a fellow with his nerve. I know that Sladek will follow me into the
Caribbean and it's going to be a fight every step of the way to find
the Southern Queen and then to get the treasure up. It won't be safe
until we get back to New York and place it in bank vaults."
"Then you expect Sladek to trail you all the way?"
"There's no question about it. With at least a cool million in gold at
stake, he'll stop at nothing to get his hands on it and he seems to
have plenty of money. Then there's a little personal bitterness between
us that dates clear back to the trouble in Guato in 1923."
"All of which means a mighty unusual trip," added Tim.
They reached the landing stage at Auburn without further trouble and
Ford explained briefly that they had had an accident with the other
boat. He gave the boatman directions where he could find his craft and
paid liberally for the damages.
"We'll hike out to the pasture we use for a landing field when we stop
here," said Tim.
Several cows were grazing almost in the center of the pasture and Tim
and Ford ran to chase them into a far corner as Ralph dropped down to a
fast landing. He killed his speed quickly, whipped around and rolled
the plane over toward them.
"Hop in," he shouted. "I don't think that amphib has any love for me."
Tim and Ford piled into the front cockpit and Ralph opened the
throttle. There was no wind and he took off straight across the pasture
just as the amphibian roared over Auburn.
The Jupiter was a good 40 miles an hour faster than the big ship and
Ralph waved his fingers derisively at the amphibian as he lined the
biplane away for Auburn.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Against Time
The fleet, powerful Jupiter soon outdistanced the slower amphibian and
with Ralph at the controls, they sped toward Atkinson at 150 miles an
hour. The roar of the motor was too loud for conversation and Tim
settled down in the cushioned seat and reviewed the exciting events of
the last 72 hours.
They ranged all the way from the thrilling chase after Ace McDowell to
the deadly game of hide and seek they had just completed with Jack
Sladek and his companions aboard the amphibian.
The big thing now was the fact that he had been invited to go with
Grenville Ford on the quest for the sunken treasure in the Southern
Queen. Tim, worn by the strain of the last few hours, closed his eyes
as he contemplated the story possibilities of the treasure hunt.
That there would be plenty of adventure went without saying. From the
one encounter with Sladek he knew that the soldier of fortune would go
to any length to obtain the treasure.
The thought of making the trip into the Caribbean in a submarine
appealed strongly to Tim. What a contrast it would be after his
stirring adventures in the air as the flying reporter for the _News_.
Tim glanced at his companion. Grenville Ford appeared to be enjoying
every minute of the flight back to Atkinson. There was a pleasant
upturn to his lips and the chin, although square cut, was kindly. But
the cheery light in Ford's eyes was what appealed to Tim most for he
felt that one of the best ways to judge a man's character was by his
eyes. Ford's were piercing but they were steady and a perpetual laugh
lurked in their depths. Tim sensed that he would make an excellent
leader, a man in whom utmost trust could be placed and he knew he would
have no hesitancy in following Ford on the trip.
The Jupiter flashed over the outskirts of Atkinson and Ralph cut the
throttle. They dropped down to an easy landing and rolled up on the
ramp in front of the hangar.
Tim, now a trifle stiff from the strenuous events and the night in the
valley of the Cedar, climbed slowly from the cockpit. Ford followed.
Ralph scrambled out from the rear cockpit and joined them. He was
grinning broadly.
"Guess I managed to get in for a little of the fun in the valley," he
chuckled. "When I dropped down on that amphib the first time I thought
those boys were going to have heart failure."
"What kind of a gun did you have?" asked Tim.
Ralph reached into the cockpit and brought out an ancient double
barreled shotgun.
"Here's the pet. Believe me I've got a sore shoulder. This old
blunderbuss bucks like a Missouri mule."
"Do you make a practice of carrying an arsenal around with you?" asked
Ford.
"Hardly. When I heard the drone of the amphibian down the river I
figured something was up for I knew you fellows must be on your way
back. I borrowed this relic from the storekeeper at Auburn and got into
the air as soon as I could."
"You were just in time," said Tim. "The amphibian was down on the
surface of the river and all set to taxi along and give us a nice,
cheerful little party."
"What I want to know now," put in Ralph, "is about the story."
Tim glanced toward Ford. He felt it was up to the other to say the
first word on that subject.
