CHAPTER II. HOW HAVERLY FOILED THE BOAT-STEALERS 12
CHAPTER III. BEYOND THE GREAT BARRIER 21
CHAPTER IV. TRAPPED! 32
CHAPTER V. OVER THE CATARACT’S BRINK 38
CHAPTER VI. THE LAND OF ETERNAL TWILIGHT 45
CHAPTER VII. A REMARKABLE DISCOVERY AND ITS SEQUEL 55
CHAPTER VIII. THE ELK-HUNTERS 61
CHAPTER IX. THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE “SEAL” 69
CHAPTER X. THE COMING OF THE GREAT FISH-LIZARD 76
CHAPTER XI. HOW HILTON ESCAPED FROM THE WOLF-MEN 83
CHAPTER XII. “GEHARI--THE WILY ONE” 91
CHAPTER XIII. THE FATE OF MERVYN 97
CHAPTER XIV. “RAHEE THE TERRIBLE!” 105
CHAPTER XV. FOR A FRIEND’S LIFE 112
CHAPTER XVI. HOW HAVERLY CHECKED THE STAMPEDE 119
CHAPTER XVII. A DUEL TO THE DEATH 126
CHAPTER XVIII. THE SINKING POOL 133
CHAPTER XIX. THE FIRE GULF 140
CHAPTER XX. THE LAST OF THE AYUTIS 147
CHAPTER XXI. “SUNSHINE!” 154
CHAPTER XXII. THE TERROR OF THE JUNGLE 164
CHAPTER XXIII. MUSWANI--MONSTER-FIGHTER 173
CHAPTER XXIV. A GLIMPSE OF THE UPPER WORLD 180
CHAPTER XXV. SEYMOUR’S FALL 189
CHAPTER XXVI. THE FASCINATION OF THE PRIEST 195
CHAPTER XXVII. IN THE VAULTS 202
CHAPTER XXVIII. IN THE WOLF-MEN’S HAUNTS 207
CHAPTER XXIX. RAHEE ASSISTS THE FUGITIVES 215
CHAPTER XXX. THE SCROLL OF NEOMRI 222
CHAPTER XXXI. “THE ‘SEAL!’” 229
CHAPTER XXXII. THE DOOM OF NORDHU 236
CHAPTER XXXIII. THE INVENTOR’S STORY 243
CHAPTER XXXIV. ON THE CREST OF THE TIDAL WAVE 248
CHAPTER XXXV. INTO THE SUNLIGHT 256
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
“For an instant it hung poised, then thundered downward”
_Frontispiece_
“The next moment the rope parted behind him”
_To face p._ 92
“The brute swung round and leapt again, missing his mark
by a bare three inches” 116
“Amid the hideous forms of the Wolf-men the Ayuti towered
as a god” 148
“The great saurian, reeling from the impact, lurched over
upon his side” 174
“‘See, I have brought their weapons’” 180
“‘Back, you dogs!’ he roared. ‘A step further and your priest
dies!’” 216
“Scuttling down to the water’s edge with the giant elk pounding
along behind him” 234
THE WOLF-MEN.
PROLOGUE.
“YOU’LL come, then?”
Professor James Mervyn’s voice quivered with eagerness as he put
this question to his companion, Sir William Seymour, in a private room
of a large London hotel. The baronet, a man in the prime of life, over
six feet in height, and broad in proportion, his bearded face tanned
by many a year of travel under a tropical sun, rose, and paced the
chamber for some moments ere answering.
“Yes, I’ll come,” he said at length. “I had made all arrangements
to leave England to-morrow for a spell in India; but that must slide.
I can’t miss this chance of a trip to the Pole. But now tell me
something more of this wonderful idea of yours.”
The professor’s spare form seemed to dilate with scientific zeal,
and his eyes flashed as he commenced to speak.
“To begin at the beginning,” he said. “I have had the idea in my
mind for some years, but until the last six months I saw no chance of
putting it into execution. Although my theory has been ridiculed and
laughed to scorn by most, if not all, of my colleagues, yet I am still
convinced that it is not only feasible, but that it is the only way in
which the secret of the Pole, so jealously guarded by Dame Nature, may
be wrested from her grasp.
