“Good gracious!” exclaimed Mr. Lockyer that evening, “I’ve forgotten to
provide a flag for the launching.”
The inventor had dined with the officers at the hotel, his own home
being made with his sister some little distance outside the village.
Now they were seated on the porch.
“That is a serious omission truly,” agreed Lieutenant Parry, “but
surely you can get one in the village here.”
The telephone was put into requisition, but it was found, to their
disappointment, that it would be impossible to obtain any kind of a
flag nearer than Picksville, a town which boasted some quite large
stores.
“I’d drive over there to-night rather than not have a flag on the
Lockyer to-morrow,” said the inventor, “but it is absolutely necessary
that I make those final computations on the gas pressure areas.”
“Why not let some of our boys go,” suggested the naval officer. “Strong
and Taylor would be delighted at the idea of such an excursion. They
can get a rig here at the livery attached to the hotel.”
“The very thing,” exclaimed the inventor, and hastened off to find the
lads. He discovered them with Boatswain’s Mate Stanley and old Tom. The
four were busily discussing old times in Costaveza when Mr. Lockyer
came upon them. Stanley, it will be recalled, had played a prominent
part in the adventures of the “Dreadnought Boys Aboard a Destroyer.”
Mr. Lockyer soon explained his errand, and, of course, our lads jumped
at the chance of a long drive on a fine, moonlight night.
Lieutenant Parry having put the official sanction upon the trip, the
lads set out shortly afterward.
“Say, Ned,” remarked Herc, as they drove along the moon-flooded roads,
“it seems to me we’re having pretty easy times for two able-bodied
Boatswain’s Mates.”
“Wait till we get to work on board the Lockyer in real earnest,”
rejoined Ned. “I fancy you’ll find a difference then. Of course, on
special duty like this discipline is always relaxed a good deal, but
when we get to sea again, even in a submarine, the old lines will be
drawn.”
“Oh Chowder!” grumbled Herc. “I suppose that means more of those
everlasting sea-going chores.”
“I guess so,” laughed Ned; “but every day we do our full duty, Herc,
we’re getting closer to the goal we set ourselves back in Lamb’s
Corners--to make the best sailors we could of ourselves, and devote our
best efforts for our country’s good. A sailor can do that, too, just as
well as some pork-fed politician who wallows in a lot of oratory about
saving the nation.”
“I wish there were a little less of deck-cleaning and brass work,
though,” complained Herc.
“Wait till we take our next step up,” was Ned’s assurance. “We’ll be
able to live almost as easy as commissioned officers then.”
“Hope so,” muttered Herc; “things can’t come too easy for me.”
“And yet, you old Red Head,” rejoined Ned affectionately, “when there’s
anything to be done, you’re right there on the spot.”
“Oh, well, that’s when there’s some excitement in it,” was Herc’s reply.
What with taking a wrong turn and some delay in getting just the sized
flag they required, it was quite late when the lads started back for
Grayport. In fact, as they neared the little seaside town, they could
hear the clock in the old Dutch church strike midnight. It was the
only sound to disturb the moonlit stillness. The town, seemingly, was
wrapped in slumber. At any rate, not a light was to be seen.
“We’re night owls, all right,” laughed Herc.
Their road led around the seaward end of the village, skirting the high
fence of the Lockyer boatyard. As they drew near Ned pulled up the
horse with an abrupt jerk.
“What’s the trouble?” asked Herc, in a whisper, however, as, while Ned
had checked the horse with one hand, his other had gone up in a signal
for silence.
“Why, I’m certain I saw some one scale that fence and drop over into
the yard just as we were coming round that corner.”
“Well, if there was, Mr. Lockyer has a watchman on duty,” rejoined Herc.
“I know, but, Herc, think of what that yard contains,--all Channing
Lockyer’s hopes and aspirations. If that boat were to be injured
I think it would kill him, coming as it would on the eve of her
launching.”
“That’s so,” agreed Herc; “maybe we’d better leave the horse here and
do a little scouting.”
“That’s what I think,” said Ned.
Presently the horse was tied and they were slipping forward almost
noiselessly. They soon reached the fence at the spot where Ned thought
he had seen some one climb over, and found that several nails had been
driven in it at that point, making an ascent comparatively easy.
“Look, what’s that at the top where the spikes are?” asked Herc
suddenly, pointing to the tip-top of the fence on the spikes,
surmounting which some dark object laid.
“It’s a sack or something placed there so that the spikes will not hurt
anybody climbing over,” was the rejoinder. “That proves I was right.
Somebody did go over and their object was----”
“The submarine!”
“That’s right, and that watchman isn’t on the job, or he’d have been at
them by this time. Herc, it’s up to us to do something. I’ve got half a
suspicion who the rascal is, and if we don’t get him, he may do damage
that it will take months to repair. You know that Mr. Lockyer’s funds
won’t hold out that long.”
