Henry watched Tom’s head disappear, he saw the little silvery bubbles rising, for an instant he could distinguish the darker shadow in the water which marked his friend, and then nothing but the rippling green surface of the river was visible through the open trapdoor in the floor of the dock. He and Frank were alone, Tom and Rawlins were beneath the river, and yet, down there at the bottom of the gurgling water, the unseen two could hear every word spoken in the room above. It was marvelous, fantastic and almost incredible. But even more wonderful and impossible events were about to take place. Frank had already heard Tom’s parting words over the set, although not a sound had issued from his helmet, and now, with the others under the water, Frank was again talking.
“Yes, I can hear you finely,” he said. “Say, it’s wonderful. Where are you? Right underthe dock? I’m going to let Henry talk to you. I feel as if I were dreaming!”
As Henry listened at the set and Tom’s words came to his ears he actually jumped, for he had never expected the words to come as plainly and distinctly as if Tom had been in the room with him and talking to him direct.
“That you, Henry?” came Tom’s voice. “Gee, but it’s great. I can hear you just as well as if I were up there. Does my voice sound loud?”
“Loud as if you were standing alongside of me,” Henry assured him. “I can’t believe you’re really under water.”
So, for some time, the three boys and Rawlins conversed, chatting and laughing, expressing their wonder and delight in boyish expletives and overjoyed at finding their plans and their work had proved such an immense success.
“We’re going off a ways,” announced Tom, at last. “Mr. Rawlins wants to find out how far away we can hear and send. We’re going to walk down the river. You keep talking and after we’ve gone a few hundred yards we’ll call you. If you don’t reply that you heard us we’ll keep walkingback and trying until you do get us. Then we’ll know our range.”
For a time, the two boys on the dock kept up a steady conversation with Tom and Rawlins, and, much to their surprise, the sounds of their friends’ voices continued as loud as when they were directly under the dock.
“It’s a funny thing,” remarked Frank during a lull in the under-sea conversation, “I thought they’d get out of range very soon. I never would have believed that these little fifty-meter waves could carry that far with only a two-foot grid for an aërial. The water must be a heap better for waves than the air.”
Then there was an interval when no sounds came in and Frank was about to call to Tom when, to his ears, came a suppressed “Wha—wha” followed by a hoarse “Sssh!”
Whether Rawlins had intended this for Tom or himself Frank did not know, but he decided that, for some unknown reason, the diver wished silence and so wisely refrained from speaking.
“I would like to know what Mr. Rawlins wanted to be quiet for,” said Frank, holding his hand overthe mouthpiece of his microphone. “But I suppose there’s some good reason for it.”
Scarcely had he ceased speaking when he was startled by a sharp exclamation of surprise from Tom.
So unexpected was it that Frank responded involuntarily. “What’s that you said?” he asked, exactly as though Tom had been there in the room. But there was no audible reply, merely some faint sounds like subdued whispers, followed by silence.
“Gee, there’s something mighty funny going on!” exclaimed Frank, addressing Henry. “Tom said ‘Gosh’ something and then, when I answer he doesn’t say a thing—just some little sounds like whispers. Say, Idowonder what they’re up to!”
“Oh, I expect they’re trying to see if they can talk together without your hearing them,” suggested Henry. “Probably that’s why Mr. Rawlins told you to be quiet.”
“Well, I’m going to find out,” declared Frank. “They’ve no right to keep us wondering like this.”
“Hello!” he cried into the microphone. “What on earth’s the matter? I haven’t heard a wordfrom you two for five minutes. Can you hear me?”
But instead of Tom’s voice in reply Frank was amazed to hear thick, guttural words rapidly spoken, and among them he made out only one that he understood, the name “Oleander.”
“Henry!” exclaimed Frank, speaking in hushed tones as if he feared being overheard, “Henry, there’s that fellow talking again—the one you and Mr. Rawlins heard—talking in Dutch or something!”
Then the strange voices ceased and very faintly and indistinctly Frank heard Tom’s voice asking,
“What does it mean?”
Frank was puzzled. “What does what mean?” he inquired into the microphone. But the reply, if Tom made one, was drowned out and confused by Rawlins’ voice. Frank could not distinguish all the words, but he knew from the sounds and intonations that Tom and the diver were discussing some matter between them and he refrained from interrupting.
Then the voices ceased and Frank called, begging Tom to explain matters, asking if anythingwas wrong. But for a moment there was no reply and he wondered if his voice could be heard.
Then to his ears came Tom’s familiar “Gosh!” a few unintelligible words and a shrill whistle, followed by Rawlins’ voice. Part of it Frank could not catch but as he strained his ears he distinctly heard Rawlins exclaim:
“We’re in a dangerous place! Come on. Let me go first!”
Frank’s face paled. “Jehoshaphat!” he exclaimed to Henry who, realizing that something mysterious was taking place beneath the river, was bending close. “Jehoshaphat! They’re in danger! Say, whatcanit be? Maybe they’re caught in quicksand or a current or under a boat.”
Pleadingly, with fright and worry expressed in his tones, Frank begged Tom to reply, to tell him what was wrong, what the danger was. For a space he waited anxiously for his chum’s reply and then, at last, it came.
“It’s all right,” called Tom. “Don’t worry. Stop talking and just listen!”
Frank turned to Henry and disconnected the microphoneby throwing off a switch to make sure that no sound could be sent.
“I guess they’re all right,” he said. “But I’m worried just the same. Why should he want me to be quiet and just listen. Oh, Idowish they’d come back.”
“There’s those foreign words again,” he announced presently, “and, say—I didn’t think of it before—there are two talking now.”
Then followed silence, not a sound, not even a hum or buzz of interference greeted his ears and anxiously he listened, half fearful that some awful casualty had happened to Tom and Rawlins out there somewhere under the turbid waters of the river.
The moments passed terribly slowly to the two boys and then Frank again gave a start as he heard Tom ejaculate “Gosh!” followed by some rapid low-spoken words, only one of which Frank could catch—the word “wreck.”
“That’s it,” he announced to Henry with a sigh of relief. “They’ve found a wreck. Gee! perhaps they’ve found treasure.”
Henry laughed gayly. “Oh, that’s good!” heexclaimed. “Treasure in the East River! You must think you’re down in the West Indies or somewhere.”
“Well, I don’t see what’s so awful funny about finding a wreck or treasure in the East River,” declared Frank petulantly. “Lots of boats have sunk here and why shouldn’t one of ’em have treasure on it? I don’t mean millions of dollars worth of gold or jewels of course—like pirates’ treasure—but there might be a box of money or something.”
“You’re way off,” replied Henry. “They wouldn’t leave a wreck here for a week. They’d get it up or blow it up right away. Why, a wreck here would block the channel. No, sir, you heard ’em wrong.”
“I did not!” stoutly maintained Frank. “I know Tom said something about a wreck. I don’t care what you say. How do you know there isn’t some old wreck out there somewhere? It may have been there for years; how would any one know?”
“Why, Mr. Rawlins and Tom aren’t the only divers who ever went down here,” insisted Henry.“The city and the government and wrecking companies and contractors have divers going down all the time. I’ve watched ’em working heaps of times. Father’s a construction engineer and I know he always has divers at work around New York. Some of ’em would have found a wreck if it had been there.”
