Land lights were still visible from his position. Dave turned to estimate their distance.

"About six knots off shore," he concluded, half aloud.

"Sir?" questioned the corporal of marines, thinking the ensign was addressing him.

"I was just telling myself that we're about six knots off shore."

"Yes, sir," replied the corporal, saluting.

"Listen to me, you men who are near enough to hear. Your understanding of what is in my mind may help you the better to work with me on this job. Two launches are keeping with us, over the starboard, and I judge the nearer one to be about four knots off. Coxswain, use the lantern signal and ask who commands."

Soon Hardy discovered that, in order to make his signal visible at that distance, he would have to stand higher. Springing to the forward deck his signal was instantly understood on the other craft.

Dave, who had jumped up beside him, read the answer:

"Ensign Dalzell."

"I was sure of it," Dave smiled. "Coxswain, order number 2 launch to come up on parallel course, standing off half-mile to starboard of us."

"Order understood," was flashed back from Dalzell's launch.

Bit by bit Dan overhauled, at last taking the position indicated. Darrin's launch was moving at slow speed now, for he did not care to run out of sight of land, thus leaving the way clear for the submarine to double on him and put back toward Grand Harbor.

"Why doesn't the fellow take a chance on torpedoing us?" was signaled from Dalzell's launch.

"He has only three," was Darrin's reply.

That was brief, but Danny Grin understood, as Dave had intended he should, that the submarine was believed to be equipped with only three torpedoes. Evidently the enemy still hoped for a chance to sink a British battleship.

Suddenly he discovered that for which he sought, and in the same instant a seaman called, as the rays of the searchlight shifted:

"Periscope two points off the port bow, sir."

"Right!" clicked Ensign Darrin.

"May I fire, sir?" begged Runkle, bending over his piece.

"Yes, try it. Pretty long shot, though."

Before Runkle could aim and discharge his piece a swift, red flash shot from the bow of the number 2 launch commanded by Danny Grin. Runkle fired a second later, but the periscope still stood as if mocking the eager gunners.

"I'm glad somebody else missed," growled Runkle, who was becoming exasperated. He was doing himself injustice, though, for each time he had fired, his mark, considering the distance, had been small, and the searchlight was no peer of daylight in aiding a gunner.

Ensign Darrin admitted to himself that he was stumped. He ordered the course changed, with speed ahead, his purpose being to scan the water for the bubbled trail left by the underseas craft. But by the time that he judged himself to be going over the recently observed position of the submersible the searchlight revealed no bubbles.

The third launch now coming in close, Dave, by signal, ordered Ensign Sutton of the British forces to go slowly inshore. He too was to watch for bubbles, as well as to be alert for a re-appearance of the enemy craft.

The longer the suspense lasted, the more uneasy Darrin became.

"There she is, sir!" called a low but penetrating voice from the stern watch. "Three points off the stern to port, sir."

So quickly did the helmsman bring the launch about that she heeled and shipped a volume of water. Darrin, as he leaped upon the forward deck, ordered the sailor manning the searchlight to shut off.

"Don't turn it on again without orders. I believe I can follow the pest with my glass if she will only keep her conning tower above water. Signalman, send my order to the other launches not to use their searchlights without first asking permission."

By this time Darrin, standing on the forward deck, had the submarine's turret, or as much of it as showed, in the field of his night-glass.

Not more than a foot of it showed above water, and, even through the glass, at a distance of nearly half a mile, it would hardly have been discernible without the aid of the searchlight, had it not been for the white wake left by the turret in its course through the water.

"May I try a shot now, sir?" begged Runkle, "I'm certain I can hit the turret this time."

"If you could do it surely, you'd be the best shot in the Navy," smiled Darrin. "I'm not going to use the searchlight unless I have to, and it would be almost impossible to make a hit in the dark without it. The pest is headed shoreward, and I want to creep up close from the rear, if possible."

Dissatisfied, Runkle none the less saluted and turned back to his gun.

"Keep a close sight on the sneak," Dave called after him. "When you hear me call 'Ready!' you will complete your aim and fire without further orders."

An order transmitted to the man standing by the engine sent the launch plunging ahead at increased speed.