“This was my line of reasoning: that it would be possible for a
properly equipped submarine vessel to dive beneath the great ice
barrier, and so reach the open sea which we know exists beyond. But
the submarines of the day were in no way suitable for the attempt.
Mere toys in size, and in some instances proving veritable death-traps
to their unfortunate crews, of what use were these to cope with the
perils of the Arctic seas? So my theory remained dormant until, some
weeks ago, I received a letter from Garth Hilton. You remember what a
fellow Garth always was for making model boats?”
Seymour nodded affirmatively.
“Well,” Mervyn continued, “it seems that he has had his old
school chum, Tom Wilson, the engineer, staying with him at Hilton
Manor for several months, and between them they have managed to
construct a submarine, which, if it but answer their expectations,
will prove the very thing I have been waiting for all these years.
This is Garth’s description of his craft,” and, extracting a letter
from the depths of a bulky note-book, Mervyn read as follows:
“Total length, three hundred and fifty feet; beam, fifty feet;
torpedo-shaped, with turret or wheelhouse, from which the vessel is
governed, in centre of deck. Tanks for submerging or raising; air
reservoirs for supply whilst beneath the surface; liquid air engines,
a patent of Wilson’s, maximum speed of which is forty-five knots per
hour upon the surface, and thirty submerged.”
“Whew!” The professor’s companion whistled in his astonishment at
this last statement.
“Liquid air engines!” he said. “Why, I always thought that liquid
air was a powerful explosive agent?”
“True,” returned Mervyn; “but you must also remember that steam
becomes an explosive when compressed, as witness the recent boiler
explosion, so that is no argument against the use of liquid air as a
propelling power.”
“But I don’t quite see----” the baronet began in a puzzled tone.
“Let me try to make it clear to you,” interrupted Mervyn. “Though
but eighteen, young Tom Wilson is already recognised as an authority
on the subject of liquid air and its capabilities as a propelling
agent. As you will recollect, his father was a famous engineer, and
the family talent appears to have descended to the lad.
“Ever since he left school Tom has been working on his engines,
lack of funds alone preventing him from perfecting them before now.
With financial aid from Garth, however, he has at last been enabled to
complete them, and I give you my word they are the finest set of
engines I have ever been privileged to examine.
“The huge boiler is somewhat similar in shape to that of an
ordinary marine engine, but is much larger, and contains a number of
immense tubes, in which is stored the liquefied air. From these the
stuff works direct upon the powerful cylinders. Heat, of course, is
entirely unnecessary; in fact, it would shatter the whole affair to
atoms, liquid air being many degrees colder than ice.
“The first two gallons of the stuff cost Garth six hundred pounds
to make; but there the expense ends, the engines drawing their own
supplies from the air as they work.”
“Wonderful!” Seymour cried; “and the vessel does forty-five knots
to the hour, you say? What will the world think of it when the news
becomes public?”
“The news will never become public,” retorted the scientist, “if
we can avoid it. Garth has taken the greatest care to prevent the
facts leaking out. All his workers are picked men, and have been sworn
to secrecy with regard to the nature of the vessel upon which they are
engaged.”
“It will leak out,” asserted Seymour, “despite his precautions. A
thing of that sort cannot remain a secret long. The very secrecy will
attract the attention of the curiously inclined.”
“Exactly,” returned Mervyn, “that is what we are afraid of.
Already, it seems, some hint of the matter has reached the Continent,
in spite of Garth’s care. Two days ago I ran down to the Manor to look
over the boat ere the final details were completed, and while there,
Garth called my attention to a couple of suspicious-looking
characters--foreigners, evidently--who, he said, had been
hanging round the village for some days. Still, I think there is
little to fear. The dock where the submarine floats is guarded night
and day.”
The scientist refolded the inventor’s letter, and replaced it,
ere resuming the conversation.
“Of course, what I have read to you is a very bald statement of
the facts. When I went down I confess I was surprised at the singular
beauty of the craft. She is built of steel throughout, and furnished
in a most luxurious manner; in fact, she must have cost Garth a
fortune.”
“When do you start?” questioned Seymour.
