[Illustration: “Why, the _White Shark_ surely is a wonderful craft!”
exclaimed Jack.—_Page 24._]
THE
BOY INVENTORS’
DIVING TORPEDO
BOAT
BY
RICHARD BONNER
AUTHOR OF “THE BOY INVENTORS’ WIRELESS TRIUMPH,” “THE
BOY INVENTORS’ VANISHING GUN,” ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED BY
CHARLES L. WRENN_
NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1912,
BY
HURST & COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE RUNAWAY CAR 5
II. THE “WHITE SHARK” 16
III. A WONDERFUL CRAFT 23
IV. MORE STRANGE DISCOVERIES 35
V. A WILD CHASE 44
VI. JACK MAKES A PROMISE 54
VII. THE LAUNCHING OF THE MODEL 61
VIII. JUPE BATTLES WITH A WATER MONSTER 71
IX. OFF ON THE STRANGEST CRAFT ON RECORD 85
X. IN DIRE DANGER 92
XI. TOM’S PLAN FOR RESCUE 103
XII. A BRITISH SKIPPER 113
XIII. AN IMPORTANT TELEGRAM 119
XIV. THE VOICE IN THE DARK 132
XV. THE MAN BEHIND THE MYSTERY 142
XVI. ADAM DUKE’S METHODS 150
XVII. THE TABLES ARE TURNED 159
XVIII. HEAVEN’S INTERVENTION 166
XIX. AN INSUFFICIENT DISGUISE 174
XX. A NAVAL ENCOUNTER 183
XXI. A FRESH DANGER 196
XXII. A NARROW ESCAPE 204
XXIII. THE “WHITE SHARK” AND THE SQUADRON 211
XXIV. A MYSTERY ADRIFT 222
XXV. LOST IN THE FOG 236
XXVI. “A PHANTOM OF LIGHT” 243
XXVII. LAND IS SIGHTED 250
XXVIII. A SINGLE CHANCE 260
XXIX. A FORTUNATE FIND 269
XXX. A FISH STORY 277
XXXI. FACING A SERIOUS SITUATION 286
XXXII. THE “WHITE SHARK” TO THE RESCUE 299
The Boy Inventors’ Diving Torpedo Boat
CHAPTER I.
THE RUNAWAY CAR.
“What’s the trouble?”
“I don’t know. Seems to me that the car is running away.”
“It surely does. Gracious! Feel it lurch then?”
As he spoke Jack Chadwick, a good-looking, clean-cut lad of about
seventeen, sprang to his feet. His example was followed by his cousin,
Tom Jesson, a youth of his own age.
But the trolley car, at the same instant, gave a bound and a side jump
that hurled the boys against each other.
Simultaneously the motorman turned his head and gave a frightened shout:
“She’s got away from me! We’d all better jump!”
The car was on a steep down grade. Its speed was momentarily
increasing, and it leaped and swayed wildly as it dashed down the hill.
The motorman had hardly spoken before he made a leap from the front
platform. The two boys saw his form sprawling on the road as he landed
staggeringly. He was followed by the conductor of the car, who, more
fortunate, managed to keep his feet after his jump.
All this happened with the rapidity of a swiftly moving motion picture
film. The two boys found themselves alone.
When they had left Boston for High Towers, the suburban estate of
Professor Chadwick, Jack’s famous father, the car had for some
reason been almost empty. The last passenger, with the exception of
themselves, had vacated it some moments before the brakes had failed to
work and the vehicle had started on its mad career down the steep hill.
In a flash the runaway car had passed the two operatives who had
deserted it in terror, and was dashing forward faster than ever toward
the foot of the hill.
Jack and his chum started for the front platform. Jack had a vague idea
that perhaps he could control the runaway car. Before them they could
see, at the foot of the hill, a sharp curve of the tracks, and beyond
the flashing water of Bluewater Cove, a small but deep inlet.
All this they had but a minute to realize. Hardly had the details
of the scene impressed themselves on their minds—scarcely had Jack
grasped the brake handle and twisted it desperately, before the car
appeared to leap into the air like a thing instinct with life. There
was an alarmed shout from both boys, which was echoed by a gray-haired
man, who rushed from an odd-looking building, abutting on the water, at
the same instant that the car left the tracks at the curve.
The lads had just time to glimpse his overalled figure and to note his
alarm, when everything was blotted out as the car dashed into a clump
of trees and was utterly demolished.