Of a sudden the pursuit assumed a new aspect. The submarine suddenly veered around to port, and then headed straight toward the launch.

"Now's our chance!" glowed a seaman, excitedly.

"Yes," retorted another strained voice. "Our chance for death!"

The same thought came into the minds of many on the launch. The submarine, it seemed, was about to discharge a torpedo at the pursuer.

"Starboard!" commanded Darrin. "Keep her bow to port of us!"

Seaman Jack Runkle strained his ears for the solitary word from Ensign Darrin that would be so welcome.

"Will he ever give that order?" fumed the impatient sailor at the breech of the one-pounder.



CHAPTER XXIV

CONCLUSION

"Stand by, gunner!" warned Darrin.

"Aye, aye, sir!" came from the man at the one-pounder.

The crew had ceased to be on tension, for it had dawned upon them that, as the two craft were approaching each other almost head on, there was hardly a chance that a torpedo could be made to register.

"Ready!" Darrin ordered.

There was a sharp bark from the throat of the one-pounder. Smash! A cheer went up from the watching seamen. The shot hit the mark. But the two men with Runkle were cleaning and loading for still another shot at the conning tower.

"Any more, sir?" inquired Runkle, with a grin, after firing and landing a second shot in the submarine's superstructure.

"Not unless ordered," Darrin answered, crisply. "If that fellow dives now he'll go below and stay there for good."

Instead of diving, however, the top of the submarine's conning tower was seen to rise higher and higher above the water.

"She's rising, but she's lost her steerage way, sir," announced the corporal of marines.

"The helmsman was undoubtedly killed by the first or second shot," suggested Dave. "It looks as if the survivors mean to surrender, but we'll watch out for tricks."

He gave the order for slow speed ahead, soon reducing it to mere headway.

"Marines prepare to board," ordered the ensign, as the launch came up close to the now unmanageable submarine, whose deck showed a bit more than awash.

It called for fine work on the part of the quartermaster to set his launch alongside without crushing it.

Gauging closely with his eye, Ensign Darrin called out:

"Ready to board! Board!"

Making the first leap himself, Dave landed on both feet on the slippery deck of the undersea boat, the marines following eagerly and quickly.

"Lay off and wait!" Dave called back to the quartermaster. Then he stepped closer to the conning tower, through which two holes had been drilled by the two registering one-pound shells.

"Open up, you fellows down there!" Dave called, briskly. "And don't attempt any tricks."

Inside he heard shuffling movements, but there was no evidence of intent to obey his order. So he called again, but this time spoke in French, believing that order might be more easily understood by those inside the submarine.

"Don't shoot! I'll come up and open," answered a voice in broken French, strongly tinged with Maltese accent.

After a few moments the hatch was raised. Then, one after another, eight or ten of Darrin's crew went below.

"No more men below," ordered Dave, who then followed his men in.

It was a miserable spectacle that met his eyes. A heavy body lay face downward in a pool of blood on the steel deck.

"Who was this?" demanded Dave of the other four men who crouched to one side in fear and trembling.

"Gortchky," answered one of the quartette sullenly.

There could be little danger of mistaking the dead man. Though no feature of the face had been preserved, every line in that odious body stood out clearly in Dave Darrin's mind. It was, indeed, all that was left of Emil Gortchky. Mr. Green Hat would never again steal the secrets of nor plot trouble between nations!

"An able man, even if a wicked one," said Dave slowly, uncovering in the presence of Death.

The body of Emil Gortchky was allowed to remain where it lay. The other four men of the submarine crew, one of whom was proved later to be an expert submarine commander and a deserter from the Swedish navy, were taken up to the platform deck, and thence transferred to the launch, where they were put beside Mender, Dalny, the badly-scared Filipino, and the other prisoners removed from the yacht.

In the meantime, Dan Dalzell had ranged up alongside, followed by Sutton of His Majesty's Navy. Both of these young officers went aboard the submarine and below deck for a look.

Rocket signals had informed those on anxious watch in Grand Harbor of the capture of the submarine. Congratulations had been signaled back.

Just as the dawn broke, watchers in the waters near Valetta saw Dave Darrin's launch enter the harbor, the submarine limping along in tow.