"I think we'd better go uptown and talk with your managing editor,"
said Ford. "He'll have to decide just what is to be printed now. Is
that agreeable to everyone?"
There were no objections and they left the Jupiter for a ground crew to
roll into the hangar. Signalling a taxi, they were soon speeding into
the heart of the city.
It was ten-thirty. The first mail edition would be on the press then.
Another hour and the deadline for the noon mail, which also had a big
street sale. They'd have to work fast if they got the story of
Grenville Ford's plans for the treasure hunt into the noon edition. It
would depend on how long they talked with the managing editor. Tim had
the facts on his finger tips. Once at a typewriter he knew he could
spin the story in rapid-fire order.
George Carson was in the editorial office when they entered.
"Did you get the story?" he asked Tim anxiously.
"I've got the man," replied Tim, introducing Ford. "It's going to be up
to you on how much of a story develops out of our trip to Cedar valley."
"Come into my office. We'll discuss it at once."
In the managing editor's office Ford sat down in a chair across the
desk from Carson. Tim and Ralph, more restless and anxious to get at
the actual writing of the story, stood up.
"I'll be brief," said Ford. "In the first place, let me say that you
have two unusually resourceful reporters in Murphy and Graves."
"There's none better," admitted Carson, smiling.
"I'm going on a hunt for the treasure in the old tramp steamer,
Southern Queen," went on Ford. "The vessel disappeared eleven years ago
in the Caribbean with an unknown amount of gold in its hold. I actually
don't know how much but it is sufficient to make an expensive
expedition in search of the treasure very much worthwhile and I'm
leaving New York as soon as possible. I want Tim Murphy to go with me.
In return, I'll give you exclusive rights to the stories of the
treasure hunt. What do you think about it?"
"Just this," snapped Carson. "Tim has a leave of absence, starting
right now, with full pay to be with you as long as necessary. I want
the first exclusive story on your adventures in the Cedar river valley."
"I was afraid of that," smiled Ford, "but I guess that can't be helped.
You see, Jack Sladek, one of the rebels who looted the gold mines in
Guato, is on the same quest I am. He almost got Tim and me this
morning. If it hadn't been for Ralph and a borrowed double-barreled
shotgun we might now be among the missing."
"What a story, what a story!" enthused Carson. "We won't need to name
Sladek if that will prove too embarrassing for you. We can call it a
mysterious attack from the air."
"I think that would be better," agreed Ford. "Sladek has voted himself
in this thing to the finish but now that I know he's after the gold,
I'll be on guard and able to take care of myself."
"When will you want Tim to leave?" asked the managing editor.
"I'll phone for reservations on the late afternoon plane east," said
Ford. "Is that too soon for you, Tim?"
"I can be ready within an hour after I finish my story," replied the
flying reporter.
"Then get into the news room and get busy," said the managing editor,
glancing at the clock on his desk. "It's just ten-fifty now. I'll
instruct the press room that the noon edition may be down ten minutes
late and to get ready to rush it through. That will give you about
fifty minutes to write your story. Think you can make it?"
"I'll get the most important part done by then," promised Tim. "After
the noon edition I can polish up the story and round out the details."
"Go to it. And Ralph, you write a first person story about your flight
this morning. Put plenty of punch and get the smell of powder into it.
We're going to have a smash front page this noon."
Almost forgetting his visitor, Carson hurried after his reporters,
stopping at the city desk to inform Ed Campbell of the big stories that
were coming up, then dashing back to phone the press room to be ready
for a rush edition.
Tim stripped off his coat, flung it over the back of his chair, rolled
a sheet of copypaper into his typewriter, and plunged headlong into the
story. Swiftly, graphically he painted the picture of the treasure hunt
in the Caribbean with an unknown fortune in gold at stake, informing
the readers of the _News_ that they would have the first information on
the progress of the expedition.
At his desk across the aisle Ralph was beating a frantic tattoo on his
typewriter, describing in detail how he had routed the "unknown" plane
in the Cedar river valley.
Page after page of copy spun from their machines and was hurried to the
copy desk where Dan Watkins personally supervised the editing of the
story.
"Much more to come?" Dan asked Tim. It was eleven-thirty.
