perhaps along four or five miles of insulated wire on the bottom of the harbor.

At the other end of that wire is submarine mine number nineteen. In a breathless instant the current traverses the whole length of the wire.

The spark has reached the gun-cotton! There is a dull, booming sound; a great column of water shoots up from the surface. In the midst of the commotion the enemy's battleship is rent, and all on board, perhaps killed. The cool, dry-eyed Army officer bending over the white screen-map sees all this scene of horror depicted under the white surface beneath his eyes. He knows that submarine mine number nineteen, planted out there in the harbor, has done its duty in protecting this portion of the coast of the United States.

Here, at Fort Craven, it was desired to find whether an enemy's submarine boat could creep in, below the surface, find the mine, whose location was already known through spies, and effectively cut the firing wire.

If this could be done, then, in war-time, it might be that the sergeant at the wall-board would press the button in vain. No explosion would follow. With the current thus cut off, the officer bending over the white screen would not see the miniature reproduction of the destruction of the enemy's battleship.

A submarine torpedo boat, coming into a harbor underneath the surface, is not pictured on the white table under the camera obscura. So it was desired to see whether Eph could come in, knowing the exact locations of each of the four dummy mines, and quickly cut the firing electric wires.

If this could be done, the Army would have to revise its method of firing such submarine mines by means of the camera obscura detection.

As Eph listened to the explanation his mind began to revolve plans rapidly whereby he hoped to succeed in cutting the mine wires.

"You will keep sufficiently below the surface, too, Mr. Somers," continued Major Woodruff. "We do not want you so close to the surface of the water that a ripple would show on the camera obscura table. You cannot, of course, rise and use your periscope to see where you are.

Even the periscope would betray you."

The "periscope" is a device also of the nature of a camera obscura. In the case of the periscope a narrow metallic tube is thrust above the water and the shutter turned about, reflecting all the scene about on a white-covered table in the boat's cabin.

"I think I can beat you, Major," smiled Eph.

"I certainly hope you can," replied Major Woodruff. "That is what we want to see today. We shall watch closely, too, and see whether any plan can be devised for beating a submarine torpedo boat at its own game."

Lieutenant Kline was to remain on board the "Spitfire," both in order to watch the work and to give Eph any instructions that might be necessary in order to make the tests more conclusive.

"If you will come along with me, then, Mr. Benson," suggested Major Woodruff, "I will put you ashore on the neck. On the way over I will give you your instructions."

As the tug came alongside again Jack followed the major over the gang plank to the deck of the other craft.

"Good-bye, Captain Somers," called Jack, laughingly. "Give a fine account of yourself as an enemy of the United States!"

"Oh, you—" began Eph, flaring red, but wisely cutting his speech short.

On the way over to the strip of land known as the "neck" Major Woodruff managed to make his instructions wholly clear to young Benson.

"Now, you know what to watch for, and what observations, to report to me," finished the major of engineers, as the tug came to a stop. A small boat was lowered, and, in this, Captain Jack Benson was put on the desolate shore.

Then the tug went back over by the fort. Jack grew tired of waiting, for it was some two hours ere the tug finally left the ordinance wharf at Fort Craven.

It was warm out there, on the low, sandy cliffs, provided one got into a position sheltered from the ocean winds. So Jack, in the weariness of his waiting, threw himself down in a sheltered hollow.

Finding that the sun shone disagreeably in his eyes, the submarine boy pulled his cap forward over his face.

Then, in the course of a very few minutes, the inevitable happened. Jack Benson drifted off into sleep.

He awoke with a fearful start, for he had no idea how long he had slept.

Yanking out his watch and noting the time, the submarine boy concluded that he had not been asleep more than twenty or thirty minutes.

"But I might just as easily have slept for hours," Benson reproached himself. "Then what a hero I'd have felt. Asleep on post!"

At that moment Jack Benson heard a faraway whistle, across the bay.

Showing just the top of his head above a ridge of sand, Captain Jack saw the Army tug just pulling out from the dock across the bay.

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.

"Ha-ha!" muttered watchful Jack, who had followed, keeping behind another sand ridge. "So, sir!"

The minutes passed, though Jack Benson was so absorbed in watching this long stranger that the boy had but the vaguest notions of the flight of time.

The tug had halted, now. A great crane at the bow swung around, and a submarine mine hung poised in the air. Then, with a rattle of chains not audible at the distance, the mine was slowly lowered until it touched on bottom.

While this was going on, the long-legged stranger, wholly absorbed in his own work, made some observations and some hurried calculations.

Then he pulled the drawing-board toward him, jotting down a point.

Jack Benson, standing stealthily, got a good look, for the first time, at the top of that drawing board.

"A chart of the bay, of course," muttered Benson, savagely, between his teeth. "The fellow is marking down the exact position of that mine!"

Still, the submarine boy did nothing to betray his own presence. He watched and wondered. The thought struck him that this long-legged one might be an officer of the Army, on observation duty like the submarine boy himself.

"But that isn't right; I'm sure it isn't," decided young Benson, quickly.

"If they fellow were here on honest business, he wouldn't have sneaked out here to get in position. Besides, I have a vague remembrance of this fellow, and I don't connect him with anything honest!"

The Army tug, out on the bay, was now engaged in planting a second mine.

Again the slim stranger was all attention. When the crane began to lower the mine, a second mark was made on the chart on the drawing board.

Now, once more, the fellow lay at full length, watching intently off over the bay. At his right hand lay drawing-board, the book and the field-glasses.

"I'll give him a little excitement!" grimaced Jack Benson, stealing softly forward.

Suddenly the boy swooped down upon drawing board, book and glasses, then, with a panting whoop, wheeled and started off on a dead run.

"Here you—stop!" yelled the slim one, hoarse with sudden anger.

Like a flash the stranger was up and in pursuit. As he quickened in the chase this stranger drew a revolver that glinted in the sun.

IV. Jack's Queer Lot of Loot

"Stop, thief!"

Jack Benson only sped onward the faster.

"Halt, you young rascal!" roared the long-legged one, in pursuit.

"The fellow who can call names like that, under the circumstances, has no sense of humor!" chuckled the submarine boy, inwardly.

"Drop that chart and book!" panted the one in chase. "You're stealing government property!"

"Yes, but which government?" Jack shot back at his pursuer.

"Are you going to stop?"

Jack's answer was to increase his burst of speed slightly.

"Then I'm going to fire!" came the warning. Glancing over his shoulder the submarine boy saw the long-legged one still running after him. At the same time the pursuer was raising his revolver, sighting.

Jack felt a little shiver. He had never been suspected of being a coward, yet he was willing to admit that he didn't want to feel a chunk of lead plowing its way through him.

"Last word to halt!" yelled the pursuer, in an ugly tone.

"Fire, then!" dared Jack Benson.

Crack! Whizz-zz! Chug! The weapon was discharged promptly. Jack, still in flight, heard the bullet whistle by him. Then it struck the sand, fifty feet ahead, throwing up a spurt of the fine particles.

"That was for a caution. The next shot will be to hit!" panted the pursuer.

"I wonder if you can do it?" Jack taunted backward over his shoulder.

There was method in the submarine boy's tactics. He hoped, by making the stranger angry, to spoil his aim.

Crack! The bullet sped by, fanning the fugitive's face. The close aim, however, had the reverse of the effect expected by the marksman.

It roused all the submarine boy's anger. He might be hit, but he would stop, now, only if a bullet laid him low.

Two more shots sped after the fugitive. Their aim was too close for comfort, though not true enough to score a hit. Each of the shots sounded a bit further back, too.

"He's getting winded," gritted the running submarine boy. "With his long legs that chap ought to get over ground faster than I. The difference is that that fellow is out of condition, and my hard work keeps me about up to the mark of condition all the time. He—"

Crack! Jack happened to turn, just as the fellow fired, and the boy was able to see that the bullet struck the ground behind him.

"Out of range!" clicked Benson. "What's the good of carrying a pocket revolver for service work? Now, if he had a dozen shots more left he would be wasting his cartridges to fire at me."

In fact, it was plain enough that the pursuer had given up the chase for the time being. Not only was he out of range of his quarry, but the long-legged one lacked the wind to keep on on foot.

"Say, what a fool I'd have been, to give up this plunder!" cried Jack, mockingly. "That chap couldn't catch me; he couldn't hit me. So I've gotten away with the stuff he was so anxious to have—and which the Army, I'll bet, would a thousand times rather he didn't have!"

"Now, how am I going to get back to the Army people?" wondered young Benson, slowing down to a walk, though keeping a vigilant lookout to the rear. "I don't want to walk something like a million miles to find a place from which I can get across the bay."

It was desolate country, over here. Jack and the long-legged one, well to his rear, now, might be the only human beings within some miles. The outlook was not an encouraging one.

"Say! Wow! Whoop! Blazes!" uttered Captain Jack, suddenly. "Now, I remember Long-legs! Millard was the name he gave when he came to us, at Dunhaven, last Fall. He was the chap who wanted to work on the submarine construction. Said he'd do any kind of work, but Grant Andrews put him in a separate shed, sorting and counting steel rivets, and never let him get near a submarine boat. That's the same fellow—Millard. Or, at least, that was the name he gave them. But, when Millard found he wasn't going to do anything but take care of rivets, he threw up the job four days after. He had pretended to be mighty hard up, too, and wanted work at any sort of wages."

Jack's face began to glow as he remembered more and more of the brief career of Millard at Dunhaven.

"And Dave Pollard, when he was over in Washington later, said he ran across Millard living at the swell Arlington Hotel! Millard had a different name in Washington, and refused to recognize Mr. Pollard—said there was some mistake. By hookey! There isn't any mistake. Millard was trying to steal submarine secrets at Dunhaven, and now he's trying to map out harbor defenses in Craven Bay!"

Again Captain Jack glanced backward over his shoulder, but Millard was no longer in sight.

"He knew me, probably, in a flash," muttered the submarine boy. "I'm sorry I didn't recognize him sooner."

Having gotten his wind back, Jack broke into a run again. Just because Millard had dropped out of sight was no reason for taking chances of a sudden swoop from the stranger.

For some five minutes Jack Benson jogged along. Then he came in sight of a little semicove. Here lay a small motor launch, whose skipper, somewhat of the fisherman type, was busily engaged with the engine.

"Say," hailed young Benson, running down to the water's edge, "can you start your engine at once?"

"I reckon," nodded the fisherman, looking up.

"Run your bow in, so I can get aboard, then," directed Captain Jack, briskly. "I want to get over to where the Army tug is at work. Do you know where that is—over to the southeast ward?"

"Yep," nodded the fisherman.

"I'll give you three dollars to take me over there in a hustle," proposed Jack.

"You're easy enough," grinned the man in the boat, starting the engine, then lightly driving the bow of the boat upon the sand. "But you'll pay me in advance."

"Certainly," nodded the submarine boy, taking out the money, as he stepped into the boat, and handing it over.

"Now, pick up that boathook, and shove off, and we'll start," added the master of the little launch.

As Jack snatched up the boathook he caught, sight of Millard, three hundred yards away, just coming in sight on a run.

"You'd better get your engine going fast," warned Jack, "or that fellow headed this way will make trouble for us both. He's carrying a gun."

The skipper took just one look at Millard, who was racing along, pistol in hand, and was prepared to believe his present passenger. That little launch stole out of the cover under its reverse gear until the master of the craft thought himself far enough from shore for him to be out of range of Millard's weapon.

"Who is that feller?" asked the fisherman, when satisfied that he was at a safe distance and increasing it every instant.

"From the way he's dancing up and down, it looks as if he were crazy," laughed Jack, coolly.

"What's his particular specialty in craziness?" asked the master of the launch, looking shrewdly at the submarine boy.

"Now, see here," protested Benson, good humoredly, "as I understand it, you're paid to take me over to the Army tug—not to ask questions. Am I right?"

"You're right," nodded the fisherman, then surveyed the boy's uniform curiously.

"Your uniform looks like you was in the Navy?" suggested the man at the stern of the boat.

"Does it?" queried Jack.

"Are you in the Navy?" persisted the boat man.

"Just now, I'm serving with the Army," Captain Jack replied, evasively.

"Are you—" started in the human interrogation point, anew.

"See here," broke in the submarine boy, "I thought we agreed you had just one job to do for me, and that questions formed no part of it."

"That's right," agreed the fisherman. "But say, there's just one question I wish you'd answer me. Are you—"

"No!" interrupted Benson, decisively. "I am not. I never was."

"You didn't let me finish," complained the man.

"Wait until I'm out of the boat," proposed the submarine boy. "Then ask all the questions you like. Maybe you're paid to ask questions, but I'm paid to hold my mouth shut."

It went a good deal against the submarine boy's grain to be so brusque with an inquisitive stranger, but there seemed to be no other defense.

"Oh, well, if you're ashamed of your business—" retorted the fisherman, falling into a sullen silence.

This turn of affairs just suited Benson. He compressed his lips and sat back, looking out across the bay at the tug, which was at work some three miles away.

"Can you put on a little more speed?" inquired Jack.

"No," answered the fisherman, sulkily. "Doin' all the gait she'll kick now."

So Jack possessed his soul in patience until the wheezy little launch had covered the whole distance.

While still some two hundred yards off Jack caught sight of Major Woodruff coming out of the after cabin of the tug.

"Ahoy, Major!" yelled the submarine boy, holding his hands to his lips.

"Perhaps you'd better stop work until I've reported."

Then the launch ran in alongside, and Jack stepped up to the deck of the tug, holding tightly to the loot he had taken from Millard.

The master of the launch manifested a disposition to hang about in the near vicinity, until curtly ordered away by Major Woodruff.

"I suppose you thought, Major, that I took a good deal upon myself in advising you to suspend work," Jack hinted. "Yet I've something to show you, and much to tell you. And I'm wagering an anchor to a fish-hook that you'll be glad you stationed me over on that neck of sand."

Major Woodruff led the way back into the cabin. There he examined the chart, with a start of astonishment.

"The fellow was marking down all our mine positions," came savagely from between the Army officer's teeth.

Then he picked up the book.

"A nice little assortment of notes on matters of military interest along this coast," muttered the soldier. "Your long-legged fellow has been busy at other points than Craven's Bay."

Then, closing the book with a snap, Major Woodruff looked keenly at the submarine boy as he remarked:

"Mr. Benson, I think our present submarine tests can be well suspended.

We have a much more important task ahead of us—to catch this impudent thief of military secrets! And, in this undertaking, Benson, you can be of the greatest sort of help!"

V. Sighting the Enemy

"You can count on me, sir," declared Captain Jack Benson, eagerly.

"I can count on every one of you submarine boys, can't I?" asked Major Woodruff, thoughtfully.

"You can count on us," declared Benson, earnestly, "as though every one of us were sworn into the service and had a record of being tried and tested!"

In an instant after speaking the submarine boy realized that this must have had a boastful sound. So he added, quickly:

"Please don't suspect me, Major, of being a braggart. But Hal, Eph and I have always taken our work with seriousness. We have always acted just as though the Flag depended upon us for its protection. We have the desire, every minute of our lives, to be great Americans—that is, great in our devotion to the Flag, even if we cannot be great in deeds."

"By Jove, I believe you!" cried Major Woodruff, reaching forward and clasping Jack's hand tightly in his own.

The major went on heartily:

"No, no, Benson, I don't consider you boastful. You're talking the way I heard some youngsters talk when I was a boy. It's refreshing and encouraging to hear you talk that way. Do you know, boy, when we older fellows sometimes get to thinking of the country's past glories, we wonder whether the boys of to-day are going to make such men as have carried the United States of America forward in the past? The thought makes us solemn and anxious. I suppose every man who is grown and on toward middle life has always, in every generation, wondered whether boys were as serious and dependable, as staunch and loyal as the boys of the day before yesterday. Look here, lad!"

Major Woodruff rose, stepping to the door aft and throwing it open. The stern of the tug was visible. From the pole that slanted out over the stern, hung the Stars and Stripes.

"You don't need to glance at that fine old bit of bunting more than a second, lad," continued the major, "before you feel all that it can ever make you feel. In your case, I believe the sight of the Flag is always an inspiration to you. I pray it is so with every boy who grows up in this country. But is it?"

Standing there before the Flag, Jack quietly doffed his cap.

"Thank you, Benson," acknowledged the major, also doffing his own cap.

Then, closing the door, Major Woodruff stepped back to the table on which lay chart and book.

"This chart, Benson, shows what the rascal Millard, has been doing out on the neck. This book proves that he has been at work at some other points. The book doesn't tell much of the story, though. Of that I am certain. Millard, if he has been at work long, has compiled other notes in other written volumes. If so, then he has also made other charts of our coast defenses. For what other government has he thus marked a series of charts with our secrets? And has Millard succeeded in getting other charts, and other books of notes, off to the foreign government he is serving—or has he them hidden somewhere in this country, awaiting his chance to take the results of his spying out of the United States?"

"I wish I knew!" muttered Jack.

"I'm coming to the point," continued Major Woodruff, briskly. "Now, of course, when we discover evidence that spies of other governments are at work along our lines of national defenses, the first thing we try to do is to catch these foreign agents and all the material they have succeeded in getting together."

Major Woodruff, who was becoming considerably excited, paused to light a cigar, ere he continued, more slowly:

"Now, you and your two friends, Benson, know this fellow Millard. You will spot him instantly, wherever you go. I shall communicate with Washington, at once, by means of a telegram in cipher. The War Department will order me to use all speed in catching Millard, and in finding out where he keeps his other stolen records. Men and money will be used in running down this fellow. Yet you and your two chums should be in the front ranks of pursuit, for you will know him the instant you lay eyes on him."

"You want me to take my friends ashore, then, Major, and lay the 'Spitfire' up?"

"By no means," answered Major Woodruff, decisively. "In reality operations will be suspended at this point until we have run Millard down. Yet we must have the appearance of being as busy as ever. The submarine will hover about, and this tug will be busy, apparently, in laying the bay with mines. You have a fourth man on your boat?"

"Yes, sir; Williamson, the machinist."

"Can he run the engines all right?"

"As well as any of us, Major."

"Then I will put aboard a man who can steer. Thus the 'Spitfire' will be seen moving about the bay, and apparently at work. I'll also put aboard a guard of a sergeant and three or four soldiers of the engineer corps, and they'll guard that boat from harm with their lives. That will leave all three of you young officers of the 'Spitfire' free for shore duty."

"It will, Major. And now, sir, what is that shore duty to be?"

"Simply to locate Millard. He may be at one of the hotels in Radford."

Radford was the busy, important little port four miles farther up the bay.

"He's likely to be somewhere in Radford, anyway," nodded young Benson.

"Wherever the fellow is found, he must be seized at once," continued Major Woodruff, warmly. "Any policeman will seize him on your request.

I will give each of you three a written statement that you have been asked to locate Millard and have him arrested. If you run across Millard anywhere, turn him over to a policeman, then show my written authorization. On that the police authorities will hold the scoundrel and notify the military authorities. Then, once we have Millard out at Fort Craven, securely under lock and key, by authority from Washington, we will make every effort under the sun to locate his charts and notebooks."

"Why, the work you want us to do is going to be easy enough," murmured Captain Jack.

"It is going to be easy, if you succeed in finding the fellow, and in turning him over to a policeman," replied Major Woodruff. "And, by the way, I have just remembered that Lieutenant Ridder, of the engineer corps, reported last night from a former station in the West. No one around here will know him. Good enough! I'll have Ridder get into citizen's clothes and go about with you three. He can give you instructions on any point about which you're in doubt."

"We ought to run that rascal down, sir," answered Jack Benson, rising.

"Unless—"

"Unless what, Benson?"

"Why, sir, unless he's more clever than a rascal usually succeeds in being. I haven't lived so very long, Major Woodruff, but, from what little I've seen of the world, it has struck me that the cleverest scoundrels are always just a little less smart, in the end, than the average of honest men."

"I hope you'll prove it, in this case," replied the major. "And now, to signal your boat. We'll run both craft in at the ordnance dock at Fort Craven."

A couple of miles away Eph Somers was slowly running the submarine back and forth over the water in seeming aimlessness. In response to sharp blasts from the whistle of the Army tug, the "Spitfire" was seen to turn and head for the tug.

"Mr. Somers, you will follow in our wake," shouted Major Woodruff, when the two craft were within hailing distance of each other. "We will show you where to make fast at the ordnance dock."

"Very good, sir," Eph responded, with a salute.

A little later in the forenoon both boats docked at the water front of Fort Craven.

"You'll come up to my quarters, now, and meet Lieutenant Ridder," announced the Major, when he had gathered the submarine boys together, and when Jack had given necessary explanations to Williamson.

"You may not see us again, for a few days," Jack informed the machinist, in winding up.

"That won't surprise me so very much, either," laughed the machinist.

"Things are always happening, where you are, and mysteries have ceased to puzzle me."

"Have you young men ever been on a military post before?" inquired Major Woodruff, as he led them up from the dock.

"Never sir," replied Jack. "We have seen considerable of Navy life, but this is the first time we've ever been at a fort."

"You don't see much about this place, do you," laughed the engineer officer, "that makes you think of a fort?"

"Not much," Benson admitted.

"Yet we have a fighting plant here that could prevent a big fleet, indeed, from getting far up the bay at the important cities beyond.

That is," Woodruff continued, thoughtfully, in a low voice, "if the enemy, in advance of his coming here, doesn't know all about our defenses through the work of spies."

Just at the point near the dock, Fort Craven looked not unlike the yard of a big factory plant. Wagons going and coming constantly heightened this effect. Beyond, past the plain, on one side, Major Woodruff pointed out the barracks of the Coast Artillery, of the Engineers soldiers, and of the Infantry. There were also laborers' quarters, several office buildings, a hospital, a chapel, and two streets of cottages that served as quarters for the officers stationed at Fort Craven.

It was into one of these officers' streets that Major Woodruff soon led his three young companions. Admitting the boys to his home, the major took them to the library on the ground floor.

"Now, I'll telephone for Lieutenant Ridder to come over in citizen's dress," announced the major. "At the same time, I must advise Colonel Totten, who is commander of the post. He may come over here, or he may order us all over to headquarters."

Colonel Totten elected to come over to the major's quarters. He arrived just after Lieutenant Ridder, who proved to be a rather boyish looking young man, not long out of West Point.

The plans were quickly laid by which Lieutenant Ridder was to take an automobile up to Radford, going to one of the hotels and registering.

Jack and his two chums were to make the journey in another auto. They would go to still other hotels, perhaps to three different ones. At any moment when instructions were needed, any one of the three could call up Lieutenant Ridder on the telephone.

In addition, Major Woodruff gave each of the three submarine boys a written and signed authorization for them to call upon the police to seize Millard, if found, and hold the fellow for the United States military authorities.

"Now, you young men may start for Radford," continued the major.

"Colonel Totten and I will busy ourselves with the despatches that must be sent to Washington about this affair. But I trust, lads, you will not fail to realize the importance of prompt success."

"It's a special duty to the Flag, sir," Captain Jack answered, simply.

