HOW HAVERLY FOILED THE BOAT-STEALERS.
WITHIN a few seconds the two men were flying between the hedges of a
country road, with the powerful engines of Oswyn’s “Panhard” throbbing
beneath them.
“Say,” the Yankee asked, after a few moments’ travelling, “how
far do you reckon it?”
“About forty-five miles to Hilton Manor,” was the response.
“What speed have you got on?” was Haverly’s next question.
“Forty,” returned Oswyn.
“I guess she’ll do better than that. Chuck the lever over.”
“It’s risky in the dark,” warned Oswyn, yet he obeyed his
companion’s order notwithstanding. Beneath the added power the car
leapt forward like a thing of life, her monstrous headlights glaring
through the gloom like the eyes of some huge animal. Her every bolt
and rivet quivered and sang with the throbbing of the mighty
cylinders.
She was a veritable projectile, yet the doctor’s hand was as
steady as a rock as he gripped the wheel. Presently Haverly consulted
his watch.
“Is she doing all she knows?” he asked.
“Every inch,” was the reply. “Great Scott! You surely don’t want
her to do any more? We’re going over fifty now. What would happen if
we struck an obstruction?”
The American smiled grimly.
“I guess we’re going to strike nothing this side of Hilton,” he
remarked. “We’ll do the striking when we arrive.”
Round sharp corners they whirled on two wheels, the other pair
high in the air. A hundred times the car seemed like to overturn, yet
somehow the catastrophe which appeared inevitable never happened.
Always, at the last moment, Oswyn’s consummate skill and his knowledge
of the road saved the situation.
The dark stretch of road trailed swiftly away behind them as the
moments flew by, and once again Haverly drew forth his watch.
“How much further?” he questioned.
“Nearly there,” his friend replied. He shut off the power as he
spoke, and the car, rounding a curve by its own momentum, came to a
standstill before a massive pair of iron gates, flanked by a
lodge.
Leaping out, the millionaire pulled the great bell-handle which
hung down from the pillar.
Ere the clanging of the bell had ceased, the door of the lodge
opened, and the keeper stepped out, carrying a lantern.
“What do you want?” he asked suspiciously, throwing the light
upon the two men and the motionless car.
“Open the gates,” Haverly demanded. “I must see your master at
once. I’m Haverly.”
“You might be, but then again you mightn’t,” was the dubious
reply. “Anyway, I’ve got strict orders to keep a sharp look-out for
anybody suspicious-looking.”
“You darned fool!” cried the Yankee, “do you size me up as a
suspicious party?”
“Orders is orders,” retorted the man sullenly, without budging an
inch.
“Say, Frank,” Haverly said, “give us a leg up, will you? This
fool means to keep us out here all night.”
With the aid of his friend, Silas swarmed over the barrier, and
dropped lightly down on the other side. Quickly he flung open the
gates, and the next moment the car was spinning up the drive, leaving
the lodge-keeper staring blankly after it.
“It’s agin orders,” he muttered at length, and, shaking his head
sagely, he closed the gates, and withdrew to his room.
Up the broad, gravelled track Oswyn drove the automobile, at a
speed that made the shrubs which bordered the drive dance past in one
dark line.
Soon the lights of the Manor gleamed before them, and from afar
the sound of the sea came to their ears.
Bringing the car to a standstill before the porch, the doctor
sprang out, followed by his friend.
“I guess we’re in time,” Haverly said. “You’ll see this through,
Frank?”
“Rather!” replied the young doctor enthusiastically. “We’d better
take a look round before we make an entrance.”
Leaving the car where it stood, the two men crept round to the
rear of the building.
The light, streaming through the open French windows of the
dining-room, attracted their attention, and Oswyn with difficulty
stifled an exclamation of rage as, crossing the lawn, they peered
in.
Within sat Seymour, the inventor, and Mervyn, before a table
which still held the remnants of a meal; but each was bound securely
to his chair and gagged.
In one corner of the room stood Haverly’s two companions of the
express, and with them two others, one in the dress of a footman. They
were conversing in low tones, and at intervals a gleam of metal
beneath the electric light showed that all were armed.
“Well, gentlemen,” one of them said at length, addressing the
helpless trio, “I think we may venture to leave you. You will be
perfectly safe for the night, but I am afraid your proposed Polar
expedition will have to be indefinitely postponed.”
The scoundrel’s words floated distinctly to the ears of the
watchers, and Oswyn was seized with a mad desire to rush in upon the
plotters. Haverly restrained him, however.
“Got a gun?” he questioned hoarsely.
“No,” was the reply, “worse luck.”
