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.



CHAPTER 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?



CHAPTER 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?



CHAPTER 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.



CHAPTER 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.



CHAPTER 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.



CHAPTER 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.



CHAPTER 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."



CHAPTER 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.



CHAPTER 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