The automobiles were waiting outside. Lieutenant Ridder was given a three minutes' start. Then the submarine boys followed after, in a second car.

As Radford was but four miles distant from the post the trip was not to be a long one.

"This is the sort of job that has me by the ears," glowed Eph Somers, enthusiastically. "I won't be selfish enough to say I hope to be the fellow to catch Millard. But, if he does stray my way, I hope I won't be idiot enough to let him slip through my fingers."

"I don't care if Lieutenant Ridder is the one who nabs him," remarked Hal, coolly. "All that I'm particular about is to see this foreign agent nabbed before he succeeds in getting any information out of the country."

The car that bore the boys was soon driving through the streets of Radford. Jack held in his hand a list of the better grade and middle-class hotels that Colonel Totten had given him.

"Which hotel are we going to first?" asked Hal.

"I don't know," uttered Jack, suddenly, sharply. "I know what I'm going to do, however."

Leaning slightly forward the young submarine captain prodded the chauffeur lightly, twice, in the back—a signal that had been agreed upon at need.

In response, the chauffeur ran the car slowly in at the curb.

Captain Jack, opening the tonneau door, was quickly out on the sidewalk, without any need having risen for wholly stopping the car, which then shot forward again.

"Now, what on earth was that for?" demanded Eph Somers, as the car sped on.

"Don't look back," replied Hal.

"Why not?"

"Well, a certain party would see you looking at him."

"Who?"

"Why, Jack had the good luck to see Millard going along on the sidewalk.

We've just passed the fellow!"

"Are we going to nab him?" demanded Somers, breathlessly.

"You'll have to leave that decision to good old Jack," chuckled Hal Hastings. "He's out there, dogging Millard from the rear. It's Jack Benson's affair just at this moment."

It was mighty hard for Eph to refrain from looking back. But he restrained his curiosity.

VI. Flank Movement and Rear Attack

When Jack Benson first touched the sidewalk, and the automobile glided on, leaving him in the wake of Millard, it was the young submarine captain's intention to follow his instructions to the letter.

Millard, having no especial reason of his own for feeling in danger, was walking along at a moderate gait, occasionally glancing into shop windows or gazing at the people whom he passed.

He did not look behind, so it was easy for Jack, less than half a block to the rear, and keeping close to the buildings, to follow without being detected.

"Hullo," muttered the submarine boy. "There's a policeman on the crossing at the next corner. In another moment our long-legged one will be safely in custody."

Feeling in his inner coat pocket for the written authorization, Benson's fingers touched the envelope.

"He's easily caught;" murmured the boy.

There is sometimes a big slip between a wish and its fulfillment. Just as Captain Jack was on the point of darting out into the street to hail the policeman a street car whizzed by. With a flying leap the policeman landed on the front platform and was whirled along the thoroughfare.

"Lesson number one about being too sure," grumbled disappointed young Benson. "However, we'll soon come upon another policeman."

Two blocks more were covered, however, without sighting a bluecoat. Jack even began to wonder how it would do to leap upon Millard, calling upon passing citizens to aid him until a policeman arrived.

"But that would be a two-edged sword, that might cut too keenly on the wrong side," reflected the submarine boy. "Millard would be sure to claim that I was assaulting him. It would look like that, too, and I'd probably get a thumping from the crowd, while Millard slipped away.

Then he would be warned that he was wanted, and he'd make himself mighty scarce after that."

Still no policeman came into sight.

"Gracious!" muttered Jack Benson, suddenly. He had just glanced into a store's show window, where a mirror was set at an angle. The submarine boy, looking into that mirror, became aware that he could see people at a considerable distance behind him down the street.

"I wonder if Millard has been taking sights, too, and has had a peep at me, that way?" muttered the boy.

At the next corner the long-legged one, after a brief look down the side street, turned into it.

"Now, that we're getting away from the main street there'll be far less chance of finding a police officer," sighed Jack, at last wholly discontented with luck.

Millard led without, apparently, ever thinking to glance back. He turned a second corner, into another small street, and kept on.

"This is getting more exciting," muttered the young trailer. "Yet all signs point to the fact that I've got to make the grab all by myself.

I wonder if I can down that chap and get the upper hand of him? I don't mind a thumping, but I'd be sadly ashamed of myself to let the fellow get away from me."

Millard was walking briskly, now. Next, he turned sharply to the left.

"Ah!" Then Jack Benson shot swiftly forward on tip-toe, trying to make no noise as he ran.

For the long-legged one had, to all seeming, at the distance, wheeled and gone through the wall of a brick building.

Just an instant later, however, this impossible feat was explained. The submarine boy found himself at the street-end of a narrow alley between two brick buildings.

"He has gone into the rear house, at the end of the alleyway," decided Benson, peering down this narrow thoroughfare. "He has left the door partly open, too. I'll have to have a look-in."

As he stole down the alley-way Jack Benson was too sensible, and by this time, too much experienced in the ways of a rougher world, not to suspect that there might be some trap in that door partly open. "He may have seen me, and may have left that door open on purpose," Benson reflected.

"He may be lying in wait for me, inside. Or else he may have left that door open, just to make me suspect a trap and keep out. In the meantime, he may be slipping through a door on the other side of the house, and sneaking away from me."

For a few seconds Jack Benson paused thoughtfully on the step just outside the door that was partly ajar.

"I may walk into a trap, by going inside, or I may be letting that wretch walk out of one by staying out here," wavered Benson, torn between two impulses.

Then, just as suddenly, this thought flashed through his mind:

"What you're doing is for the Flag! Never mind what happens to you, Jack Benson. Just rash in and say 'here goes'!"

There was not another second's hesitation. Jack Benson softly pushed the door far enough open to admit him. At the back of the hallway he saw stairs leading below.

"Basement stairs, with a rear basement door letting out on another alleyway!" suspected the submarine boy.

Though he had determined to be as reckless as seemed necessary in order to get quickly on the trail of the vanished one, Jack moved on tip-toe.

He had all but reached the head of the stairs when a ground-floor door behind him opened noiselessly. The long-legged one, who had an equally good reach of arm, thrust out a noose that fell over the boy's head.

"Ug-g-g-gh!" rattled in Jack Benson's throat, as Millard, in grim silence, jerked the rope noose tight about the boy's neck. A sharp pull, a twist, and Millard had the boy face down in that hallway, and was kneeling on the victim's back.

"You ought to have known enough to keep away from me," growled the wretch, as he tightened on the noose.

That was about the last that the young submarine captain heard or knew, just then, for things were rapidly growing black before his eyes.

Jack tried to fight, but the choking was too severe. He couldn't get even a breath of air into his lungs to give him fighting strength.

Finding that the boy's struggles had ceased, the long-legged one eased off on the noose. He bent Jack's arms behind him so that the wrists crossed. Then, pulling another cord from one of his pockets, the wretch tied the youngster's hands with a few deft movements. Oh, but this rascal was an expert artist with ropes and cords.

Jack felt himself being prodded just over the pit of the stomach, and his senses slowly wandered back to him under the disturbing handling.

He was lying on his back, when his eyes opened once more. His throat felt sore, but he could breathe again.

Then the submarine boy discovered that his hands and feet were securely lashed. Beyond that, he discovered Millard squatting on the floor, close by, in Japanese fashion, for the foreign agent was sitting back on his own crossed heels.

"Feel wholly comfortable?" mockingly inquired the foreign agent, when he saw the boy's eyes open.

"Not especially, thank you," mumbled the boy, dryly.

Jack had discovered, by this time, that he was lying on a wooden floor, very likely in the basement of the house. The room contained no furniture, beyond an old table. Daylight was excluded by wooden shutters fastened into place over the windows. On the table a single candle burned in a candlestick.

"Why didn't you bring along with you, Benson," sneered the long fellow,

"the property of mine that you stole from me?"

It was plain, then, that the foreign agent remembered the submarine boy well.

"Why are you playing this fool trick on me?" counter-questioned Captain Jack. "You knew I didn't have the—the things with me. You could see that."

"I put you to this inconvenience," replied the foreign agent, "because I wanted to know a few things. In the first place, why are you bothering with me, or with my plans?"

Jack remained silent.

"Won't talk, eh? Oh, well, then, perhaps we can find out a few things without any very especial help from you."

Millard bent over, thrusting his hand into one after another of young Benson's pockets. In so doing he brought to light the envelope in the lad's inner coat pocket. Just an instant later, the wretch snatched the folded sheet from the envelope, spread the paper open and held it up to the light.

"Ho-ho!" sneered the rascal, "an order authorizing you to cause my arrest? This disposes of your case, then, young Mr. Benson!"

VII. A Lesson In Security and Information

Despite the savageness of his utterance Millard continued to gaze thoughtfully, for a few moments, at the submarine boy's face.

As the rascal gazed, however, a grayness came into his cheeks that, somehow, smote Captain Jack with secret terror.

"I—I don't see how it can be helped," gasped Millard, at last, in an altered tone that came as another dash of ice water over the submarine boy. "Benson, I hate to do it. I'd hate to use a dog in such a way, but—but there's no help for it!"

A long-drawn-out sigh, a still queerer look in his face, then the scoundrel broke forth again:

"It's your own fault, after all, boy, and there's no help for it."

"By and by I suppose you'll enlighten me as to what 'it' means?" hinted Jack, trying hard to bolster up a courage that, none the less, would ooze and drop.

Millard's only answer was to bend over the boy and roll him somewhat in examining the prisoner's bonds. It was through this that Jack discovered what he had not known before—namely, that his wrists, besides being bound behind his back, were also lashed fast to something in the flooring.

There was a queer little choke in Millard's breathing as he went out of the room and returned with a bushel basket of shavings. These he dumped on the floor, close to a wall. Then, again, he went out. When he returned he was carrying a can of coal-oil. The contents he poured over the shavings, then against the wall. Next, over the shavings, he heaped three or four newspapers.

Jack Benson didn't ask questions. Millard went at it all in such a business-like way that the submarine boy felt the words sticking in his throat; they couldn't be uttered.

Finally, when all else was ready, Millard took the lighted candle out of the candlestick.

"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 the stairs behind his head. Then he realized that some one was looking into the room. Then a voice spoke. It was Millard's, though scarcely recognizable on account of its huskiness.

"It's a fearful thing to do, Benson, but—but I can't help it! If you only knew what it means to me to win!"

Then followed a moment of utter silence. Jack could hear his own heart beating, as he fancied he could hear that of his persecutor. Then there was another sound, as though some light-weight metallic object had fallen to the floor.

"Good-bye, old chap! I—I respect you for your calm grit—that's all I can say."

There was the sound of a quick turn, then soft footsteps. Jack knew that Millard had fled.

"He respects me for my 'calm grit'!" laughed Jack, grimly—almost hysterically. "Doesn't the scoundrel know that I'm all but frozen into the torpor of dread?"

Then, just as suddenly, an anguished "oh!" broke from the boy's lips, to be followed, instantly, by a tremor of hope.

For, except at the time when interrupted by Millard's return, the young submarine captain had been fighting savagely at the bonds behind his back. Now, he fancied, he heard or felt a single strand giving way.

"I've got to get out of this quickly, if at all!" quavered the boy, staring with wavering eyes at the ever-shortening candle-bit. "There won't be anything left to do—except bear it—if I'm ten minutes longer at this all but hopeless task."

After a few frenzied moments of struggle there was another "r-r-rip" behind him—close to his wrists.

Now, young Benson fought with rage and frenzied strength. His gaze was ever toward the candle, burning lower. It seemed as if it must communicate its flame to the paper at any instant.

There came another ripping sound. Captain Jack Benson, though he could not see, felt something giving around his wrists. Frantically he squirmed and twisted with his hands. Then, suddenly, his wrists fell apart—free!

With an exulting throb of gratitude for this well-nigh unexpected boon, Benson forced himself up into a sitting posture. He was shaking, now, from sheer nervousness.

Swiftly, tremulously, he felt in his pockets.

"My long-legged friend never thought to take my knife—probably because he hadn't the slightest idea I'd be able to use it," thrilled the submarine boy, as he forced a blade open.

It didn't seem to take an instant, now, to cut the cords and set his feet free. Jack staggered to his feet. The lighted candle had burned down, now, even more perilously close to the paper—but what did the submarine boy care now? At the worst, he could easily run from this house which, he felt certain, was untenanted save for himself.

As soon as he could steady himself well enough, Benson bent and snatched up the burning candle from the tinder-like bed on which it stood propped.

"Instead of destroying me," he chuckled, "this candle will now light me on my way out."

At the doorway at the end of the room Jack Benson, by some strange chance, happened to remember that slight metallic sound of something falling to the floor while Millard was speaking. Now, Jack bent over, holding the candle to aid him in his hunt. Ah! There it was! Yet how utterly insignificant—nothing but a hairpin!

"Trifles often lead to something big, though," muttered the submarine boy, dropping the hairpin into his pocket. "I've been too much around machinery to despise small things."

Candle in hand, Jack quickly ascended through the rest of the house, after finding, in the lower hallway, a stout stick that he picked up.

With this club he felt he had a weapon to be depended upon at need.

But there was nothing in the rest of the little three-story house to throw any light upon the habits of Millard, or the place for which that worthy had departed.

In one upper room Benson found a small mirror hung from a nail in the wall. In this same room was a small trunk, lid up and empty.

Back to the basement Jack returned. At the rear he found a small yard.

Beyond that a fence, with a gate in it. The gate was unlocked. On a nail at the edge of the gateway Jack found a fluttering fragment of gray veiling.

"A woman has left here," thought Jack, holding the fragment of veiling in his hand. "Or else Millard got away disguised as a woman. That trunk may have held woman's apparel for the very purposes of such an escape."

This rear gateway opened upon a long, narrow alley that led to a street beyond.

Having satisfied himself on this point, Benson stepped back into the yard.

"Hold on! Here's something that will help," muttered the boy, staring down curiously at the ground.

It was the imprint of a foot in a wet spot on the ground. As Jack bent over it he saw the marks of diagonal criss-crossing such as is found in the soles of rubbers.

"The print is a fresh one. Either Millard wore rubbers away, or some woman has been here who wore them," Jack concluded.

Dropping his cudgel, since he would have no use for it, Benson made his way down the alley to the street beyond. At the corner stood a small grocery store, whose proprietor was in the doorway.

"I wonder," began Jack, "whether you saw a woman came down out of this alley-way lately? A tall woman?"

"About twenty minutes ago I saw a tall woman, in a gray dress and wearing a gray veil," replied the storekeeper.

"Was she carrying anything?"

"Some sort of a grip—a suit case, I guess."

"Did you ever see the woman before?" persisted Jack.

The storekeeper shook his head.

"Which way did the woman go?"

"I don't remember, particularly, but I think down that way," replied the grocer, pointing.

Jack hurried along. It was a quiet part of the town. None of the people to whom he spoke within the next three or four minutes remembered having seen the tall, veiled woman in gray, though some "thought" they "might have."

"I reckon," wisely decided Captain Jack Benson, "that I know just about enough to take my information to Lieutenant Ridder."

VIII. Eph Feels Like Thirty Tacks

As agreed, the young West Pointer was in a room at the Grindley House.

As this room was equipped with a telephone, the young Army man was in touch both with Fort Craven and with the submarine boys, should the latter find anything to report over the talking wire.

Here in the room Captain Jack found Ridder, for the boy had felt it best to go direct to the hotel.

"Surely, you haven't found out anything as quickly as this?" asked the young lieutenant of engineers, looking up in surprise.

"I've learned a few things," replied Jack, quietly.

"Sit down, and let us hear what you've learned."

Jack dropped to the chair, but Lieutenant Ridder, when he heard the news, was so excited that no chair could hold him.

"Jove! and just our luck!" gasped the Army officer. "No policeman in sight! Now, if you three boys had kept together—"

"But, you see, when I dropped from the automobile, I wasn't sure it was Millard. I had had only a glance, and his face was away from me."

"If you see that wretch again, jump on him wherever he is."

"I could have done it, this last time," Benson nodded. "Yet I had an idea that, if I followed him, he might lead me to the place where he kept his maps and his other stolen information. And he did, I guess," added Jack, with a somewhat disappointed smile.

"Wait a moment. I'll try to get Major Woodruff over the wire," muttered Lieutenant Ridder. "He may have some orders for us."

Major Woodruff was at his home. He heard the message and sent his orders crisply.

"The major thinks we had better keep this matter from the police, yet, and do our best to find Millard, either in his own garments, or behind that gray dress and veil," announced the Army lieutenant.

"Then I wish we had the other boys here," muttered Jack, wistfully.

At that moment the 'phone bell rang. It was Hal, reporting, and inquiring whether any word had come from his chum.

"Mr. Benson is here, and I think you'll do well to get here as quickly as you can," replied Ridder.

"Is there any word—" began Hal Hastings.

Ting-ling-ling! The 'phone bell rang, cutting off Hal. The latter had received his orders, and his next concern was to obey them. That was lesson number one in brisk Army discipline.

Hal was on hand in five minutes. While Jack was recounting to him the adventure with Millard, Eph Somers came in. He stood in the background, listening, his jaw gradually dropping until his mouth was wide open.

"You heard how Benson ran into the fellow?" asked Lieutenant Ridder, turning to Somers.

"Yes," muttered Eph, disgustedly, "and I guess I have been enjoying the fool's part of the adventure!"

"How so?" demanded the Army officer quickly.

"I met that same woman, I'll bet a cookie," growled Eph,

"and—and—I—"

"Well, sir?" demanded Lieutenant Ridder, briskly.

"I carried that bag for her—carried it nearly two blocks!"

"What's that?" cried Jack Benson, leaping up. "How—"

"No; I don't believe, on second thought, that I'm the prize fool."

"Come, come," directed Lieutenant Ridder. "Talk up quickly, young man."

"If you want to hear what I have to say," retorted Eph, with a slight flash of his eyes, "you'll have to wait until I get around to it."

It was serving direct notice on Ridder that Army briskness wouldn't do in Eph's case.

"Well, what have you to tell?" demanded the young lieutenant, impatiently.

"I was on my way back here," Eph continued. "Guess, maybe, I was eight blocks or so away from here. I had been to the hotels that I agreed to visit, and—"

"Why did you go to the hotel, anyway, after you knew Benson had sighted Millard?" broke in the Army officer.

"Because it wasn't a sure thing that Jack had seen Millard. He thought so, and so did we. But, after we left him, the auto ran along slowly, and we heard no row behind, so we guessed that maybe Jack had been wrong in his guess. At least, Hal and I figured it out that way. So I went to the hotels on my list, just the same, and I guess you did, didn't you, Hal?"

"Yes," nodded Hastings.

"This isn't bringing us, very fast, to your latest adventure," complained young Ridder.

"It's your fault, then," continued Eph, placidly. "You asked a question, and I answered it."

"Well, what about meeting the woman in a gray dress and veil?"

"I met her," retorted Eph.

"Could you see through the veil?"

"No."

"Then how do you know it was Millard?"

"I don't know," Eph rejoined. "But there are mighty few women as tall as Millard. Besides, this one had rather a long foot, and wore rubbers.

I noticed that. Huh! This makes me feel like thirty tacks!"

"How did you meet her—or him?" asked Ridder.

"I was crossing a street, maybe eight blocks from here," Eph replied,

"and I saw that tall woman, in gray, slip on the crossing. There was a street car coming, and she gave a little yell. I got to 'her' just in time to pull 'her' out of the way of the trolley and to set 'her' on 'her' feet again. Then I picked up 'her' dress suit case. It struck me that the one I supposed to be a woman was on the point of speaking to me when he—she—seemed to see my uniform and then get a look at my face. Then the party, whether it was he or she, made signs to show that he, or she, was deaf and dumb. The suit case was heavy, so I offered to tote it along, as I was headed the same way. I thought it was the least I could do for a woman who had just had a great shock.

If that was Millard—and I'd bet a torpedo boat it was—how he must have chuckled over the idea of having one of the submarine boys carry his bag for him."

"How far did you go with this 'lady'?" asked the Lieutenant Ridder, with a faint touch of sarcasm.

"Two blocks," replied Eph.

"And you left her—"

"At a cheap hotel where I can find her again. And I guess it's up to us to start right away."

"Yes," nodded Jack. "And we can't start too soon."

It may have occurred to Lieutenant Ridder that he wasn't exactly being consulted. However, he saw that these submarine boys were used to acting swiftly, and he began to believe that they would work better if left to their own devices. So he merely nodded, adding:

"I'll wait here. I'll hope to have a report before long."

Eph led his two comrades back unerringly to the cheap hotel. They went straight to the hotel desk, Jack asking, bluntly, whether any very tall woman, in gray, and carrying a dress suit ease, had registered there.

"No," replied the clerk, very positively.

Then they interviewed the porter. He remembered the "woman" having stepped inside the hotel. She readjusted her veil in the lobby near the doorway.

"Then she went outside, spoke to a driver, got into his cab, and went away," continued the porter.

"She spoke to the driver, did she?" Eph asked.

"Of course, sir," retorted the porter. "You didn't think she made signs, did you?"

From their talk the submarine boys were satisfied that it was the same "woman" whom Eph had so gallantly assisted. They were equally sure that this veiled "woman" in gray was none other than Millard.

"Do you remember which driver it was whose cab she engaged?" Jack asked, turning to hand the porter a dollar.

"Jack Medway's cab, sir," was the quick answer. "And here it comes, now."

The submarine boys hurried out, transferring their attention to Medway.

"I'm just back from taking the lady," replied the driver, after Jack Benson had slipped him, also, a dollar bill. "But say—was it a lady, or a joke?"

"Why?" queried Jack Benson.

"Well," replied the driver, "the voice was pitched high, but there was something peculiar about it. I wondered, at the time, if it was a man rigged and togged out like a woman."

"Where did she tell you to take her," Jack Benson wanted to know.

"To Furnam Square!"

"Did you take her to any address there?"

"No; just to the square. Then I waited to fill my pipe, and I saw the woman, if woman it was, walk across the square and get into another cab."

"If you haven't anything else to do," hinted Jack, "suppose you take us to Furnam Square now."

Within a very few minutes the three friends were gazing out of a cab window upon the square. It looked like a very quiet residence section.

"There was another cab here, you say, that took your last 'fare' from this square?" asked Jack.

"Yes; there is a fellow who has a regular stand here. It's his cab," replied Medway.

"Let us know, then, when that particular driver gets back here," begged Jack. "We'll sit here in your rig and wait."

Medway grinned. Waiting, as well as driving, meant money for him.

Fully an hour and a half dragged by. Jack was beginning to wonder if it would not be better to give up this present clue to the chase, when Medway, leaning down from his box, called quietly.

"That's the other fellow and his rig, coming back into the square now."

"As soon as he stops," directed Benson, "drive us over alongside. Don't say anything to him. Let me do the talking."

In a moment more Jack was out on the sidewalk, talking earnestly with the driver just returned.

"You've had a long trip of it," guessed Jack, noting the warm condition of the horses.

"You bet," nodded the other driver.

"Just got back from taking the tall woman in gray somewhere."

"Yep. But do you call it 'somewhere'? I'd call it most anywhere."

