BY PERCY F. WESTERMAN

image: 25_downwards.jpg

[Illustration: "Good shot!" yelled several of the officers on theOlive Branch. For a full ten seconds the monoplane held on its course, then, lurching like a wounded bird, it swooped swiftly downwards.]

"Inquisitiveness is one of the traits of the American character, sir."

"That I can make allowance for. But why didn't he come straight to me with his request?" Just then Flew, who was promenading the port side of the quarter-deck in company of Lieutenant Palmer, came abreast of the spot where the captain and Gerald were talking. In response to a sign from Captain Brookes the airman crossed the deck.

"How long will it take to get your motor tuned up, Mr. Flew?" asked the captain.

"A couple of hours; why?"

"See yonder land? It is the coast of Syria. I would suggest, Mr. Flew, that you continue your tour from this point. The Syrian and Palestine littoral will no doubt be interesting to you, and, as we are shortly bound for the eastern part of the Mediterranean, this favourable opportunity cannot lightly be ignored."

Captain Brookes spoke genially, but there was a veiled command that the airman could not fail to detect.

"Very good, sir," he replied deferentially. "I guess I'll quit right here."

As a matter of fact the work of assembling the monoplane and adjusting the motor was performed in less than an hour and a half, during which time theOlive Branchwas running southward at an easy ten knots, keeping a course parallel to the Syrian coast.

"All ready now, sir."

"Then nip below and have some refreshment. By the bye, is this distance too great for your flight to land?"

"Not at all, sir."

"Will you require any of the stanchions to be cleared away?"

"No, I claim I can rise in the air at a less distance and more obliquely than any other aviator. I guess I'll not scratch the paintwork."

So saying, the airman, accompanied by Lieutenant Palmer, went below, where he remained for over half an hour. When he reappeared he was fully attired for his flight, though, protesting that the heat made the device uncomfortable, he would not inflate his indiarubber suit.

Practically all the officers and crew had assembled to watch his departure, the men crowding as far aft as they dared. Shaking hands with the officers, Sidney P. Flew climbed into his seat above the two air-pontoons. One or two preliminary touches, and like a gigantic hawk he was off, amid the hearty cheers of the crew.

While all eyes were fixed upon the rapidly soaring and receding figure there was a sudden commotion, and Lieutenant Palmer, white-faced and staggering like a drunken man, tottered up the companion.

"Stop him!" he gasped. "He's stolen the wireless reciprocators," and without another word he collapsed upon the quarter-deck.

Captain Brookes was one of the first to recover his composure—if indeed, he had lost it.

"To the conning-tower, Mr. Tregarthen. The Z-rays."

Gerald comprehended these brief orders. By means of the electric fluid the aviator would be brought down as he attempted to cross the zone representing the minimum limit of the rays. It meant a headlong race for'ard, but the crew automatically cleared a path for the young officer, and with the least possible delay he gained the armoured citadel.

Swiftly, yet deliberately, Gerald set the pointers. There was no answering spark. He tried another and yet another square; still no response. The Z-rays apparatus had been tampered with.

Realising the uselessness of investigation at that critical moment, Gerald tore aft and reported the occurrence.

Captain Brookes looked in the direction of the retreating aviator.

"Clear away that 6-pounder."

Quickly the gun was manned and a shining copper and steel cylinder thrust into the breach.

"Four thousand yards," sang out Lieutenant Sinclair, who, without waiting for instructions, had taken the distance by means of his pocket range-finder.

"Fire!"

"Good shot!" yelled several of the officers, carried away by their excitement, as, by the aid of their glasses the missile was seen to burst just above the fugitive.

For a full ten seconds the monoplane held on its course, then, lurching like a wounded bird, it swooped swiftly downwards, striking the water with a terrific splash.

"Full speed ahead. A leadsman in the chains," ordered Captain Brookes as he made his way to the bridge.