“Well, anyway we’ll know pretty soon,” said Frank. “They can’t stay down much longer. They must——”
With a startled cry his words ended and his scared, pale face told Henry that something dreadful had happened. Ringing in Frank’s ears, shrill, filled with deadly terror, the shriek of a boy frightened almost out of his senses, came Tom’s despairing cry—a wordless, awful scream.
“What’s the matter?” Frank forced his paralyzed tongue to form the words. “Tom! Oh, Tom! What’s wrong? Why did you yell?”
“Help! Send for help!” rang back the answer. “It’s awful”—followed by words so filled with mortal terror that Frank could make nothing of them and then—“Get Dad! Get the police!”
Frank waited to hear no more. Dropping thereceivers he leaped across the room, jerked the receiver from the telephone and frantically called for Mr. Pauling’s number. But in his fright and terror, his fear for Tom, his hurried words were a mere jumble to the operator.
“Can’t hear you,” came the girl’s voice. “What number did you say?”
Again Frank yelled. “Watkins 6636!” he cried, striving to make his words clear.
“Watkins 3666?” inquired the girl, and Frank could almost hear her masticating gum.
“No, 6636!” he screamed. “Hurry!”
The seconds that followed seemed like years to Frank. Across his brain flashed a thousand fears and he suffered untold agonies as he stood there, sweat pouring from his face. What if Mr. Pauling should not be in his office? Suppose the line were busy? What if the girl got the wrong number? How slow she was! Had she forgotten the call? Would no one answer? And then, when he was sure he must have waited hours, his heart gave a great leap, a load seemed lifted from his mind as he heard Mr. Pauling’s cheery, deep-throated:
“Hello! Who is it?”
“It’s Frank!” fairly screamed the boy. “Tom’s in trouble! I don’t know what—he’s under the river—with Mr. Rawlins. He wants help! Sent for you! Wants police!”
Then, when at last Mr. Pauling had succeeded in grasping the message and in excited tones had shouted, “All right, I’ll be down instantly!” Frank sank limply to the floor.
But the next second he was up and at the table by the radio set.
“Have you heard anything?” he inquired anxiously of Henry, who had taken up the receivers and had been listening while Frank called Mr. Pauling.
“Not a word,” replied Henry.
“Oh, gosh! Oh, Idowish they’d hurry!” exclaimed Frank. “Oh, they’re terribly slow! And howwillthey get to him? How do we know where he is?”
Slowly the minutes dragged by. Each tick of the cheap clock on the table seemed to spell Tom’s fate and still no sound came from beneath the river. Once, Henry thought he caught a word,an exclamation half suppressed, but he could not be sure. He had called Tom, but no reply had come. Were the two dead? Had some awful calamity overtaken them at the bottom of the river? Was this to be the tragic end of all their experiments? Was Tom’s death the reward for their success?
Then, from far up the street, came the clamor of a bell, and the screech of a motor horn sounded from nearer at hand.
At the same instant Henry uttered a glad, joyous cry. “They’re all right!” he shouted. “I just heard Rawlins tell Tom to go ahead!”
With a quick motion, he threw in the switch and at that moment Frank’s ringing shout of joy filled the room.
But before Henry could call to Tom, before he could utter a sound, hurrying, tramping footsteps echoed from the dock, the door burst inwards with a bang and into the room leaped Mr. Pauling. Beside him was a heavy-jawed man with drawn pistol and over his shoulder through the open doorway the boys saw the visored caps and blue coats of police.
“They’re safe!” yelled Frank, trying to make his voice heard above the excited, shouted interrogations of Mr. Pauling. “We just heard them.”
Mr. Pauling leaped towards the open trapdoor, the police crowding at his heels. Henry dropped his instruments and joined them and all crowded forward.
A shadow seemed to hover in the dull water and a slender affair of wire broke the surface.
“They’re here!” screamed Frank.
“Thank God!” echoed Mr. Pauling fervently.
Hardly had the words of thankfulness left his lips when he uttered a startled cry, and, throwing himself face downward at the edge of the trapdoor, plunged his arms into the swirling water. The dim shadowy form of the diver whose helmet had just appeared, had swayed to one side; his hands, clutching the upper rungs of the ladder, had loosened their grasp, his arms had wavered and had taken a feeble stroke as if trying to swim and from the receiver on the table had issued a despairing cry, a choking, gurgling groan, ending in a gasp.
Whether the swaying, half-floating form wasTom or Rawlins, Mr. Pauling could not know, for in the suits identity was lost, but trained as he was through long years in a service where to act instinctively meant life or death, he instantly dropped to the floor and clutched at the dim figure beneath. Had he delayed for the fraction of a second he would have been too late, but, as it was, his fingers closed on one of the diver’s wrists. The next instant he had grasped the other arm and a moment later, with Henderson’s aid, he had dragged the dripping, limp form onto the dock and the two men were cutting the suit and helmet from the unconscious form. But they already knew it was Tom. The boy’s limbs projecting from the short tunic had proved this and Mr. Pauling’s face was white and strained as they dragged the khaki-colored garment and the helmet from his son.
“Thank Heaven Rawlins fixed those suits so he could not breathe flames!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson, as the helmet was drawn from Tom’s head. “He’s breathing, Pauling!”
As he spoke, there was a disturbance at the door and the police stood aside as an ambulance surgeon pushed his way hurriedly into the room.He bent over Tom in silence for an instant and then he glanced up and Mr. Pauling read good news in his eyes.
“Don’t worry!” he exclaimed. “He’s not hurt. Hasn’t breathed any water. Just in a faint, I think. He’ll be around in a moment. Hello! Here’s another!”
While he had been speaking, another helmeted form had appeared, dragging a limp figure, and, holding to the latter’s legs still another diver was climbing up the ladder.
“What the dickens!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson glancing up. “Who the devil are these? Two divers go down and four come up!”
Dropping the apparently lifeless diver on the floor Rawlins dragged off his helmet, glanced about in a puzzled way and then, without waiting to ask questions exclaimed, “Here, Doctor! Quick! Get at this chap!”
At his words, the doctor and his assistant sprang to the side of the form on the floor and rapidly stripped off his helmet and, as the man’s face was exposed, even the hardened surgeons could not restrain a gasp of horror and amazement. Theface was horrible to look upon. It was scorched, seared, blackened, the eyebrows burned off, the eyelids hanging in shreds, the sightless eyes staring white and opaque like those of a boiled fish. Rawlins gave a single glance at him.
“Oh, Lord!” he ejaculated. “He’s done for! He’s had flames from the chemicals in his helmet! Poor devil, hemusthave suffered!”
Then, turning to Mr. Henderson, he exclaimed.
“Better get the suit off this other chap. Don’t know who he is, but he’s something rotten! Guess it’s a good thing the police are here.”
As Mr. Henderson and Rawlins stepped towards the man who still wore his suit, the fellow raised an arm and leaped, or tried to leap, away, quite forgetting the heavy, lead-soled boots he wore. The result was that he tripped and fell heavily and, before Rawlins or Henderson could reach him, he was twisting and rolling towards the gaping trapdoor. An instant more and he would have been in the water, but just as he reached the edge of the opening, Frank, who with Henry had been staring open-mouthed and dumbfounded at the surprising and incomprehensible events taking placeso rapidly before them, sprang forward and slammed shut the door which, in falling, pinned the fellow’s legs beneath it. Then, as if fearing the man might wriggle free, the excited boy jumped upon the heavy planks. But there was no fight or attempt to escape left in the fellow and, as several policemen rushed forward and seized him, he submitted without the least resistance and a moment later had been stripped of his suit.