"How far was it?" asked Jack.

"What do you want to know for?" demanded the Jehu, looking with sudden sharpness at his questioner.

"Because we'd like to go to the same place that you took the woman," returned Benson, promptly.

"Huh! I took her for three dollars. I wouldn't go over that trip again for less'n five."

"We'll pay the five, and be glad to," proposed Jack Benson, displaying some money. "More than that, if you play right fair with us, we'll put another five on top of the first, just as a little present to your horses."

"You'd better use the young gentlemen right, Jim," advised Medway.

"They're good fellows, and they pay well."

"Why do you want to go where I took that last party?" questioned Jim, with a shrewd look.

"One of the things that the second five-dollar note pays you for is asking no questions," retorted Jack. "Do you want to take up our offer?"

"Yes; if you'll give me fifteen minutes to rest and water the horses," agreed Jim.

"That'll be all right," nodded Jack. "And now, Medway, have we paid you enough?"

"Plenty," cheerfully responded the first driver, taking the hint and leaving.

"Where did you take that woman?" questioned Jack, while the new driver got out a bucket for watering his horses.

"Away down by the sea-coast. Know where the Cobtown fishing shanties are?"

"No."

"Well, Cobtown is made up of three or four little villages of rickety old houses. Some are occupied by fishermen, and some ain't. There's three or four coves down that way fishing craft anchor in. It's a lonely, wild bit of country, and some rough characters 'mong them fishermen."

"Did you take your fare to any particular house or shanty down at Cobtown?"

"Nope; she got out on the road, in sight o' Cobtown, an' walked along, toting her old grip."

"What kind of a 'grip' was it?"

"An old brownish suit case."

"That's the one," nodded Eph.

As the driver busied himself over his team, the submarine boys drew aside to talk over their new information.

"I reckon we're going to be too late," grumbled Captain Jack.

"What makes you think so?" Hal inquired.

"Fishing villages, smacks and fishermen," answered Jack, gloomily.

"Fishermen are a daring, reckless lot of fellows. They'd take a craft anywhere, in any kind of weather, for money enough. Fellows, I'm afraid Millard has hired a smack and started up or down the coast."

"Then we've got a craft that can chase any smack on the Atlantic coast," declared. Eph, stoutly.

"Of course; if we knew which craft to overhaul, and had the authority to do it."

"Authority? Then what's the matter with the people at the Fort?" demanded Eph.

"Their authority runs only on the land. Besides, by the time we got through the red tape, and got started, any smart smack, in a good wind, would be forty miles the other side of the horizon."

"Are you going to take this long drive, then?" asked Hal Hastings, rather dubiously.

"Yes," declared Jack Benson, promptly. "Hal, old fellow, any trail is best where it's freshest."

"I reckon you can git in, now, gents, if ye want," called the driver.

Seated in the cab the submarine boys set out to meet whatever might be before them in Cobtown. Had they possessed the gift of prophecy— However, none of us possess that!

IX. Jack Plays With a Volcano

After something more than an hour's drive the Jehu pulled his horses up, got down from the box and opened one of the doors.

"Here you are, young gents. This is the spot where I put the last fare down. An' now you know as much about her whereabouts as I do."

The district into which the submarine boys had come was well outside of the city, and in a different direction from Craven's Bay and the Fort.

It was bleak and wild here. Even the shanties of the three little villages, with their fish-sheds, their racks with nets spread, the rickety wharves—all looked dismal. It seemed as though here must be one of the spots where only a scanty living is earned and only by the hardest kind of work.

"Well, we're much obliged to you, driver, and here's the money promised to you."

"Obliged to you, gents. Will you want to be going back with me?"

"No," Captain Jack answered. "I reckon we're going to be moored here for a while."

"Now, whereaway? What's the course?" demanded Eph Somers.

Benson glanced at his watch, then up at the sun.

"It'll be dark in about an hour and half," he muttered. "Why not wait until dark? We can't have been seen from any of the villages yet.

Looking out over the water you don't see a craft of any sort headed away from here. From this point, looking down, we can see if any of the boats in port get ready to put out. So Millard, if he hasn't already escaped, can't get away by sea without our knowing it. If he tries to get away by land, we're right where we can see him coming."

"Then you think we'd better wait here, keeping out of sight, until dark?" asked Hal.

"Most decidedly. Don't you?"

"Yes," nodded Hal.

"But it'll be a mighty tedious wait," growled Eph, the impatient one.

"Well, youngster, we're not here to consult our own comfort," retorted Captain Jack. "There's something higher to consult—the best interests of our country."

"Oh, if you put it that way!" grumbled Eph, much mollified.

The submarine boys had stepped into a little hollow, just off the road, and barely below a rise in the ground. There were trees and bushes about to aid them in concealing themselves. If they saw anyone coming their way they could easily find better hiding.

No one came, however. Dark found the boys desperately hungry.

"Of course we didn't think to bring anything to eat," uttered Eph, disgustedly. "What are we going to do about it?"

"We've got to each of us take a village, presently, enter it and search," replied Captain Jack. "With only one of us to each village, it will be tough luck if each one can't find some one who has enough food to sell a little of it."

"How soon are we going to start?" asked Eph, hopefully.

"Well, supper time will be the best time to go through the villages," decided the young submarine skipper "If Millard has taken refuge with anyone who lives in one of these villages, he'll be more likely to show himself at supper time than at any other."

"It won't take long to look into each of the houses," muttered Hal.

"There aren't many in any one of the villages."

"If we don't espy our man at table," Captain Jack went on, "we'll have to try other means of finding him out. You two will know what to do when you're on the ground. If Millard is anywhere in the village that you go to look through, don't fail to find him—that's all."

Jack chose, for himself, the northernmost village. Hal took the next one, and Eph the southernmost.

"Now, remember, fellows," breathed Benson, sharply, as they parted,

"the one great thing is not to fail!"

The night was dark and the sky overcast as the submarine boys parted to go their several ways.

"I think I can understand how Eph feels about his stomach," grimaced Jack, as he strode along. "I don't believe I'd balk, just now, at the plainest food ever cooked. Why, I haven't eaten since this morning!"

The evening being rather warm, most of the houses, as Jack neared the village, proved to have open windows. Lights shone, and the fishermen and their families could be seen at table.

No one appeared in the street, at first. Jack strolled down the principal street, looking into each house without much difficulty. Yet the one face that he sought was not visible.

Down at the further end of the street Benson came upon a tumble-down-looking grocery store.

"What kind of sandwiches can you put me up?" queried the submarine boy, casually.

"Stranger, eh?" asked the man behind the counter, staring curiously.

"Yes; haven't you had any other strangers here lately?"

"Not as I knows on," replied the man, a shaggy, unkempt-looking fellow of forty.

"None here to-day, eh?" asked Jack, taking out a half-dollar and toying with it on the counter.

"Don't remember anybody very special," replied the storekeeper.

"You haven't answered me about the kinds of sandwiches you can put up,"

Jack reminded him.

"Not very fancy in that line, young feller. Cheese, or sardines; that's all."

"Give me three of each, then," begged Jack. He seized the first sandwich that was prepared and began to eat it.

"Hungry, eh!" asked the storekeeper.

"Yes," Jack admitted; "for want of anything better to do."

"Foller the sea, don't ye?"

"Depends," muttered Jack, his mouth half full of sandwich. "When I'm going before a brisk fair wind, sometimes the sea follows me."

"'Spose so," grinned the storekeeper, passing over the second sandwich.

After that, the fellow got in slightly ahead of the submarine boy's appetite, though Benson finished the whole meal in a few minutes.

"Now, if you've got a bottle of soda water, to wash that all down with," hinted Benson. It was forthcoming, also a smoky-looking glass.

"So you haven't had any strangers here lately," hinted Captain Jack.

"Nope."

"Any craft been fitting out to sail to-night or first thing in the morning?"

"Nope."

"Gracious, but this is a dead place," laughed Jack. "Must be a lot of shacks for rent around here?"

"There was one place," stated the storekeeper, "but a dude feller hired it last week. Said some sort o' fishing club'd be down this way to fish, once in a while. That kinder minds me," went on the storekeeper.

"I guess maybe some o' that crowd are down, 'cause I saw a light up there at the house, jest come dark."

"If there's a fishing club down here, that ought to make business good for you," suggested Captain Jack.

"Dunno. They can start tradin' as soon as they like. I'm ready."

"Which house has the fishing club hired?" was Jack's next question.

"Why, I guess you can make it out from the door," replied the storekeeper, coming out from behind the counter and going to the front of his establishment. "There, if yer eyes are good, you can jest make out a building over there on the point. See it? Well, there's a little boat wharf in front that ye can't see until you get closer."

Jack had found out just what he wanted to know. He had the very information for which he had been fishing, nor did he believe the storekeeper suspected him of undue curiosity.

"Well, I've got to be moving along, now I'm fed," announced young Benson.

"The yacht I belong to is some distance from here. Good night!"

Nor did Captain Jack linger in the village. Had anyone stood still in that street and stared after Benson, he would have seen the boy vanish in the darkness.

Captain Jack, however, had not disappeared from the scene. He was merely shifting to the part of it that interested him most. Cautiously he stole out along the further side of a ridge of land, toward the rickety old house on the point.

"Not a sign of a light, now," breathed the submarine boy. "If Millard was really there, I hope he hasn't had time to get away for good."

All was silent and dark about the old house, as Captain Jack stole closer. At nearer range he made the circuit of the house, only to find every window shuttered, and the place as dismal as the grave.

"I'm afraid the game has escaped," muttered Benson, with a sinking feeling at his heart. "Yet he didn't escape, by sea or land, while we were watching outside the village. And it was just at dark that the storekeeper saw a light here. I wonder if it would be easy to—"

Right there Jack Benson's train of thought broke off. From the opposite side of the house came a sound exactly like that of the opening and closing of a door.

"Can that be our man coming out?" wondered Skipper Jack.

He started cautiously around the house, but soon drew back around the corner of the building. Dropping to the ground, and lying flat, the submarine boy allowed only the top of his head to show as he peeped.

Glory! Jack knew, well enough, that tall figure striding off into the gloom. It was Millard, and under his left arm the fellow carried a large package that might be a bulky portfolio well wrapped.

"He has his drawings—his maps of American fortifications and fortified harbors—the very stuff that we want to get!" throbbed the boy. "And now—we're going to get them!"

Keeping Millard's receding figure zealously in sight, Jack, crouching low, started after the long-legged one as soon as the distance between seemed sufficient to keep Millard from guessing at pursuit.

"Oh, how I wish Hal and Eph were here!" muttered Captain Jack, in keen disappointment.

"I need help on this!"

Within two minutes Millard had struck into a well-beaten path that led northward over succeeding ridges of laud. In a way, it was easier following here, for there were occasional trees and clumps of bushes behind which the young shadow could drop at need.

Two minutes in this path, and Jack Benson's heart gave another quick leap. Some one else was coming stealthily behind him. Jack dodged around a clump of bushes and waited.

"Hal!" breathed Jack, almost wild with joy, as the two chums clasped hands fervently for one brief instant. Then:

"See here, Hal, I've got to dart forward again, or Millard will be out of sight. But I'll tell you what—while I trail Millard, you concern yourself only with following me."

"Good enough," whispered Hastings, nodding. "Now, you start again!"

For just an instant Millard had disappeared. However, by moving forward quickly, Benson was soon able to make out the quarry through the darkness.

For some five minutes more the chase continued. Then, his long body rather sharply defined against the sky, Millard began the ascent of a low hill that ended in a cliff overlooking the broad ocean.

As Millard's course forward could end only in the sea, Jack now crouched low, stealing along a parallel course behind a low ridge of rock.

Then Millard suddenly stepped into a clump of tall bushes. Though his game was now out of sight, Jack did not lose his nerve, for he could hear the fellow.

Spink! spank! clank! The noise came from a shovel, vigorously used.

"Not a hard one to guess," throbbed Captain Jack Benson, exultantly.

"He has brought his maps and his stolen records with him, and is burying them in this lonely spot until some other time when he'll feel safe about coming back for them. Talk about luck! Why, Hal and I can pounce on this fellow, when he comes out over yonder, and, after we get him, we can next dig up whatever it is that this foreign agent thinks is worth burying!"

Then, with a shade of curiosity, Benson added to himself:

"I don't know, yet, how it happened that Hal was on my trail. There wasn't time for him to tell me."

Clank! clank! But after a while the noise of the shovel ceased for a while. Captain Jack craned his neck eagerly, trying to pierce the darkness of the night. He could make out nothing, though he heard some one still moving inside the clump of bushes.

Then again the noise of the shovel on the dirt was heard.

"He's filling in, now, beyond a doubt," thought Captain Jack. "He is burying—what? The maps and records? Hiding them here that he may dig them up at some later date?"

Benson chuckled noiselessly.

"If that's Millard's game I reckon some one else will do some digging over yonder before he pays this place a second visit!"

Ah, the noise had stopped, at last. Now, Millard came out of the thicket.

"He hasn't that bundle he brought up here!" throbbed Jack Benson. "And he isn't bringing a shovel out, either, so it must be hidden right handy.

Great!"

Mr. Millard could depart, now, if he wanted. Jack trusted to his chum, prowling somewhere about, to have the good judgment to follow the long-legged fellow away. As for Benson, he didn't mean to do another thing until he had found the shovel, and had determined just what had been so carefully buried on this dark night!

So Jack watched, rather indifferently, as Millard slunk off into the darkness. After three minutes or so had passed, Jack rose and ran straight for the thicket.

There it was—new ground, that had just been turned over with a shovel.

There was no mound, but the fresh earth showed just where to dig.

"Oh, this is as easy as making change for a blind man!" chuckled the young submarine skipper, rubbing his hands ecstatically.

What about the shovel? Jack turned to feel around in the darkness.

Really, Millard couldn't be such a very clever fellow! Jack had no difficulty in finding the shovel. Its handle was sticking out from under a mass of dead brush.

Jack Benson drew out the implement, brandishing it.

"Hal had the good sense to shadow that chap away," decided the young skipper. "Otherwise, he'd have been here by this time. Good haul—rascal and records in the same night. For, if Hal goes on Millard's trail, then Millard is pretty sure to be a prisoner before the night is over. Oh, I wish Eph would turn up."

Then Jack took a good grip on the shovel. Clank! spink! spink!

Having been so recently moved, this dirt was easy to dig.

Yet, suddenly, there came a new note on the night air.

"Jack, O Jack!" sounded in Hal's frantic tones. "Quick!"

"Eh?" called Captain Benson. "What's the row? Come here and see what I can show you!"

"No! You come here—quick!"

"That's queer," pondered Jack Benson, leaning on his shovel, trying to understand what it could all mean.

Then he heard, even at the distance, the sound of Hal Hastings panting, as though engaged in hard physical effort.

Again rose Hastings's frantic voice, though somewhat muffled in its sound.

"If you don't hustle, it will be too late!"

Jack dropped the shovel on the ground, wheeled, and ran down the slope to where Hal's voice sounded.

"I'm coming, old fellow!" quivered the submarine skipper, starting to run.

Boom! A terrific explosion shook the ground. The air seemed full of flying fragments of rock.

X. "Mr. Gray" Makes New Trouble

Had Jack Benson started down the slope two or three seconds later he must have been killed.

As it was, the fearful force of concussion sent him sprawling headlong on the ground.

A shower of small fragments of rock and of loose dirt fell about him.

Yet Jack was up again, like a flash, never stopping to inquire whether he had been hurt.

"O-oh!" came the groan, from Hal Hastings.

"There, in a second!" panted Captain Jack, beginning to run again.

A blow sounded, then a fall.

Captain Jack raced into a little, bush-lined hollow, just in time to see Millard leap up and take to his heels.

Hal Hastings lay on the ground, as though badly hurt.

"Oh, you would, would you?" raged Captain Jack Benson, making a swift spurt after Millard.

He caught the long-legged one, too, by the back of the fellow's coat collar.

Yank! Millard was pulled over backward. Down he went, Benson piling a-top of him.

"Down!" cried Skipper Jack, exultantly. He found, however, that Millard possessed strength enough to put up a stiff fight.

"Come on, Hal—if you can!" called Jack Benson, sharply.

"Can't—just yet," came, in muffled tones, from the usually prompt Hal Hastings.

"Let go, you young hound!" ordered Millard, striking out savagely.

Jack hung desperately. Yet the trouble was that the young submarine skipper had tackled a man who was at least fifty per cent. stronger and fully as agile.

While Hal still hung back, Millard gave a heave, then rolled himself over on top of Jack Benson.

"I'll give you just a short lesson!" snarled the long-legged one.

He raised a fist, intent on bringing it down like a sledge-hammer across Benson's face.

That blow, however, wasn't the one that landed. Biff! whack! Two sturdy, hard fists registered on Millard's head from behind. Then a boy shot himself forward, battering-ram fashion, hurling Millard over to the ground. The boy went with the fellow, landing on top of him.

And that boy was Eph Somers!

"Come on, Jack, if you want some of this!" offered Eph, generously.

Truth to tell, there was need of both the submarine boys, for Millard now fought more fiendishly than before.

Millard was a powerful fellow, when aroused, but he had pitted against him two of the doughtiest, gamest boys to be found along the Atlantic coast. He was pretty well beaten up, in fact, by the time that Hal came limply upon the scene.

"Want any help?" demanded Hal, in a still somewhat breathless voice.

"Nope!" answered Eph, sturdily. "Not unless you want exercise."

As Somers spoke he landed another blow, this against the "wind" at Millard's belt-line. In the same instant Jack Benson managed to knot his hands in the fellow's coat lapels, and to press the backs of his hands against the wretch's throat.

"I sur—ug-g-gh!—er—render," gurgled the long-legged one, weakly.

"You'd better, unless you want to discover that we haven't yet started in with rough handling," retorted Eph valiantly.

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. Now, what was that explosion?"

"Wait a second!" broke in Eph, in a low voice. "Millard had a pal here.

It was the pal I shadowed here. And that pal is running, now, with a fair-sized bundle that he came here to get."

"He was running when you jumped into this business?" demanded Benson.

"Yes."

"Then the pal is too far away, by this time, for us to catch him by running after him," decided Skipper Jack. "Now, about that explosion!"

"This wretch had a mine planted up on the hill," explained Hal Hastings.

"I was watching, at the rear, you know, and it happened that I stopped right close to the hollow where you found me. Then I saw Millard drop into that hollow, and I took a look-in. I was just in time to see him bending over to reach for the handle of a magneto battery. Now, I happened to know that magneto batteries are made for the purpose of touching off explosives at a safe distance. So I jumped in on him.

Just at that second I heard you, Jack, old fellow, striking with the shovel up above there. I had to guess fast, so the whole thing struck me like a flash. Millard had been digging, up there, just to lead on anyone who might be shadowing him. While you were bent over the spot where he had been digging, he meant to touch off a mine that must have been planted and laid days ago. Millard, you rascal, if you suspected that you were being watched, it was your idea to lead the shadow out here, get him over that mine and touch it off!"

The prisoner's eyes flashed.

"That was your game, wasn't it?" demanded Benson, angrily.

"Find out, if you can," growled the prisoner.

"You've guessed it, Hal," nodded Jack, then shuddered. "Had I followed this villain out here alone, and then gone to digging, unwarned, where I had seen him digging, my remains would have come down in four counties.

But, you mean scoundrel, you never happened to think that you'd be trailed by three different fellows, all at different points along your trail."

"This is where my account comes in," interposed Eph Somers. "You remember the village you sent me to, Jack? Well, all I could find out was that, a few days ago, a chap named Gray had come along and hired a little schooner that's about twice as fast as any other sailing craft in these parts. He hired two fishermen to sail it for him—when he got ready. His crew have been wondering, since, when he'd be ready.

Since he made the deal, Gray has just been hanging around and doing nothing."

"My informant pointed out Gray to me. Right after that, I vanished.

But I kept an eye on Gray. When he left the village, so did I. The trail led up here. Gray went to a pile of dead brush that had been heaped up. He prowled under the brush, brought out a wooden box that had been hidden there, and, from the box, took a bundle. He started off with it. I figured that bundle was what we wanted. I didn't want to take the chance of tackling him and having him get the best of me, so I started to follow. Just then I heard the rumpus up here. Maybe I did wrong, but I figured we could get Gray again, so I hustled up here to help."

"This wretch, Millard, and I had a pretty rough-and-tumble time of it,"

Hal broke in. "At last, though, he gave me a blow in the wind that put me right down and out, for a little while. Then he got the handle of the magneto and pumped it."

"Glad I started down the slope just when I did," nodded Skipper Jack, dryly. "If I hadn't—well, what's the use of talking about it?"

Forcing Millard to get upon his feet, the boys inspected, first the magneto battery, to which was attached wire buried in the ground.

Then up the slope they went, to find a miniature crater, some ten feet deep and at least fourteen feet across, where the mine had been exploded.

"Say, it's hard, even yet, to understand why I wasn't killed," muttered Jack Benson. "But here we are, standing here, thinking about ourselves, when that fellow, Gray, is getting away with a package that we ought to have. Come along, fellows! And you, Millard, if you try to bold back on us, you'll learn some new things in the way of discomfort!"

Thus warned, and realizing that his determined young captors were in a savage frame of mind, the long-legged one didn't try to lag. All four appeared in the village in which Eph had prowled for information.

The appearance of the handcuffed prisoner stirred up a lot of curiosity.

Eph, however, showed his written authorization for taking Millard in the name of the United States government, so no one offered the captive any aid or sympathy.

But the submarine boys met with disturbing news. They heard that a little more than a half an hour before, Gray, still carrying a big package, had embarked on his chartered schooner, and had put to sea.

"Had we better charter something and go in chase?" wondered Hal.

"What's the use?" demanded one of the fishermen. "The 'Juanita' is four miles or more out to sea, by this time, and the night's dark you couldn't see her. And there's no craft hereabouts fast enough to catch the 'Juanita.'"

"Besides," whispered Jack, in his chum's ear, "we have no power to overhaul a craft at sea."

So, making the best of the situation, the submarine boys hired a driver, horse and wagon at the village, and started on their return to town.

XI. Facing the Secretary of the Navy

Jack was the first to enter Lieutenant Ridder's room at the hotel. The young engineer officer jumped up out of his chair, looking somewhat angry.

"Look here, Benson," expostulated the lieutenant, "what sort of way is this to use me? Here I've been loafing about here for hours, and you haven't sent or brought me word of any kind. You—"

"We've brought you something better," smiled Jack Benson, throwing the door further open. "Here is Millard, himself."

Millard came in, a policeman at his side, for the submarine boys had hailed the first policeman they met inside the city limits, and had explained to him.

"This man is wanted as a United States prisoner, is he, sir?" inquired the policeman.

"Yes, if his name is Millard," replied Lieutenant Ridder.

"Oh, this is Millard, all right," confirmed Jack Benson.

"Then shall I leave the fellow with you, sir?" inquired the policeman.

"Yes, of course; and thank you."

"You'll give me a receipt for the fellow, as a United States prisoner?" hinted the policeman.

