A DIVE THAT WAS LIKE MAGIC
"What's wrong?" demanded Admiral Bentley, looking up quickly.
"I--I beg your pardon, sir," cried Mr. Farnum, though lowering his
voice, "but I want a good look at the steward who has been attending to
this end of the table."
"Nothing will be more simple," replied the admiral.
Just at that moment another steward entered the room.
"Ask that new steward to come here," directed the admiral.
The man hastened away in search of his mate.
"Pardon me, but is there any unusual reason why you wish to see that
particular steward?" asked the admiral, in a low voice.
"The only reason, sir," replied Mr. Farnum dryly, "is that my friend,
Benson, is certain the fellow is identical with the defaulting guardian
of a young woman at present employed in my office. He is believed to
have taken the last half-million dollars remaining of her fortune away
with him into hiding."
"A half million dollars!" gasped the admiral.
"If this steward is the man we think he is, then his right name is
Arthur Miller," finished the boatbuilder.
"Why, I remember that case. I read of it in the newspapers," replied
Admiral Bentley. "Jove, gentlemen, but I hope your guess is a correct
one. There must always be a satisfaction in catching so great a rogue
so easily."
Only those at the admiral's end of the table had heard this dialogue.
Other guests present continued eating, or chatting with their neighbors.
Other stewards were entering and leaving in the discharge of their
duties.
Some time passed. Farnum was fidgeting, though he strove to conceal the
fact. Jack looked quiet, but his heart was thumping.
"Steward Dugan!" called the admiral, rather sharply, and the man stepped
over quickly.
"I sent Hecht after that new steward," declared the admiral. "Hecht
hasn't come back. Find him on the jump and learn his reason for the
delay."
In something like a minute more both Dugan and Hecht returned.
"I couldn't find Dudley, sir," reported Hecht. "I've looked for him
everywhere that he ought to be."
"Then find the first officer on duty that you can, and, with my
compliments, ask him to report instantly," ordered Admiral Bentley.
In barely more than a jiffy a young lieutenant of marine stepped into
the room, saluting the admiral.
"Lieutenant, a new steward known as Dudley is being sought for. Order
the guard at the side gangway to let no one overboard, unless he is
certain that the one seeking to pass is not Steward Dudley. Then have
the ship searched thoroughly for Dudley. When found, bring him just
outside that door, under guard, and send in word to me."
Again the lieutenant saluted, then hurried from the room. The whole
thing had been, ordered so quickly that few of the lunchers guessed that
anything out of the ordinary was taking place. Admiral Bentley took up
knife and fork, turning his attention to a dish that had just been laid
before him.
The marine lieutenant was soon back.
"I regret to report, admiral," he murmured, in a low voice, "that the
sentry at the side gangway states that Steward Dudley went over the
side and started off in a shore boat at least five minutes ago. He
displayed a paper which he said was a telegram you had ordered sent in
a rush."
"Great Scott!" uttered Jacob Farnum, laying down knife and fork in a
tremble. "Then, by flight, the fellow confesses his identity. Admiral,
we feel that we simply must get ashore without the loss of an instant.
That rascal must be found."
"Certainly," agreed Admiral Bentley, rising. "Do not lose an instant."
Turning to the marine lieutenant, he added:
"My compliments to the officer of the deck, and ask him to see that
these gentlemen have a shore boat placed at their disposal without
any loss of time. Or, that they have any facilities they may wish
for going to any part of the fleet. No thanks, gentlemen. I appreciate
your need of haste and wish you every success."
The half-curious eyes of many persons followed these three guests, as
the boatbuilder, the inventor and the young submarine captain hastily
left the room, followed by the marine lieutenant.
As soon as the admiral's order had been transmitted to him, the
lieutenant in charge of the deck ran to the side gangway, looking for a
shore boat.
"Just our confounded luck when we're in a hurry," he muttered. "The only
boat I can get is the one that just took Steward Dudley ashore. See,
there it is over yonder, leaving the pier. It will be here within five
minutes."
"Then I thank our lucky stars," cried Captain Jack, pointing, "for here
comes our own good boat, and we can take it, instanter, if you'll permit
it to come alongside, Lieutenant.
"Certainly," replied that officer.
Hal Hastings was at the deck wheel, in charge of the boat. He had just
taken a party of sightseeing naval officers back to their ship, and was
on his way to the "Pollard's" moorings. He caught sight of Benson's
signals, and, slowing down the speed, ran neatly in alongside of the
battleship's gangway platform.