"One more page," replied Tim, without looking up from his machine.
Ralph finished his story with a bang of typewriter keys and
straightened up. It had been a terrific strain working against time.
Tim's fingers still raced as the words of the story flowed out. The
deadline was past, yet they were holding the presses just for his
story. Everything else was ready. The last of Ralph's copy was coming
off the linotypes out in the composing room. Make-up men, stereotypers
and pressmen were all waiting for the final period on his story. Scores
of newsboys were impatiently banging their heels down in the big
circulation room listening for the roar of the presses which would
signal that the noon edition was ready.
Perspiration stood out in beads on Tim's forehead. There was so much to
write and yet so little time in which to do it. He tore off each
paragraph now, speeding it to the waiting linotypes.
Dan Watkins bent over him again.
"Only a minute left," he said softly.
Tim nodded. He could write another column. That would have to come
later when he polished up the story for the city edition. In a last,
breathless paragraph he finished his story.
The copyreader almost tore it from his hands and ran toward the
composing room. The story was done. It was eleven forty on the tick.
Tim relaxed in his chair.
Ed Campbell stepped over.
"Great piece of writing," said the city editor. "When do you leave?"
"This afternoon on the plane east," replied Tim.
"We'll miss you a lot," went on Campbell, "but I know you'll be sending
us some swell yarns."
"I'll do my best," promised Tim.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Eastward Bound
After a hasty lunch Tim and Ralph returned to the _News_ office to
complete the polishing up of the stories which had appeared in the noon
edition. They expanded on the details of their adventures in the valley
of the Cedar and by two o'clock Tim was through. George Carson came out
of his office.
"Have any idea how long this Caribbean trip is going to take?" asked
the managing editor.
"At least two months; perhaps longer," replied Tim.
"I expected as much. You'll be on full time pay while you're away and
I've made arrangements for the New York Journal's radio station to keep
in contact with your submarine and relay your stories on to us. The
Journal, in return, has the exclusive right in New York to print any of
your stuff it desires."
"That's certainly fair enough and it insures speedy transmission for my
yarns," nodded Tim.
"I've told the cashier to provide you with an extra $500 to use in case
of an emergency and he's preparing a letter of credit should it be
needed. That ought to cover any financial difficulties. Take care of
yourself and good luck."
The managing editor shook Tim's hand and then turned back to his own
office. Other members of the staff stopped to say goodbye and to envy
him the adventurous trip.
Ralph was the last. His eyes were misty as he grasped Tim's hands.
"I wish I could go along with the Jup. You may need a little rescuing
before this trip is over."
"I wish you could go," replied Tim, "but there'll probably be plenty of
excitement around here while I'm gone and you'll thrive on that. Make
arrangements for the return of the cars we left at Auburn."
Tim had only an hour to get to his room and pack his bag. He hastened
there in a cab, jammed shirts, toilet kit, underwear and other
necessities into a sturdy leather case, and then was on his way toward
the airport.
At the field Carl Hunter shot one question after another at him for the
noon edition had been delivered there. Tim answered them as best he
could and countered with one of his own.
"Did the amphibian come back here?"
"We haven't seen it or heard anything. I've asked other ports along the
line east to keep a lookout for it but they haven't reported a thing.
They'll probably stop at only the smaller fields until they reach the
east again."
Grenville Ford arrived in a speeding cab just as the afternoon
eastbound express roared over the field and circled to point its nose
into the wind and land.
"All ready?" he shot at Tim as he dashed into the ticket office.
"Anxious to go," replied the flying reporter.
By the time the big twin-motored all-metal transport was in the hangar
Ford had reappeared with their tickets in one hand and baggage checks
in the other.
The eastbound express had been bucking headwinds all afternoon and as a
result was ten minutes late. Every effort was made to cut down the time
required for refueling and Tim and Ford were hurried aboard the
ten-passenger plane and shown their seats with little ceremony. Their
baggage was placed in the special compartment in the rear of the plane.
While the co-pilot superintended the refueling and oiling of the
super-charged motors, the chief pilot scanned the weather reports in
the radio room. The ground crew fairly ran from one task to another and
less than ten minutes after landing, the big ship was ready to take off.