"As a United States suspect," corrected Lieutenant Ridder, going to a table on which were writing materials. The policeman was handed the desired document, then withdrew. Then Ridder went to a telephone, calling up Major Woodruff.

"The major will be here in about ten minutes," announced Ridder, hanging up the receiver. "In the meantime we will do no talking in the presence of this suspect."

It was just a little less than ten minutes later when Major Woodruff, accompanied by a corporal and two private soldiers, entered the room.

Millard was at once taken away, under guard.

Then the boys told their stories, quickly, comprehensively.

"I'll have to get a clear wire all the way through to Washington," declared Major Woodruff, promptly, going to the telephone. In a minute more he had arranged matters, and hurried to the table to write his despatch. Ere the major had finished writing a messenger boy was at the door.

"Boy, you'll find my automobile at the hotel entrance," stated Major Woodruff. "Give this card to my chauffeur, and he'll take you on the jump to the telegraph office. Then come back in the automobile, and wait for more work."

"Do you expect anyone in Washington to get that message now, after ten o'clock at night?" Jack asked, wonderingly.

"To-night?" repeated Major Woodruff. "Yes, sir! You haven't much idea, I take it, Mr. Benson, how fast government business travels. Within five minutes the first part of my message will be ticking out on a receiver in the War Department. The Army officer in charge will get the Secretary of War over the telephone. Why, my answer will very likely be here inside of twenty minutes!"

It was thirty minutes, exactly, when a messenger placed a telegram in Major Woodruff's hands. As soon as the messenger had gone outside, the major read this telegram. "Keep prisoner Millard close confinement pending further orders. Have communicated Secretary of Navy. Latter official says sea chase shall be made to catch fellow Gray on 'Juanita.' If submarine boys will accept sea service, briefly, for Navy Department, have them come to-night's train and report Secretary Navy at nine to-morrow morning. Their expenses borne by government." (Signed) "Secretary of War." "What does that mean, sir," cried Jack Benson, rising, "about if we will accept sea service, and reporting in the morning to the Secretary of the Navy at Washington?"

"Why, I belong to the Army," replied Major Woodruff, hauling out his watch, "and this is a Navy matter. However, since one of you youngsters knows Gray by sight, and you're all of you familiar with this business, I imagine the Secretary of the Navy wants to put you out to sea on one of the country's gunboats, to aid in the chase. For any real information, however, you'll have to apply in person to the Secretary of the Navy himself. Are you going to Washington?"

"Are we going—" Jack started to repeat, with mild irony, when a knock at the door interrupted him. Major Woodruff opened the door, to receive another telegram.

"Washington wakes up quickly," he laughed. "Here you are, Mr. Benson—a despatch from our other fighting department at the Nation's capital."

Clearing his throat, Major Woodruff read: "Send description of schooner 'Juanita,' and of suspect, Gray, as mentioned in your telegram Secretary War. Are submarine boys leaving to-night to report in morning? Secretary of Navy." "Here you are, and you see you've got to make up your minds quickly," said the major. "The night train south for Washington leaves in a little more than an hour from now."

"Why, there's only one answer possible, sir," cried Captain Jack Benson, his eyes shining. "Of course we'll take to-night's train and report to the Secretary of the Navy in the morning. When it's for the Flag I don't even have to consult my comrades, or look their way. I know their answer as well as I know my own."

"Good enough, young man," applauded Major Woodruff, while Lieutenant Ridder gave Jack a hearty slap across the shoulders. "But, to go to the Navy Department, you'll want citizen's clothes—not your present uniforms, which are not official. I can send my auto to your boat, and you can be back here in forty minutes, if you dress quickly."

"Ready for the word, 'forward,' sir," responded Captain Jack, saluting.

Hal and Eph also raised their hands to their foreheads.

It was a swift trip, with some hurried dressing on board the "Spitfire," but Major Woodruff landed them at the railway station ten minutes ahead of train time.

"Good fortune, gentlemen," wished Major Woodruff, pressing the hand of each when the train was ready. "Don't be scared when you find yourselves face to face with so big a man as the Secretary."

It is not to be wondered at if the minds of all were in a bit of a whirl as they made for their berths in a sleeping-car.

"After all," muttered Jack, to himself, as he undressed in his berth,

"it's strange how some fellows get the cream of things. Here we get the trip to Washington, while Lieutenant Ridder will have only the fun of going out to the cliff above Cobtown to-morrow to have a look at what is left of Millard's mine."

Their train brought the submarine boys into Washington just before seven in the morning. There was time for a good breakfast. Then, being strangers at the national capital, the youngsters engaged a cab to take them to the imposing building that shelters the State, War and Navy Departments.

Jack Benson sent in his card. Five minutes later the three submarine boys were ushered into the presence of the Secretary of the Navy.

XII. Navy Officers For an Hour or a Day

"So you're really the three famous submarine boys?" inquired Secretary Sanders, rising from his chair and extending his hand.

"We're submarine boys; that's all I ever heard about it, Mr. Secretary," replied Captain Jack, as he introduced his friends.

"Now, be seated, young gentlemen, and tell me all you know about this matter that has brought you over to Washington."

Jack Benson acted as spokesman, telling the whole tale clearly, yet using up no more time in talk than was absolutely necessary. It was a good, concise, business statement.

"Now, of course," pursued Mr. Sanders, "you wonder what the Navy Department wants you to do. Well, in the first place, we've been asking, by wireless, through the night and early morning, to have all craft on the lookout for a schooner answering to the description of the 'Juanita'."

Secretary Sanders paused, but none of the three boys asked any questions.

"You will wonder, of course, what success we've had so far, and I may say that our success has been ample," resumed the Secretary of the Navy, with an amused smile. "In other words, we've been able to pick up news of three schooners, all of which answer to the general description of the 'Juanita'—but it happens that that isn't the name of any one of the three."

Jack Benson nodded, but did not speak.

"Of course," pursued the Secretary, "it may be that the skipper of the 'Juanita' has tried an old trick, through the night. He may have set a man to painting another name at the schooner's stern."

Again Skipper Jack nodded.

"The schooner that we think most likely to be the 'Juanita' is about fifty miles out at sea, now, according to a report received twenty minutes ago. Evidently she is headed for one of the British West Indies. Now, if the wind continues the same, and the suspected vessel keeps to her present course, she will, at five this afternoon, be off the Norfolk Navy Yard, and some sixty-two miles out at sea. Now, unless we are otherwise advised, we want a gunboat, the 'Sudbury,' now at Norfolk, to overhaul the suspected schooner and ascertain whether she is really the 'Juanita,' and whether the man, Gray, and his bundle of documents are still on board. The suspected vessel is to be searched, and Gray and the documents, if found, are to be seized, and the schooner then released. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly, sir." Jack answered quietly.

"One of you young men will know Gray at a glance. The other two are familiar with the whole case. Otherwise, it would not have been necessary to have called you into this matter. Yet, to overhaul a vessel, or to make an arrest or a seizure, you require authority. Such authority can be vested only in naval officers. Hence, for the present, it will be necessary to give all three of you appointments as officers in the United States Navy."

At this announcement Jack Benson lost, for the moment, some of his cool composure.

"Officers of the Navy, sir!" he gasped, but his eyes glowed at the mere thought.

"You will be officers only temporarily," returned the Secretary. "You are not of age, any of you, I take it."

"We are all just about the same age, sir—seventeen, nearly eighteen,"

Jack replied.

"Just so. Now, none of you could legally bold officers' commissions, except by a special act of Congress. However, with the approval of the President, it is legal for me to give you special, temporary appointments under which you have the title, rank, pay and command of officers. These appointments I am going to give and, for a brief while, though you will not have commissions, you will nevertheless be as actually officers of the Navy as are any admirals on the list."

This astonishing statement almost took away the breath of the submarine boys.

"You are familiar with navigation, Benson, and are a capable enough sea-pilot along this coast. I learned that much, early this morning, through Mr. Farnum's answer to my telegram."

"Then Mr. Farnum knows what we are going to do?" asked Jack, quickly.

"He doesn't," replied Secretary Sanders, with a shake of his head.

"Mr. Farnum knows, only, that you have a chance to be of some service to the Navy. He seemed to be much pleased by our inquiry."

The Secretary had just touched an electric button on his desk. Now a clerk entered the room.

"Telephone the secretary of the President," directed Mr. Sanders, "and ask him whether the President has examined and approved the special appointments that I sent over a while ago."

The clerk was quickly back, to say:

"The special appointments, Mr. Secretary, are duly approved, and are now on their way over from the White House."

Two minutes later, a messenger entered, handing a sealed envelope to the Secretary of the Navy.

Breaking the seal, Mr. Sanders drew forth three heavy, folded sheets of parchment.

"Here you are, Mr. Benson," resumed the Secretary, handing over one of the parchments. "This document confers upon you, for the time being, the rank, pay and command of a lieutenant, junior grade, in the United States Navy. You, Mr. Hastings, and you, Mr. Somers, will rank as ensigns under your special appointments."

Jack's head swam a bit as he thanked Mr. Sanders; then he started to glance over this marvelous document.

But the Secretary of the Navy now cut in, briskly:

"That is all, gentlemen. You know your instructions, in general, Lieutenant Benson. You will now go to my chief clerk, who will swear you into the service. He will also give you an order on a local tailor for the uniforms of your ranks. In one hour and twenty minutes your train starts south. On arrival at Norfolk you will report without an instant's delay at the Navy Yard. Aboard the 'Sudbury' you will receive all further instructions, wired from this Department. Good morning, gentlemen."

Then, indeed, things moved fast. At the desk of the chief clerk of the Navy Department the three budding naval officers stood with their right hands raised while the official at the other side of the desk administered to them the oath binding them to loyalty to the government and to obedience to all lawful orders of their superiors.

"And now, gentlemen," continued the chief clerk, "I will send for Ensign McGrath, who is on duty here, and present you to him. He will go with you to the tailor's, and will see that you are properly rushed to the train that you are to take. Remember, you are not to pay for your uniforms or equipment. The bill will be sent here."

Ensign McGrath looked sleepy, but proved to be a hustler. One of the Department's autos was out in the grounds, and into this McGrath bundled the three submarine boys. Five minutes later they were in the tailoring establishment, where a good many ready-made uniforms were kept for sale.

What a whirl it was. Yet, in twenty minutes, each submarine boy found himself in the duty uniform of a United States junior naval officer, each uniform adorned with the insignia of the wearer's rank. In the meantime, dress-suit cases had been procured from a store near by.

"All right and proper," nodded Ensign McGrath. "And—I'm not throwing bouquets, gentlemen, but you really look as though you had been born for the uniforms. Now, only one thing is missing—the swords."

"Are we to wear swords?" asked Jack, his face flushing with pleasure.

"Under certain conditions, on duty, naval officers wear swords. You will need them as parts of your equipments."

The dealer brought these side-arms at once. The naval sword is a handsome one, vastly more natty than the infantry side-arm of a junior officer.

What a thrill each submarine boy felt as he was shown how to adjust his sword to the belt!

"They're really nonsensical jewelry in these civilized days," declared Ensign McGrath, dryly. "But the regulations call for swords at some times. Now, gentlemen, you will need to get your uniforms off as quickly as you can, and the tailor's helpers will pack them in your suit cases. You travel in citizen's clothes, and don your uniforms as soon as you get aboard the gunboat."

Ten minutes later each proud submarine boy picked up his suit case and sword, the latter, in each instance, being inside of a chamois-skin carrying case.

In single file they made their way to the street.

"Now, for the last leg of the race in Washington," announced Ensign McGrath, as they entered the automobile once more.

"I wonder if it will happen on the way, or at the station?" laughed Jack, as the government gas-wagon whirled them down Pennsylvania Avenue.

"Will what happen?" inquired McGrath.

"Why," laughed Benson again, "I know we've got to wake up out of this trance, but I can't figure when it's going to happen."

"I suppose all of you do feel excited," nodded Ensign McGrath, understandingly.

"Not excited," declared Jack. "I'm just simply unprepared to believe that any part of this has really happened."

At the railway station they were met by a messenger from the chief clerk's office, who handed each of the submarine boys a small parcel.

"Copy of the Regulations, sir" stated the messenger. "It is required that each officer of the Navy possess a copy."

"You'll want to scan the book good and hard most of the way down to Norfolk," advised Ensign McGrath. "You'll find much between the covers that you'll need to know right at the first jump-off. And now, for the tickets."

These McGrath bought, including parlor car seats. The ensign then saw them safely to their seats.

"Now, you've got enough to do, reading your new books," laughed the ensign, "So I'm not going to waste your time by staying here to talk to you. It's ten minutes, yet, to the time of your departure. Good-bye, gentlemen—and good luck!"

When McGrath had gone Jack leaned across the aisle to whisper:

"Eph, can you get at your sword handily—to draw it, I mean?"

"What's up?" said Eph, suspiciously.

"I want you to stick about a sixteenth of an inch of the point of your sword into me, so I can judge how long I've been dreaming."

"What's the matter with using your own sword?" demanded Eph, a trifle gruffly.

"That's just the trouble," smiled Benson, plaintively. "I'm afraid I'll wake up and find I haven't any."

Hal was leaning back in his parlor car chair, his eyes closed. He was dreaming delicious daydreams.

XIII. Commander of a U.S. Gunboat!

"Lieutenant Benson, sir?" inquired a coxswain, saluting.

"Yes," replied Jack, returning the salute.

"The gig is waiting to take you to the 'Sudbury' sir."

This information was punctuated by another salute which Jack, as head of the party of three young officers, again returned.

"Lead the way," directed Jack.

For the third time saluting, the coxswain possessed himself of Jack's suit case and sword, then crossed the wharf to the landing stairs down below, the gunboat's cutter waited, a natty little craft, occupied by a bowman and four oarsmen.

The three young officers seated themselves at the stern of the gig.

"Cast off," directed the coxswain. "Up oars! Let fall! Give way!"

With the long, steady, magnificent sweep of the Navy which the sailors pulled, the little gig seemed to race through the water.

"Is that the 'Sudbury'?" inquired Jack, nodding toward a trim little gunboat some two hundred feet long.

"Yes, sir."

All three of the submarine boys gazed at the gunboat with secret enthusiasm. Had it not been for the guns fore and aft, and at the rail on either side, the "Sudbury" might have been mistaken for some multi-millionaire's yacht.

In another moment the gig was making fast at the gangway. Then Jack Benson stepped out, and, heading his comrades, went up over the side.

At the head of the gangway a corporal and four marines stood drawn up.

At a low-voiced command from the corporal the marines presented arms, standing thus until the three new young officers, saluting, passed.

Just beyond the marines, stood an officer of the Navy. He brought his hand to his cap in a smart salute.

"Lieutenant Benson?" inquired this officer.

"Yes."

"I am Ensign Fullerton, executive officer of this vessel."

They shook hands and Jack presented his comrades.

"I think I had better show you to your cabin, sir," suggested Ensign Fullerton.

"As you please," nodded Jack.

The way was actually led, however, by three of the marines, who, at a word from the corporal, had possessed themselves of the limited baggage of the new arrivals.

In Jack's cabin was a broad double berth, two deep wardrobe closets, a book-case, desk and several chairs.

"I had no idea junior officers had such roomy quarters," murmured Jack.

"They don't, usually, sir," smiled Fullerton. "But it's different, of course, in the case of the commanding officer."

"But I'm not the commanding officer," gasped Jack.

"For the purposes of this cruise you are," smiled Fullerton. "But I forget. You haven't received your orders. There they are on your desk.

They arrived less than an hour ago by wire."

Like one in a dream young Jack Benson picked up a bulky telegraph envelope and broke the seal. There, before his eyes, danced the words of the latest order from the Secretary of the Navy.

Lieutenant Jack Benson was directed to take command of the United States gunboat, 'Sudbury,' until further orders. Ensigns Hastings and Somers were directed to assume such duties aboard as were assigned to them by Lieutenant Benson.

"I didn't expect this," stammered Jack. "I—I—we thought our temporary rank in the Navy was given us merely that we might have legal standing in making one arrest that is wanted."

"No one ever does know just what is wanted of him, until the order comes," laughed Ensign Fullerton. "At least, that has been the case since Mr. Sanders became Secretary of the Navy. He keeps all officers on the jump. But I guess that is what a good many of them need, sir."

As the Ensign appeared to be at least twenty-five years old that respectful "sir" struck young Benson's ear queerly.

"Pardon me, gentlemen, but be seated," suggested Lieutenant Jack, suddenly, as he realized that his chums and this one sure-enough naval officer were all standing.

"You have been aboard naval vessels before, sir, haven't you?" asked Ensign Fullerton.

"Oh, yes; but never in the present way," smiled Benson.

"Then, no doubt, you understand, sir, that the 'Sudbury' is under steam, only awaiting your order to put to sea."

"The last part of these orders," replied Jack, picking up the telegram,

"advises me that sailing orders will be wired soon."

"Then may I make a suggestion, sir?"

"Of course," nodded young Benson.

"At your direction I will have Mr. Hastings and Mr. Somers shown to their cabins. Then I will send for the one other young man left of the gunboat's old equipment of officers, and present him to you. After that I would suggest, sir, that I have the crew piped to quarters for brief inspection by the new commanding officer."

Hal and Eph were quickly made acquainted with their own cabins, which were on the port side of the gun-deck, Jack's being on the starboard.

Ensign Fullerton brought in a slim, very erect young man in a midshipman's uniform—Mr. Drake, just out of the Naval Academy.

"Our engineers are all warrant machinists or petty officers; no commissioned officers among them," stated Fullerton. "Our highest marine officer is Sergeant Oswald. Besides the sergeant we have eighteen other enlisted men among the marines. Here is the ship's complete roster," continued the Ensign, taking a document out of a pigeon-hole over the young commander's desk. "And now, sir, shall I pass the order for piping the crew to quarters?"

"If you will be so good," Jack nodded, rising.

At this moment Hal and Eph appeared at the doorway.

"Pardon me, gentlemen, for suggesting that you had better put your swords on," suggested Fullerton, "Inspection of crew at quarters is about to come off."

Hal and Eph vanished, but soon reappeared, wearing their new swords and trying hard not to look conscious of the fact. Jack was engaged in adjusting his own side-arm to his belt.

"I neglected to state, sir," continued Ensign Fullerton, "that we have no medical officer at present. A hospital steward down in sick bay is our nearest approach, at present, to a medical officer."

"Forewarned is forearmed," laughed Jack. "We'll try not to be ill."

It was time, now, to proceed to the quarterdeck; for, forward, the shrill sound of the boatswain's whistle seemed to fill the air.

Though all the crew, including the marines, had been summoned and formed at the mast, the inspection was but a matter of a moment. Its purpose was more to give the crew a glimpse of their new officers.

Just as the inspection was ending, a marine of the guard approached, announcing in a low tone:

"Telegram for the commanding officer, sir."

Ensign Fullerton received it, returning the marine's salute, and passed the envelope to Jack Benson, who opened it.

"Our sailing orders, Mr. Fullerton," announced Jack, as soon as the former had dismissed the formation at the mast. "This telegram gives, as you see, the latest reported position of the schooner believed to be the 'Juanita,' and her course. You will get under way at once, Mr. Fullerton. Then you and I will work out the course."

"This is the starboard watch, sir," continued the executive officer.

"Which officer is to command it?"

"Mr. Hastings. Mr. Somers will take the port watch."

"Very good, sir. And I would suggest, sir, that Mr. Drake is an excellent pilot between here and the sea."

"Then direct Mr. Drake to take the bridge with the watch officer."

"Very good, sir."

"And, as soon as we are under way, Mr. Fullerton, come to my cabin and we will figure out our course more in detail."

"Very good, sir."

It was Ensign Fullerton, who, acting as executive officer, transmitted the needed orders to Hal, Eph and Midshipman Drake.

The three young officers now removed their swords, sending them by a marine orderly to their respective cabins. Hal took command from the bridge, subject to Fullerton's directions, while Jack, as commanding officer, also took his station there briefly. Eph, being free to do as he pleased for the time, went to his cabin to try to figure out whether he were dreaming.

Quickly the "Sudbury" left her anchorage, proceeding downstream. As soon as the start had been fairly made Ensign Fullerton reported at the cabin of the young commanding officer. They worked out on the chart the probable positions that the suspected schooner would take that afternoon.

"We should sight her at about five o'clock, sir, if she doesn't change her course, and if the wind holds the same," said Ensign Fullerton.

"If we get the right craft, first off, it will be a short cruise, won't it?" smiled Jack, rather wistfully.

"I—I—" began Ensign Fullerton, slowly, then paused.

"Well?" smiled Jack Benson.

"On second thought, I believe I had better not say what I started to say," replied the ensign.

"Oh, go ahead, Fullerton," urged Jack. "It isn't easy to wound my sensibilities."

"I was going to say, sir," replied the Ensign, flushing a bit, "that I quite understand how you feel about a short cruise. The sensation of holding a command in the United States Navy is one that you would not care to give up too soon."

"I was thinking of something of the sort," Benson admitted. "But—see here! On one point my orders don't quite enlighten me. If the suspected schooner proves not to be the right are we to come back to report the fact?"

"If you were so to order," replied Fullerton. "Yet you do not need to.

This vessel is equipped with wireless, and you are in instant communication, at every moment of the day and night, with the Navy Department at Washington."

"I'm glad of that," admitted Lieutenant Benson, frankly. "It will lessen the danger of my making a fool of myself during my first and last naval command."

"Not your last command, I hope," remarked the ensign.

"The only way I could get a permanent command," retorted Jack, "would be to get appointed to Annapolis, if I could, and then work through the long, long years for command rank."

"There are other ways," replied Ensign Fullerton, quietly. "And especially, if a war should break out. Young men trained as finely as you and your comrades, and showing as great talent, sir, would have no difficulty in reaching important rank in a war of the future, when so much must be risked on the submarine craft of which you young men are masters."

"We have run a few submarine boats, I suppose," nodded Benson. "But none of us has ever had the Annapolis training."

"Not all of the best American sea-fighters have come out of Annapolis, sir," replied Fullerton, soberly. "If a boy gets through Annapolis there's nothing wonderful in his making a fairly good officer. But my cap, sir, is off to boys who can come through the ordinary machine shop and qualify themselves to command submarine boats or anything else afloat!"

Then, dropping back to his ordinary manner, Fullerton saluted, next left the cabin to carry to the watch officer the orders for the course.

Lieutenant Jack Benson, briefly of the U.S. Navy, strolled out to the after deck for a short promenade. Here he was joined by Eph Somers, who, in his naval uniform, did not forget to salute before accosting the commanding officer of the U.S.S. "Sudbury."

"I'm really beginning to feel that I'm not dreaming," confided Eph, almost in a whisper. "Whee! but it's fine to be out on a craft so big that you don't get a cramp in your leg from walking! Say, do you know, Jack," he whispered, "I am almost crazy to see one of this ship's big guns fired!"

"You may have your wish," laughed Jack. "Who knows?"

Who knew, indeed? How was it possible, for that matter, for any of these three young officers to guess what lay ahead of them?