In another twinkling the trio in haste were aboard their own boat.
"Better hurry below," advised Captain Jack. "Ship the ventilators and
I'll get inside, close the manhole cover and handle the boat from
the conning tower. Then, if Arthur Miller is watching us from the
shore, he'll think we have officers aboard and are manoeuvering to
show off the boat."
"Arthur Miller?" gasped Hal, in astonishment.
"Down below with you, Hastings," replied Jacob Farnum, pushing him
gently. "When we've time to talk we'll tell you."
When, therefore, within sixty seconds, the "Pollard" left the flagship's
side, she was equipped for diving. A casual observer would have believed
she was about to do so with some inspecting party of naval officers.
As he sat in the conning tower Captain Jack steered the most direct
course for the pier to which the supposed Miller had gone in the
flagship's shore boat.
In order to do this, the young captain had to cut across the bow of
a battleship that had just gotten under way. There was plenty of
searoom for this manoeuvre, so Captain Jack did not hesitate.
Once past the bows of that battleship, however, the young submarine
captain's heart gave a mighty bound.
For, just beyond, was another battleship, also under good headway. The
"Pollard" was between the two. To go ahead meant a collision with the
second battleship, while to reverse speed meant to back into the
battleship just passed.
To turn and run between them in either direction might have been feasible,
but the battleships, seeing the trouble of the little submarine, were
sounding conflicting signals.
It was a situation that had to be met and solved in a second.
Jack Benson's heart seemed to stop beating; he felt ill, and a cold
perspiration beaded his face all at once.
"Hold fast!" he roared down the stairway.
Then he did the only thing that could be done in a second.
Without waiting to shut off the gasoline power, he reached out for the
conning tower controls. Like a flash, and with high nervous energy, he
operated the mechanism that would fill the diving tanks in an instant.
In rushed the water, faster than it had ever done before. Down dived
the "Pollard" like a lump of lead. To the startled onlookers on other
ships she seemed almost to stand on her nose. Those on the decks of
the two nearest battleships saw the "Pollard's" propellers uppermost
of all, and revolving fast.
Then out of sight went the little submarine. Those below in her cabin
and engine room had been pitched forward on their faces. Captain Jack
fairly sprawled over the wheel.
Down went the little boat to a depth of some seventy feet. Then Captain
Jack had the presence of mind to bring her to an even keel. A couple
of hundred yards he ran under water. Then, shutting off the motive
power, he called below to turn the compressed air slowly into the water
compartments.
"For I want to rise mighty gently," he called down, in explanation.
"Then, if we come up under some craft's keel, we won't hurt them
or ourselves."
By this time the deck rails and rigging of many a naval vessel were
crowded with officers and men, all anxious to know the fate of the
plucky, or foolhardy, crew of the submarine.
A few moments passed. Then the conning tower emerged from the water.
Next, the boat appeared, and rode at her proper amount of freeboard
over the water.
What a deafening din of cheers filled the air. Men, everywhere, were
waving uniform caps. Four of the big ships blew their whistles in harsh
salute to this latest dash of Yankee bravery.
"Let us up on deck," cried David Pollard, excitedly. "We want to
acknowledge some of that applause as modestly as possible."
The submarine's entire crew were speedily on the platform deck, while
Captain Jack was busily explaining to his friends the necessity that had
arisen for such a prompt, deep dive.
"Oh, but that was magnificently done, Jack!" cried the inventor, in a
transport of enthusiasm. "Hear them yell! See them wave! The din of
the whistles! It was the best thing we've done or could do in the way
of compelling advertising!"
"Advertising be--will keep!" rasped Jacob Farnum. "But, for now,
Captain Benson, hustle over to that pier as fast as the speed of the
boat will allow. Advertising--with Grace Desmond's fortune and
happiness at stake!"
So the young captain turned on speed, and steered on through the lanes
of Naval vessels. Even on those craft from which his dashing, daring
performance had not been witnessed the news was known, now, passed from
ship to ship by the wig-wagging of signal flags.
All the way into the pier the "Pollard" was greeted with tempestuous
volleys of applause, for there is nothing the American naval tar loves
as he does sheer, wild grit.
"Advertising, is it?" demanded Mr. Farnum, in raging disgust. "We're
getting plenty and to spare. No one within five miles of here can
possibly be ignorant of the fact that the 'Pollard' is making a hustle
to the dock!"