Once more it was Mr. Henderson’s turn to be amazed, for, as he caught sight of the man’s face, as he saw the closely-cropped, bullet-shaped head, the tiny, close-set piggish eyes and the big loose-lipped mouth he could scarcely believe his eyes and uttered a sharp exclamation of wonder.
“Put the bracelets on him and don’t give him a chance!” he ordered the police and, as the shining irons snapped with a click about the man’s wrists and the officers led him to one side, the small piglike eyes glared at Mr. Henderson with such mingled hatred, brutality and ferocity that the boys shivered.
Rawlins was now bending above Tom beside Mr. Pauling and when, a moment later, the boytook a long, deep breath and his eyes fluttered open, the anxious, strained expression upon the diver’s face vanished.
“I’ll say he’s a good sport!” he ejaculated. “Poor kid! Don’t wonder he went clean off! And he saved my life too—with his under-sea radio at that!”
Perhaps it may seem as if the boys had met with success too easily and had accomplished far more in a short time than would be possible. But as a matter of fact they had encountered innumerable difficulties, had made numbers of mistakes, had been faced with failure or negative results time after time and would have given up in despair had it not been for the encouragement of Mr. Pauling and Mr. Henderson and the never-ceasing optimism of Rawlins. Indeed, Rawlins had done fully as much to make the under-sea radio a success as had the boys.
Although he did not or could not become an adept at radio and insisted that it was all Greek to him, yet he was a born inventor and a mechanical genius. He had been diving since he was a mere boy, his father and grandfather had made deep-sea diving their profession, and he felt as much at homeunder water as on land. Hence, to him, there was nothing mysterious or baffling about the depths and he could see no valid reason why anything that could be accomplished on shore should not be accomplished equally well under water. He had distinguished himself by devising a submarine apparatus for taking motion pictures at the bottom of the sea and it was while engaged in making a sub-sea film that he had invented and perfected his remarkable self-contained diving suit. To him, with his experience, the shortcomings of the suit—the danger of the chemicals flaming up if they came in contact with water—were of no moment, for, as he had explained to the boys, he automatically shut the valve if for any reason he removed his lips from the breathing tube, the action being as natural and unconscious as holding one’s breath when swimming under water.
But he at once realized that if the suits were to become a commercial or practical thing, or if the under-sea radio was to be used, it would be necessary to make the apparatus absolutely safe and fool proof. He therefore set to work at once to devise an entirely new system and absolutely refused toallow the boys to don suits and go down until he had thoroughly tested out and proved the new equipment. It was not an easy matter, but in the end he succeeded, and, risking his own life in the experiment, he gave the safety suit a most severe tryout. It fulfilled his greatest expectations and feeling sure that no matter how careless or inexperienced the wearer might be there could be no accident, as far as the suit and oxygen generator were concerned, he was satisfied.
He freely expressed his satisfaction and his indebtedness to the boys, insisting that if it had not been for them and their radio he never would have improved the suit and made it practical for any one to use without danger. In addition, there were innumerable other changes and alterations which had to be made to adapt the suits to radio work, and so, by the time the boys were ready to make their tests, they were using suits which bore but little resemblance to those Rawlins had first shown them.
Upon the helmets were the odd grids of wire at right angles like some great crown; the compressed air receptacles containing the sending sets were attached to the shoulders like old-fashioned knapsacks,and the front of the helmet resembled some grotesque monster’s head with the protuberance which contained the compact little receiving set like a huge goiter. Indeed, as Henry had remarked when he first saw Rawlins appearing dripping from the river, they looked like weird and fearful sea monsters. So, if the reader imagines that the boys and Rawlins had had an easy time or that their success was of the phenomenal kind which occurs only in fiction, he is greatly mistaken and the impression is due wholly to the fact that their failures and troubles have not been chronicled.
And now, having explained this, let us return to the boys when, their sub-sea sending set complete, the test was about to take place. As Tom sank beneath the water and slowly descended the ladder he was more excited and thrilled than ever before, for he was about to try an experiment which, if successful, would mark a new era in radio telephony and he was keyed up to a high pitch when at last he dropped from the final rung of the ladder and settled, half-floating like some big, ungainly fish upon the river bottom. Through the halfopaque green water he could see the irregular, grotesquely distorted and hazy form of Rawlins appearing gigantic and phantomlike. He might have been fifteen or fifty feet away, for despite the fact that Tom had been down several times he could never accustom himself to the deceptive effects of distance under water and when he stretched his hand towards the indistinct figure he gave an involuntary start when he found Rawlins within arm’s length. As his hand touched the clammy rubber surface he uttered an exclamation of surprise and the next instant gave a joyful yell, for at his ejaculation he had heard Rawlins’ voice in his ears asking, “What’s wrong?”
“For heaven’s sake, don’t yell so!” came Rawlins’ words in response to Tom’s, “Hurrah, it’s working!”
“I’ll tell the world it’s working!” continued the diver, “but don’t shout. I’m talking in my lowest tones. Here, how do you like this?”
Tom’s ears were almost split as a thunderous bellow filled his helmet, and involuntarily he clapped his hands to the outside of his helmet over his ears.
“That’s a lesson,” he said in his lowest tones. “Sorry I didn’t know, Mr. Rawlins. It won’t happen again. I guess these helmets act like sounding boards or something. Hello, there’s Frank’s voice.”
Clear and distinct they could hear Frank asking if there was trouble and Tom barely checked another outburst as he realized that the boys on shore could talk with them and could hear what was going on under the water.
“We can hear everything you say,” went on Frank’s voice. “Can you hear us and each other?”
“Gee, you bet we can!” replied Tom. “Isn’t this just great?”
“Say, are you whispering?” inquired Frank. “I can hardly hear your voice.”
“No, but don’t shout so,” answered Tom. “Down here everything just roars. We have to talk low or we’ll deafen each other. I’ll bet we don’t need head phones on our ears under water.”
“Henry’s going to talk with you,” Frank announced, “he’s just crazy to try.”
For the next half hour the boys talked back andforth between the workshop and the bottom of the river and then Rawlins and Tom ascended the ladder and removed their suits.
For fully five minutes, the boys pranced, danced, hurrahed, yelled, laughed and made such a racket celebrating their success that it was a wonder the river police did not break in thinking a horde of Indians had taken possession of the dock. And if the truth must be told, Rawlins was just about as excited and acted as crazily as the youngsters.
But at last they calmed down and Frank, mad to go down, donned Tom’s suit.
“Try it without the phones,” Tom advised him. “Then you can talk loudly enough to be heard up here without deafening Mr. Rawlins.”
To Tom, listening at the set on the dock, it seemed little short of uncanny to hear Rawlins and Frank talking from under the water, and indeed, it impressed him as even more remarkable than hearing those on shore when he was below the surface.
Both Rawlins and Frank assured him that the sets worked far better without the receivers ontheir heads, and even when Frank spoke in his loudest tones Rawlins replied that it did not deafen him as before.