XIV. The Bow Gun Booms and Eph Puts Off

In the nineteenth century, when a vessel left port, her destination unknown, that craft might get away from a pursuing squadron scattered over the seas.

At best, knowledge of a marine fugitive's whereabouts could be gained only from the masters of other vessels that had sighted the fugitive.

Usually, such information must be delayed until the informing master of the sighting ship reached port.

In the twentieth century all is greatly changed.

A vessel bound for parts unknown, carrying some fugitive from justice, is sighted by some steamship that is equipped with a wireless telegraph outfit. Hours before, perhaps, the master of the steamship has been asked to keep a weather-eye open for a vessel that answers the name or description of the runaway craft. Now, she is sighted by the master of the steamship. Ten minutes later the authorities on shore know the exact whereabouts of the fleeing craft. Should she change her course wholly, her new whereabouts is soon after reported to land by the master of some other wireless equipped steamship.

Once upon a time the task of finding and overtaking a runaway vessel at sea presented innumerable difficulties. Nowadays, it is often necessary only that the pursuing craft possess sufficiently greater speed to overtake the easily located fugitive.

As the "Sudbury" turned out into the open sea that little gunboat was in instant communication with Washington, and also with any wireless equipped ocean traveler up to nearly half way across the great Atlantic.

At three o'clock the Navy Department at Washington reported to a gunboat out of sight of land that the last sighting of the supposed "Juanita" placed her on the same course as hitherto reported.

At four o'clock came word that the Navy Department had had no new report as to the schooner by wireless.

At five o'clock another wireless despatch was flashed through the air.

Lieutenant Jack Benson, reading, discovered that the "Juanita" had again been sighted on the same course, headed for some port in the British West Indies.

At 5:20 Ensign Eph Somers, port watch officer of the "Sudbury," sent a marine orderly to report to Lieutenant Benson that a schooner's topmasts were within sight.

Benson hurried to the bridge, but found Ensign Fullerton there just ahead of him.

"We'll shape our course in straight pursuit of the schooner, Mr. Fullerton," decided Lieutenant Jack.

"Very good, sir."

As yet the schooner's topmasts were visible only from the military top.

After a few minutes had passed, however, the vessel's masts were visible from the bridge.

"Does her rig look like that of the 'Juanita,' Mr. Somers?" questioned young Benson.

"I can't say, sir," Eph replied. "I didn't see her, at Cobtown, under sail. I shall have to wait until I can make out the hull, sir, before I can make even a good guess."

Smoke was pouring heavily from the "Sudbury's" two funnels by this time, for the gunboat was being pushed, under forced draught, to considerably better than twenty knots an hour. The schooner apparently was making between seven and eight knots an hour.

In a few minutes more the hull of the stranger began to show. Eph, with a pair of marine glasses to his eyes, studied the stranger long and carefully. Lieutenant Benson, knowing it would be folly to hasten his comrade's judgment, waited in silent patience.

"That craft looks very much like the 'Juanita,' sir," ventured Eph, at last. "In fact, sir, I think that's our schooner."

"Steer up to windward of her, then, Mr. Somers," Jack directed. "Mr. Fullerton, give orders to have the port bow gun manned. When the order is given, be prepared to fire a blank shot toward the schooner. If, after one minute, the schooner shows no signs of heaving to, then fire a solid shot across her bows."

"Very good, sir."

Without leaving the bridge Ensign Fullerton passed the word for the manning of the gun and loading with a blank cartridge.

There was a new, deeper glow in Eph Somers's eyes as he paced the bridge. He was to have, at last, his wish to see the "Sudbury" fire a shot.

In a few minutes more the "Sudbury" was ranging tip alongside the schooner, though a full quarter of a mile away to windward.

"Mr. Fullerton, fire the blank shot at the stranger," ordered Lieutenant Jack Benson.

"Aye, aye, sir."

The order was carried by a simple wave of the executive officer's hand.

The petty officer in command behind the bow gun, looking for the signal, saw it and gave a low-toned order. Bang! Eph was watching for it. His eyes danced as he heard the sharp explosion and saw the cloud of white smoke, with the tongue of fire spitting through the center of it. In most of us there is left some of the spirit of the old Norse pirate; Eph had a lot of it.

"The people on the schooner act as though they were bewildered," smiled Jack, watching the schooner through his glass. "It doesn't look as though they expected any such order from us. I wonder if they mean to obey?"

"Worse for them, if they don't," replied Ensign Fullerton, grimly. "A solid shot across the bows, and a shot through their rigging after that.

What schooner has any chance to defy a ship of war?"

"There they go around," cried Jack, barely above his breath, "They'll heave to."

"Of course," smiled Fullerton. "Your orders, sir?"

"Lower the power launch. Send a corporal and four marines, and six sailors, armed, beside the boat-handlers. Mr. Somers will take command, as he's the only one of us who knows the fellow Gray by sight."

Ensign Fullerton accordingly transmitted the orders, also ordering Midshipman Drake up to the bridge to serve as watch officer in Eph's absence. Hal Hastings was asleep in his cabin at the time.

In the meantime the schooner continued "hove to," several men lining her starboard rail.

"Somehow, Mr. Fullerton," muttered Lieutenant Jack, after Eph had departed in the power launch with his boarding crew, "I'm not much inclined to think that's our schooner."

"Somers seemed to think so."

"Mr. Somers said it looked like the 'Juanita.' He's too careful to commit himself to more than that."

"We shall soon know, sir, anyway."

It is probable that Eph was disappointed that the schooner had been stopped by anything less than a round shot through her rigging. Yet, as he stood up in the stern of the launch, as it bounded over the waves, he felt a heap of satisfaction in the thought that he commanded the searching party, and that he did so by virtue of being an officer in the United States Navy. And this, too, was a form of duty in which Ensign Somers wore his sword at his side.

"I hope they're preparing a surprise for us," chuckled Eph, as he looked about him at his armed crew. "I hope the schooner's people will try some mean trick for us, or attempt to put up a fight. Whee!"

Yet none of these aggressive thoughts showed in the young Ensign's face.

Eph knew his place, usually, and the amount of dignity that went with any place.

"Make fast alongside!" Eph sang out, as the launch rounded in alongside the schooner.

"What's wrong with the United States Navy, Midshipman?" came the jovial question from a bronzed, broad-shouldered, bearded man of fifty who appeared at the quarter rail, offering Eph a hand to aid him on board.

But Eph, disdaining the proffered hand, seized the rail, vaulting neatly on board. Then he straightened up.

"I am Ensign Somers, from the gunboat 'Sudbury.'"

"Ensign, eh?" muttered the schooner's master, looking in some bewilderment at Eph's boyish face. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Somers."

"What craft is this, sir?" Eph continued.

"Schooner 'Varia,' from New York, bound for Jamaica."

"We saw 'Varia' painted on your stern, of course," smiled Eph. "But was that name painted there during the night?"

"Sir?" demanded the skipper, in some astonishment. "Oh, I see, Ensign.

Your commander thinks we may be sailing under false colors. Will you be kind enough to step down into my cabin?"

Here an elderly man, in yachting dress, stepped forward out of a group of sailors at the waist of the craft.

"This schooner is chartered to convey—" he began, but Eph interposed, politely:

"Pardon me, sir, but I am talking with the captain only."

Then, turning toward the launch, Ensign Somers called:

"Corporal, board with your marines, and wait further orders."

Then Eph followed the captain below.

"The gentleman who spoke to you," explained Varia's master, "is Dr. Herman Barnard. He chartered the 'Varia' at New York for a West Indian cruise for himself and his family. Here are my papers, as master. Here is the 'Varia's' license to carry passengers, and here are our clearance papers, from New York to Jamaica."

The papers were all in regular order. Eph looked them over, noting that the master's name was Walford.

"I don't see anything wrong here, Captain Walford," Eph continued.

"Where is your list of passengers?"

"Here, sir."

Eph glanced over the list, noting that besides Dr. Barnard, there were five other men passengers, besides Mrs. Barnard, her two daughters and one other woman.

"I shall have to ask you, Captain, to line your passengers up on deck,"

Eph continued.

"I had hoped to escape that annoyance, sir," protested the schooner's master. "The ladies were alarmed, and took to their staterooms."

"I am very sorry, Captain," Eph insisted, "but I must look over the passengers."

"Very good, then," sighed Captain Walford.

"And muster the crew forward. I must see on deck every person on this craft."

"Very good, sir."

Eph returned to deck, leaning against the starboard rail of the quarter deck. Below, he heard some sounds of remonstrance in feminine voices.

Then, as a step sounded on the after companionway, and Eph straightened up, he heard a woman's voice say:

"United States Navy? I would call this a good deal more like piracy!"

"But, mamma—"

"Hush, child!"

Mrs. Barnard, when she stepped on deck, looked as severe as her husband appeared mild.

Ensign Eph doffed his cap quickly to the ladies.

"I know this does not please you," he said, courteously, "but I will ask you to remember that I am acting under orders, and have no choice."

"It is outrageous to stop a pleasure craft in this fashion!" declared Mrs. Barnard, haughtily.

"Do you know why we are making this search, madam?" asked Eph, sweetly.

"Of course I don't," snapped the good lady.

"Then I marvel," replied Eph, with another bow, "that you can have an opinion of something that you don't understand."

One of the girls was so undutiful as to snigger. Thereupon, one of the young men joined in the laugh, which became so general that the severe expression on Mrs. Barnard's face softened considerably.

"Perhaps I owe you an apology, young man, for having spoken as I did of you," admitted the good lady.

"You only called us pirates," smiled Eph. "That wasn't much."

"Perhaps I said more than I should have said, young man," admitted Mrs. Barnard.

"Mamma, wouldn't it be better to address this officer by his title?" asked the elder of the girls. Then, turning to Eph, the same speaker inquired:

"May I ask your title? Are you a captain?"

"Only an ensign, miss," Eph replied, "and only an acting ensign at that."

While this brief conversation had been going on, the cook, stewards and watch below were being routed out. Now Captain Walford came aft to report:

"All hands on board, sir, have been turned out for your inspection."

"All?" insisted Eph.

"All, sir."

"Then, Captain Walford, I am going to do something that may appear very extreme, but I regret to say that I can't help it. I must search this craft. If I allowed one for whom we are seeking to slip through our fingers it would bring a lot of blame down about my head."

Eph now stepped back to the rail, ordering six of the sailors on board.

To them he gave his orders. The party spread, going below. Eph, excusing himself to the ladies, went with the sailors.

No more thorough search could have been made. Every nook and cranny of the schooner was searched, but at last Eph was obliged to admit that the man he sought was not aboard.

"My apologies to everyone for all trouble caused," declared Ensign Somers. "I trust you will find it easy to believe that I have only been following my orders; and, therefore, doing my duty."

"You couldn't have done less, Ensign," replied Dr. Barnard, courteously.

"You couldn't have been more courteous."

"Are we at liberty to proceed on our way, sir?" asked Captain Walford, as the young acting ensign went over the side.

"I shall have to ask you to take the signal for that from the 'Sudbury,'"

Eph answered.

On the gunboat's quarter deck, following Ensign Somers's report, there was an anxious conference.

"If this is the craft we've been following all the time," muttered Jack Benson, "we've a lot of hunting yet ahead of us."

"Shall I signal the schooner permission to proceed, sir?" asked Ensign Fullerton.

"By all means."

Darkness came down over the ocean while Lieutenant Jack was sending a wireless despatch through the air to the Navy Department.

XV. "The Right Boat and the Right Crew!"

Three hours later, under a new order from Washington, the gunboat's launch stole in alongside of a second schooner that had been pursued, overhauled and brought to a standstill.

This craft, however, proved to be a Nova Scotian vessel, with papers all right, a cargo beyond suspicion and no sign of the fugitive Gray aboard.

When news of this second failure had been flashed to Washington, and twenty minutes more had passed, the instructions came back out of the ether:

"Cruise slowly about where you are. Await new instructions, which will go forward to you as soon as we have fresh, reliable information from any source. See that your own search light is freely used through the night."

"'Puss in the Corner,' at sea," muttered Lieutenant Benson. "And we ain't even find a corner."

An hour later the young commander of the "Sudbury" turned in. Hal was on the bridge.

The gunboat cruised along lazily at about eight knots an hour. For some time Hal paced the bridge indolently, while the sailor lookout, forward, manipulated the searchlight, sending its beam in wide circles over the waters.

It was within half an hour of the time of calling the new watch, in fact, when the bow watch reported:

"Sail dead ahead, sir!"

Barely more than a topsail could be made out, even through the marine glass of the young watch officer.

"Hold the light on her; we'll overtake and examine her, anyway," was Ensign Hastings's quick decision. From the bridge he gave orders for the engine room to go ahead with increased speed. While the gunboat was bounding off after the stranger, time came to call the port watch. Eph Somers came up to the bridge, somewhat sleepy.

"Same old story, I guess," yawned Eph. "Have you passed the word to the executive office?"

"Not yet," Hal replied. "I didn't believe it worth while to break the slumber of Mr. Fullerton, or of the commander, until we got close to see whether the stranger looks in the least like the 'Juanita.'"

"I don't believe the 'Juanita' is anywhere on this wide ocean," muttered Eph, stifling a yawn.

"It doesn't look that way," smiled Hastings.

Down before the wheelhouse a bell began to sound briskly.

"Eight bells; your watch, Mr. Somers," announced Hastings. "But I am going to remain on the bridge with you for a while. I want a look at that mud-hooker over yonder."

Within fifteen minutes more the gunboat was running fairly close, though off to starboard.

"That doesn't look even a little bit like the 'Juanita,'" muttered Ensign Eph, disgustedly. "Why, she's longer than the Cobtown schooner.

Besides, the 'Juanita' is a two-sticker, while that hooker yonder has a third mast with a yawl-rig leg-o'-mutton sail."

Hal said nothing, but continued to study the stranger through his night-glass.

"She is a queer-looking hooker," muttered Hastings. "Say, Eph, somehow that boat doesn't look as though she was built to fit her own rig."

"Why not!" demanded Eph.

"Well, look at her length. Then take a peep at the height of her dory-mast. Does it look tall enough for the length of the schooner?"

"I hadn't thought of that," admitted Somers, also taking a careful look through the nightglass. "Jove, Hal, she is an odd-looking piece of hulk."

Eph turned to pass the order to run in still closer to the schooner.

"What's wrong with her stern-hull?" asked Ensign Somers, three or four minutes later.

"Looks like a patchwork affair," declared Hal, more interested than ever.

"Has she a built-on stern?" demanded Somers, half a minute later.

"By Jove, I half believe she has. Eph, without that stern and the yawl mast, would you say the craft looks like the 'Juanita'?"

"I believe she would," muttered young Somers, excitedly. "Marine orderly!"

A sea-soldier came quickly up the bridge stairs, saluting.

"Mr. Somers's compliments to Mr. Fullerton, and will the executive officer come to the bridge?"

Again saluting the marine vanished aft. It doesn't take a naval officer long to report, even when he has to rouse himself out of a sound sleep to do it.

Ensign Fullerton reached the bridge rubbing his eyes, but he listened intently to what the two younger ensigns had to say.

"Marine orderly!" called the executive officer. "Mr. Fullerton's compliments to the commanding officer, and will he come to the bridge?"

Barely a minute later, Jack Benson stood on the bridge, listening to his subordinate officers and staring across the gap of water at the unknown craft.

"Mr. Fullerton," directed the young commander, "prepare to fire a signal shot and to lower the power launch. Make up the boarding party as usual.

Mr. Somers, you will go in command of the launch. And I will accompany you this time. Mr. Fullerton, when I leave the bridge, you will assume command."

Both officers, as they received their orders, saluted.

Bang! The signal gun barked out, the flash from the muzzle sending a long tongue of red through the darkness.

But the stranger continued on her way through the night. Ensign Fullerton regarded the young commanding officer of the gunboat expectantly.

"Put a solid shot across her bows, Mr. Fullerton."

Again the order was transmitted, with little noise. The gun-crew then awaited the signal from the executive officer.

Bang! This time the solid shot struck the water a bare fifty feet ahead of the strange craft's bows as she forged on through the waves, her bow stirring up a gleaming white foam.

"That ought to stop her!" muttered Lieutenant Jack Benson, impatiently.

"I don't believe it is going to, though, sir," reported Ensign Fullerton, studying the other vessel through his night-glass. "I don't see a sign of motion on the stranger's decks."

"Load again with solid shot, then," directed the gunboat's young commander. "This time hit her square in the fore-rigging."

"I'll step below and sight the piece myself," replied Ensign Fullerton.

A few moments later the executive officer reported the port bow gun in readiness for service.

"Fire whenever you are ready, Mr. Fullerton," called Lieutenant Jack, in a low voice.

Bang! barked the bow gun, a moment later. Over aboard the stranger there was a crash, a tearing sound, and then her foretopmast toppled, hanging loosely in place by the stays.

"That'll stop her, I reckon." chuckled Jack Benson.

And "stop her" it did. There was no choice but to stop. This gunboat of the United States Navy was in a position to shoot every standing stick out of the schooner, if provoked too far, and the legal right to go to such lengths existed.

"Stranger is heaving to, sir," reported Ensign Somers.

"Very good, Mr. Somers. Order the power launch lowered. Put off as quickly as possible."

"Very good, sir."

Ensign Fullerton hastened back to the bridge, to assume command, while Hal hastings stood by him.

Boat-handlers and armed sailors and marines scampered over the side.

Down the gangway followed Jack and Eph, looking very stately as they held their swords clear of their legs. Busily the launch chugged across the intervening water gap.

"Schooner, ahoy!" hailed Eph, as the launch ran in alongside "What craft is that?"

"Schooner 'Malta,' Cooper, master, from Sidney, N.S.," came the reply of a man at the after rail.

"Seems to me I've seen you before, in Cobtown!" suddenly exclaimed Eph Somers, as he leaped over the rail in advance of his marines.

"C-Cob—town?" demanded the schooner's master, falteringly.

"By the great Constitution! We've caught the 'Juanita' in disguise!" bellowed back Ensign Eph, turning to Jack Benson, who was just boarding.

"See! There's the false stern structure."

"You're making a huge mistake of some sort, gentlemen!" protested the vessel's master, tremulously.

"Marines, lay aboard," thundered Eph. "Take the deck, Corporal. Round up all the crew you see, and make 'em stand at attention along one of the seams of the deck! Sailors aboard, you down any man who tries to block or balk you. Lively, now! I've seen this master in Cobtown, and I'll take my oath this is the 'Juanita' with a pieced-out, false stern and a faked third mast!"

"We hold you responsible for the deck, Corporal," spoke Jack, in a low tone to the noncommissioned officer of marines. "We're going to take the sailors and go below."

A rush was made for the companionway leading down into the schooner's cabin. A man's white, scared face showed below, for a moment.

"Hurrah!" yelled Eph Somers, drawing his sword and making a bound below "There's Brother Gray. Oh, we've the right boat—and the right crowd, too!"

XVI. The Duel Through the Door

Bang!

A stateroom door closed just before the two young officers reached it.

Click! That told the story of a bolt shot into place.

"You may as well open!" called Jack, coolly. "We have ample force for breaking down that door!"

Crack! In that confined space the discharge of a pistol sounded almost deafening. A line of red shot through the stateroom door. The bullet from the weapon whizzed between Jack Benson and Eph Somers, the missile burying itself in wood across the passage.

Crack! Crack!

With that desperate fellow the other side of the door, shooting through the key-hole, it was worse than folly to remain in line of range.

Yet Jack and Eph retorted coolly, with the dignity of officers.

"My man," requested Lieutenant Jack, turning to one of the sailors,

"hand me your revolver."

Taking the weapon, Benson glanced at it a second or two, then raised the weapon, sighting for the top of the stateroom door.

Bang! The shot that Jack fired sent a bullet crashing through the door close to the upper framework.

"You see, Gray!" Jack called coolly, "we're armed, too, and in overpowering numbers. Resistance is worse than foolish."

Bang! came the hostile answer.

This shot was fired through one of the panels of the stateroom door—fired at an angle, too.

Plainly the shot was intended to hit the young naval lieutenant. It passed Benson's right side by a margin of barely two inches.

"Pass me another revolver," whispered Benson, in the stillness that followed.

All through the day and evening these seamen, though outwardly respectful, and wholly well disciplined, had cherished a great deal of amusement over their boyish officers.

Now, however, these bronzed men of the deep beheld Benson and Somers at work in a manner worthy of any product of Annapolis.

The second revolver was handed to Jack.

"I want to be in this, too," muttered Ensign Eph, and held back his hand for weapons.

"Are you going to surrender, Gray, and open that door?" demanded Lieutenant Jack.

"Never—to you," came the ugly defiance.

Bang! Again Gray fired, straight in the direction of the voice the bullet, crashing through a panel of the door, fanned Jack's left ear so that he felt the breeze.

"Open up on him, Mr. Somers," directed Benson. "Slowly. Fire high, and fire low. Try to get him somehow."

Two more shots came from the other side of the locked door.

Then pop-pop-pop! began the fusilade from outside, Jack and Eph firing with either hand as they sighted their weapons for new spots.

R-r-rip! crash! A long enough bombardment of this sort was certain to reduce the panels to splinters and leave the way clear—if they didn't riddle Gray with bullets in the meantime.

Pop-pop-pop! The air was becoming heavy with the white fog of smoke.

Breathing was somewhat difficult, with so many shots being fired in the confined space.

Then both young officers stopped, passing back one revolver apiece to be reloaded.

Bang! came a defiant shot from inside the stateroom. The bullet struck the cabin floor just behind Jack, having passed between his feet.

The sailors, back where they were comparatively safe from harm, looked on in admiration at these two grit-full young American officers.

Pop-pop-pop! began the fusilade by Jack and Eph again.

"Ouch!" came a sudden yell from the stateroom.

"Hit you, did we?" called Jack, calmly. "Well, we're going to riddle you unless you stop that nonsense."

The answer was another shot from inside the stateroom. The bullet clipped off a stray lock of hair at the left side of Eph Somers's head.

Both young officers fired slowly, searchingly, until their weapons were emptied. Then they passed the hot smoking revolvers back for new loads.

From the other side of the stateroom door came no sound.

As soon as he and Eph had received the reloaded weapons, Jack motioned Eph Somers not to fire.

For a few moments they listened. Then Jack turned, selecting the two most stalwart-looking of the husky sailors back by the companionway. A nod of Jack's head brought them stealthily to his side.

"Put your shoulders to the stateroom door, and force it," commanded Lieutenant Benson.

At the same time Jack and Eph moved up with the sailors, holding their revolvers ready to fire at the first sign of renewed hostilities from within.

Bump! Two pairs of sturdy shoulders went up against the door. From within there came no sign of defiance. Bump! At the second determined assault the door flew open.

"Step back, men! We'll go in first," commanded Lieutenant Benson.

Revolvers in hand, and ready, the two young officers of the "Sudbury" pressed forward into the battered-looking room.

"Where is the rascal?" growled Eph Somers.