A few minutes were sufficient to bring theOlive Branch, with very little way on, immediately over the spot where the aeroplane had disappeared, the airman's cap and one of the inflated floats still marking the scene of the disaster.

The leadsman made a cast, then as he heaved the buoyed log-line overboard he shouted, "Eighty fathoms."

image: chapter_22.jpg[Illustration: CHAPTER XXII]

"CLEAR away the cutter; pipe the creeping party. Three grapnels and the necessary line," ordered Captain Brookes; then turning to his officers he continued: "Before we take steps to sweep for the lost gear an investigation ought to be made. Will you, Mr. Slade, inspect the wireless room and report to me? Mr. White, you will please attend to Mr. Palmer, who evidently needs your services. Pull him together as far as you are able, so that he can give some account of this mystery. Now, Mr. Tregarthen, we'll see what's wrong with the Z-rays apparatus."

The fault in the conning-tower was quickly discovered. A small hole had been drilled in the steel column conveying the wires from the batteries to the indicator-board, and a metal rod had been inserted, thus causing a short circuiting of the current.

The mystery was as deep as ever, for how did the miscreant find time and opportunity to make his way unobserved into the conning-tower and proceed to drill the thick metal standard?

"There's hours of hard work in front of us," declared Captain. Brookes. "The disarrangement of this intricate mechanism is far more serious than one can imagine. Whether the ZZ-rays are similarly affected I cannot tell. We must find a clear field to undertake that experiment. However, we can do nothing more at present, as far as the conning-tower is concerned, so now for Slade's report."

"All the reciprocators are missing, sir, except the Plougastel one," announced Lieutenant Slade. "That happened to be in the instrument."

"Is the receiver damaged?"

"No, sir; at least, I was able to communicate with Plougastel."

"That's something to be thankful for," ejaculated the captain, fervently. "Though the loss of these reciprocators is irreparable. It means that we are cut off from all intelligence except by means of our Brittany agent. And now to interview Mr. Palmer."

"Mr. Palmer is now in a sufficiently normal state to be interrogated, sir," said the surgeon. "He is still suffering from the effects of a narcotic—opium by the symptoms."

"Very good, Mr. White," answered the captain. "I'll see him in his cabin."

Lieutenant Palmer, looking utterly miserable, staggered to his feet and saluted as his captain entered.

"Sit down, Mr. Palmer," said the captain, kindly. "Let me hear what you know of this business."

Captain Brookes took a seat and waited for the lieutenant to pull himself together, giving a hasty, yet comprehensive, glance round the room as he did so. The cabin was small and plainly furnished. In addition to the ordinary "fitments," there was a small indicator on the wall which at present was showing a blue light. This signified that the wireless was not in operation, a red light giving the operator warning that his presence was required in the wireless room.

On the table was a coffee pot and cup and saucer, large draughts of this beverage being beneficial in the treatment of opium poisoning; while on the floor stood a galvanic battery that Dr. White had used to a good purpose.

"Now, Mr. Palmer."

"I'm awfully, sorry, sir."

"So am I, but up to the present you've done nothing to be sorry for as far as I can see. Pray proceed."

"There is very little to say," began the lieutenant, simply. "The Yankee came in to my cabin to say good-bye and offered me a cigarette. I remember taking a few draws, then everything became misty, though I have a dim recollection of the man lifting me over to my bunk. How long I lay there I cannot tell, but somehow or the other I managed to open the port. The cool air revived me, and then I saw that the wireless indicator light was out. Naturally I looked towards the place where the key of the wireless room was kept, but the key was missing. Then I realised that I had been tricked, and rushing on deck to give the alarm, I found that Flew had already started."

"How were the reciprocators secured?"

"There are four of them, each in a smallcylinder, with a steel chain passing through a ring-bolt at one end of each."

"Could they be concealed on his person without being separated?"

"I think so, sir."

"Then that simplifies matters. If he did not sever the chain—and most likely he had no time to do so—they might be grappled for, even if they fell clear during his downward plunge. However, that will do for the present, Mr. Palmer; I'll see how things are progressing on deck."