“Then over we go,” declared Herc, starting to climb. With sailor-like
activity, he was soon on the top of the fence, and found that a sack
stuffed full of rags had been carefully laid on the top of the spikes.
After him came Ned. In a jiffy they stood inside the yard, uncertain
for an instant just what to do.
Strong in his conviction that it was the submarine that the midnight
marauders were bent on attacking, Ned led the way across the yard,
taking advantage of every shadow and the cover afforded by the
outbuildings. As they neared the big shed in which the completed craft
lay resting ready on her supports for the launching, they heard a
sudden sharp, spluttering sound. Ned gripped Herc’s arm and held him
back. Fortunately, they were behind the corner of the office building
and could see without being seen, unless they exposed themselves too
much.
Following the sputtering sound, a match blazed up and illumined the
faces of two figures bent over a lantern. They were going to light it
before they entered the building.
“Two of them!” gasped Herc.
“Yes, and do you recognize them?” breathed back Ned.
“Thunder and turtles! One of them is that fellow Anderson.”
“Yes, and the other is Gradbarr. I didn’t know he was in the village.
He must have been hiding some place all this time.”
“And Anderson must still have that key,” whispered Herc, in a tremulous
voice.
“That’s so. Oh, don’t I wish we could get the police. But I daren’t
leave here till we see what they are up to.”
The next instant the lantern blazed up, and cautiously turning the
flame low, the two slipped into the dark shadows of the construction
shed.
“What are we going to do now?” asked Herc.
“Going after them,” announced Ned grimly, and without an instant’s
hesitation.
It was necessary to use the utmost stealth in nearing the shed. For all
that the Dreadnought Boys knew, the two rascals might be hiding inside
ready to shoot them down as soon as they appeared. But, after waiting a
while, they were rewarded by hearing the ring of the intruders’ feet as
they traversed the steel-plated deck.
“They’ve climbed the ladder, then,” breathed Ned tremulously. The next
instant a clanging sound announced that they had opened the manhole in
the conning tower. As the sound was not repeated, the boys judged that
they must have left it open. This made their task all the easier.
With their nerves at the keenest tension, the lads crept forward.
Presently the dark shadows of the shed swallowed them. Creeping along
like two prowling cats, they reached the midship section against which
the ladder was propped.
Without another word Ned set his foot on the lowest round and mounted
rapidly upward. Following him came Herc, his every sense a-tingle for
what might lie ahead of them.
Having reached the deck, double caution became necessary, for fear that
the ring of their feet on the metal might attract the attention of the
marauders working inside the big cigar-shaped diving boat. Creeping on
hands and knees, the better to dull all sound, they neared the conning
tower. Still without a sound, Ned raised himself, and peering over, saw
that the chamber below--which was now fitted with leather-backed divans
and seats and partitioned staterooms, was empty. The mischief-makers
must then be in the fore part of the little vessel, in the torpedo
room, already the scene of one of Gradbarr’s dastardly attempts.
Beckoning to Herc, Ned swung himself down into the conning tower and
swiftly dropped down, round by round, on the steel ladder. And now he
had a view of the night’s work the two dastards had contrived. The
light of their lantern shone brightly out from the fore-chamber and
cast a soft glow out in the cabin.
Peering through the bulkhead door, which Anderson’s key had unlocked,
the boys could see the precious pair bending over one of the intake
pipes. Suddenly the rasping note of a file sounded out in the silence.
“Your boat will sink and you with it, Lockyer, when I get through
to-night’s work,” the lads could hear Anderson grate out, as his
tool began to bite into the metal. It was at this moment that Ned
recollected, with a sinking of the heart, that neither Herc nor
himself was armed. The men attempting the ruin of Lockyer’s boat were
undoubtedly well supplied with firearms in case of being surprised in
their desperate game. How then were our lads to circumvent the rascals
and check their ruinous work?
As Ned cudgelled his brains desperately--for every minute counted while
that file was at work--the hulking form of Gradbarr swung across the
floor of the lamp-lit chamber, and peered out into the darkness of the
cabin.
“I thought I heard something out here,” he growled, in reply to
Anderson’s muttered question.
Coming forward still farther, he rested his hand on the foot of the
steel ladder and peered upward. A ray of the lamp fell full on his
heavy, brutal features. That ray flashed for an instant on something
gleaming that he carried in one hand--a pistol.
Ned noted all this in one quick flash, and then, with one of those
impulses to quick action that come to us all sometimes, he let go his
hold on the ladder and dropped with all his weight upon the ruffian.
The Dreadnought Boy’s legs encircled Gradbarr’s neck, and before the
man, taken entirely by surprise, could utter a sound, Ned’s weight had
borne him down to the steel-grated floor of the cabin.