“Wal, I guess we can’t tackle the hull crowd with only one
shooter. See here: I’m going to skid down to the dock, an’ if I don’t
get the drop on ’em before long, my name ain’t Si. K. Haverly!”
“But where do I come in?” asked the doctor.
“You stay right here,” replied Haverly, “until them greasers come
out, then you can nip in an’ unfix our pards.”
“Couldn’t we rush ’em?” suggested Oswyn eagerly.
“If you want a couple of funerals knockin’ around,” returned the
millionaire grimly. “No, my son, you take it from me, it’s best to
play a waiting game.”
“Very well,” assented Oswyn, “get off down to the dock; I’ll wait
here.”
At that the Yankee turned, and vanished into the darkness of the
surrounding shrubbery.
For ten minutes Oswyn waited outside the window, then the four
scoundrels filed out, the footman switching off the light ere he
left.
“Good-night, gentlemen,” he called mockingly, as he closed the
window behind him, and it was all Oswyn could do to restrain the hot
rage which rose within him, prompting him to knock the rascal down as
he passed. But he controlled himself by a strong effort, and the four
plotters, striding over the lawn, passed down the drive towards the
dock gates. These the footman opened with one of a bunch of keys, and
the quartette passed through into the yard.
Around them, wrapped in darkness, lay the great workshops,
wherein the various sections of the marvellous submarine had taken
shape.
Past these deserted buildings--which but lately had rung
with stroke upon stroke of the workmen’s hammers--they went,
under the guidance of the footman, until they stood beside the great
dock, wherein lay floating the craft they had dared so much to
obtain.
Producing an electric lantern, the footman cast its beams over
the gleaming hull of the vessel.
“Wonderful!” the conspirators cried, as their eyes drank in the
singular beauty of the boat. For a few moments they stood lost in
admiration. On the quay alongside stood the piles of stores, awaiting
shipment on the morrow, should the trial trip prove satisfactory, and
the sight of them reminded the leader that that vessel was not yet
theirs.
“Aboard with you,” he cried, and led the way over the
gangway.
His two colleagues followed, leaving the footman on the quay.
A moment later a blaze of light came from the turret of the
submarine.
The boat-stealers had switched on the great searchlight which
topped the turret of the vessel, and its beams illumined the whole
dockyard.
“Sharp there, Benson!” the leader called, and at the words the
footman moved to a great winch, which stood beside the dock.
Putting forth his whole strength, he commenced to turn the
handle, thus opening the gates of the dock, and making a free passage
for the submarine to the North Sea.
The plotters had chosen their time well, for the tide was at its
flood. Casting off the mooring ropes, the footman leapt aboard, and
passed down the steps to the engine-room.
Three minutes later the submarine crept out into the bay upon
which the dock gave. The object of the conspirators’ plotting had been
attained; the scheme was a gigantic success.
The three scoundrels were not a little pleased with themselves as
the boat glided swiftly across the bay under the guidance of the
leader.
They jested and laughed, flavouring their conversation with many
an oath, as they pictured to their own delight the mortification of
the inventor, whose craft they had stolen.
Their mirth would perhaps have been less hilarious had they noted
the grim figure creeping along the corridor below, towards the foot of
the steps.
“Jesting apart,” said the leader at length, “it’s a marvellous
vessel. With this craft, armed in an up-to-date manner, we shall have
the shipping of the entire world at our mercy. Not a warship on the
seas will be able to resist us.”
“For which we have to thank our estimable friend, the inventor,”
returned one of his companions with a grin.
At that moment there came a flash, twice repeated, from the
darkness far ahead.
“The _Night Hawk!_” cried the leader; “it
is----”
“Checkmate, gentlemen,” drawled a quiet voice behind them.
At the words the three turned, to look into the gleaming barrel
of Haverly’s revolver.
“Hands up, you scoundrels!” he cried.
“Ah! would you?”
This last to the leader, who, with a savage oath, had made a grab
for his breast pocket.
A vicious spurt of flame leapt from the millionaire’s weapon, and
as the report rang through the turret, the fellow fell back with a
shattered wrist.
“Out west,” snapped the Yankee, “when I say put ’em up, they
generally calculate to put ’em up at once! I shouldn’t advise you to
play tricks; this gun’s kinder impatient, and might go off again. Say,
sonny! Just grab them spokes, and turn her round for the dock.”
The scoundrel addressed moved trembling to the wheel, and, under
the watchful eye of the American, brought the submarine round.
“That’s the style,” Haverly said, “keep her there. I reckon
you’re in for a warm time when Mr. Hilton gets hold of you. You should
never attempt to run a picnic of this sort; it needs brains,
gentlemen, and----”
What Silas would have said further will never be known, for he
broke off suddenly and ducked, just in time to escape a bullet from
the revolver of the footman, who, aroused by the Yankee’s shot, had
crept from the engine-room.