The cutter had already been launched and was running at a slow speed, barely half a knot, in ever diverging circles around the buoy that marked the spot where the airman had disappeared. Over her stern trailed a stout 3in. rope to which the grapnel was secured.

"What's that place yonder?" asked Stockton, pointing to a distant headland on the Syrian shore, as the two chums stood watching the dragging operations.

"Tripoli," replied Gerald, "so called because it was built simultaneously by the Syrians, Sidonians, and Aradians. It's a pity we can't go ashore there, for the ramshackle old place is full of historic interest. They say there are traces of the siege by the Crusaders early in the twelfth century. It is also—hello, what's happened?"

This ejaculation was occasioned by the sudden stopping of the cutter. Her crew began to haul in the rope, but as soon as the slack was taken up the grapnel obstinately refused to leave the bottom.

"She's fouled something, sir," shouted the lieutenant in charge of the boat.

"What strain have you put on?"

"As much as the rope will stand, sir; we can't get it home another foot."

"Then buoy the rope and haul up the lead," replied Captain Brookes.

The buoy indicating the lead-line was within a few feet of the cutter, and with but little trouble the buoy was transferred from the log-line to the grapnel-rope, and the former was hauled up.

"What have you got?" shouted Captain Brookes, as the heavy weight was lifted over the side of the boat.

Lieutenant Sinclair examined the "arming," or tallow filling the hollow in the base of the lead.

"Looks like iron scales, sir, or something covered with rust."

"Strange substance for the lead to bring up," muttered Captain Brookes; then hailing the boat, "Get out the second grapnel; sound a couple of lengths further out, and report."

The lead was again sent down. This time the cast revealed the presence of a dark ooze at seventy-four fathoms. Then the grapnel was set to work, but after traversing a short distance it became inexplicably entangled in some object. A third grapnel was lost in a similar manner.

"There's something out of the ordinary down below," remarked the captain, as the result of the third dragging operation was announced. "I'm afraid we're beaten."

"One moment, sir."

Captain Brookes turned sharply on his heel and saw Lieutenant Palmer, pale yet self-possessed, standing close to him.

"Well?"

"I'm responsible for this, sir, and I hope to be able to rectify matters. Can I descend in the submarine?"

"The submarine? You must be mad. Do you know the depth? Eighty odd fathoms, representing the tremendous pressure of 224lbs. to the square inch."

"The submarine is tested to 230lbs., sir."

"Much as I esteem your devotion, and much as I value the missing wireless gear, I cannot give my consent."

"Sir, I know the risk, and will take every precaution. With the electric grab there is no need to descend to the extreme depth."

"Mr. Palmer, I know you to be a levelheaded and calculating officer. I'm proud of you. If you will give me your word of honour to work cautiously, I'm willing to withdraw my refusal. Now, pick your crew; five men will be sufficient, and what is more, they must be volunteers, fully acquainted with the risk they are running."

"I'm with you," said Gerald, calmly.

"Thank you," replied Palmer, quietly, holding out his hand, which Tregarthen grasped firmly for a few seconds. It was a simple action, with a wealth of meaning behind it. Both men understood.

The remainder of the volunteer crew were quickly forthcoming. The difficulty was to pick and choose, since every man capable of service in the submarine signified his willingness to take part in the enterprise; but at length Palmer, Tregarthen, and three seamen fell in on the quarter-deck as the heroes of a desperate venture.

image: 26_submarine.jpg

[Illustration: The searchlight revealed a huge circular turret with a pair of monster guns. Slowly the submarine swung round, the light travelling the length of the huge mass of weed-encrusted iron and steel.]

Captain Brookes addressed them in a few words, urging the men to carefully consider the step they were taking.

"You will," he continued, addressing Lieutenant Palmer, "descend for not more than one hour. If at the end of that time thesubmarine does not reappear I must take it for granted that some mishap has befallen you—which Heaven forfend. Meanwhile, all of you will do well to take a quarter of an hour's rest. Should any man, during that interval, think better of his decision, he may withdraw."

