Confirmed in his own judgment, Craig hastily turned to the student.
“Run up there to the boat-house,” he directed. “Have Riley call that
wireless operator on the telephone and tell him to get the _Sybarite_
on the wireless――if he hasn’t done it already. Then have him tell them
not to try to move the yacht under any circumstance――but for God’s sake
to get off it themselves――as quick as they can!”
“What’s the matter?” I asked, breathlessly. “What was that humming in
the oscillator?”
“The wireless destroyer――the telautomaton model――has been launched full
at the _Sybarite_,” Craig exclaimed. “You remember it was large enough,
even if it was only a model, to destroy a good-sized craft if it
carried a charge of high explosive. It has been launched and is being
directed from that fast cruiser back of the point.”
We looked at one another aghast. What could we do? There was a
sickening feeling of helplessness in the face of this new terror of the
seas.
“It――it has really been launched?” cried an agitated voice of a girl
behind us.
Paquita had pushed her way altogether through the crowd while we were
engrossed in listening through the submarine ear. She had heard what
Kennedy had just said and now stood before us, staring wildly.
“Oh,” she cried, frantically clasping her hands, “isn’t there
anything――anything that can stop it――that can save him?”
She was not acting now. There could be no doubt of the genuineness of
her anxiety, nor of whom the “him” meant. I wondered whether she might
have been directly or indirectly responsible, whether she was not now
repentant for whatever part she had played. At least she must be, as
far as Shelby Maddox was involved. Then I recollected the black looks
that Sanchez had given Shelby earlier in the evening. Was jealousy
playing a part as well as cupidity?
Kennedy had been busy, while the rest of us had been standing stunned.
Suddenly another light-bomb ricocheted over the water.
“Keep on sending them, one by one,” he ordered the student, who had
returned. “We’ll need all the light we can get.”
Over the shadowy waves we could now see the fine line of foam left by
the destroyer as it shot ahead swiftly.
Events were now moving faster than I can tell them. Kennedy glanced
about. On the opposite side of the float some one of the visitors
from the cottages to the dance at the Casino had left a trim hardwood
speedboat. Without waiting to inquire whose it was, Craig leaped into
it and spun the engine.
“The submarine ear has warned us,” he shouted, beckoning to Burke and
myself. “Even if we cannot save the yacht, we may save their lives!
Come on!”
We were off in an instant and the race was on――one of the most exciting
I have ever been in――a race between this speedy motor-boat and a
telautomatic torpedo to see which might get to the yacht first. Though
we knew that the telautomaton had had such a start before it was
discovered that we could not beat it, still there was always the hope
that its mechanism might slow down or break down.
Failing to get there first, there was always a chance of our being in
at the rescue.
In the penetrating light of the flare-bombs, as we approached closer
the spot in which Watkins was now dropping them regularly, we could
see the telautomaton, speeding ahead on its mission of death, its
wake like the path of a great man-eating fish. What would happen if it
struck I could well imagine.
Each of us did what he could to speed the motor. For this was a race
with the most terrible engine yet devised by American inventive genius.