JACK MEETS A HUMAN FACT, FACE TO FACE
There was no thought of dinner for John Rhinds that evening.
After the newspaper men had gone the artful schemer spent a long time in
drafting two or three telegrams that he felt it necessary to send to
members of his state's Congressional delegation at Washington.
In the telegrams that were finally sent, the president of the Rhinds
Submarine Company referred to himself as apparently the victim of a
very clever but diabolical plot to ruin his company. He asked the
members of Congress for his state to see to it that he was given a
full opportunity for justice.
"Justice? Ugh!" muttered the old man, as he scanned one of his
telegrams. "Well--er--not if it means punishment!"
Hardly had he sent away these telegrams, and even as he was giving
thought to sending down an order to have dinner served in his rooms,
Rhinds received a telegram from the editor of a New York daily, asking
for his version of the torpedo mystery.
From the wording of the telegram, it was plain that the story had gotten
as far as New York, and that the editor regarded it as the big,
sensational news story of the hour.
Groaning, Rhinds bent over to begin work on this new telegram that was
demanded of him. It proved to be a hard message to write. Even while
he worked over the difficult problem, a second telegram arrived, this
from the editor of a Philadelphia morning paper. Then came two from
Boston.
"Good heavens! I can't keep up this pace," groaned John Rhinds. "These
editors won't even give me time for sleep."
Sudden blackness came over his eyes as he sat back, trying to think it
all out.
"I can't answer any of these telegrams," he muttered, tearing up the
offending messages. "Oh, why did Radwin have to take wings at the
very time when I need him most! Fred Radwin, with his cool nerve, his
steely eyes and his glib, lying tongue, would have been ready with
answers for all these questions. But I can't do it. I'll need a
strait-jacket, if these telegrams continue to arrive!"
Yet several more telegrams did come in, from newspapers in various
Eastern states. Rhinds read them, groaned and tore up the messages.
Then he smoked strong cigars, one after another, but that only made his
nerves worse. When he went to bed, late that night, he slept some, yet
it was mainly to dream hideous dreams.
In the early morning Rhinds sent for morning newspapers. These contained
what he had said to local reporters, but his version, with the
newspapers' comments added, only made matters worse. "That infernal
'Gazette,'" in especial, printed, in bold type, the account of his
refusal to let a committee of newspapermen examine his boat for a
secret hiding place large enough to hold an extra torpedo.
That forenoon shore boats did a thriving business in carrying people out
on trips around the Pollard and Rhinds submarines. Trains brought in
folks from other towns, all anxious for a glimpse of the submarine craft.
"This will drive me wild, yet," groaned Mr. Rhinds. "It's an outrageous
shame."
Still, there was little realization, on his part, that he deserved all
this, and more.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Jack, my boy," muttered Jacob Farnum, looking up from a batch of
morning newspapers in the cabin of the "Hastings," "You've been the
means of stirring up a bigger hurricane than ever raged at sea."
"Are you sorry?" asked the young submarine captain, coolly.
"Well, considering my private opinion of Mr. John C. Rhinds, and my
belief as to what he did--or tried to do--to us, I can't say I'm
deeply grieved," returned the shipbuilder.
Then time shipbuilder looked around him, at all three of the submarine
boys, as he went on:
"Lads, we've been cramped up on this boat long enough, so I'm going to
take you ashore this evening. But remember--not a word to reporters,
or to anyone else. If any one of you opens his mouth on this subject,
I shall consider that young man no longer a friend of mine."
All this while Chief Ward, of the Colfax police department, was busily
engaged in seeking tidings of the missing Fred Radwin. But Radwin,
after entering that adjoining room, appeared to have been swallowed up.
Jack had heard, from the chief of police, of the disappearance of Radwin.
This was one feature of the story that the newspapers had as yet failed
to discover. However, Ward believed that Radwin was now hundreds of
miles away, and still traveling. So, when the Pollard submarine party
came ashore that evening, none of them gave much thought to Radwin.