When the little crew were dismissed Gerald retired to the seclusion of his cabin. What he did during those fifteen minutes no human being knew, though many hazarded a guess that was not far from the truth.

Then, having shaken hands with his messmates and received their good wishes for the enterprise—though the proceedings savoured of a party of doomed men setting out for execution—the five members of the submarine's crew descended to the orlop deck and entered the vault-like cavity of the steel cylinder.

Hardly a word was spoken during the descent, save when, from time to time, Palmer's voice could be heard speaking slowly and deliberately into the wireless telephone to acquaint theOlive Branchof the submarine's downward progress.

Circling in wide curves the steel monster plunged slowly downwards. Every moment the pale green light that filtered through the sunlit sea grew dimmer, while as the pressure increased the revolution of the propeller became slower and slower.

At thirty-five fathoms the wireless telegraphy became useless, while the darkness became so opaque that the powerful electric searchlight in the conning-tower had to be switched on. By the aid of its gradually diverging beams Gerald could see a waste of water, boundless, trackless, lifeless. Sixty fathoms. The motor was running most abominably, emitting long sparks as the increased resistance of the water strove to stop the already slow-running propeller-blades.

"What's that?" hissed Palmer, pointing to a thick, indefinite line intercepting the rays of the searchlight.

Gerald looked, then thrusting the vessel's rudder over slightly, he allowed the submarine to glide past the obstruction.

"It's one of the grapnel lines."

"Impossible!"

"Yes, you've forgotten the magnifying power of the water. It shows we are not far out of our course."

"All right down there, Halliday?"

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Inform me the moment there's any sign of the plates yielding."

"Very good, sir."

The seaman was perfectly cool. Implicitly he trusted the two officers in the conning-tower, though he knew that now at any moment the massive steel structure might be crushed like an egg-shell by the tremendous weight of water without.

Suddenly, at sixty-five fathoms, Palmer seized the reversing lever and brought the forward motors of the craft to a standstill. Both he and Gerald saw a sight that filled them with nameless awe.

It was as if the submarine was heading straight for the summit of a mountain—a mountain of weed and barnacles covering an object that was not the work of Nature—it was the work of man.

Slowly the submarine swung round, her searchlight travelling the length of that mass of rusty, weed-encrusted iron and steel. Now the beams played upon a gaping gunport, its weapon still thrust aggressively forward, as if to repel an attack from above. Now the searchlight revealed a huge circular turret with a pair of monster guns; while beyond towered the fragments of a shattered bridge still carrying its silent semaphores.

Then, faintly outlined in the feeble ray, could be discovered a pair of funnels, both tottering through decay and held in position solely by the stout wire guys; while like a phantom could be traced the outlines of a mast with two military tops.

Already the submarine had gathered stern-way and was backing away from the threatening embraces of the shattered gear that surrounded the wreck, and as the vision faded slowly from their view both officers exclaimed simultaneously:—

"TheVictoria!"

The two men had seen the melancholy relic of a disaster that, though it occurred twenty years ago, is still regarded as one of the most terrible that has ever overtaken the British Navy. Hidden from mortal eyes ever since the fatal day when the Camperdown rammed her, the Victoria lay in eighty fathoms of water, and now, by the wildest of coincidences, the submarine of theOlive Branchhad descended nearly on top of the wreck of the ill-fated ship.

"If the reciprocators have fallen amongst that tangle they are hopelessly lost," remarked Lieutenant Palmer, indicating the position in which the wreck lay.

"That's what the grapnels fouled," added Gerald. "However, as the aeroplane sank its planes would doubtless cause it to describe a spiral-like motion. We may as well investigate all round the wreck. Have we backed sufficiently to turn?"

"I think so," replied Palmer, and ordering half-speed ahead, he thrust the helm hard over.