The chief pilot took a final glance at the weather chart, then entered
the cabin and made his way to the cockpit up ahead. The blocks were
pulled from the wheels, the landing stage pulled into the clear, and
with a deep drumming of the motors they rolled out of the hangar.
Tim, looking from a window, saw Carl Hunter waving at him. Then they
were swinging down the runway, headed on the first lap of what was to
be Tim's greatest adventure.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The _S-18_
The next morning found Tim in New York, actively engaged in plans for
the trip into the Caribbean. While Ford completed negotiations for the
purchase of the _S-18_, the government submarine which the navy was
forced to scrap by treaty limitations, Tim called at the office of the
New York Journal.
The managing editor was enthusiastic over the chance for exclusive
stories on the expedition in return for relaying the radio stories on
to the _News_. At his request, Tim sat down and wrote a two-column
story on the plans for the treasure hunt. Ford had lifted restrictions
on publicity for he realized that nothing said in print would deter
Jack Sladek from his attempt to find the treasure first.
Tim met Ford at their hotel at noon and the leader of the expedition
was jubilant.
"I've completed the purchase and the _S-18_ is being towed from the
Brooklyn navy yard right now down to a yard where it will be fitted out
for the trip."
"What about a crew?" asked Tim.
"That's not going to be as difficult as it seems. There are a lot of
old navy men drifting around New York who are always itching for an
adventure. A trip like this will appeal to them and I'll be able to
round up enough submarine experts to fill out the crew we need. I'm
inserting an ad in the morning papers."
"Isn't there a chance Sladek may try and ring in a few of his men in
your crew?"
"I'll have to guard against that," admitted Ford, "but it's a chance
I'll have to take." After lunch they departed for Brooklyn and the
Laidlaw private shipyard where the _S-18_ was to be outfitted for the
cruise.
It was Tim's first glimpse of a real submarine and he stood for several
minutes gazing at the smooth, glistening grey hull in the water beside
the dock.
The _S-18_ had been started in 1920 and completed two years later. The
sub was 240 feet long and ahead of the conning tower was the turret
which housed the four-inch gun. The craft was a picture of sinister
power and Tim felt just a little shivery as he stepped down the gangway
which led from the dock onto the narrow deck.
"What do you think of it?" asked Ford.
"I'd a whole lot rather make the trip in an airplane," admitted Tim,
"but I guess I'll get used to it."
They climbed through the main hatch and descended into the control
room. A mass of gauges and polished brass wheels greeted Tim's eyes.
The rounded hull was painted a flat white and the air was a trifle
stuffy. It was all a Chinese puzzle to him.
Ford, talking rapidly, pointed to depth gauge, periscope controls,
ballast tank valves and a score of other devices that had little
meaning for Tim.
"This is the heart of the submarine," explained Ford. "From this point
every movement and action is directed."
Somewhere aft was a steady clanging and they made their way toward it,
ducking their heads under the low doors which separated the various
compartments.
Directly back of the control room were the huge Diesel engines which
propelled the _S-18_ when it was running on the surface. Bank after
bank of cylinders were ranged on each side of the steel runway. Each
engine was capable of generating 900 horsepower and the two of them
could force the submarine along at fourteen knots an hour on the
surface.
Behind the engine room were the electric motors which propelled the
craft when it was submerged. There were two of these, developing
between them 1,500 horsepower. The underwater speed of the _S-18_ was
rated at eleven knots an hour. In this room was located the master
switchboard for the complicated electrical devices on which the life of
the submarine depended so much of the time when it was underwater.
They continued their tour of inspection, drawing nearer the sound of
the steady hammering. In the next compartment they discovered the cause
of the noise. A red-haired youth a little older than Tim was banging
away industriously with a hammer at the bent end of a bunk which he had
lowered from its place on the wall.
"What's the matter, Pat?" asked Ford.
The red-haired young man looked up quickly.
"Hello, Mr. Ford. I've picked out my bunk and I'm doing what I can to
get the dents out of this end."
"I'm glad it's nothing more serious. For a while I thought someone was
trying to take my submarine apart."
The young man with the hammer straightened up and looked Tim over with
cool, impudent eyes.