"Here, hiding like a cornered rat," replied Jack, aiming both revolvers at a huddled figure well in under the lower berth. "Come out, Gray!

You won't be hurt unless you try tricks on us."

The answer was a groan.

"Are your hurt?" inquired Lieutenant Benson.

"Yes."

"How badly?"

"You hit me twice."

"Where?"

"Once in the left arm; once in the right thigh. O-o-o-h!"

Jack Benson felt a swift twinge—almost a guilty jerk of his conscience.

To be sure, Gray had been defying properly appointed officers of the government engaged in performing their sworn task. Gray had attempted to kill or injure the young officers.

Still, Gray was a human being. Benson, despite his fighting spirit, at need, was not fond of gazing upon misery.

"I guess you can get out, with a little aid," coaxed Lieutenant Jack.

Gray's answer was another groan.

"We'll help you out, then," Jack continued. "But don't you dare to open fire upon any of our party!"

"I would, if I could," snarled the wounded man.

"Why can't you?"

"Fired my last cartridge!" snapped the wretch, defiantly. "Else you wouldn't have got in here without losing a few men!"

Jack signed to the two men who had forced the door to lend a hand in moving Gray out from under the berth. As they got the wounded man out on the carpet he presented a sad picture in his bloodstained clothing.

"Will the Lieutenant pardon a suggestion?" spoke up one of the sailors, saluting.

"Yes."

"I have a first aid package, sir. With some help I can, bind this man's wounds until we get him over to the sick bay on the 'Sudbury.'"

"A fine idea," agreed Lieutenant Jack. "Go ahead."

First of all, the wounded prisoner was taken out into the passageway.

Jack and Eph had yet important work to do here. For a few minutes they searched in vain. Then, in turning over the lower berth's mattress, Eph's hand touched something hard.

"Wait until I get my pocket-knife out," he smiled.

Rip! r-r-r-r-rip! As Ensign Eph tore open the mattress and thrust his hands inside, the grin on his face broadened.

"I reckon we've got the object of the whole expedition," he announced.

He drew out a package wrapped in heavy paper. Jack broke the string, unwrapping, and pulling out to the light, a bundle of charts, layer upon layer.

"Yes. Here we have what we're after," nodded Lieutenant Benson. "And here are two books written chock-full of notes to go with the charts.

Gracious! That fellow. Millard must have stolen plans of every important fortified harbor on the Atlantic coast. And here are charts of some of the gulf ports as well."

Gray, his wounds bound, had been laid on the door of the stateroom, which had been taken from its hinges. On this stretcher, the prisoner was taken over the side into the launch.

"Who's going to pay for the damage done here, sir?" asked the skipper of the Cobtown schooner, stepping forward.

"Hm!" muttered Jack. "It seems to me you are lucky, my man, that we don't put a prize crew aboard this craft and take you back to Norfolk."

"I haven't done anything," protested the fellow, "except to stand for a lot of damage on board because you're backed by sailors and marines."

"My man," retorted Jack, grimly, "if you think you have suffered any unfair damage, then lay your case before the Navy Department. But my private advice is for you not to attract the attention of the authorities to you in case they seem likely to overlook you."

"Is my vessel at liberty to proceed?" inquired the man, sullenly.

"Yes; I have no orders to seize your craft. I'd like to, however,"

Lieutenant Jack Benson added, dryly.

XVII. The Last Hour of Command

Through the night the "Sudbury" rolled lazily over the waves.

A wireless message had carried the news through space to Washington.

Orders had come to return to Norfolk, there turning Gray over to the United States authorities.

Benson and his comrades were instructed to return to Washington with the charts and record books.

Down in a berth in the sick bay, lay Gray. The hospital steward had made the wounded man as comfortable as possible. The latter was painfully but not seriously wounded.

At the speed at which the gunboat was now proceeding the "Sudbury" was due at anchorage at six in the morning.

Lieutenant Jack had turned in, after leaving orders that he was to be called a few minutes before five. He wanted to be on deck to enjoy the sensations of his last hour of command on the cruise of a vessel of the United States Navy. Forward, the sailors of the watch were talking in low tones of their very youthful officers.

"There's the real stuff in those boy officers, mates," grunted one sailor who had been in the boarding party. "It don't make any difference whether they've been through Annapolis or not. Look at the way the lieutenant and Mr. Somers went up against the shooting. Kept us back, and took the medicine themselves, like real officers."

"You'd expect it of Somers," rejoined another sailor. "There's a bit of the bull-neck about him, and such men always fight. But the lieutenant makes a real officer that I'd be glad to foller anywhere."

"Mr. Hastings didn't get a chance to show what was in him," suggested another of Uncle Sam's old salts.

"Oh, you leave Mr. Hastings alone for fighting, if he saw any need to," retorted the sailor who had been the first to speak. "He's one of your very quiet chaps. Your quiet ones always sail into a fight while a brawler is getting his mouth wound up to do some talking."

"Hanged, if I don't wish them lads could remain on board!" muttered another old salt.

"With the young lieutenant to command the ship?" asked another.

"Him as well as anyone. He knows what he's doing, for which reason I don't care for the number of the year he was born in. Why, mates, the lieutenant is the head of them submarine boys we've read so much about in the newspapers when layin' in port. And the other two are his messmates. Now, I'll stand for it that the submarine boys are good for any kind of a job on salt water. I'd foller their lead on a battleship!"

It would have been fine for the three submarine boys had they been able to know what great opinions the crew held of them.

But Hal was again on the bridge in the last watch, and Eph had gone below for an hour's sleep ere he, like Jack Benson, was to be called.

Then, at last, two sleepy-eyed boys came from their cabins, going up to the bridge for what they felt was their last hour of real sea-glory.

Ensign Fullerton appeared half an hour before anchorage was made.

"You have the satisfaction, sir, of knowing that your task was put through in record time," said Fullerton, by way of congratulation.

"For which I'm truly glad," smiled Benson. "Yet I could wish our experience with the Navy had not ended so soon."

"Why, it hasn't ended yet, sir," smiled the executive officer.

"It will, in a few minutes more, however," sighed Jack. "My last official act will be to order the gig into the water to take us on shore. We're under orders to take the next train for Washington, you know."

"Very true," smiled Ensign Fullerton. "But, sir, you are commanding officer of the 'Sudbury,' no matter where you may be, until you receive an order to relinquish command. Also, sir, your present appointments as officers in the service run until the orders appointing you are revoked."

"But that will all happen before the day is much older," replied Jack, with a forced smile.

It was going to come harder than he had thought, after this brief taste of real naval life, to give it all up!

No sooner had the "Sudbury" let go her anchors than Jack called for the gig. He and his comrades hurried below, doffing their uniforms, which went back into the dress suit cases. Then, in citizen dress, with their precious swords again wrapped in chamois skin, the three submarines went over the side.

There was the same ceremony, however, which had attended their coming aboard. The marine guard turned out, presenting arms as Lieutenant Jack Benson passed to the side gangway. Ensign Fullerton and Mr. Drake stood by to salute Jack, and to receive his formal acknowledgment of their courtesy.

Their feet touched the bottom of the gig. They seated themselves, and the short row to the landing stage commenced.

On the landing stage stood an orderly, who promptly saluted.

"The Commandant's compliments to Lieutenant Benson, and will the Lieutenant and his comrades report at the Commandant's office."

Early as the hour was, the commandant was at his desk, in uniform, and received the young officers most graciously.

"Mr. Benson, and gentlemen," declared the commandant of the navy yard,

"you have done your work well, and as quickly as it could have been done. I congratulate you. The Secretary of the Navy, I believe, will thank you personally, It was splendidly done. And now, if you will come around to the officers' club with me, you will find that your breakfasts have been ordered. It will be an hour and a half, yet, before it will be necessary for me to furnish you with the carriage that will convey you to the railway station."

In the presence of this much older officer the lads did not attempt to make too merry at breakfast. Seated in the dining room of the officers' mess, they listened respectfully to whatever the commandant saw fit to discuss.

The meal was about over when a marine orderly entered, crossed the dining room, stopped at a respectful distance, and saluted.

"Telegram, sir."

The commandant received the envelope, drawing out the sheet it contained.

"Lieutenant Benson, this will interest you and your comrades," pursued the commandant.

"The order revoking my command of the gunboat," thought Jack. Oddly enough, though he expected it, knew it must happen, the arrival of the moment brought a strange sinking at heart.

"I wonder how on earth it could have happened?" pursued the commandant, his eyes again turned toward the paper. "Millard has escaped from Fort Craven, and, so far, has eluded recapture!"

XVIII. Eph Bets an Anchor Against a Fish-Hook

"The government possesses the fellow's charts and notes, anyway," observed Jack Benson, rather proudly.

"Yes, thanks to you, gentlemen," nodded the commandant. "Still, I fancy the authorities, will be fearfully annoyed over this escape."

"There are no particulars, sir, you say?" queried Jack.

"No; the mere announcement of the fellow's escape, and a request to military and naval authorities to be on the lookout for the fugitive The despatch also states that description will follow by wire."

"We can give you a pretty fair word-portrait of Millard right now, sir," offered Lieutenant Benson.

"And I wish you would."

Jack proceeded to do so. He had about finished, when the carriage stopped punctually before the door of the officers' club. The commandant took cordial leave of his young guests, after which they were driven to the railway station. Just a little later they found themselves leaning back in parlor car seats, bound for Washington.

Most of the way back the youngsters dozed in their chairs. Now, that the excitement was over, all felt need of rest.

Not even at the railway station in Washington could they escape the watchfulness of the Navy Department. The same messenger who, the day before, had handed them their copies of the Regulations, now met Benson with a note.

"The Secretary will not be at his office until one o'clock this afternoon," announced Lieutenant Jack, looking up from the order. "We are directed to report at that hour."

"What shall we do until then?" demanded Eph, blankly, when the messenger had departed.

"Why, since we're still in the service," laughed Jack, "and as I've heard that the Arlington is much patronized by Navy officers, suppose we treat ourselves to a carriage, go to the Arlington and register. That will be the last grand feeling we'll get out of this."

His comrades rather merrily agreed. So, a few minutes later, the trio marched through the lobby of the Arlington to the desk. Jack picked up a pen, and registered:

"John Benson, U.S.N."

Hal and Eph followed suit. Then they were led to their connecting rooms.

"We'll have luncheon at half-past eleven," smiled Lieutenant Jack, as he dropped into an easy chair. "In the service one never knows when his next meal is coming."

"Good!" chuckled Hal, though there was a sad ring to his tone. "Keep up as long as you can, old fellow, the fiction that we're still in the naval service."

"Well, aren't we?" demanded Jack, stoutly.

"Surely," assented Hal, meekly.

"Say," demanded Eph, taking out notebook and pencil, "what is an ensign's pay, anyway?"

"Seventeen hundred dollars a year," replied Benson.

"I don't suppose the Navy Department will try to spring less than a day's pay on us," hinted Eph. "If that's right, then the government now owes me three hundred and sixty-five into seventeen hundred. Let me see—"

"Oh, cut it!" laughed Hal.

"What? My pay?" demanded Eph, "Not much, sir! I want the only money I ever really earned."

"One of us ought to drop Mr. Farnum a line," hinted Jack, presently.

"Oh, well, let Hal do it," offered Eph. "He carries the only fountain pen in the crowd."

Without a word Hastings crossed to a table on which were envelopes and paper, and began to write. Perhaps he welcomed something to occupy his mind; for, truth to tell, each of these submarine boys had a woefully "blue" feeling. Though all were naval officers, still, at this moment, all realized that they would cease to be such as soon as they had received the thanks of the Secretary of the Navy. However, "blue" as all three felt, none of them hung back when half-past eleven arrived.

They descended to the dining room, where they refreshed themselves heartily.

The meal over, there was just about enough time left for them to walk comfortably to the Navy Department.

They had walked a couple of blocks of the way when Hal suddenly felt the stamped letter in his pocket. He drew it out, and glanced hurriedly down the avenue.

"I don't see a letter-box ahead, fellows, but I saw one, half-way down the block, at the last corner we passed. You two keep right on. I'll join you."

Presently Jack and Eph halted in their walk to look back.

"Where is Hal?" demanded Somers.

"He can't have lost us," muttered Jack.

"Oh, I guess he has simply taken a short cut to meet us ahead on the way."

Yet, though they continued to look for their comrade until they had neared the State, War and Navy Building, Hal Hastings had not again appeared in sight.

"Say, but this is fearfully careless of good old Hal," muttered Jack Benson, uneasily, as he glanced at his watch. "We've no time to go back to look for him, either, for we've barely time to reach the Secretary's office."

"We'll have to go in without Hal, then," grumbled Eph. "It makes me feel like a fool, too!"

Had the two lads but known it, there was still plenty of time. For the Secretary of the Navy may make an appointment with an understrapper, and then find that he must first see some more important personage.

There were "big" callers ahead of the boys that day, so that it was nearly two o'clock when Lieutenant Jack and Ensign Eph were admitted to the presence that they were to leave shorn of their brief rank and command.

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant Benson. Good afternoon, Mr. Somers," was Secretary Sanders's swift greeting. "You were most successful, and I must congratulate you heartily. But—where is Mr. Hastings?"

"We don't know, Mr. Secretary," Jack admitted. "He left us for a short time, as we thought, and, since then—"

Mr. Sanders wheeled sharply as the door opened and a clerk came in.

"Pardon me, sir," apologized the clerk. "But a note has just come for Lieutenant Benson, sir, and the messenger was insistent that it was a most important matter—"

"You may take your note and read it, Lieutenant," suggested the Secretary of the Navy.

Young Benson gave a start when he recognized, in the address, the handwriting of Hal Hastings.

In another instant Jack gave a much more violent start. For these were the words that met his astounded gaze.

"Dear Jack: I am in a Washington police station, feeling like a number-one idiot. Soon after leaving you I ran into Millard, face to face, There was a policeman within two hundred feet at the moment. I let out a full siren yell and dashed at Millard. He held on to me until the policeman reached the spot. I let him hold me, thinking that the easiest way. But Millard produced a paper—a request from the military authorities at Fort. Craven, to arrest and hold anyone pointed out by the bearer. I talked—some—to that policeman, but it did no good. He took me to the station house, and here I am! Millard vanished, after saying that he'd wire the news of my arrest to Fort Craven. You'll have to explain me out of this. Yours disgustedly, Hal."

"May I read this to you, Mr. Secretary?" begged Jack Benson.

"Do so, Lieutenant."

"I will be back in a moment," muttered the Secretary of the Navy, rising, and hastily quitting the room.

The instant that high official was gone Eph caught at his sides with his hands.

"Oh, wow! Woof! Umpah!" chuckled young Somers, his face distorted with glee. "Some one catch me! I'm choking! Great Scott, what wouldn't I have given to see that? Hal, the quiet, the dignified? Oh, dear! Oh, dear. Hal pounces on the fellow, to arrest him, and Hal is the one who gets pinched Woo-oo! I can see Hal's face right now I'll wager an anchor to a fish-hook that the astonished look is stamped on Hal's face so hard that it won't come off for a week. Oh—woof!"

Eph was laughing so hard that the tears streamed down his face.

"Quit that!" commanded Jack, stepping over to his comrade, his own face stern. "It's no laughing matter."

"Why, they won't hang Hal!" sputtered Eph, as soon as he could talk.

"Hal will be at liberty almost at once. But fancy the shock! Imagine the dear old fellow's astonishment, and the jolt to his feelings."

Again Eph Somers went off into a paroxysm of laughter. It seemed uncontrollable, for Eph had a strong sense of the ludicrous, and Hal's face, as Somers pictured it, must have been a tremendously funny sight at the instant when Millard so neatly turned the tables.

"Come, quit your nonsense!" grumbled Jack, disgustedly.

"I can't," roared Eph, going off into still another burst of laughter.

Just at that instant Somers gave himself the lie. The door opened, admitting the Secretary of the Navy. In a fraction of a second Ensign Eph had straightened up, while his face was solemn enough for an Indian chief's countenance.

"I have just been straightening out that little matter," explained Mr. Sanders. "I have talked with the police, and have described Hastings.

The police are in deep chagrin over their blunder. Mr. Hastings is now at liberty and on his way here."

At a motion from Mr. Sanders the two young officers seated themselves.

The Secretary turned to his desk to sign some papers.

From Eph, suddenly, came a suppressed, explosive sound. Jack seated beside him on a sofa gave Somers an indignant elbow jab. The Secretary glanced up, then resumed his writing.

A minute later there came from Eph the sound of another smothered explosion. The picture of Hal Hastings's indignant astonishment had once more been conjured up before young Somers's face. Poor Eph was red in the face with all the effort of keeping back his laughter.

"I fear you must have caught some cold, standing watch on the gunboat's bridge," said the Secretary, sympathetically.

That sobered Somers in an instant. The notion that he—he a sea-dog accustomed to stand watch in all weathers, could catch cold through exposure of the kind just mentioned made Eph feel a sense of ghastly humiliation.

Five minutes later Ensign Hal Hastings was shown into the office. The Secretary of the Navy greeted him kindly, though with a twinkle in his eyes.

"The paper that caused my trouble was one that was taken from Mr. Benson when he couldn't help himself," Hal explained. "For some reason, the military authorities never discovered that Millard had that paper about him. It was enough to save him from arrest an hour ago."

"And Millard is still at large," nodded Mr. Sanders. "It's a matter for the military authorities and the Secret Service, I imagine. I don't see how the Navy can be drawn into it. However, I am going to ask you young gentlemen to retain your special appointments a little longer. I may yet have considerable need of you in this affair. You are stopping at the Arlington? Perhaps, for this afternoon, you would enjoy going over to the United Service Club, where you are likely to meet a good many Army and Navy officers. I will send some one along with you who will see to it that you have ten-day cards at the club."

At any other time this all would have meant to Jack Benson that he was still an officer in the Navy. Just now, however, it meant that Millard was at large, and Benson had a strong notion that it would yet fall to the lot of the submarine boys to put that wretch where he belonged.

XIX. Jack's Caller At the United Services Club

"Ho-ho! Haw-haw! Woof!"

Eph found himself started again, the very instant the boys found themselves in the lower corridor of the building.

"Let him alone," uttered Jack, scornfully. "The poor fellow had better work it all out of his system."

"But, Hal, your face—when the policeman took you, on Millard's complaint!" sputtered Somers, next going off into another burst of laughter.

"It didn't seem funny, at the time," returned Hal Hastings, quietly.

"Ho-ho! Haw! Of course, not. Say, Hal, can you do me a tremendous favor? Can you look, just for a moment, the way you did when that blue-coat pinched you?"

Hal began to laugh, despite the fact that his loss of Millard still rankled under his quiet outside.

"Now, hush up," warned Benson, suddenly. "Here comes Lieutenant Ulwin, who has undertaken to present us at the United Service Club. Idiots are barred from the club, you know, Eph."

By a great exercise of will power Eph managed to straighten his face by the time that the lieutenant overtook them. They entered a cab. By this time the young naval officers were beginning to understand that it is the usual custom to go about Washington in a carriage.

"Have you ever been at a Service Club before?" inquired their guide.

"We breakfasted at the club at Norfolk this morning?" Jack answered.

"Your acquaintance with our Service clubs is not very large, then?"

"We have also been at the club at Fort Craven."

"Oh!" smiled Lieutenant Ulwin. "I guess you gentlemen have been about a little more in the two branches of the service, than I had suspected.

You have seen the officers of both the Army and the Navy at play?"

"Mostly at table, I should say," laughed Benson.

"The club is the only place where we can go and get away from shop-talk," continued Ulwin. "As a rule the Army and Navy men at our club do not talk much shop. It may be different to-day, however."

"Why to-day?" asked Jack.

"Because—well, you see, I am introducing three rather famous strangers to-day."

"Meaning—" began Hal, quietly.

"You young gentlemen, of course. The whole nation has heard much about the submarine boys. Yet it is in the Army and the Navy, after all, that the deepest, most abiding interest in you exists."

"This red spot on my cheek isn't a blush," explained Ensign Eph, suddenly. "It's where a mosquito bit me."

"I am not joking," replied Ulwin, with a friendly smile. "All the officers of the Navy know about you by this time."

"They'll be greatly disappointed, when they see us, then, won't they?" laughed Hal Hastings.

"Now, see here," protested Eph, earnestly, "I can stand a good deal.

But, if they see us walking around the club, and ask who left the lid off the can of shrimps—I'll fight!"

Ulwin laughed heartily.

"I shall have to pass the word to our worst jokers," he smiled, "that it won't be safe for the fellow who starts in to tease you young men."

"Why, if anyone does start, we've got to keep our tongues behind our teeth," returned Hal. "We're only boys—kids—and we can't say anything smart to men who have been a good many years in the service."

"You can answer back, if anyone starts to have any fun with you," replied Lieutenant Ulwin. "Remember, a club is where all men stand on an equal footing. If an admiral gets after you, you will do well to swallow any witticism he may try on you. But with any officer below an admiral you don't have to be so careful."

Eph Somers immediately began to look thoughtful. Now, Eph did know how to say caustic things when occasion seemed to demand.

"Here we are," announced Lieutenant Ulwin, suddenly, as the cab stopped before the club building.

Hal went in at Ulwin's side. Jack gripped Eph by the elbow, pulling the auburn-haired one back a few paces.

"Now, see here, Eph, remember that we don't want any funny answers inside."

"But Ulwin says—"

"You listen to what I'm saying, Eph. I've known you longer than Mr. Ulwin has. Just remember that we're boys—b-o-y-s—boys. Not one of us is quite eighteen yet. If we've gained a little fame for five minutes, we mustn't begin to imagine that we're eight feet high and on a par with men forty years old. So be careful, Eph. If anyone starts to have any fun with you, come back at him a different way."

"How?" whispered Eph.

"Look stupid."

"What?"

"Look stupid."

"I don't see much in that."

"Why, it's the funniest answer possible; and, besides, it isn't fresh or forward."

"How do you make that out?" Eph inquired.

"Why, Eph, boy, if you're half as famous as you may think you are, then folks will know you can't be stupid. So, if you pretend to be, you'll have everyone guessing what you mean by looking that way. On the other hand, if you look stupid, and no one is surprised, then you'll discover that that's just the way the crowd had you sized up in advance."

"I see," nodded Eph, but it was plain that Jack's almost direct command was not wholly pleasing to Somers.

The two comrades now caught up with Ulwin and Hal at the elevator.

"We'll go up to the reading room, first," proposed Lieutenant Ulwin.

"That's where the afternoon crowd is usually found."

Anyone who had been looking for "color" or pomp would have been disappointed. The only uniforms in sight were those worn by two bell boys. The officers of the Army and Navy present were all in citizen dress. They looked like a lot of cheerful, prosperous business men.

"Hullo, Ulwin, what are you doing with my friends from Dunhaven?" eagerly called one young man, rising hastily and coming forward. "Benson, I'm glad to see you. And you, Hastings. And you, Somers."

"Didn't know you knew the young gentlemen, McCrea," broke in Ulwin.

"Don't know them? When they made me the laughing-stock of every mess-room crowd in the Navy for months!" retorted McCrea.