Seventy-five fathoms; only thirty feet from the bed of the sea. The searchlight was deflected till the lower sector of the ray was intercepted by the blunt nose of the submarine, while the light was of sufficient intensity to cast a faint luminosity over the wilderness of ooze that formed the floor of this marine desert.

"She's standing it all right," exclaimed Palmer, cheerfully. "Not a sign of a weak spot."

"Yes, it's safe enough, I think. Now, keep a sharp look-out."

The elevating planes were now turned to an almost horizontal position, barely sufficient to counteract the small reserve of buoyancy preserved by the submarine; and eddying in great circles the huge steel craft pursued her voyage of exploration.

The searchlight revealed a place of utter desolation. No trailing seaweed served to remind the men of the wonderful submarine pictures that artists love to depict; only a vast field of dark mud, surmounted by fathoms of practically opaque water.

Gerald feared for the success of their search in that maze of trackless ooze, for without a mark from which they might take their bearings the submarine must eventually wander far from the spot where she had descended. He glanced at his watch, it showed a quarter to five. That meant that in another twenty-five minutes the submarine must reach the surface, or Captain Brookes would imagine that some disaster had befallen them.

"How's the air below there?" sang out the officer in charge.

"All serene, sir; the mice are quite chirpy," replied one of the seamen.

"You had better be on the safe side and release a little more oxygen," continued Palmer. "Then stand by with the grapnel."

The grapnel was secured to the outside of the submarine, whence by means of an electric wire it could be lowered and engaged with the object to be salved. Its length was not sufficient to allow the possibility of fouling either the planes or the propeller.

"All ready, sir."

At that moment Gerald's quick eye caught sight of a mass of twisted aluminium bars and canvas. It was the monoplane.

Wedged between the framework was a long, thin object covered with a greyish material. The two officers could hardly recognise the body of the treacherous and ill-starred aviator.

Overcoming their feelings of horror the two men looked for the missing reciprocators. The submarine was now brought to a standstill, her keel resting on the ooze, while her searchlight played straight upon the victim of the tragedy.

"There they are, I believe; do you see those bulges under his coat?" exclaimed Palmer.

"It certainly seems so," replied Gerald. "Now, what do you propose to do?"

"Rise right over the aeroplane, engage the grapnel, and blow the ballast tank."

"Mind you don't overrun it, and get the propeller fouled," continued Tregarthen.

"I'll try not to. Now, here goes."

Slowly the submarine began to rise; the grapnel was dropped, and with an almost imperceptible jar the implement became entangled in the wreck of the monoplane.

"Easy ahead."

The motors, running jerkily in their endeavour to overcome the pressure of water on the propeller-blades, were gradually advanced to their utmost capacity, but still the submarine remained anchored to the bottom of the sea, till with a succession of sharp jerks the little craft wallowed helplessly in the ooze.

"Blow the for'ard ballast tank," ordered Palmer, calmly. "She'll rise like a bird."

Two of the men hastened to pump out the tank, but so great was the outside pressure that they were unable to expel the water. On the contrary, a slender stream hissed through the glands of the pumps with terrific force. One of the seamen, struck full in the face by the jet of water, was hurled against the arched sides of the vessel.

"Belay there!" exclaimed the commander, seeing that more harm than good was likely to result; then turning to Gerald he whispered, "Now, what's to be done?"

"Reverse the planes and try running the engine at full speed astern," suggested Tregarthen, now fully alive to the seriousness of their position.

For a few seconds it seemed as if this manoeuvre would prove successful, though the water hissed through the tightly packedpropeller shafting as the blades went astern. Then, with a decided swoop, the submarine returned to her muddy bed.

"That's done it!" exclaimed Palmer, gloomily. "We've lost our slight reserve of buoyancy; don't say a word to discourage the men, but I fear it's all up."

Gerald did not reply. Mechanically he pulled out his watch; it was twenty minutes over the hour.