“Within three days,” was the answer, “if the trial trip proves
satisfactory. You will come down for that, I suppose? Then there is
the affair of the christening to be gone through--we have not yet
decided on a name for the vessel.”
“There will be room for a weapon or two, I suppose? I should feel
lost without my guns.”
“Bring a whole armoury if you like,” replied Mervyn, smiling,
“though I doubt if you will find much scope for your sporting
instincts in the icy realms of the north. There is a special chamber
fitted up as an armoury aboard the vessel, and there are racks in the
turret in which a few weapons will be kept in case of emergency. Oh, I
forgot to tell you--Silas is coming.”
“What!” cried Seymour, “Silas Haverly? That’s good. He’s always
ready for any adventure that may turn up. Is he down at Hilton
now?”
“No,” returned the scientist; “he goes down to-morrow.”
He pulled out his watch as he spoke.
“By Jove!” he cried, “I’ve only twenty minutes to catch the
express. Are you coming down with me?”
“Yes,” returned the other. “I’ll just leave word for my traps to
be sent on, and then I’m with you.”
Three minutes later the two men passed out of the hotel entrance,
and, entering a cab, were driven rapidly away into the night.
CHAPTER I.
AT THE MERCY OF CONSPIRATORS.
SILAS K. HAVERLY, millionaire and explorer, settled himself
comfortably back in the corner of a first-class smoker. He had ten
minutes to wait ere the express--which was to bear him sixty
miles across country to Stanwich, the nearest station to Garth
Hilton’s place--was timed to start.
To look at him no one would ever have imagined that he was the
owner of a colossal fortune--one of the railway kings of America.
Yet such he was. Starting at the very foot of Fortune’s ladder, he had
worked his way upward, until he owned the greater part of the vast
network of rails upon which he had worked as a boy.
A wiry figure of a man he was, with endurance written all over
him. He had a cool, determined face, and the firm set of his chin
revealed the dogged resolution which had enabled him to amass one of
the largest fortunes in the world. Altogether, he was not a man with
whom one would care to trifle.
“H’m!” he muttered, blowing a cloud of smoke from a fragrant
cigar, “I guess I’m having it all to myself this trip.”
Indeed, it did seem as though he was to travel alone, for the
time of departure arrived, and all the passengers appeared to have
taken their places. There was a whistle from the guard, a warning
shriek from the engine, then the iron monster began to glide out of
the station. As it did so, two men rushed across the platform, flung
open the door of Haverly’s compartment, and, despite the cries of the
officials to “Stand back,” precipitated themselves into the
carriage.
“Only just in time,” one of them said with an oath, as he slammed
to the door behind him; “it would have been all up with the scheme if
we had missed this train, for----”
He broke off short as he became aware of the presence of Haverly,
and took his seat, scowling darkly at the American, who appeared to be
blissfully unconscious of the existence of his fellow-travellers.
Yet already the Yankee had “sized up” the twain as a pair of
rascally adventurers who would stick at nothing to secure the success
of their plans. That they were engaged in some nefarious scheme seemed
plain from the few words that one had let slip as he entered, and the
millionaire wondered what could be the nature of their enterprise.
In low tones the two conversed as the train sped over the
gleaming rails, rapidly leaving the brick and mortar tentacles of the
London octopus behind. Through the smiling countryside the express
flew, belching forth a blighting, poisonous cloud of smoke, which hung
for a time almost motionless, ere dissolving into the atmosphere, so
still was the evening air.
The first stop was at Granley, and here Haverly’s companions
alighted.
“I wonder what their dodge is?” the millionaire muttered, as they
passed down the platform; then an exclamation escaped him.
Just beneath the seat where the two men had been sitting lay a
crumpled sheet of paper. Promptly Haverly secured this.
It was a letter. He opened it out quickly, and the first word to
catch his eye was “_submarine”!_
Instantly his alert brain grasped the significance of the
discovery. He connected it immediately with a message he had received
from Hilton some days previously, referring to the suspicious
characters hanging about the vicinity of the Manor, and to the fear
that an attempt might be made to steal the boat. At the time he had
dismissed the idea as absurd, but now----! Without further
scruple, he proceeded to make himself master of the contents of the
letter.