Jack, Hal and Eph were shaking hands with the speaker with a good deal of pleasure.

It was Lieutenant McCrea, one-time watch officer on the battleship "Luzon." At one time McCrea had doubted that submarine boats were, in all respects, as wonderful craft as was claimed. The submarine boys had paid him back in most laughable fashion. Lieutenant McCrea, at one time, had felt himself much aggrieved over the wholesome teasing of his brother officers in consequence; but he had long since learned to accept the whole incident as a good and deserved joke.

Now, McCrea stood wringing the hands of the boys as though he had found long-lost friends.

"What are you doing these days?" McCrea wanted to know. "Anything besides testing new boats at Dunhaven?"

"You must greet them as comrades, McCrea," continued Lieutenant Ulwin.

"What? Cadets at Annapolis?"

In this case McCrea wondered at their being there, for cadets would be considered forward who visited an officers' club.

"Benson is a lieutenant, his friends ensigns," replied Ulwin.

"Come, come!" laughed McCrea. "I'm easy—these boys know that. But don't tell me—"

"Fact, though," replied Ulwin. "They hold special appointments, for some special duty or other. I'm here, at the direction of the Navy Department, to introduce these young brother officers of ours, and to procure ten-day cards for them."

By this time the news had spread. A score of officers, young or middle-aged, were crowding about. Ulwin had his hands full introducing the submarine boys. Yet they stood the ordeal well. The habit of command, based on discipline, had given these boys plenty of poise and self-possession. Nor were any attempts made, at that time, to have any good-humored fun with them. Half a dozen officers representing foreign navies were present. These, too, came in for introductions. The foreigners were, mainly, military or naval officers attached to foreign embassies at Washington.

"By Jove, Benson, I've had it in mind, for some time, that I wanted to meet you and grasp your hand," murmured Lieutenant Abercrombie, of the British Navy, as he drew Lieutenant Jack to one side. "By Jove, old fellow, I want to meet you soon and have a good old talk all by ourselves."

"That will be most agreeable to me," nodded Jack, pleasantly.

"And your comrades, too," added Abercrombie. "You know, you're already known on the other side. Fact, I assure you. Only the other day I picked up a London magazine and read quite an account of the doings of you three. I was especially interested in an account of how you three discovered a way of leaving a submarine at the bottom and swimming to the surface; then diving and re-entering the craft while she's still on the bottom. But your method is a secret, I suppose?"

"Yes," smiled Jack. "At least, the American Navy alone shares the secret with us."

"Oh, I'm not asking it, you know, old fellow," Lieutenant Abercrombie assured him.

"Is Mr. Benson here?" called a bell-boy, from the doorway.

"Very much so," replied Lieutenant Ulwin, dryly.

"May I give you a message, sir?" asked the bell-boy, coming closer.

After excusing himself, Benson stepped aside with the boy. Yet the latter spoke loudly enough for several to overhear.

"There's a lady, downstairs at the door, would like to see you, sir.

She says it is very, very important, sir."

"Did she give any name?" inquired astonished Jack.

"No, sir; she begged you would overlook that, sir, and just step down to the door for a few moments."

"All right; I'll go," nodded Benson. "But it looks queer."

Excusing himself to his host, Ulwin, and to some of the officers with whom he had been chatting, the leader of the submarine boys went quickly to the coat-room for his hat, then descended in the elevator.

"Vairee strange place, zis, for a lady to follow a zhentleman—to hees club," drawled a French captain.

One or two of the others laughed, imagining that this was some flirtation in which the submarine boy had been engaged. But Eph flared up a bit, looking very red, as he muttered:

"It's only fair to tell you, gentlemen, that we submarine boys don't appreciate jokes at the expense of the finest fellow who ever lived—Mr. Jack Benson!"

"Good boy" murmured Teal.

Yet, when an hour had slipped by, and Benson had not returned, even his loyal comrades began to wonder a good deal. From that frame of mind they passed on, at the end of another hour, to worry.

XX. The Girl In the Cab

As Jack reached the door of the United Service Club he found no one at the doorway.

"That's strange," he muttered.

But in another moment he looked down the street. A hundred feet away stood a closed cab. From it a woman leaned, beckoning slightly.

Had she been veiled, Jack would have been instantly suspicious.

But her face showed, and it was a young, fresh, pretty and wholesome looking face.

"I don't know her, but she is very evidently a lady," thought Jack Benson, quickly.

Accordingly, he stepped along the sidewalk, lifting his hat courteously as he neared the vehicle.

"You are Mr. Benson?" inquired the young woman.

"Yes, madam."

"I trust you will pardon my calling here, and sending you a message. But it was very urgent that I see you at once—how urgent you cannot yet understand."

"I am here, madam," Jack replied; not knowing what else to say.

"I am going to make another strange request of you."

"It is granted in advance, if possible."

"Will you step inside with me, and drive a little way?" inquired the young woman.

Jack glanced quickly at her. Her face was flushed; evidently she was embarrassed.

"Won't you tell me a little more, madam, about your reason for wishing to see me?" he suggested.

"Yes; but not here—please!" she begged. "I do not want to be seen about here. I shall not detain you long, Mr. Benson. All I ask is that you sit here beside me, and that we drive a little way, while I say a few words to you."

Jack hesitated. He did not like the look of the adventure. Yet, on the other hand, it was hard to see harm or danger in it. The young woman was evidently, as he had at first guessed, a lady.

"Then you do not feel able to tell me, here, what you wish to speak with me about?" he inquired.

"I shall begin as soon as we start on our drive," she promised. "Oh, please do not refuse me. You cannot imagine how much is at stake—for me!"

Though Jack Benson felt the peculiarity of the request from a stranger, he was unable to see how harm could result from his being kind.

"Very good, then," he agreed. "I will do my best by listening to you."

After he had entered the cab, and had taken the seat, beside her, the young woman turned to look at him keenly.

Jack, for his part, saw that she was rather better dressed than the average. He imagined her to be the daughter of a family in comfortable circumstances.

"You do not know who I am, of course?" she began.

"No, madam."

"But you do know one in whom I am much interested," she continued.

For some reason that he could not explain to himself, Jack Benson began to feel very uncomfortable under the witching battery of her handsome eyes.

"Who is he?" inquired the submarine boy.

"You know him as—"

She paused, as though stricken with sudden reluctance.

"Well?"

"The name by which you know him is Millard."

Had Jack Benson been lashed at that instant with a whip he could not have been more astounded.

"Who?" he cried. "What? That in fam—"

He checked himself abruptly.

"It was kind of you to stop as you did," the young woman declared, gratefully. "The man whom you know as Millard is my promised husband."

"I'm sor—I mean, I'm astonished," sputtered Jack Benson.

Then he turned to take another keen look into her face.

"What do you want to say to me about Millard?" he demanded.

"I ask you—I beg you—to aid him to escape from Washington—from the country. Yet, to do that, all he needs is to get safely out of the District of Columbia. You know that he is here in Washington, or I would not have told you as much."

"Does Millard find it so very difficult to get out of Washington?" queried Jack, grimly.

"If he did not, Mr. Benson, believe me I would never come to the enemy to beseech mercy. Probably I am not telling you anything you do not already know," she went on, rather bitterly. "But every avenue of escape from Washington is blocked by Secret Service men. It is not so difficult to hide in the city, but to get out of it is impossible—to-day."

"Madam," Jack answered, softly, "it would be my desire to give you every bit of aid and comfort possible. However, what you ask is simply impossible. For one thing, it would be in direct defiance of my—"

"Oath" he was about to add, but checked him self. On account of their knowing that he was to be sought at the United Service Club it was possible—even likely—that the enemy knew of his actual connection with the Navy. Yet, Benson did not propose to supply the other side with any gratis information. So he added:

"Contrary to my duty as an American. I am loyal to the Flag, madam," the boy continued. "Do you know the nature of Millard's offense?"

"No-o-o-o; that is, not exactly."

"Do you wish me to tell you?"

"Why—he—he—told me it was some dispute over international affairs," stammered the young woman.

"Do you feel yourself a loyal American?" asked Jack, looking at her curiously.

"Yes!" she answered, without an instant's hesitation, looking straight into his eyes, almost defiantly.

"And you love this man, Millard?"

"Yes!" Yet her declaration was not so emphatic as it would have been a few moments before.

Jack Benson sighed.

"Would you love a man who had betrayed his country's flag?" he asked, presently, in a very low voice.

"Has Don—has the man you know as Millard offered to do that?"

It was not suspicion, but incredulity that rang in her voice.

Jack Benson knew, now, that he was dealing with a woman who knew herself to be a patriot—a lover of her country.

"I don't know that I have any right to say anything," Jack answered, evasively. "Mr. Millard is a civil engineer, isn't he?"

"Yes, and a mechanical engineer, too," the girl admitted, without attempt at concealment "As you also doubtless know, he served, once, with a revolutionary army in Guatemala. It is in some sort of scrape like this that he finds him self now. Some trouble that he has gotten himself into with this government in order to befriend the revolutionists of some Central American republic."

"Did Millard tell you so?" demanded Jack Benson, his eyes now very wide open.

"He let me believe as much," the girl replied, one hand toying with a fold of her dress, while she glanced down. "And that is the truth, is it not?"

"No!" broke, half-angrily, from young Benson. The passion would have rung in his denial, but he remembered that he was talking to this girl about her betrothed husband.

"You spoke of the Flag a moment ago," cried the girl, suddenly, and gazing searchingly into the boy's eyes. "Do you mean to tell me that Don—that Mr. Millard would be engaged in any work hostile to his own country?"

"Is the one we call Millard an American citizen?" asked Benson.

"Yes."

"Then—"

Jack came to an abrupt stop after that one word. He would not tell the dreadful news to this spirited young woman. It was not necessary.

But she became insistent "Mr. Benson," she cried, "this has gone too far not to have a full explanation. Has—has Mr. Millard done aught to betray the United States? For that matter, how could he?"

"Madam," Benson replied, gravely, "no Central American republic would want charts of our fortified harbors, or notes concerning the fortifications, the harbor mines, and so on, for the very simple reason that no Central American republic would ever be equal to the task of attempting to invade the United States."

"Did Mr. Millard steal such plans—make such notes?"

She hissed the question sharply, her face now deathly white.

"That is the charge against him," Jack nodded.

"Did he do it?"

"I caught him at it, opposite Fort Craven," young Benson answered.

A low, smothered cry escaped the girl. Her head rested against the side of the carriage as though her brain were reeling. But at length she spoke.

"You—you would not deceive me," she faltered. "Yet tell me more."

"I can't;" answered Jack, with a shake of his head. "Further than that, I cannot go."

"Oh, I see," she nodded, "and I do not blame you. You feel that, whatever you told me, I would tell him. But I wouldn't!"

Though the girl's face was still fearfully pallid, her eyes, as she turned to gaze into the submarine boy's face, flashed with a new fire.

Then, after a brief pause:

"Whatever he is, or has done, I am an American," she added, quietly.

"This has been a miserable fifteen minutes for me." responded Jack Benson. "I have been torn between the impulse to mind my own business, and the fear that you may be throwing yourself away on a man whom you would promptly learn to despise."

"I shall never give Donald Graves another thought as a lover," the girl rejoined, promptly. "Nor shall I shelter him. I am going to him now!"

"Then you have an appointment with him? You know where to find him?"

"Yes," replied the girl, looking at the submarine boy rather queerly.

"Do you care to go with me to meet Donald Graves—the one you knew as Millard? But I am stupid, or worse. That would be to run you into needless danger—for such a man as I now know Donald Graves to be would be desperate."

"I am not afraid of him," retorted Jack quietly. "If you fear only for me, I beg you to take me to him!"

XXI. Daisy Huston Decides For the Flag

"It is a somewhat lonely place, on the outskirts of the city," warned the girl. "Mr. Graves had thought that, if no other chance offered, he might possibly get away by leaving that house and taking to the country roads. For he knows that, if he takes a train at any point, he won't ride five miles before he'll find himself in the clutches of a Secret Service man. Oh, he knows how well the trains and the steamboats will be watched. He dreads, even, that the country roads will be watched."

"I don't know anything about the Secret Service lines that are out,"

Jack confessed, honestly. "Yet I imagine that every possible precaution has been taken to capture Millard—or Graves."

"You do not know my name," cried the girl, as though struck by a sudden thought. "Mr. Benson, you have been wrapped in so much mystery, so much deceit, so much lying and treachery that I won't even have you guess whether I am telling you the truth. Here is my card-case. Take out a card for yourself."

The request was so much like a command that Benson obeyed. On the card, in Old English script, he read:

"Miss Daisy Huston."

"I thank you, Miss Huston," he acknowledged, gravely, handing back her card-case.

"Will you signal the driver to stop?" she requested. They were now driving through the western part of Washington.

When the driver found himself signaled he reined up, then came to the cab door.

"You know where to go?" she said.

"Yes," nodded the man.

"Drive there, then."

The driver whipped up his horses to a better speed, the vehicle bowling along now.

"I very much fear that I am running you into danger," declared Daisy Huston, soberly. "Mr. Benson, if you decide to leave the cab, or to have me take you back to the center of the city, I shall not imagine you to be lacking in courage."

"I cannot be in any greater danger than you are, Miss Huston," Benson ventured, with a smile.

"Oh, it is much different in my case," argued the girl. "Donald Graves would not attack a woman, especially the woman he had professed to love."

"Miss Huston, do you feel like discussing this matter any further?" hazarded the young acting naval lieutenant.

"Yes; as much as you wish."

"I confess to being a bit curious."

"About what?"

"Did Millard—Graves, I mean, have any great reason to need money? More, I mean, than he could earn by honest work?"

"Yes," admitted Miss Daisy. "My mother is dead. Under her will I inherit a considerable little fortune when I am twenty-five. But it is solely on condition that I have my father's permission to marry the man of my choice. I could remain single until twenty-five, but I am only nineteen, and Mr. Graves complained that it would be an eternity to wait."

"Then your father did not approve Millard? I am going to call him that because the other name is unfamiliar."

"My father feared that Donald was a fortune hunter. He said he would be satisfied if Donald could show that he were rich in his own name."

"So, then, Graves, or Millard, hit upon the plan of stealing our harbor fortification secrets and selling them to another government," said Jack, meditatingly. "Yet I am puzzled to understand how he found the chance. There are no foreigners openly engaged in buying our national secrets."

"I think I can explain all that, though it will be but guess-work," replied Daisy Huston, thoughtfully. "My father was for some years minister to Sweden. He is still well acquainted among foreign diplomats here in Washington. Some of them are often at our house. Donald must have met one there who tempted him, or pointed the way to a fortune.

Yes; I am certain that must be the answer."

"Did—but perhaps you don't like my asking such questions?"

"No; I do not mind—now," replied Daisy Huston. "I began to feel as though I had been an innocent party to Donald Graves's wrongdoing.

When I went to try to see you, this afternoon, I supposed only that Donald had gotten into trouble through some filibustering expedition to Central America. I did not look upon that as so serious, you see.

But selling the national secrets is quite another matter," she added, bitterly. "I shall never care for the man again. I have wrenched him from my heart in these last few minutes. So you may ask me any questions that will help to clear up the matter."

"Thank you, Miss Huston. Then did Graves, or Millard, as I call him, express any hope of becoming suddenly well to do?"

"Yes; and now I can understand how he has lied to me. He let me believe that he hoped to profit through mining concessions to Americans that would follow the overthrow of one of the petty despots in Central America."

"Yet Millard has been away from Washington much, has he not?"

"Most of the time during the last four months. He generally managed to get over here for one day out of the seven; sometimes two days at a time."

"I believe the whole matter is becoming rather clear in my mind. I do not mind telling you, Miss Huston, how I first came to know the fellow. He was over at our shipyard in Dunhaven, trying to get employment on the construction of submarine boats. But something in his manner made us suspect him, and he didn't get near the secrets of any of our boats."

There was one other thing, however, that Benson felt he would like to have cleared up. So he inquired:

"How did you know that I was at the United Service Club? Did Millard know? Did he tell you to go there?"

"He guessed where you might be. He asked me to drive to the club first; if you were not there, then I was to drive to the Arlington.

Failing to find you at either place, I was to go back to the hotel in the evening. In the event of my finding you at the hotel I was to see you in the ladies' parlor. But, oh! What can you think of me, Mr. Benson, to have come to you on such an errand—on a mission to save a betrayer of his Flag?"

"You came innocently, Miss Huston; that is all that I can understand.

And your whole attitude, since you discovered the truth, has been that of a loyal American girl who would crush her heart, even, for her country's honor."

"It isn't going to be as hard as you think, perhaps," she smiled, bitterly, "to cast the man out of my heart. The man that I now know Donald Graves to be never was in my heart. There is no room, there, for a traitor."

She glanced out of the cab at the scene through which they were passing.

Jack Benson looked at the same time.

"I am terribly uneasy," she confessed. "Perhaps, even now, Mr. Benson, you had much better leave this carriage and let me go forward alone. I am a woman, and therefore safe. But I fear—yes, actually fear for your life when he finds out!"

"Don't be at all uneasy about me, Miss Huston," begged Jack, with cool confidence. "I have had rather a sturdy training in the art of taking care of myself."

Though he did not allow the girl to see the motion, Jack felt stealthily at his right hip pocket. Yes; the loaded revolver was there. Jack did not believe much in the practice of carrying concealed weapons. He had great contempt both for the nerve and the judgment of fool boys who carried revolvers, loaded or otherwise. But just now the situation was different. Jack Benson was an acting lieutenant in the United States Navy. Just before leaving the Navy Department he and his comrades had each been advised to take a proffered weapon and carry it against the chance that they might find Millard—or Graves—in Washington, and find themselves under the necessity of taking him prisoner.

"Spies and traitors are taken alive or dead," the official had remarked who had handed them the weapons.

"How much further have we to go?" Jack inquired, as the cab turned down a country lane.

"Only a very short distance, now," replied Daisy Huston.

"Jove, but she's a stunning girl for nerve and principle," thought Lieutenant Jack, admiringly. "She's going, now, to what must be the tragedy of her plans and hopes, yet she has her color back again, and looks as composed as though out only for an airing!"

"There is the house," almost whispered the girl, at last, resting a steady, cool hand on his arm.

Jack looked and saw the place—a little, oldfashioned house, standing in among trees, some hundred feet from the road. In that swift glance he also noted that there were no ether buildings near.

Daisy Huston did not ask whether the young man at her side proposed to try to arrest the man he sought. She was too discreet to pry into his plans.

Up into the little yard before the house the horses trotted. Then, just as the cab was coming to a stop, the driver cracked his whip-lash twice.

Immediately the door flew open. Millard, as Jack Benson knew him, stepped out jauntily, a smile of delight on his face.

"Good enough, Daisy," he cried, as he strode toward the cab. "I see that you have won Benson over to our side. He shall be my friend, after this. But, Daisy, what—"

For the girl had sprung lightly out ere Jack Benson could assist her.

The girl now stood, drawn to her full height, yet without affecting any theatrical pose. But over her lips hovered a smile of cool disdain that the look in her eyes heightened.

"Don't lie to me any more, Donald Graves," commanded the girl, steadily,

"and don't deceive yourself. Both tasks, I know, will be hard for a man so vile that he'd sell his country's Flag!"

Millard stared at her in growing horror. Then anger rushed to his face.

"Daisy!" he gasped. "Have you betrayed me? Have you brought Benson here as an enemy?"

Daisy did not answer her former lover. She continued to gaze at him with an irony of expression that sent the hot blood mounting to his head.

"Can't you speak?" he demanded. "Then, Benson, why don't you talk?"

"Because," replied Jack, "I am waiting for Miss Huston to say to you all, or as little, as she cares to say."

"Speak, then!" commanded Millard, turning imperiously to the girl.

"And my command to you," retorted the girl, "is different. Silence!

Never again address me, you traitor to your Flag!"

Millard was swift to realize the fullness of the girl's contempt. He knew that everything between them was over.

"Come, come, then, girl!" he uttered, harshly. "It is time for you to be gone! Step to the cab and get away from here, for I would spare you what is to follow—my reckoning with Benson!"

He clapped his hands. The door opened, and four men stepped out. Their type was not hard to determine. They were of the scum of humanity—ready for any desperate deed.

XXII. The Part of Aberbrombie, R.N.

"Come, girl, you must go!" commanded Millard, harshly.

"I will not," she replied, coldly, "until my escort is ready to go with me."

"He will not go with you," replied Millard, significantly. "And you must not remain. What is to be done here is no thing for a dainty woman to see."

"Mr. Benson," appealed the girl, "will you enter the cab first?"

"If he does, the cab will not leave," sneered Millard.

All this while the four men who had just come from the house were stealthily grouping themselves. Jack watched them alertly. He did not intend to be taken unawares, yet he hesitated to draw his pistol while Miss Huston was there.

"Go, girl!" Millard ordered again.

"I have told you, already, that I shall go only when Mr. Benson gives the word and accompanies me," replied the girl, white but courageous.

"Then we won't waste more time," laughed the wretch, harshly. "Since you will stay, then you must be a witness of what you have brought on my worst foe! Close in, men—get him!"

As the men sprang to obey, and Jack dodged nimbly back, Daisy Huston uttered a piercing scream. The next thing she did was wholly natural.

Under the intense strain of her feelings the girl fainted.

"Take her!" nodded Millard, to the driver, who was plainly one of the desperate lot. "Take her from here as fast as you can."

The driver, ready for his work, snatched up the girl's light form.

"Have a care what you do—all of you!" cried Jack Benson, warningly, and now, in his hand, the revolver gleamed.

But one of the wretches, darting in at Jack's right, from behind, aimed a blow with a cudgel at the weapon. He struck it from the young lieutenant's hand.

Down to the ground it fell, but Lieutenant Benson was as quick as thought, now.

He bent over, snatching up the weapon, then ducked away from a follow-up blow at his own head, and sprang back.

"You first, then, Millard!" cried the young acting naval officer.

Full of purpose, Lieutenant Jack pressed the trigger. It stuck. No report followed. That blow from the cudgel had jammed the cylinder.

Having dropped the senseless form of Daisy Huston in the cab the driver sprang to the box, lashing the horses, just as Lieutenant Benson discovered the uselessness of his weapon as a firearm.

Then, indeed, young Benson knew that this must be a fight to the very death. Yet he was a naval officer at heart, as much as by special appointment. At a time like this he held life cheaply.

The first man to get within reach was laid flat by a blow with the butt of Jack's revolver.

Instantly young Benson wheeled, to strike at another pressing foe.

Instead, he received a glancing though painful blow on his own left shoulder. Ere the assailant could recover, however, Benson leaped at him and would have felled him had not Millard himself leaped in, striking up the young naval officer's arm.

Once more Lieutenant Jack leaped back. His whole body was alert, nerves and muscles responding magnificently. He fairly vibrated defense.

"Close in on him, men—surround him!" snarled Millard. "You've got to get him! We haven't many minutes left. We don't know at what instant to look for interference."