(To be continued)

image: 27_conflict.jpg

[Illustration: The four men threw themselves on the astonished foreigners, and a desperate conflict ensued.] [See page486.

image: 12_instalment_image.png[Illustration: sixth instalment]BY PERCY F. WESTERMANAuthor of "A Lad of Grit," etc.ILLUSTRATED BY E. S. HODGSONimage: chapter_23.jpg[Illustration: CHAPTER XXIII]THE CRIPPLED SUBMARINE"BETTER switch off the searchlight," said Gerald. "It's doing no good, and we must economise the air.""There's enough oxygen to last for two hours," observed Palmer; "but we had better try the motors full speed ahead once more. It can't do much harm, and the longer we remain inactive the deeper the boat will sink in the ooze."But beyond a slight pulsation of the hull the submarine remained in her hazardous position."Look here," exclaimed Gerald's companion, hopefully, "why not close the torpedo compensating tank and discharge all the torpedoes? That will get rid of some of our gear.""What happens to the torpedoes when they have finished their run, provided they miss their mark?" asked Gerald."If they have practice-heads they rise to the surface; if provided with war-heads they sink.""The same as our Whiteheads: the exhaustion of the compressed air actuating the propellers opens a valve that admits water into the air-chamber?"

image: 12_instalment_image.png[Illustration: sixth instalment]

BY PERCY F. WESTERMANAuthor of "A Lad of Grit," etc.ILLUSTRATED BY E. S. HODGSON

image: chapter_23.jpg[Illustration: CHAPTER XXIII]

"BETTER switch off the searchlight," said Gerald. "It's doing no good, and we must economise the air."

"There's enough oxygen to last for two hours," observed Palmer; "but we had better try the motors full speed ahead once more. It can't do much harm, and the longer we remain inactive the deeper the boat will sink in the ooze."

But beyond a slight pulsation of the hull the submarine remained in her hazardous position.

"Look here," exclaimed Gerald's companion, hopefully, "why not close the torpedo compensating tank and discharge all the torpedoes? That will get rid of some of our gear."

"What happens to the torpedoes when they have finished their run, provided they miss their mark?" asked Gerald.

"If they have practice-heads they rise to the surface; if provided with war-heads they sink."

"The same as our Whiteheads: the exhaustion of the compressed air actuating the propellers opens a valve that admits water into the air-chamber?"

"That is so."

"Then I'm afraid your plan is useless, for in expelling the torpedoes we are only getting rid of objects lighter than the weight of the water they displace."

"You're right," assented Palmer, ruefully.

"Beg pardon, sir," exclaimed one of the seamen, "but are we hitched up here for good?"

"It looks like it," replied Palmer, almost brutally.

"Then couldn't I go out by the air-lock—I am willing to risk it—and take a line up with me? We've nearly a hundred fathoms aboard."

"Impossible, man; you would be crushed to death."

"We ought to try something, sir; the oxygen seems to be giving out, and the mice are getting torpid."

"I thought we had two hours' supply?"

"So did I, sir, but something's wrong with the stuff."

"We will have to rely on the oxygen helmets, then. Serve them out; it may prolong our lives a few hours, though I know not to what purpose."

Slowly the minutes passed. Illuminated only by the glimmer of a solitary incandescent lamp the interior of the submarine presented a picture of gloomy despair. The crew began to realise that they were imprisoned in a living tomb.

"We must make some attempt to communicate with theOlive Branch," exclaimed Gerald, shaking off the growing feeling of apathy and drowsiness by a great effort. "Why not write a report stating our condition, enclose it in one of the torpedoes, and fire it to the surface?"

"To what purpose?" asked Palmer. "They can't help us."

"It will show them that we've done our best."

"All right, then, though personally I think it a waste of time."

Somehow or other Gerald wrote out a brief account of the vicissitudes of the submarine. This both he and Palmer signed, and enclosed in a practice-head of one of the torpedoes.

The impulse charge was sufficiently strong to eject the cigar-shaped cylinder from the tube, though at the expense of another slight rush of water; then, as there was nothing more to be done, the crew prepared for the worst.