It was brief, but very much to the point, running thus:
“DEAR FRIEND AND COLLEAGUE,--It is imperative that the affair
be carried
out without delay, as we are advised that the expedition starts within
two days. Once the vessel leaves the dock, not all the plotting in the
world could ever give us possession of her. Therefore it remains for
you, my friend, to carry out your part of the programme with all
speed. You must gain possession of the submarine to-night. Let nothing
hinder you. We hear that Hilton Manor is a lonely house, and four
determined men, well armed, should be able to overcome all resistance
offered by the inventor and his friends. What matter a few lives more
or less, so that our plan succeeds and we attain our object? The
_Night Hawk_ will await you at the appointed spot, outside the
bay. _We remind you of the penalty of failure!”_
That was all, but it was enough to startle even the cool-blooded
Yankee for a moment.
The missive was practically the death-warrant of his friends down
at Hilton, who were even now preparing for departure on their North
Polar trip. Hastily he placed the incriminating sheet in his breast
pocket, wondering the while why the conspirators had left the train,
instead of going straight through to Stanwich.
Hardly had the thought crossed his mind ere the twain reappeared,
and climbed into the carriage. Haverly noted with secret satisfaction
that they seemed strangely uneasy, glancing about as though searching
for something.
“Lost anything?” he inquired casually, as the train moved off
again.
“No,” one of them snarled, but the look with which he favoured
the American made that gentleman glad that he carried a six-shooter in
his pocket. Ere long the express was once more racing over the country
at sixty miles an hour.
The millionaire’s scoundrelly companions seemed by this time to
have given up their search, for they settled themselves back against
the cushions, muttering together in low tones, which the roar of the
train completely drowned. Haverly, whilst apparently studying the
flying landscape, contrived to keep his eye upon the pair, who had
evidently made up their minds that their fellow-traveller had picked
up their lost letter.
At length one of them addressed the American.
“Could you oblige me with a match?” he asked. He produced a
cigar-case as he spoke, and extracted one of the three cigars
within.
“Pleasure,” muttered the Yankee briefly, offering his match-box
with his left hand, while his right closed menacingly about the haft
of the weapon in his pocket.
“Thanks,” returned the stranger, “can I offer you a cigar?” and
he passed over his case, from which Haverly selected a weed.
Some thought of drugged cigars flashed over the Yankee’s mind,
but he dismissed the idea, arguing to himself that the adventurers
could not have foreseen the loss of their letter, so could not have
prepared for it. Yet this good-fellowship did not deceive the
millionaire for a moment. That there was some purpose in the
conspirators’ action he did not doubt; but it would never do to let
the fellows think he feared them. Therefore, keeping a wary eye upon
the movements of the twain, he withdrew his hand from his pocket and
proceeded to light up.
He was holding a match to the end of the cigar when the
stranger’s hand shot out suddenly.
Match and cigar were dashed from Haverly’s lips, and a rag,
soaked with some sickly-smelling chemical, was pressed over his mouth
and nose. Holding his breath, he struggled to remove the suffocating
thing, mad that he should have been caught napping when he imagined
himself on the alert for an attack. With all his might he strove, but
the second conspirator came to the aid of his friend, pinioning
Haverly’s arms, and soon the chloroform did its work. Helpless and
unconscious, the Yankee sank back on to the cushions; and while the
express still rattled on at full speed, the two ruffians went through
their victim’s pockets.
Everything they replaced save the letter they had taken so much
trouble to secure, despising the American’s cash as game too much
beneath them. With repeated applications of the chloroform rag, they
kept Haverly unconscious until the train reached Stanwich. Almost ere
it came to a standstill, they alighted, and, supporting their victim
between them, led him to a train waiting alongside the opposite
platform.
Into one of the carriages of this they hustled him. Then, while
one remained in the carriage, the other moved off to the
booking-office, returning presently with a ticket, which he fixed
prominently in the American’s hat-band. Very few people were upon the
platform, and doubtless those that observed the movements of the
conspirators thought that their unconscious companion was drunk.
A final application of the rag, and the scoundrels left the
carriage, closing the door upon the sleeping figure of the
millionaire.