“Now let’s try tuning, Frank,” said Tom. “I’m going to vary my wave length and see if you can pick it up. Then change yours and I’ll see if I can get you.”
As Tom spoke, he altered the sending waves slightly and breathlessly waited. Presently Frank’s voice came in.
“Got it!” he exclaimed. “Had a bit of trouble at first, but it’s all right now. Now see if you can get this.”
As he spoke his words ended in a high, shrill squeal, but an instant later, as Tom turned the knob on his tuner, the words suddenly returned in a most startling way, the squeal seeming to change magically into words.
“Hurrah, I got it!” cried Tom jubilantly. “Come on up, Frank, Henry wants a chance.”
“You’ve certainly struck a wonderful thing here,” declared Rawlins, when he and Henry came up and had removed their suits. “How far do you suppose it will work?”
“That’s something we’ll have to find out,” replied Tom. “But the sounds come so loudly I’ll bet it’s good for a long distance. Somehow or other we get sound a lot louder inside a helmet than outside. I don’t just get the reason, but I expect it’s either because the whole air vibrates to the diaphragm of the receivers inside the helmet and no sound waves are lost or else because the helmet itself acts like a sounding board or maybe there are some sort of amplified waves set up.”
“I guess it’s the air being inclosed,” said Rawlins. “When I used to wear a regular suit and used an ordinary phone under water it was the same way, but I never thought of it in connection with radio. The whole thing gets me, there’s millions in this if we can patent it. Let’s go down once more and give her a real tryout. We’ll take a hike down river a few hundred yards and see if the boys get us. If they don’t we’ll come back and keep trying and if they do we’ll go on down as far as we can. Then, if we find it’s O. K. we’ll try to get your folks to let you go down to Nassau and we’ll show the world, I’ll bet.”
“That’s a good idea,” agreed Tom. “You keeplistening and now and then talking, Frank, and as soon as we lose your voice we’ll send and then walk back until we get you again. That way we can find if we can hear farther than you can or whether it’s the other way about.”
Donning their suits, Tom and Rawlins once more descended the ladder and half-floating, half-walking turned downstream. Rawlins had already cautioned Tom to keep close to his side and to hold to his hand, for, with the mud stirred up by their feet and carried by the current with them, it was impossible to see more than a few feet and Rawlins knew the danger that lay in becoming separated.
Even with the radio connecting them with the boys on the surface Tom might easily get confused and hopelessly lost if he strayed or was carried from sight of Rawlins and while Tom knew that, by turning on more oxygen, he could bob to the surface, yet danger lurked in this as he might emerge in the path of some steamer or motor boat and be run down or torn to pieces with the propellers. As long as they kept close to shore, following the docks and piers, there was no danger, for the only vessels in the vicinity were canalboats and barges which were not in use, the piers for several hundred yards having been used merely for storage and as warehouses for some time. Moreover, by keeping under the docks they were perfectly safe and Rawlins had no intention of going out into the channel with its swift currents and constantly passing tugs, ferryboats and small craft. So, half feeling his way and moving by the diver’s intuitive sixth sense of direction and holding to Tom’s hand, Rawlins moved slowly down the river.
Frank’s words were constantly in their ears and now and then they replied, and somehow to Tom there was a most remarkable sensation of making no progress whatsoever. There was nothing visible by which to gauge their motion and, as the voice through the set continued to sound exactly the same and did not grow fainter with distance, he seemed to be standing still, although exerting himself and constantly stepping or rather pushing himself forward. He was so intent on this and so interested in the novel experience that he scarcely realized that Frank’s voice had suddenly grown faint and was interrupted by an odd buzzing sound which instantlybrought back the memory of the sounds they had heard when listening to the mysterious speaker with their loop aërials. He was just about to speak and ask Frank if he could hear when he felt Rawlins jerk his arm. He floundered forward and the next instant was dragged between the spiles of a dock where the water was dark with shadows.
“What,—what—” he began, but instantly checked his words as a low “Ssh!” from Rawlins reached his ears. Not knowing what had happened or why Rawlins had suddenly acted in this strange manner, confused and bewildered, Tom peered about through the murky water. At first he saw nothing save the surrounding spiles, seeming to move and sway in dim, shadowy forms—the bottom of a canal boat with yard-long streamers of sea weeds waving from its barnacle-encrusted planks; a piece of trailing, rusty cable; a few rotting, water-soaked timbers protruding from the mud; and a shapeless mass which might have been almost any piece of jetsam cast into the river. Then like phantom shapes, so indistinct, hazy and formless that he was not sure they were not shadows in the water, he saw two figures—two movingthings that, for a brief instant, he thought must be huge, dull-green fish nosing about the mud. And then, as he gazed fixedly at them from between the spiles, a strange unreasoning fear clutched at his heart and he felt an odd, prickly sensation on his scalp and at the back of his neck, for the moving, sinister, unnatural things were approaching, moving noiselessly, slowly, but certainly towards him as though they had scented his presence and were bent on hunting him out.
What were they? What strange, unknown, impossible sea monsters were these? He was frightened, shaking, and in his terror had forgotten completely about the radio outfit. Glad, indeed, was Tom that Rawlins was beside him, that the diver was armed—for Rawlins, he knew, never went down without a hatchet in his belt ready for use in case of an emergency such as fouling a rope or timber. But why didn’t Rawlins speak? Why had he ordered him to be silent? The sea monsters could not hear; what was the reason?
And then, so suddenly that it came as a shock, he realized that the approaching forms, the grotesque shapes, were no sea creatures, no gigantic savagefish, but men! Men in diving suits much like their own. Men walking in the odd, half-sprawling, half-floating, forward-leaning posture he knew so well. But great as was Tom’s relief at this discovery his wonderment was doubly increased. Who were they and what were they doing here? Why had Rawlins drawn him into hiding? What did it all mean? Then, just as he was about to disregard Rawlins’ whispered orders and ask, the two figures disappeared. Without reason, without warning, they vanished from sight as if by magic.
So dumbfounded was Tom that involuntarily he uttered an ejaculation of surprise and fairly jumped when, faint but clear, he heard Frank ask, “What’s that you said?”
But before he could reply, Rawlins was speaking. “Come on!” he whispered, his voice being as low as if he feared the others might hear and, quite forgetting that he was under water, cut off from all conversation with other human beings save the boys. “Come on, I don’t know who they are, but there’s something funny. They’ve got suits like mine and the Lord knows who they are orhow they got ’em. I’m going to find out where they went.”
Slipping between the spiles with their slimy, weed-grown surfaces, Rawlins, holding to Tom’s hand, struggled forward into the lighter water. Beside them rose a dark wall of masonry and reaching this Rawlins proceeded to feel his way along it. Before they had traveled ten feet the diver uttered a sharp ejaculation. Beside them in the wall, loomed a huge, black hole, the mouth of a great sewer.
“They went in here,” whispered Rawlins. “Come on!”
A moment later they were in utter blackness, feeling their way forward along the walls.
And now, very thin and faint, Tom heard Frank’s voice again. “What on earth’s the matter?” he asked. “I haven’t heard a word from you two for five minutes. Can you hear me?”