Jack landed effectively on another of the rascals. Just as he was wheeling, however, to ward off the attack of another, a stick landed against his left knee, partly crippling him.

In moving backward Benson almost stumbled over a stone half the size of his head.

Right there, in the same movement with which he thrust the revolver into one of his pockets, he bent down, snatched up the heavy stone, and held it poised over his head.

"Now, come on! Now, close in!" cried Jack Benson, exulting. "The first man who gets too close has his head split open! Who wants it?"

His usually, good-humored face was transformed by the fiery rage of battle.

Surely there was some of the old Norseman streak left in Jack Benson's make-up.

As he stood there, keenly alert, ready to heave the rock, he looked like a young Thor armed with massive stone hammer.

"Spread! Get in back of him!" yelled Millard, hoarsely. "I'll take the position of attack in front. Down him!"

"Guess which way I'm going to heave this stone!" cried Jack, tauntingly, as he half wheeled, so as to watch those trying to steal a march in his rear.

"Bosh! You can soon stop that, men!" jeered Millard, suddenly. "Fall back and get a fistful of stones. Rain them in on the youngster at a safe distance. One of you will soon hit him and send him down!"

Young Benson gasped inwardly with dismay, though his face did not blanch. Millard's followers drew back to obey.

Yes! These fellows could throw small stones from a much greater distance than the young lieutenant could hurl the large one. They had but to keep up this fire for a few seconds when one of them was certain to hit him in the head, putting him out of the fight.

Jack Benson dropped the big stone, though he stood over it. Like a flash his revolver came out again. Aiming at Millard, the young naval officer made frantic efforts to make the cylinder revolve. But the weapon proved to be hopelessly jammed.

"Now, keep on volleying the youngster with until you have him down and wholly out!" yelled Millard, hoarsely.

The air seemed filled with stones. Jack hopped about as nimbly as possible, dodging all he could. Yet one part of his body after another was hit.

Rat-a-tat-tat! Jack hardly comprehended what this new noise meant when it grew in volume. Then a horseman rode into the yard at a charge.

"One down!" yelled the rider, with savage glee, as he drove his mount squarely against one of the wretches, bowling him over and underfoot.

Hardly seeming to veer, the rider made for another fellow, and barely missed him.

Just a second later, so it seemed, this valiant rider hauled the horse on its haunches, and swung back, heading for another wretch.

Millard leaped at the horseman, a stone in his uplifted fist.

But Jack Benson saw him, and a well-planted blow sent Millard to the ground.

"Bully good of you, Benson, old chap!" called a hearty voice. Then the horseman spurred forward, running down another of Benson's late assailants. The two remaining bolted as fast as they could, go.

"Mr. Abercrombie!" cried Lieutenant Jack.

"Yes, it's I: and jolly glad I got here in good time," laughed the British naval officer, whom this brief rollicking battle had made as gleeful as a boy.

"But how on earth did you happen to turn up?" asked Jack, a feeling of mystery coming over him after he had glanced at Millard and had made sure that the latter would "sleep" for some time to come.

"Why, I was out for my afternoon canter, dear old fellow," bubbled Lieutenant Abercrombie, R.N. "I was coming down the road at a hard trot, don't you know, when a cab rolled by. A young woman—and a deuced pretty one—thrust her head out and shrieked at me. What could I do? It was deuced extraordinary, and I had to do something quickly, so I rode alongside the cab and told the driver to hold up.

I must have looked unusually menacing, don't you know, for, by Jove, the fellow obeyed me. Then I reached up and yanked him down off the cab. The fellow really started to blackguard me, while the young woman was shouting something at me at the same time I had to silence the fellow, don't you know, so I could understand the young lady.

So I struck him over the head with the butt of my riding whip. My word, I must have hit the blackguard hard, for he just curled up and lay down. The young lady sprang out of the cab and begged me to hurry down here. She looked able to take care of herself, so I just left my revolver with her, and, by Jove, here I am—and deuced glad of it.

Upon my word, Benson, dear old fellow, all the luck seemed to be running against you."

"It was," Jack admitted, dryly. "But now I've got the man I came after.

I've got to keep him, too," added Lieutenant Benson, gravely.

As he spoke, the submarine boy drew a pair of handcuffs from an inner pocket.

"By Jove, do naval youngsters in this country carry such jewelry?" murmured Lieutenant Abercrombie, R.N.

"They do, I guess, when they're engaged on work like mine at present," smiled Lieutenant Jack, United States Navy.

"Now, then, by Jove, I think I'd better go back to the young lady," suddenly decided Abercrombie, for Millard still showed no signs of recovering his senses. One of the other two men who had been ridden down now recovered enough to begin to crawl away furtively.

"Do you want that chap?" asked Abercrombie.

"I have no facilities for keeping him a prisoner," Jack answered.

"For that matter, I guess he's nothing but a hired tough. The Washington police can find and take care of him at their convenience."

"Good enough," nodded the British lieutenant. "And now—"

"Would you mind if I go to her, instead?" inquired Benson, hastily.

"Not in the least, dear old fellow. And, while you're gone, I'll constitute myself a special 'bobby' to look after this chap of yours in the bracelets."

So Jack hurried off up the road, wondering how Daisy Huston fared with a revolver and a hostile cabman.

XXIII. "Foreign Trade" Becomes Brisk

The cab horses were browsing quietly by the roadside.

Miss Daisy looked anything but perturbed.

In fact, she had passed all uneasiness of spirit on to the cab driver.

That worthy had come back to his senses, but Miss Huston had compelled him to sit on the ground, his back to a tree. She stood a few yards away, watching the surly fellow and holding the pistol as though it were not the first time she had had such a weapon in her hand.

"Oh, I'm so glad you've come, Mr. Benson!" cried the girl, with true feminine relief. "I was so worried about you. But you're not hurt—badly. I hurried a horseman on to you. He reached you?"

"Yes, thank you," nodded Lieutenant Benson. "And now, Miss Huston, I must inform you that we have Millard—your Donald Graves—a prisoner and manacled. I must first find a way of getting you back into town.

Then I must turn Millard over to the authorities."

"Why can't he go back in the same cab with me?" asked Miss Huston, quickly.

"You—could you endure that?"

"Yes," replied the girl, bravely. "I took you to him. I sent the assistance that enabled you to take him prisoner. Do not fear for me, Mr. Benson."

"By Jove, but you're clear grit, Miss Huston!" Lieutenant Jack cried, admiringly.

"Clear American, I hope," retorted the girl. "Why should men be the only ones who can do or dare for the Flag?"

"Will you let me have the revolver, Miss Huston?"

"Gladly."

"Thank you. Now, if you will get inside he cab again."

"And you?"

"I'll sit with the driver and watch him,"

Jack kept his eye on the surly fellow until Miss Huston was inside the cab.

"Now, fellow, you get up on the box, and handle the reins from the left side," ordered the young naval officer.

"I always drive on the right side o' the box," came the sulky retort.

"Undoubtedly; but you're driving on the left side this afternoon," returned Benson, with a look of significance. "By the way, did I mention the fact, yet, that I have an uncertain and bad temper? Now, climb up into your place, and don't you attempt to start until I'm beside you and give the word!"

A moment later Jack Benson sat beside the driver, holding the revolver in his right hand.

"Now, back to the house," spoke the young naval officer.

Without a word the driver turned his horses about, heading back.

"Here we are!" came, cheerily, from Lieutenant Abercrombie, R.N.

Millard was sitting up, a black scowl on his face as Jack and the others appeared.

"Now, I've got to get this outfit back into Washington, somehow," mused Jack, after noticing that Abercrombie had allowed the other thug to crawl away to safety.

"Why, of course, dear old fellow, you under stand that I'm helping," hinted the British officer.

"That's mighty good of you," murmured Jack. "Then we can do it easily."

Daisy Huston had stepped from the cab. She stood regarding the scowling captive.

"I'm glad I know you, Donald; glad I found you out in time," she said, quietly, gazing hard at him.

"I thought you a friend," Millard retorted, bitterly. "Great Heavens, Daisy, if you had been on my side through thick and thin, in good report and ill, I could have defied all these idiots in Washington. What an ally you would have been! But you chose to be an enemy."

"An enemy to my country's enemies, yes," replied the girl, steadily.

"Do you hate me, Daisy?"

"I don't know," the girl answered, thoughtfully. "Do you hate me, now, Donald Graves?"

"I wish I knew," uttered the man. "But it's hard to turn love like mine into hate at a moment's notice. Daisy, the nights are coming when you'll wake up with a frightened start, and sob as you remember how you turned me over to—"

"To the officers of the country that you have done your best to betray," broke in the girl, firmly. "No, no, Donald! Do not imagine that I shall shed any tears for you, seen or unseen. Mr. Benson, I am ready, if you wish to place—your—your—prisoner in the cab beside me."

"It seems like a beastly outrage to do it," muttered Jack, full of misgivings.

"Not at all," declared the girl, steadily. "I am glad to see this man on his way to the bar of justice."

Jack assisted Daisy Huston, with the utmost deference, to a seat inside the vehicle. Then he turned to motion to handcuffed Millard—or Graves—that he was to take the seat beside the woman he had hoped to make his wife.

"I'll ride close alongside, to make sure there's no unpleasant conduct toward Miss Huston," volunteered Mr. Abercrombie.

Jack Benson again climbed to the cab box.

"You know I have the pistol," muttered Jack, showing the driver the weapon. "There's no need to ride through the town with the weapon in my hand. But, if you try to cut up any tantrums, you may be sure you'll find your own wrists inside of handcuffs."

"I know when I ain't got no show at all," growled the sullen driver.

"Drive ahead, then—into Washington, and straight to police headquarters."

Lieutenant Abercrombie, R.N., jogged his own mount steadily alongside, so that he could at all times command a view of the interior.

Millard—Donald Graves—would have opened some conversation with Daisy Huston, but the disdainful girl cut him short.

As the cab rolled into the busier streets of Washington Lieutenant Abercrombie drew a little further away from the cab, in order not to attract attention, though he still remained actively on guard.

The prisoner's manacled hands did not show to the people passing on the sidewalks.

So, altogether, no passersby thought to turn to look after the cab.

Just as the little procession turned a street corner to drive direct to the door of police headquarters, Abercrombie waved a hand carelessly to three pedestrians on the sidewalk.

"Abercrombie!" cried Lieutenant Ulwin. "And there's Benson on the box of that hack!"

"Come right along into headquarters," whispered Abercrombie. "Don't make any noise."

Wondering until they were fairly agape, Ulwin, Hal and Eph drew up at the cab door as Jack, after only a brief nod to them, opened the door and handed out Miss Daisy Huston.

Lieutenant Abercrombie, having given his horse to a boy down the street to hold, now came forward, raising his hat, to take charge of the young lady.

"Come along, Millard," called Jack Benson, quietly, and the prisoner got out, while the British officer stepped down the street with his fair companion to find another carriage in which she could return home.

Inside Jack marched his prisoner up to the railing in one of the rooms.

The young naval officer at once produced his credentials and displayed them to the police official in charge.

"Now, with your permission, sir," Jack went on, courteously, "I will use your telephone, and inform the Navy Department of the prisoner who awaits their action here."

Five minutes later this had been done. Benson turned to Lieutenant Abercrombie, saying:

"I must apologize for not having thought to return your revolver as soon as we entered."

"I would beg you to keep the weapon, dear old fellow, if it would be of any use to you," replied the British officer.

And now Hal and Eph found chance to explain that they, worried by Jack Benson's disappearance, had at last started down to headquarters to see if they could learn of any mishap to him, or of any other explanation for his long absence.

"Well, it's all over now," muttered Hal. "Millard—or Graves—or whatever other name the fellow may be using at this moment—is safe in a cell downstairs."

"We thought, once before, that we had him bottled up safely," chuckled Lieutenant Jack. "Mr. Abercrombie, how am I ever going to express my thanks to you?"

"I should feel extremely insulted, dear old fellow, if you thought it necessary to thank me," retorted the Briton, heartily.

"It will be dark, soon," interposed Lieutenant Ulwin. "I suggest that the best thing any of us can do is to turn toward the club. I feel certain that the chef will have a famous dinner there to-night."

"We haven't any evening clothes, either citizen or uniform, in Washington," interposed Jack Benson, who knew something of the formalities of the service during the dinner hour.

"Come, just the same," begged Ulwin. "The members don't expect too much of fellows who are traveling."

Jack was glad of the walk, because it helped to take the stiffness out of the knee that had been struck.

"You let the cab driver go, did you!" asked Eph, as the submarine boys walked along together.

"Yes," nodded Jack. "I had no orders concerning anyone like him. He's only some worthless character hired for the job. He didn't have any hand in the bigger job of collecting and selling harbor defense plans, you may be sure."

As the party re-entered the club they found a large attendance. Nor was it many moments before a be-moustached German officer approached the group.

"Oh, Herr Ulwin," he asked, "can you oblige me by excusing Herr Benson for a moment or two? And will you come with me, Herr Benson, to meet a friend who wishes to shake your hand?"

Jack slipped away with the German officer, who conducted him to another room.

"I think you have met my friend before," explained the German, and wheeled the submarine boy straight up in front of Herr Professor Radberg.

"You see," smiled the professor, "we meet again."

"It is a great pleasure, surely," declared Jack, as he shook hands. The officer stepped a few paces away.

"And now, when, my dear young friend, are you going to give me your word that you and your comrades will enter the German torpedo service? I have somewhat better terms to offer you than when we last met. I have since been authorized to promise you that you shall enter the German service as commissioned officers, and that you shall all three be in line for promotion as merit earns it. So, then, it is all settled, is it not!"

Herr Professor Radberg rubbed his hands with a self-satisfied air.

"Yes," Lieutenant Jack admitted, "it is all settled. But not the way that you would wish, Herr Professor Radberg. There may be soldiers of fortune who follow any flag, for hire. But we submarine boys would not enter your German naval service if you created all three of us high admirals at the outset."

"Admirals?" cried Herr Professor Radberg, protestingly. "Oh, but that, my dear young friend, would be quite impossible."

"You are wasting your time with us, sir," Jack continued, firmly. "We may, one of these days, be asked to enter the American service permanently. We would not enter any other country's service, no matter what the bait. Do not give the matter any further thought, please, for we won't."

The German officer had been standing a few paces away, twirling his moustache and frowning. Now, he came forward.

"Herr Benson," he broke in, "I fear that you are so young that you do not fully understand the honor and dignity of being officers in the German service."

"Very likely we do not, Captain," Jack returned, with a bow. "And it is absolutely certain that we shall never find out from experience."

Lieutenant Jack excused himself, turning to seek his friends. As Benson entered the reading room once more he came upon Eph and another whose face was decidedly familiar. It was the Chevalier d'Ouray.

"Just in time, Jack," nodded Eph. "Tell the Chev. for me, please as he doesn't seem to understand my talk, that we wouldn't even give the slightest consideration to his idea that we should enter the French naval service in the submarine division."

"It is quite hopeless, Chevalier," laughed Jack Benson, shaking his head. "The honor is quite enough to turn our heads, but we can serve only the United States."

The Chevalier d'Ouray made a low bow, then turned away, for others were approaching.

"Where is Hal?" asked Jack.

"Crickety! Look at him over there, talking to that little Japanese," muttered Eph, inclining his head toward a corner.

Hal and a Japanese were talking earnestly. At any rate, the little brown man was. Hal was listening, occasionally shaking his head.

Then Hastings happened to espy his chums. He turned to the Japanese, to take his leave, but the little brown man followed him across the floor, still talking in low tones.

"Captain Nakasura has been trying to interest me in the idea that we three go over to Japan, under a three years' contract, to act as instructors and advisers in submarine work," Hal told his comrades.

"And I have high hope that you will see matter same as I do," smiled the Japanese attache persistently.

"We shan't," Jack declared, shaking his head, emphatically. "Captain, you are the third, representing also the third nation, that has just approached us on this matter. We shall serve no other country than our own."

"But my government," urged the Japanese officer, "will make you most handsome offer."

"Do you remember the day when we were leaving Dunhaven, and you tried to overtake us in a gasoline launch?" asked Jack, with a smile.

"Yes; very well," admitted Nakasura.

"Do you remember that we hoisted the signal, N.D.? That meant 'nothing doing,' Captain. Our answer is the same, and will be, to-morrow and the next year."

"Ah, here you are!" cried Lieutenant Abercrombie, as he hurried up and Captain Nakasura vanished beyond middle distance. "Benson, dear old fellow, I want just a word with you before dinner is served," continued the Briton, thrusting his arm through Jack's and drawing him away after a nod of apology to Hal and Eph. "Benson, I've had something on my mind all day; something I have had instructions to broach to you. I have been waiting for the right moment. Now, I must breathe just a word or two, and then let you think it over during dinner, don't you know?"

"See here," smiled Jack, standing back, sudden suspicion in his eyes.

"Don't tell me you've been instructed to see whether I'll enter the British submarine service."

"Just that, dear old chap!" beamed Abercrombie, enthusiastically. "But how could you guess? Fact, though! And not only you, but Hastings and Somers as well, don't you know!"

"You're the fourth to spring this on us tonight," answered Jack Benson, soberly. "And the answer will have to be the same for all of you."

"The same for all of us, dear chap?" demanded Abercrombie. "How can that be?"

"The answer in every case is the same," retorted Jack. "If our own government doesn't want us, no other government can have us. We stand by our own Flag."

"Eh? What is this?" muttered Lieutenant Ulwin, coming unexpectedly upon the pair. "Foreign government competing for you lads, Benson? This won't do!"

"Which is what I have just had the honor of telling Mr. Abercrombie," smiled Jack, earnestly.

XXIV. Their Lives Deeded To the Flag

Secretary Sanders, Secretary of the Navy, looked up at the three young men who stood in line at the right-hand side of his desk.

It was two days later; two days during which Jack, Hal and Eph had had little to do except roam about Washington and see all the sights of the National Capital. This they had varied by dropping in at the United Service Club.

"Gentlemen," remarked the Secretary of the Navy, "you have not yet been relieved of your detail to the gunboat 'Sudbury.'"

"It's coming now," thought each of the three boys to himself, with a great wave of dismay. "We are to be no longer of the Navy."

"I will give instructions at once," continued Secretary Sanders, "to have orders issued relieving you from that duty."

"Yes; it has come," muttered Jack, drearily, to himself. "Our service with the Navy is over."

"Gentlemen," and now, for a few seconds, the voice of the Secretary seemed far away indeed, "I am sensible of all you have done for your country, and above all, of the zeal you have shown. Besides, I have in mind the fact that you have made yourselves among the most expert of all handlers of submarine torpedo boats. If it can be arranged, I wish to keep all three of you actively in the United States Navy."

Jack Benson looked up with a gasp. His comrades were not less astounded.

"I am aware," Mr. Sanders went on, "that we could not expect you to enlist as mere apprentices. In your own particular field of submarine work you are amply fitted to hold officers' commissions. Yet, under the law, you cannot be granted commissions until you are twenty-one years of age. None of you are quite eighteen.

"Therefore, it has occurred to me that you can be appointed, specially, with rank, command and pay, until you are twenty-one. The President agrees with me in what I have to offer. You, Mr. Benson, are offered a special appointment as lieutenant, junior grade, in the United States Navy. You, Mr. Hastings, and you, Mr. Somers, are offered special appointments as ensigns. You will all have the privileges of your ranks except the actual commissions. Yet you will be actual officers, and entitled to full respect. Moreover, the President promises that, when you are twenty-one years of age, you shall have regular commissions promptly. In case the President is not re-elected to his office, he agrees to urge upon his successor in the White House the fulfilment of the promise. So, if you accept the special appointments, now, you are absolutely certain of commissions as soon as you reach the age of twenty-one. Perhaps it is only just to add that we are aware that all three of you have already been offered commissions in foreign navies, and that you have refused. Both the President and myself appreciate your loyalty to your own Flag. Now, what do you young gentlemen say to accepting special appointments to run until you are each twenty-one?"

"Mr. Secretary, it's the brightest, the one great dream with us all,"

Jack Benson replied, hoarsely. "There is just one thing that could hold us back. We really feel in honor bound to Mr. Farnum and Mr. Pollard to stand by their interests, for they have been our best friends."

"What do you say to that, Mr. Farnum?" inquired the Secretary.

From behind a screen stepped Jacob Farnum, the Dunhaven shipbuilder.

"Why, see here, boys," began Farnum, a broad smile on his face, "I received a long wire from Mr. Sanders yesterday. Dave Pollard and I talked this thing over, and we decided that the Pollard boat is now an assured success. You have put the boats where we can now build and run them without you. You are more needed in the Navy. Now, Dave and I both urge you to go where we know your hearts are—into the Navy. And you will go with all our best wishes. The government needs you, now, to handle the boats that we build up at Dunhaven, and to train war-crews for those boats. There is only one objection to your entering the Navy, boys. You will have to pass upon our boats.

We know you will do that honestly and fearlessly; yet there are many who would sneer at having boats passed on for the government by young officers who hold stock in our concern. Now, the amount of stock that each of you holds has been growing steadily with each new success that you have won for us, which if you enter the Navy you should not own. So Dave and I offer you ten thousand dollars each for the shares that you hold. It is a fair valuation."

"I know it is, if you offer it, Mr. Farnum," Jack Benson replied, with feeling.

"Then you'll accept, and take your very heart's-wish—the Navy—all of you?" asked Mr. Farnum.

"I accept both your offer, Mr. Farnum, and, the greater offer of the Secretary of the Navy," replied Jack, his eyes becoming misty.

"I accept," murmured Hal.

"So do I," from Eph.

"Then, sir," declared Jacob Farnum, turning to the Secretary of the Navy, "the Flag is richer by three magnificent young followers!"

**********

Here we must leave the submarine boys for the present, for these events happened hardly later than yesterday, and there are no new adventures yet to chronicle.

Donald Graves—Millard—received a severe sentence in the penitentiary.

He is still serving the sentence, of course. Gray, his accomplice, who attempted to spirit the drawings outside of the United States, is now likewise serving a term.

The trial was a swift, nearly secret one. Daisy Huston was not dragged into the case at all. In one respect the trial failed. Neither culprit could be forced to tell for which foreign government the dastardly work had been attempted. The "Spitfire" returned to Dunhaven, and was later sold to the government, with several other boats. Williamson became the new Pollard captain.

Several foreign governments were deeply disappointed over not being able to secure the services of the submarine boys.

But Jack, Hal and Eph could be happy nowhere except under their own Flag.

They are now accepted most cordially by all their brother officers, young and old, in the United States Navy.

For the most part, so far, the duties of our young officers have been aboard the different boats purchased from the Pollard Company. Yet, for the sake of practice and change, they have been, at times, detailed aboard other classes of craft in the Navy.

We shall now encounter our young acting naval officers in one of their new fields of special work, in the next volume of this series, which is published under the title: "The Submarine Boys And the Smugglers; Or, Breaking Up the New Jersey Customs Frauds." Here we shall find our talented lads engaged in doing some of their finest work for Uncle Sam's Government, and under circumstances that will delight every reader.

THE END