Farnum led his young friends, as heretofore, to the Somerset House.
"We might possibly meet Rhinds in the lobby, or in the dining room,"
said the shipbuilder, "but I don't deem it likely. Rhinds is undoubtedly
keeping hid within his own walls upstairs."
This guess proved to be a good one. Farnum and his friends dined at the
Somerset without being offended by a sight of the face of their rival
in business.
A special waiter was stationed to head off reporters or other curious
people who might attempt to interview the submarine diners. So the meal
proceeded in peace, though it was rather late when the diners finished.
"Whew! Nearly nine o'clock," muttered Farnum, glancing up at a big
clock on a near-by wall. "And I haven't been out to the hospital,
to-day, to see how Dave is coming along."
"Would it do to telephone, and ask the hospital people to let Mr.
Pollard know you had inquired?" suggested Hal.
"Don't just like that idea," replied Mr. Farnum, shaking his head. "It
doesn't sound just like using Dave Pollard right. I'll tell you what,
however. I've been the only one to go out to the hospital, so far.
Dave always asks after the rest of you. Jack, suppose you take a hack
and make the trip out. If they won't let you see Dave at this hour,
then inquire how he is getting along, and leave your card to be sent in
to him. But, if you can see Dave Pollard, he'll be delighted to have
a look at your face. There's a cab standing out in front of the hotel,
and it won't take you but a few minutes to get out to the hospital."
"Where'll I find you?" asked Jack, rising at once.
"We'll wait in the lobby of the hotel until you get back. Use the cab
both ways."
There was, as Mr. Farnum had said, a cab outside the hotel. That cab,
in fact, had been hanging about since just before dark.
Most of the time it stood drawn up at the curb on the opposite side of
the street.
Three or four times, during the early evening, different persons had
tried to engage the use of this cab.
Yet, to each prospective customer, the driver had shaken his head,
uttering the one word:
"Engaged."
So the cab still waited, the driver occasionally moving to a somewhat
new position, though always keeping well in sight of the hotel entrance.
As Captain Jack Benson stepped out through the broad doorway, however,
on his errand of friendship, the driver, throwing away a half-smoked
cigar, suddenly whipped up his horse, driving close to the entrance.
"Cab, sir" hailed the driver. "To any part of the city."
"You know where the hospital is?" inquired Jack Benson.
"Oh, yes."
"How long will it take to drive me there?"
"Ten or twelve minutes."
"All right. And I shall want you to wait there, a little while, and
then bring me back. How much will that be?"
"Dollar and a half, sir."
"Go ahead," directed Jack, springing inside and pulling the door shut.
The only time Benson had been to the hospital before was on the morning
of the accident.
At that time he had not noticed the road very closely. Now, at night,
all looked so different to him that he had no idea whether or not he was
being driven in the right direction. He left all that to the driver, as
most people do when employing cabs.
"I'd like just a little peep-in at Rhinds tonight," thought Jack, as he
settled back against the comfortable upholstery. "I reckon he knows,
by this time, something of the way of the transgressor."
If the young submarine captain noticed anything at all of the way the
driver was taking him, he saw only that the vehicle was rolling through
a quiet, rather shabby, ill-lighted portion of the city.
Thus the cab went, down street after street, the horses moving only at
the slowest trot.
"What this cab needs is one of our gasoline engines," thought Jack,
lazily. Then, suddenly:
"No, sir! By gracious, no! That would make an automobile out of this
old tub on wheels, and, until Mr. Pollard gets whole again, anyway,
we've had enough of automobiles. One of our crowd in hospital, at a
time, is plenty!"
Then there came a moment in which the cab stopped so suddenly that the
young skipper was all but thrown from his seat.
"Gracious!" uttered the submarine boy. "Who's torpedoing us?"
But, at that instant, Jack Benson received a more genuine shock.
For the left-hand door of the vehicle was wrenched suddenly open. In
the doorway appeared the white, ugly, desperate face of Fred Radwin!
Without a word, Radwin threw himself forward, making a leap into the
carriage.