Tom was about to answer for they were evidently at nearly the limit of receiving range and his mouth opened, his lips formed the words of his reply, but no sound issued from them. Clear, loud and harsh, guttural words rang in Tom’s ears.This was not Frank’s voice nor Henry’s; the words were not even English. Amazed and uncomprehending Tom was speechless and then, among the incomprehensible foreign syllables, came a word he recognized, the one word “Oleander!”
Instantly he knew that by some strange freak, by some mystifying coincidence he was again hearing that unknown man to whom he had so often listened. It seemed strange, weird, uncanny to have it coming to his ears here in the old disused sewer, but after all, he reflected, why not? Rawlins had heard it once before, there was nothing remarkable about it and he was on the point of asking his companion if he had heard and of trying to tell Frank, when once more his words were stayed. Before him the stygian darkness suddenly grew light, a brilliant beam stabbed down from overhead and through the strangely illuminated water Tom saw the two men in diving suits standing beneath a square opening down which a ladder was being thrust. But why, he vaguely wondered, was the water so transparent? How was it that he could now see clearly for many yards? And then, with a start, it dawned upon him that he was not lookingthrough water, that there was nothing between him and the trap save air. He was standing with head and shoulders out of water.
And now the gruff, guttural words were once more beating in his ears and the next instant he saw the strange divers seize a dangling rope, tipped with a great iron hook, dip it under the water and then, as the hook again ascended, he saw a dripping, cigar-shaped object like a torpedo slowly rise from the water and disappear in the opening above. Close behind it the two divers followed up the ladder, the ladder was drawn up, the light snapped out and the next instant Tom and Rawlins were once more in absolute darkness.
“What does it all mean?” exclaimed Tom, finding his voice at last.
“What does what—” commenced Frank’s voice, only to be overwhelmed and drowned out by Rawlins’ louder words.
“Search me!” replied the latter. “Something rotten going on here. Don’t know what, but I intend to find out. Did you hear them talking?”
“Hear them?” replied Tom not understanding. “Of course not. But I heard that same chap youheard the other day—talking Dutch or something.”
“That was them!” announced Rawlins decidedly. “Tom, they’ve got under-sea radio, too. It’s those chaps we’ve been hearing, I’m beginning to get it. That word Oleander. That’s a password—a countersign. Just as soon as they spoke it the door opened. There’s some deep mystery here. What the deuce that torpedolike affair was I don’t know. Perhaps they’re trying to blow up some building. This sewer is under a busy part of the city. Hear those trucks and surface cars overhead?”
Absolutely dumbfounded, heedless of Frank’s insistent but weak voice in his ears, striving to grasp all this astounding statement of Rawlins’, Tom stood speechless for a moment. And then an idea flashed through his mind.
“Gosh!” he exclaimed. “Say, Mr. Rawlins, they’ll find us. If they’ve got radio they can hear us too! Say, perhaps they’re listening to us now. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Rawlins’ surprised whistle came shrilly to Tom’s ears.
“You’re right!” replied the diver. “We’re ina dangerous place. Come on. Let me go first.”
Crowding past Tom, Rawlins hurried as fast as the constantly deepening water and the darkness would permit and presently, though to Tom it seemed hours, a lighter space appeared ahead and a few moments later they once more were standing at the bottom of the river.
They had turned to retrace their steps towards their own dock and were following along the old wall when once more they were halted in their tracks. Again to their ears, borne to them by the radio waves, came the harsh foreign words.
So close did the words sound in their ears that instinctively, without stopping to think that the speakers might be hundreds of feet or even yards distant, the two crouched back in a recess of the masonry, flattening themselves against the slime-covered, weed-draped stones and gazing apprehensively towards the spot where the old sewer pierced the wall.
As they crouched there, Frank’s voice was taking on a frightened tone and Tom could now hear it much more plainly. But Tom’s mind was filled with the danger of being discovered and he scarcely dared reply, for somehow, although there was no foundation for his fears, he was filled with a terrible dread of these under-sea workers, these unknown mysterious divers who had lifted the ominous-looking metal cylinder through the trapdoor in the disused sewer. That, even if they heard him and his friends, they could not trail them or locate them under water never occurred to him. In fact, he had quite forgotten that he and Rawlins were under water or were as invisible to others a few yards away as other objects were to them. He felt as though he could be as easily seen as if on land, and that, if he spoke, his words would at once betray his whereabouts.But he also realized that Frank’s voice could be heard by others as well as by himself and so, steeling himself to the effort, he called back, “It’s all right. Don’t worry. Stop talking and listen.”
Instantly, Frank’s voice ceased and Tom drew a breath of relief and then he gulped and pressed close to Rawlins, for before him in the water, as if attracted by the sounds of his voice, the two dim forms of the strange divers once more appeared. For a space they remained motionless as though listening and perspiration broke out on Tom’s forehead and chills ran up and down his spine as he heard distinctly the sounds of low-toned words in the same guttural tongue, and he was certain, positive, that his voice had been heard, that the others were striving to locate him, and that at any moment Frank or Henry might become curious or impatient and speak. In his terrified mind he could picture those big, sickly green, distorted beings creeping towards him, their wide-flung arms waving uncertainly like the tentacles of a huge octopus as they lurched forward; he could imagine the fixed, expressionless stare of those great goggle-eyed glassesin the squat neckless helmets and, as the current caused light and shadow to waver and change, the figures seemed actually moving towards his hiding place.
It was terrible; he no longer thought of them as fellow men, no longer looked upon them as human beings; his fears had transformed them to submarine monsters, weird, uncanny, intelligent but bloodthirsty creatures, and so great was the tension, so fearful the vision conjured up by his overwrought imagination that he would have screamed had his mouth not been parched and dry and incapable of uttering a sound. It was like a nightmare, a dream in which one is powerless to move or to cry out; where one cannot compel muscles or mind to function; where one feels that it cannot be real, cannot be possible and yet is filled with sweating, blood-curdling terror that it is. And then, after what seemed hours of torture, but was barely ten seconds from the time the men had emerged from the sewer, their voices ceased and to Tom’s inexpressible relief they appeared to fade into the murky green water. They were moving away, soundlessly, mysteriously, without visible effort,and Tom noticed with his fright-filled eyes that above them was poised an indistinct, cigar-shaped object, the same torpedolike affair he had seen lifted from the sewer, and he realized that somehow, by some means, the men were dragging this along with them into the dim, green distance.
He was aroused by Rawlins’ whisper and a touch on his arm.
“I’m going to follow,” were the barely audible words. “No danger. Must see where they go. Come on.”
Recovering from his fright, now that the divers were retreating, and rather reassured by the sound of his companion’s voice and words Tom moved forward from the wall but still grasping Rawlins’ hand.
They could not see the figures before them, for the muck stirred up by the others’ passage concealed them as effectually as a smoke screen, but it also served to betray their whereabouts and to conceal Tom and Rawlins as well. For some distance—several hundred yards Tom thought—they moved along, following close to the wall that bounded the shore and ever with the slowly driftingcolumn of muddy water to guide them.
Once or twice the murk seemed to drift away, and each time Rawlins instantly halted, waiting to see if those they were trailing had come to a stop, but each time the mud again rose before them and they resumed their way.