Early as the hour was, a band was lined up on the quarter deck of the "Albion." When Darrin's boat was within six cable-lengths, the band broke out exultingly into the strains of "See the Conquering Hero Comes!"

Probably no naval officer so young as Dave Darrin had ever been so signally honored by a foreign naval commander as was Dave Darrin then.

The submarine was anchored on a spot indicated by the port authorities of Valetta. Then Dave Darrin shaped his course for the "Hudson."

From hundreds of men, lined up on the decks of the flagship, rose lusty cheers.

"Bully boy, Darrin!" shouted a group of officers from the quarter-deck.

"Ensign Darrin," cried Admiral Timworth, striding forth from his quarters and grasping the young ensign by the hand. "I offer you my heartiest congratulations! For reward you shall have anything within my power to grant."

"Sir, I know what I want most at present," Ensign Darrin replied, gravely.

"What?" asked the Admiral, quickly.

"A nap, a bath, clean clothing and a breakfast, sir."

"But later on, Mr. Darrin?"

"At Port Said, sir, I shall ask Captain Allen to grant me, if it does not interfere with duty, three days ashore to meet my wife, whom I expect to find there when the fleet arrives."

For, as readers of the Boys of the Army Series are aware, Dave and his High School sweetheart, Belle Meade, were wedded immediately at the end of some border troubles in which Dave and Dick Prescott were involved on the Mexican border.

Despite, or perhaps on account of, the stirring experiences through which he had passed, Darrin was asleep five minutes after his head touched the pillow.

Danny Grin, who had been in only at the finish, lay awake for an hour before slumber visited him.

All that was left of Emil Gortchky was dropped into an unmarked, unhonored grave at Malta. Mender, Dalny and the Filipino were condemned by a British court-martial to be shot, a sentence that was soon after carried out.

As for the master and crew of the yacht, they persisted to the end in strenuously denying any guilty knowledge of the real intentions of the plotters. They escaped the death sentence, but, as their conduct was none the less of a guilty nature, the master of the yacht received a sentence of twenty years in prison, while his subordinate officers and the members of the crew were imprisoned for ten years each.

On information supplied to the Italian government Countess Ripoli was arrested. She was not an Italian woman, but had married an Italian nobleman who had died, after which she had turned to spy work. She was locked up and held for trial at Rome, but died of a fever before the day of her trial arrived.

The minor spies and the thugs employed by Gortchky and Dalny, unless they have since fallen into trouble with their own local police, have, of course, gone unpunished.

George Cushing, the secret service agent, is now on duty in the Panama Canal Zone.

M. le Comte de Surigny was a happy man when Dave visited him ashore on the day following the capture of the submarine. Surigny is now in Paris, the valued friend of a noted advocate, in whose offices he is studying law. An inheritance of comfortable proportions has since come to the Count, but he has determined upon a career of hard work. He is a strong, fine character in these days, and is proving, to the full, the manhood that Dave Darrin awakened in him.

The fleet remained a week at Port Said, Egypt. Dave had three happy days ashore with Mrs. Belle Darrin, and Danny Grin was often to be found in their company.

Jack Runkle received his promised rating, becoming a boatswain's mate. He is now industriously climbing the ladder of promotion.

It is reluctantly, indeed, that we take leave of Dave Darrin in this volume, but we shall meet him and Danny Grin again, and very soon, in the pages of the next volume of this series, which will be published under the title, "DAVE DARRIN'S SOUTH AMERICAN CRUISE; or, Two Innocent Young Naval Tools of an Infamous Conspiracy." In this absorbing story Dave Darrin and Dan Dalzell are shown at their best as faithful and loyal officers of Uncle Sam's Navy.

THE END



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Transcriber's Notes:

Punctuation normalised.

Page 35, "hunderd" changed to "hundred" (a hundred he)

Page 89, paragraph break inserted between the following two lines:

"I will see you, Captain, in five minutes."

"Thank you, sir. I request permission to bring

Page 130, word "to" inserted into text (happen to us)

Page 192, "vigilant" changed to "vigilantly" (tenfold more vigilantly)

The Boys of Steel Series, word "a" inserted into text (presents a vivid picture)

Text uses both someone/some one and anyone/any one.

THE END