It was a peculiar sensation that came over the doomed men. Apparently paying scant heed to their peril they sat down, with their heads buried in their arms, awaiting the sleep that precedes death. The white mice—the surest means of indicating the presence of impure gases—had long since been lifeless; only the soft purr of the dynamo and the laboured breathing of the men broke the oppressive silence.

How long Gerald remained in a semi-unconscious state he knew not; time and place were alike forgotten; he hardly possessed the power of thinking, and, knowing his fate, he seemed absolutely indifferent to it.

Suddenly a sharp metallic clank caught his ear, but, beyond hearing the sound, Tregarthen paid no heed to it. Yet something was moving across the outside of the massive steel shell. Perhaps, he wondered dreamily, it was one of those enormous submarine animals that exist only under enormous pressure, and whose bodies have from time to time been cast ashore, to the wonder of scientific men.

Slowly the bow of the submarine began to rise. Gerald sat bolt upright; he could scarce believe the evidence of his senses. Higher and higher it rose till his inert comrades rolled sideways upon the steel floor, and began to slide helplessly towards the dim recesses occupied by the motors.

Grasping the lowermost rung of the ladder leading to the conning-tower, Tregarthen tried to collect his scattered wits in order to find some explanation for the sudden tilting of the helpless boat. Perchance her afterpart had rested over a fissure, and the slimy bed had given way as the hull began to settle down.

Then the sensation of drowsiness began to reassert itself, and the lieutenant felt his grip relaxing, till, just as he was on the point of joining his companions who lay in a confused heap—dead perhaps, but at all events unconscious—a voice exclaimed peremptorily, "Empty your ballast tanks."

It was through the receiver of the loud-speaking wireless telephone that the voice came. It meant that the submarine had been raised several fathoms, sufficiently for the telephone to be used once more.

Staggering up the sloping deck, Gerald grasped the pump lever of the 'midship tank. Thank goodness the pressure had been reduced sufficiently for the powerful pump to act.

With his last remaining strength Tregarthen plied the lever, till at length a ruddy sunset glare streamed in through the thick glass apertures in the conning-tower. The submarine was awash.

Climbing the ladder into the conning-tower Gerald threw back the double-action lock securing the hatchway, but the task of opening the massive steel plate was beyond him. The next moment he was drinking in the pure air, supported by a burly petty-officer who had slid down from the cruiser to the deck of the submarine.

"Hurry up and pass these men out," he heard Captain Brookes exclaim. "Perhaps some of them may be still alive."

Half conscious, Gerald was lifted over the side of theOlive Branch, Jack Stockton supporting him with the utmost solicitude.

"A pretty fine pass," he heard Captain Brookes remark. "I did not think that Palmer would disobey orders. And nothing gained, after all."

Gerald stopped, just as he was about to be assisted down the companion ladder, and with a sudden impulse that surprised his chum, he wrenched himself clear and staggered across to where the captain stood.

"No, sir; something is gained after all. The missing wireless gear is strung underneath the submarine."

Then everything seemed to swim around him in a white mist, and but for Lieutenant Sinclair's prompt action he would have fallen headlong to the deck.

"We thought you were all done for when you did not return at the end of the hour," said Stockton next morning.

"So did I," replied Gerald. "But how did they manage to raise the boat?"

"Mainly by a slice of luck, and also through Captain Brookes's perseverance and energy, old chap. Directly we felt certain that something was amiss the captain ordered a couple of hands to the cable-cutting room. The dynameter detected the presence of a very weak current——"

"That must have been after we shut off the searchlight and stopped the motors."

"Well, at any rate, it was sufficient to enable us to fix your position. Three times the grab was lowered without result. During these operations a torpedo came to the surface."

"Yes, we discharged it without allowing the propellers to actuate, so that it would come nearly straight to the surface."