Quick as thought Haverly’s weapon answered, and the footman, with
a neat little hole in the centre of his forehead, dropped like a
log.
“Any more comin’ along?” Silas asked coolly; but the scoundrels
had no heart left for resistance.
“Get down to the engine-room, you there,” the millionaire
continued. “Drop your barker first; that’s better. Now slope, an’
let’s have no tricks, or you’ll get hurt.”
Like a beaten hound, the fellow slunk below, never attempting to
possess himself of the dead footman’s revolver, which lay beside the
corpse.
The American was master of the situation.
* * * * *
As the sound of the plotters’ footsteps died away, Oswyn flung
open the window of the dining-room and rushed in.
One moment he fumbled for the switch, the next, a dazzling flood
of light poured into the room.
Before the three bound men had recovered from their surprise at
his unexpected appearance, Oswyn had cut their bonds and removed the
gags.
“Where have you sprung from, Frank?” cried the inventor, stamping
about the room in his efforts to restore the circulation to his numbed
limbs.
Briefly the doctor told him of his fortunate meeting with Haverly
at Carnmoor, and the succeeding events.
As he finished speaking, Seymour left the room, returning in a
moment with a brace of revolvers.
“Come,” he cried, “we may yet be in time to take a hand in the
game.”
Out into the night the four men plunged, and raced down to the
dockyard; but they were a few moments too late. The submarine had
gone.
The shock of this discovery stunned them for a time.
They had counted on Haverly keeping the scoundrels from boarding
the vessel; but it seemed clear to them that their American friend had
failed in his undertaking, and had paid the penalty of his daring.
“Silas must have got wiped out,” Oswyn muttered sadly; “he would
never have let them get possession of her otherwise,” in which
statement, as the reader knows, Frank was mistaken.
“What’s the next move?” Seymour asked. “Your craft’s too swift to
think of pursuit, I suppose?”
“It’s hopeless to think of recovering her,” returned the
inventor. “What’s that?”
A brilliant light had flashed over the dark waters of the
bay.
“There she is!” Mervyn cried, and an instant later the
torpedo-shaped craft became visible to each of the watchers.
But her movements puzzled them; she appeared to be making for the
dock entrance.
Slowly she crept forward, seeming to feel her way as she
advanced, until the four standing on the quay could make out the three
forms in her turret.
Then comprehension burst upon them!
“Good old Silas!” cried Seymour; “he’s got the drop on our bold
conspirators this time.”
Garth laughed boisterously in his rapture at the recovery of his
invention.
Through the dock gates the vessel crept to her old mooring-place.
Almost ere the engines had ceased to throb, the four had leapt aboard,
and were crowding into the turret.
Within a few moments the two uninjured rascals and their wounded
chief were securely trussed, and locked away in one of the workshops,
there to await removal to the local jail.
The body of the footman was laid upon the quay and covered with a
sheet. Only when these matters were attended to would the American
satisfy the curiosity of his friends as to the manner in which he had
managed to turn the tables upon the boat-stealers.
“Where’s your watchman?” he asked, after dismissing the subject
in half a dozen pithy sentences.
“You’ve locked him up,” Garth returned; “it was the fellow who
steered you in. He must have been heavily bribed by the plotters. Had
Wilson been here, this would not have happened, for he has been
guarding the boat himself at night.”
“Where’s he gone?” asked the doctor.
“Down home,” was the reply, “to say good-bye to his people. We
thought of starting at midnight to-morrow, but, of course, this
job”--pointing to the corpse of the footman--“will delay us
for several days. There will have to be an inquest, and no end of fuss
before we can get away.”
“I wish I were coming with you,” Oswyn said impulsively.
“I wish you were, old chap,” Garth agreed; “but I suppose it’s
impossible?”
“Utterly,” replied the doctor; “the practice would go to beggary
were I away for a month or two, just now. All the same, you have my
best wishes for the success of your trip. May you return safe and
sound!”
“Thanks, old man; I sincerely hope we shall.”
Moving to the winch, Garth closed the gates of the dock; then,
leaving the Yankee, at his own request, on guard, the rest of the
party adjourned to the house to finish their interrupted meal, and to
seek a much-needed rest.
As they went, the inventor pondered over an idea of
Haverly’s.
“Say, Garth,” the millionaire had remarked, as the party passed
out of the yard, “if you’re wanting a name for your boat, I guess you
might do worse than call it the _Seal._”
“_Seal_ it shall be,” Garth muttered to himself, and so it
was.