Tom had no idea of the distance or direction they had traveled. The effort he made to walk was his only guide and he knew that the same effort, the same number of steps on land, would have carried him a long way, but he also knew that under water his progress was snail-like, that a step might carry one a few inches or several feet or not at all, depending upon the current, and he wondered vaguely if Rawlins knew his way, if he could find his way back, or if he intended to bob to the surface to get his bearings when he finally decided to return to the dock. And Tom smiled to himself as he pictured the looks of surprise, the screams of fright which would greet their unexpected and sudden appearance if Rawlins did this and they should bob up beside some crowded recreation pier or ferry ship. But Rawlins had halted again.
Before them now the mud was thinning out, the water was being swept clear of silt and Rawlins drew Tom beside him behind a huge block of stone which had been dumped at the base of the wall. Slowly and gradually the water cleared. It was evident that those they were following were no longer stirring up the mud and so must have come to a stop and, as the sediment drifted off and the dim green light filtered through the water, Tom peered into the vast illimitable void. It was like looking through thick green glass or like glass made half-opaque by one’s breath upon it and for a time Tom could see nothing. Then, as the water became still clearer, he saw the faint outlines of timbers and spiles and a dark object looming ominously, like a cloud, which he recognized as the bottom of some vessel. Against the lighter water over his head, a shadow passed and the greenness quivered and wavered and he knew a small boat was being rowed above them; but no sign could he see of those they had been following.
Then Tom noticed something else, something that rose above the dark bottom of the river as a darker mass, something that resembled a greatbank of mud or a reef of rock. Irregular in outline, dark green as seen through the water, unlike anything he had ever seen, yet somehow it had a vaguely familiar look; it did not seem quite like mud or rock of any natural formation, but rather like some sort of boat. Yes, that was it—like the hull of a boat—it reminded him of a picture of a sunken wreck. Perhaps it was. Yes, now that the thought had entered his head, he could see that it was a wreck; he could make out the stump of a mast, the remains of deck houses, something like portions of rails. But what was it doing here? Why should a sunken hulk be lying in the East River? Of course it was out of the channel, it was lying partly beneath a dock or pier and Tom noticed that the spiles of the pier sagged and that several were broken off under water. Evidently the pier was an old one, perhaps disused, and maybe the old hulk had been sunk during some fire which had destroyed the pier at the same time.
All these thoughts flashed through Tom’s mind as he peered into the dim greenness and then all were wiped from his brain as he caught a glimpseof the two divers moving from among the spiles. Tom was as much at sea as ever as to the distances under water. He could not tell whether the wreck was fifty or five hundred feet away. He was not at all sure that, if he reached out, he could not touch the old hulk or even the moving forms. The next moment the two had reached the side of the wreck and then, to Tom’s amazement, they seemed to disappear within it, to step through the sides as though it were only a shadow in the water.
“Gosh,” he ejaculated unconsciously, “they went into that wreck!”
“Wreck!” came Rawlins’ whispered words. “Wreck! That’s no wreck. That’s a submarine. That’s their hangout!”
So absolutely thunderstruck was Tom at Rawlins’ words that he could not even reply. But now he saw that what he had mistaken for a waterlogged sunken hulk was indeed an under-sea boat, a submarine and a big one. He had never seen a submarine except from above water before. He had no idea how such a craft would appear under water. He did not realize that the narrow deck almost awash, the tiny superstructure and conningtower which are all the landsman sees are but a very small portion of a submarine’s whole; that out of sight, and never exposed above the surface of the sea, is a big boat-shaped hull with rudders and propellers; that the cigar-shaped Jules Verne type of submersible so familiar in fiction is not a thing of fact; and that the modern submarine if seen under water might easily be mistaken for an ordinary vessel’s hull.
It was not at all surprising therefore that Tom had mistaken the submerged craft for the hulk of a steamer or ship, for submarines were the last thing in his mind and no one would have dreamed of seeing one here beneath the surface of the East River.
Now, however, Tom could see that what he had mistaken for the stump of a mast was the conning tower; what he had thought were shattered deck houses and rails were the superstructure; and he could now even make out the lateral horizontal rudders and the vertical rudder and screws.
But this made the mystery still greater. It was even more wonderful to find a submarine here than a sunken vessel. Of course, Tom knewthere were plenty of the navy’s submarines forever knocking about, and for an instant it occurred to him that it was one of these engaged in making some test and that the divers whom they had seen were members of the boat’s crew.
Then instantly he remembered the men had spoken in a foreign tongue, that they had carried a mysterious object to the trapdoor in the sewer, and that they had taken the same or a duplicate object from the sewer.
It was all inexplicable, puzzling, unfathomable.
Rawlins’ voice recalled him to the present.
“They’ve gone,” said the diver. “I want to find out who and what she is. You stay here. I’ll be away only a moment.”
As he spoke, he released Tom’s hand and with a final caution for the boy not to follow or move away, Rawlins floundered towards the submarine.
Interestedly Tom watched him. He noticed that Rawlins did not stir up the mud and then, for the first time, he discovered that the bottom was hard and sandy. Somehow all sense of fear and danger had left him. How foolish he had been, to be sure! No doubt, he thought to himself, it wasthe unexpected appearance of the men and their grotesque forms which had aroused his imagination. There was Rawlins, still moving away and looking as terrible and awesome as had the others—even more so, if anything, with his proboscis-like helmet topped by its grid and the container on his shoulders giving him the appearance of being humpbacked.
He wondered how far the submarine was from where he stood. Rawlins now seemed close to it and yet he could not possibly tell whether his friend was really near to the craft or not. It was all most interesting, most baffling and most unreal and dreamlike. He wondered what Frank and Henry would think of his long silence. He wondered if they could hear him or he could hear them. Surely there would be no danger in speaking now. Even if those in the submarine heard him they could not tell whether it was some one under or above the water who was speaking. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? There neverhadbeen any danger. Of course, if these men had under-sea radio they must hear messages from those on land as well as the boys.
In that case they would never have had suspicions if they had overheard the boys’ conversation. They would never dream that others possessed the apparatus and would have assumed that the speakers were on shore. There was no danger; he was sure of it, and he was about to call to Frank when his attention was arrested by Rawlins’ actions.
Tom had been idly watching him and had seen him reach the submarine. He had seen Rawlins moving around the craft, evidently examining it, and he had lost sight of him as Rawlins had slipped around the blunt bow. But now Rawlins suddenly appeared, backing into view, waving his arms to maintain his balance and floundering. And he held something in one hand, something that he waved menacingly above his head, some object that glittered even in the dull, subdued, green light.
For the space of a second, Tom was puzzled and then he knew. It was Rawlins’ hatchet! Something or some one was attacking him and scarcely had this knowledge flashed through Tom’s mind when, from behind the submarine, the two figures appeared, clutching arms pawing at the water as if swimming, bodies bent far forward, their every attitude,every motion betokening speed, speaking of straining efforts to come within reach of Rawlins, despite his threatening, keen-edged hatchet.
Wildly excited, filled with deadly fear, terrorized at Rawlins’ plight as was Tom, yet through his mind ran the thought, the subconscious feeling, that it was all unreal—a dream or a delusion. It was unspeakably and inexpressibly uncanny to see the three men evidently exerting every effort and yet moving so silently and slowly, seeming to float like weightless bodies in some semi-transparent, green medium. It reminded Tom of a slow motion picture—one of the films where a man or a horse, leaping a hurdle, appears to float lightly as a bit of thistledown through the air—and watching, the boy was fascinated. But only for the briefest moment.