Within a few moments the latter was whirling northward, leaving
further and further behind him each instant the men who were
commissioned to rob his friend of the fruits of his genius, and
perhaps of his life.
With every mile the train advanced the Yankee’s chances of
warning Garth lessened.
An hour passed ere he recovered from the stupefying effects of
the drug, and by that time he was forty odd miles from Stanwich.
At first his numbed brain refused to grasp the situation, but, as
his faculties recovered their normal condition, the recollection of
all that had transpired swept upon him. Inwardly cursing himself for
his folly, he moved to the window and gazed out.
But the landscape, over which night was fast settling, presented
no familiar features. He pulled out his watch, and by the lateness of
the hour, he knew that he must be far from his destination.
Suddenly the reflection in the window of his hat and its
pasteboard ornament caught his eye.
He pulled out the ticket. It was for Carnmoor, a place he had
never before heard of.
“They meant to get me far enough out of the way,” he growled
savagely. “If it hadn’t been for this the officials would have turned
me out at the first place they took tickets,” and he crumpled the
offending card in his hand. The slowing down of the train caused him
to glance once more through the glass. Soon they swept into a station.
The glimmering gas-jets, shining feebly through the gathering dusk,
revealed the name of the place.
The conspirators had timed his recovery to a nicety. It was
Carnmoor! Hardly waiting for the motion of the carriages to cease,
Haverly leapt out, and made straight for the telegraph office.
If he could not warn his friends in person, he could wire
them.
Rushing into the office, the American startled the sleepy
operator by bawling for a form.
“Tick that off,” he cried, after he had scribbled a message, “and
lively,” and over the wires there flashed this warning:
_“Danger! For God’s sake, beware. Plan to capture the submarine
to-night. Will explain when I come.--Haverly.”_
Somewhat easier in his mind, the millionaire strolled forth to
inquire about the next train to Stanwich.
“There ain’t none,” was the brusque reply of the porter he
questioned, who appeared to be the only specimen of that genus upon
the station.
“Then I guess I must have a special,” returned Haverly. “Where’s
your boss?”
“Here he comes,” was the response, as the station-master
approached. “This gent wants a special, Mister Burnside.”
“Special, eh?” remarked the official; “it’ll cost you sixty
pound.”
“If it cost six hundred I should have to have one,” returned the
millionaire. “I haven’t the dollars with me, but I can give you a
cheque.”
“Cheque!” exclaimed the station-master scornfully. “I ain’t
taking no risks. How do I know as the bank would honour it? Nice sight
I’d look with a cheque as wasn’t worth the paper it’s wrote on, and
the comp’ny coming down on me for sixty quid. What say, William?”
The porter agreed heartily with this verdict of his chief.
“Say,” put in Haverly, somewhat irritably, “here’s my card. I
reckon you’ve heard of me even in these God-forsaken parts. I’m Silas
K. Haverly, the millionaire.”
The station-master took the proffered card, but without troubling
to read it, he placed a finger beside his nose and gently closed one
eye, which piece of dumb show greatly pleased the worthy William.
“Well?” asked Haverly sharply.
“You must think we’re green to swallow a yarn like that,”
retorted the official. “Do you think a bloomin’ millionaire would go
about without a few quid in his pocket?”
At that moment the _phut! phut!_ of a motor sounded from
without the station gates, and a car pulled up at the entrance.
“Hullo! Doctor Oswyn,” cried the station-master, as a tall,
good-looking young fellow loomed through the gloom; “here’s a fellow
as professes to be Haverly, the American millionaire.”
“And so he is, you thundering blockhead!” cried the newcomer, as
he gripped the Yankee’s hand.
“Frank!” exclaimed the latter, returning the pressure; “this is
great!”
“Whatever brings you to this hole, Silas?” Oswyn asked.
Withdrawing beyond earshot of the astounded porter and his
equally astonished chief, Haverly gave his friend a brief outline of
his adventures in the express.
“I can go one better than a special,” averred Oswyn; “my car’s
outside, ready for a run; come along; we’ll be at Hilton in about an
hour.”
“That’s the style!” cried Haverly. “I’ll be a heap in your debt
for this, Frank.”