"You two might as well get acquainted right now," said Ford, "for
you're going to see a whole lot of each other in the coming weeks. Tim,
I want you to know Pat Reynolds, who next to me will be in actual
charge of the operation of the submarine. I consider Pat one of the
finest submarine men in the world. He was with Sir Francis Habernicht
on his submarine trip under the Arctic ice and it was due solely to
Pat's cool-headedness that they came through alive."
Tim stuck out his hand and Pat grasped it firmly. There was an instant
bond of liking between them.
Ford went on to explain Tim's presence.
"If it hadn't been for Murphy I might not be here right now," he said.
"Tim and his flying companion kept Jack Sladek from getting me in the
Cedar river valley. Tim's going to be a mighty valuable member of the
expedition for I've decided to take along a small seaplane and he's to
do the flying."
"I didn't know you were going to take a plane," said Pat.
"Neither did I until this morning. Word came to me that Sladek is back
in New York and is busy now outfitting a tramp steamer. He's taking a
plane and I don't want to feel that he has any advantage which I can
not overcome."
"But where can we carry an airplane on a submarine?" asked Tim.
"We'll have to have special rigging placed on the deck ahead of the gun
turret. We'll be running above water all of the way to the island and
when we arrive we can unload the plane and after that keep it moored on
the beach."
"This expedition commences to look like a humdinger," grinned Pat. "I
wouldn't miss it for anything."
"There will be plenty of excitement if Sladek can do anything about
it," conceded Ford, "I've got a great many things to do in New York
this afternoon. Pat, you finish the tour of the submarine with Murphy."
The commander of the treasure hunting expedition departed and left Tim
in the tail of the sub with Pat Reynolds.
"This is the last compartment," explained Pat, pointing to the bunks
which ranged along the walls. "We'll be carrying a small crew so this
is where we'll be living for the next couple of months. There's another
compartment for crew's quarters up ahead but we'll probably use that to
store diving apparatus and to pack it full of stores and other
equipment we'll be needing."
Tim was looking at the rear bulkhead and Pat followed with his eyes.
"That's the aft torpedo tube," he said, pointing to the heavy steel
breech through which the tube was loaded. "The torpedo rack is just to
the right but I don't imagine we'll be carrying any torpedoes with us
this trip."
"I thought it was impossible to get them for private use."
"It's supposed to be, but Ford has ways of getting things he wants. He
was one of the navy's ace undersea commanders during the World War and
the department hasn't forgotten his fine work. There's such a thing as
loaning a torpedo for experimental work. Of course it is just possible
that the torpedo might be lost during the experiments." Pat grinned
broadly.
"Is that the same reason this sub has been left so completely equipped,
even to the four-inch gun?"
Pat nodded.
"That's one of them. Another is an unhealthy dislike of Uncle Sam for
our friend Sladek. Federal officers have been after him for months but
so far they haven't been able to get anything on him that would warrant
a trial. None of them would be sorry if Sladek just didn't return from
the Caribbean."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
An Unknown Intruder
Pat started forward and Tim followed him through the motor room, the
engine room back into the control room, and then into the forward
compartments.
Just ahead of the control room was a small cubby with a maze of
electrical devices.
"You might call this the eyes and ears of the sub," said Pat. "Here are
the listening devices by which we can ascertain how far away a ship is,
and the radio equipment. This is a special compartment built for just
this type of submarine."
"Don't the newer ones have it?" asked Tim.
"Yes. Even more elaborate than ours and the equipment in them is
located in the main control room."
Ahead of the radio room was a white-walled compartment which had been
stripped of its former equipment.
"This used to be crew's quarters, but when Ford got an option on the
_S-18_, the bunks and lockers were taken out. Our diving equipment and
stores will be kept here."
They went on, ducking their heads to enter the forward torpedo room. In
the bulkhead Tim saw the breeches of four powerful tubes. The cranes
which lifted the torpedoes from the racks and into the tubes were
folded back against the wall but the front end of the compartment was a
maze of gauges and valve wheels.
"I don't see how you can remember which valve is which and what all of
the gauges mean," said Tim.
"It does take a couple of months to get the hang of all of them,"
admitted Pat, "but in a fully manned navy submarine each man is trained
for his own task. The successful operation depends upon each one doing
his job at just the right time. If someone forgets, then the story
makes the front page and the navy goes hunting for another lost
submarine."