Scarcely had the three come within Tom’s view when Rawlins stumbled over an upjutting stub of spiling, the hatchet flew from his hand and before he could half rise the others were upon him.
At this, the spell was broken. Tom screamed aloud and the next instant, like a voicefrom another sphere, he heard Frank speaking.
“What is the matter, Tom? What’s wrong?” came in troubled, worried tones. “Whydidyou yell?”
Here then was help. They were still within reach of those ashore and in terse, excited, fear-wrung tones Tom answered.
“Help! Send for help!” he yelled, entirely forgetting that no one knew where he was or where to send help even if help could have reached them there under the river.
“It’s awful!” he continued. “Two men—divers—from a submarine—fighting with Mr. Rawlins! They’re attacking him—struggling with him! Get Dad, get the police!”
Then, faint and as from a vast distance, he heard Frank’s voice calling excitedly for Mr. Pauling’s telephone number. He knew his chum was summoning aid and he sat rigid, watching with staring eyes the struggle taking place beneath the river. Rawlins had arisen; by a tremendous effort he had flung aside one man, but the other was grappling with him, fighting desperately, and as Tom saw something flash in the water above the strugglingmen’s heads he realized that the stranger held a knife.
Now they had drawn closer, they were some distance from the submarine and the very instant Tom noticed this a wild cry of alarm rang in his ears.
At the sound, Tom saw one man start to plunge towards the under-sea boat, and to the boy’s astonishment he saw that the craft was moving and was slipping rapidly from its resting place. Although the man struggled desperately to reach it he might as well have stood still, for scarcely did Tom realize that the submarine was under way ere it was a mere shadow and a second later had faded into the murky green.
And now Tom saw that Rawlins was the aggressor, the man who had been chasing the submarine was swaying drunkenly, whirling in a half-circle, his arms waving helplessly, while his companion had broken away from Rawlins and was standing, with hands upraised, and backing slowly away from the latter who leaned towards him with the other’s knife in his hand.
“Kamarad!” Tom heard in thick tones.“Kamarad!” and the boy’s heart jumped as he heard the words of surrender, the words which had become so familiar to thousands of men in the trenches, and Tom, with a shock of surprise, realized that the divers were Germans.
Now he could hear Rawlins’ words, spoken as if to himself or as if he thought the others could hear.
“Yes, you dirty skunk!” Tom caught. “I’ll tell the world you’ll surrender. All right, right about face and forward march and no nonsense or I’ll puncture that suit and your hide under it.”
And then Tom’s brain had another sudden jolt. Of course the German could hear. Of course Rawlins had heard his cry of surrender. What a dolt he had been! They had radio sets, they could hear everything that was said as readily as he could. That was why they had given up the fight, yes that was it, that was why the submarine had cleared out. They had heard his cry for help, had heard him tell Frank to summon police. How could they know that their whereabouts was not known, that it was mere chance that he and Rawlins had stumbled upon them? No doubt they imagined they had been watched, trailed and surrounded and thesubmarine, rather than run the risk of being captured, had deserted the two men at the first sound of alarm being given. It was all clear to Tom now. The battle was over. Rawlins was victorious, the men were his prisoners. Now Rawlins was speaking again and Tom saw that the second man was being half-dragged along by his fellow. But Rawlins’ words aroused Tom to instant activity.
“Are you all right, Tom?” asked Rawlins. “Come over here. We need a hand. This chap’s hurt somehow. Can’t get an answer out of him. Short circuited or something. We’ve got to get him out somehow.”
Lunging forward, Tom bumped into Rawlins before he had taken six steps and gave a startled exclamation. Was it possible the fight had taken place so close? But he had no time to think on this matter. The second man was helpless, dead, as far as appearances went, and Rawlins, stooping quickly, cut the lead-soled boots from his feet.
Thus relieved of the weights, the body partly floated and with Tom holding to one arm and the captured man grasping the other, while Rawlinskept a hand on Tom and directed the way, the strange under-sea procession floundered through the water, along the wall, past the black sewer mouth and towards Rawlins’ dock.
And now Tom again heard Frank’s voice.
“Where are you?” it asked. “Your father’s coming. How can they find you? Are you all right?”
“Everything’s all right,” answered Tom. “We’re coming back. Be there soon!”
Hardly a minute later, Tom saw the familiar piers near their own dock. He had thought they had wandered far, but they had not been two hundred yards distant at any time. A moment later, they reached the foot of the ladder.
Telling Tom to go up, Rawlins half lifted the unconscious man and with a gruff warning to his fellow started to mount the rungs. Evidently the words were heard by the anxious, waiting boys above, for Tom heard Frank’s shout of joy and he called back as he drew himself towards the open trap.
But before his head emerged from the water, a crash like thunder sounded in his ears, there wasa sound of tramping, hurrying footsteps, shouts and cries and Tom’s brain reeled. What was happening? Had the men’s confederates learned of their capture? Were their fellows breaking into the laboratory to rescue them? Were the ruffians wreaking vengeance on Frank and Henry?
As the confused sounds, the crash, the tramp of rushing feet, the excited men’s voices and Frank’s high-pitched tones came dimly to Tom’s ears, a deadly sickening fear swept over him. Had they escaped the men from the submarine only to fall into the clutches of their confederates?
He had been under a tremendous strain, he had been terribly frightened, his heart had been almost bursting with excitement and he had been under water for much longer than ever before. The combination was too much for him. His head swam, he reeled, swayed; fiery sparks and flashes seemed to dance before his eyes; he felt a numbness stealing over him. Wildly he clutched at the ladder in a last despairing effort and seemed sinking, slowly, softly into a vast billowy void.
He opened his eyes and uttered a surprised cry.He was lying on the floor of the laboratory and his father, anxious-eyed, was bending over him while close at hand were Frank, Henry and Rawlins. Beyond and as a confused mass Tom’s eyes saw blue-clad figures and with a start he rose to a sitting posture.
“Gosh!” he exclaimed, staring about and for the moment not comprehending. “What’s the matter, Dad? What’s happened?”
“Are you all right, Tom?” asked Mr. Pauling. “We got you just in time. You fainted just as you reached the ladder top. Don’t you remember?”
Tom’s senses had now fully returned.
“Yes, Dad,” he replied. “I do now. Did Mr. Rawlins tell you about it? Gee! Wedidhave a time! Are those men here?”
“Safe and sound, Tom!” Mr. Henderson’s voice assured him. “That is, one of ’em is. The other’s in bad shape.”
“Yes, Rawlins told us something of what happened,” put in his father as Tom rose unsteadily to his feet. “Look out, Son! You’re weak yet. Sit down or you’ll go off again.”
Leaning on his father’s arm, Tom staggered tothe proffered chair and dropped weakly into it. Then he gazed about the room and at the crowd of men within it.
His father and Mr. Henderson, Rawlins, Frank and Henry were there. Near-by, was a strange, heavy-jawed man and beyond, near the door, were half a dozen policemen. But where were the two divers they had captured under the river? Then Tom saw that a heavily built, tow-headed man stood between two of the blue coats, his hands manacled and a sullen glare in his piglike eyes while, half hidden beyond two stooping men, was a form stretched upon the floor. But before he could form a question his father was giving quick sharp orders to the men.