It was an hour or so later when Jack and his chum came back to their
senses. Their eyes opened on a scene so strange to them that they were
completely at a loss to account for their surroundings. Jack lay on a
sort of cot-bed, while his returning senses showed him Tom reclining
on a similar contrivance almost opposite him.
The room in which they were was an unceiled, unpapered apartment. The
walls were of rough pine wood, and above them the naked rafters showed.
In one corner was a stove, and in another a well-furnished set of book
shelves. A library table which was littered with papers supported a
reading lamp as well as what appeared to be models of different bits
of machinery. Taken as a whole, the room appeared to be a section of
a large wooden shed, paneled or partitioned off to serve as a living
place.
To Jack’s eyes, trained as they were to comprehend the details of
machinery, it was perfectly plain that whoever occupied the place was
engaged on some difficult, or at least abstruse, problems connected
with a mechanical device; although, of course, as to what the nature of
this might be, the lad could not hazard a guess.
“Where in the world are we, Tom?” he asked, as he saw by Tom’s opened
eyes—one of which was badly blackened—that his cousin was in full
possession of his senses.
“I don’t know. It’s a funny-looking place. Say, Jack, are you hurt?”
“No; that is, I don’t think so.”
Jack stretched his limbs carefully. Apparently the result of his
self-inspection was satisfactory, for the next moment he said:
“No; I’m sound as a new dollar. How about you, Tom?”
“All right, except that my eye feels as if it was as big as the State
House dome. Jiminy, what an almighty smash!”
“Yes; we were lucky to get out of it alive. But where on earth are we?
That’s what I want to know.”
At this juncture a door at one end of the room opened and the same
figure that had rushed from the waterside shed as the car left the
curve appeared. It was that of a kindly-faced man of about sixty. His
tall figure was bent and stooped, but fire and energy still twinkled
in a pair of piercing black eyes. Although the possessor of these
attributes wore overalls, it was evident that he was not a laboring
man. His face was rather that of a dreamer, of a man accustomed to deal
with mental problems. In one hand he carried a pitcher of water, while
in the other he had a stout volume bound in yellow calfskin.
“Ah! So my young patients are better already,” he remarked as his
glance rested on the two wide-eyed lads. “You had a miraculous escape,”
he continued. “I saw you on the front platform of the car as it left
the rails and headed for a clump of trees. I did not think that there
was a possible chance of your surviving, but it appears that you did.”
He blinked his odd, dark eyes and smiled at Jack, who was sitting up on
his couch. His coat and vest had been removed, and his head throbbed
rather wildly.
“What happened, sir?” he asked. “I remember the car running away,
and then I made for the brakes—that was after the conductor and the
motorman jumped—but after that it’s all confused.”
“No wonder,” was the reply. “I dragged you and this other lad out of
a mass of débris. Had it not been that a heavy beam protected you from
being crushed, you would have undoubtedly been killed.”
“The car was smashed, then?”
“It is a complete wreck. The conductor and the motorman were but
slightly injured so that you all came safely out of it by a miracle, as
it were.”
“We don’t know your name, but we are deeply grateful to you for all
that you have done for us,” declared Jack. “My name is Chadwick, and
this is my cousin and chum, Tom Jesson.”
“Chadwick?” repeated the man, with the manner of one who recalls a
familiar name. “Are you any relation of the famous Professor Chadwick,
the inventor?”
“I am his son,” rejoined Jack, not without a ring of pride in his
voice.
“Then you must be one of the lads who went through those extraordinary
adventures in connection with the wonderful vanishing gun which you
helped Mr. Pythias Peregrine perfect?”
“We are the same boys,” replied Jack smilingly, “but so far as helping
Mr. Peregrine was concerned, I’m afraid we got him into more trouble
than anything else.”
“Not from what I have heard,” rejoined the gray-haired man with
conviction; “had it not been for you the vanishing-gun device would
have been stolen, and possibly Mr. Peregrine’s life sacrificed. But
now, perhaps, it is time that I made myself known to you. My name is
Daniel Dancer.”
“_The_ Daniel Dancer?” exclaimed Jack, astonishment appearing in his
eyes. Tom’s round and rubicund countenance was alight with the same
eager surprise as they awaited the answer.
“I believe that I have been referred to as _The_ Daniel Dancer,” was
the quiet rejoinder. “You appear to have heard of me before.”