“Get the Navy Yard!” he commanded, and as the heavy-jawed man jumped to the telephone, he snapped out: “Tell the commandant that Pauling’s speaking.” Then, before the operator had even asked the number, Mr. Pauling was uttering commands to the police. “Leave a couple of men here to guard the prisoners and get over to that block quick as you can. Get all available men you can pick up. Draw a cordon around it and don’tlet any one in or out. Take my car! It’s up to you fellows to nab this bunch—if they haven’t got wise. On the jump now, Reilly! Take every one and everything that seems suspicious! Get me?”
Even before his last word rang out the policemen were hurrying towards the street, and an instant later, Tom heard the roar of their motor and the clang of their bell as the patrol dashed off.
“Navy Yard on the wire!” announced the man at the phone and Mr. Pauling grabbed the receiver.
“This is Pauling!” he announced shortly. “That you, Admiral? All right! Got important matter.”
Then, to Tom’s amazement, his father broke into the most utter gibberish, calling out a confused but rapid list of figures and words.
“That’s done!” he exclaimed, as he slammed back the receiver and turned towards Tom. “There’ll be a dozen destroyers and chasers combing the sea for that sub within fifteen minutes.” Then, with a different note in his voice, he asked, “Do you feel all right, Son?”
As Tom answered, his father turned towards the men bending above the figure on the floor. “Comehere when you have a chance, Doctor,” he called. “Want you to have a look at my boy.”
At his words, one of the men rose and hurried to Tom’s side.
“Had a close call, my boy!” he exclaimed, as he took Tom’s wrist and drew out his watch. “Good thing Rawlins fixed up these suits so you couldn’t inhale flames. Different case with that chap yonder. He’s in bad shape. Trying to fix him up to get him to hospital. Afraid there’s no hope for him though! Oh, you’re O. K. Fit as a fiddle! Pulse fine! Nothing wrong with him, Pauling. Just a bit of nerves, I expect, and strain of being down too long.”
Hurrying from Tom’s side he again devoted himself to the injured man.
Things were moving so rapidly that Tom was dazed and was striving his best to gather his wits together and to understand all that was taking place. Mr. Henderson and Rawlins were talking earnestly in low tones, but Tom could not hear a word they said and was busy replying to his father’s, Henry’s and Frank’s questions and plying them with queries in turn.
Presently Rawlins and Mr. Henderson rose and as the former came to Tom’s side the other strode across the room and, facing the prisoner, stared fixedly into his face.
“I guess you’re all right, Tom,” said Rawlins, the tone of his voice betraying far more solicitude than was conveyed by his words. “You’re some kid, I’ll tell the world! You’ll be famous if you don’t watch out. Say, old man, I’m mighty sorry I kept you down so long. Never thought about you not being accustomed to it. I was so darned interested in that sub and those men I forgot about the danger to you, Tom. And say, Mr. Henderson thinks we’ve made some haul! I’ve been telling him the whole yarn—the Dutch talk and all the rest. Henderson thinks he recognizes that Hun we brought up and sees a big plot behind all this. Too bad the other fellow got flames and can’t talk. Your radio’s all to the mustard, I’ll say!”
At this moment Mr. Henderson’s voice interrupted them. As he had stared searchingly but silently at the prisoner the latter’s shifty eyes had fallen and he shuffled his feet uneasily. Then,without warning and so suddenly Tom and the others jumped, Henderson snapped out:
“Open your mouth!”
So unexpected was the command that the prisoner, long trained to instant and implicit obedience to orders, involuntarily threw back his head opened his enormous mouth.
“Thought so!” ejaculated Mr. Henderson and then, even before the surprised man’s jaws closed, he yanked aside the fellow’s denim shirt exposing the hairy freckled chest with a livid white scar diagonally across it.
“That’s enough!” snapped out Mr. Henderson. Then, addressing Tom’s father he remarked, “It’s he, Pauling. No question of it. Good day’s work this—thanks to Rawlins’ suits and Tom’s under-sea radio.”
“Wha-what’s it all about?” demanded Tom, absolutely at a loss to grasp the meaning of all the orders, the strange telephone message and Mr. Henderson’s statements. “Whoarethe men andwhatwere they doing?”
“Never mind now,” replied his father. “We’ll get home first. Feel ready to go?”
“Oh, I’m all right now,” declared Tom. “Only a bit tired out.”
“Call for a couple of plain-clothes men to stay here,” Mr. Pauling ordered, turning towards the heavy-jawed man. “Don’t want any one meddling with the instruments. Keep that trap shut and bolted and don’t sleep on the job.”
Then, to the surgeons, “Soon as he comes to and can talk, call me up. If he says anything, write it down. Don’t let any one—any one, mind you—speak with him.”
The surgeon nodded in assent and as the other man again went to the telephone Mr. Pauling and Rawlins half lifted Tom, and, accompanied by Frank, Henry and Mr. Henderson, the party left the workshop. Already the two policemen had left with their prisoner and were pressing through a curious crowd which had gathered outside and which was held in check by more stalwart, blue-coated men.
“Gosh! you’ve got the whole of the New York police here!” exclaimed Tom.
“Not quite that,” laughed his father, “but Henderson surely did call enough of them. Guessthey thought we were going to raid a liner.”
“Well, you didn’t name any limit,” replied Mr. Henderson chuckling. “You said ‘call the police’ and I called ’em. Might as well be on the safe side, you know.”
As Mr. Pauling helped Tom into Mr. Henderson’s car he saw the man whom Rawlins had captured in his spectacular battle under the river being shoved into a patrol wagon.
“Do tell me who he is,” begged Tom. “Is he a German spy?”
His father laughed. “You’ve forgotten the war’s over and done with and there are no spies,” he replied. “No, my boy, he’s not even a German. But you’ll have to wait a bit before I can tell you anything more.”
“Well, where did you send those policemen, then?” asked Tom. “You can tell me that.”
Mr. Pauling’s eyes twinkled. “They’ve gone to get your phantom radio man,” he replied. “Henderson’s men couldn’t find him before, but I’ll wager we located him this time. You see, Reilly happened to know about that old sewer and he says it runs under the block where you located thesender of those odd messages. Henderson thinks if he finds one he’ll find the other. We’ll run around past there and see if anything is happening.”
As Frank and Henry crowded into the little car, the boys saw a stretcher bearing a shrouded form being carried from their workshop to an ambulance, and the next moment they were moving slowly through the crowd which reluctantly made way before the insistent screams of the horn.
Close behind them came another car with Mr. Henderson and Rawlins and a moment later they were through the crowd and speeding towards the block to which Mr. Pauling had dispatched the police.
As they swung around a corner they saw a surging, densely packed throng blocking the street, while from beyond came the sounds of shouts and cries. Above the heads of the people the boys could see the glaring brass and shining paint of two patrol cars and, moving here and there, rising and falling as if tossed about upon a troubled sea, the low-visored, flat-topped caps of policemen.
“Can’t get through there!” declared Mr. Pauling,as his horn screeched and fell on unheeding ears. “Looks like a riot!”
Mr. Henderson had leaped from his car and was beside them. “Guess the men found something,” he remarked. “I’ll push through and see what’s up.”