"By jove, it did! I should never have believed it had I not seen the thing jump. It shot nearly twenty feet in the air, missing the cutter by a bare boat's length. Then someone suggested unfixing the head, and within we found your message.

"With that we knew you were still alive, and that the submarine had not collapsed under the pressure of the water, as Captain Brookes had feared. Shortly afterwards the grab engaged, and we found that under a strain of half a ton it was beginning to come home. It was an anxious time, as the cable was only tested to twelve hundredweights, but it held, after all, as you know."

"How is Palmer?"

"Bad. The strain coming on top of the narcotic has played havoc with him. The other men are progressing favourably; but Gerald, old man, where's your shaving-mirror? Then hold it so that you can see the back of your head."

Tregarthen did so, and to his surprise he found that on his dark brown hair was a patch as white as snow, almost the size of a man's hand.

"That's strange, Jack. I remember putting my hand to my head when the boat began to tilt. It's a case of utter funk, I suppose."

"You've something to remember the eighty-fathom dive by for the rest of your natural life."

"I don't want that to remind me," replied Gerald, with a shudder.

"Well, it's all over now, and little harm done; but do you know there was something very remarkable about that message you sent up? You gave an account of everything that happened save one thing—the object of your trip. You never mentioned the missing wireless gear."

image: chapter_24.jpg[Illustration: CHAPTER XXIV]

THE recovered reciprocators were none the worse for their prolonged submersion, thanks to the protection afforded by the steel cylinders in which they were encased.

A diver having removed them from the body of the ill-fated airman, the wrecked monoplane was released and allowed to sink once more to the bottom of the sea.

The aviator's body was brought on board theOlive Branchin order that it might be given a decent burial, and then it was that an astonishing discovery was made.

The man was not an American. Papers found on him, carefully concealed in the double thickness of his indiarubber coat, revealed the fact that he was the agent of a certain European power, and that it was his intention to find out as much about theOlive Branchas he was able to do. The flight across the Straits of Messina was part of a prearranged plan, and, though his fall into the sea under the influence of the Z-rays was not strictly in accordance with his programme, it materially helped to mature the plot that had all but succeeded.

The damage done to the Z-rays apparatus was considerable, necessitating the removal of the diagram board and the wires between the dynamo and the conning-tower. While this was being done the ZZ-rays were consequently out of action, hence Captain Brookes's anxiety to have the work put in hand without a moment's delay.

In this partially crippled state advantage was taken of the proximity of the Santorin Islands to clear the cruiser's under-body of the marine deposit that was already beginning to have an appreciable effect on her speed.

Practically the whole of these islands are of volcanic origin, sulphur springs, being strongly in evidence around the shores of Port Megalos, while the water possesses the property of killing and removing in less than thirty-six hours the weeds and barnacles that adhere to a ship.

"What do you say to a run ashore, gentlemen?" asked Captain Brookes of several of the officers on the afternoon of their arrival. "I'm told the crater is very interesting."

"I, for one, will be very glad of the opportunity, provided I can be spared," replied Sinclair.

"AndI," exclaimed Gerald, Stockton, Temple, and Slade in chorus.

"Very well, only be careful not to go too close to the sulphur springs, and beware of loose stones rolling down the mountain. You will be practically in sight of the ship the whole time, so keep a good look-out in case I have to make a signal for recall."

Two hours later, by dint of much exertion and considerable agility, the party of officers gained the edge of the crater. For some time they remained looking at the scene of desolation.

"What's that, by Jove!" exclaimed Jack Stockton, pointing to an elongated yellow object swaying in a deep hollow a few hundred yards away. The others looked in the direction indicated.

"It's an airship—one of the Zeppelin type," said Gerald. "What on earth is it doing in this part of the globe?"

"I wish I'd brought my marine glasses," remarked Sinclair. "This looks like an interesting discovery. She's anchored, I think."

"Ay, and there are some men coming this way; they've just descended by a rope ladder. I wonder if they have spotted us?"

"I don't think so. Look here, you fellows, they mean mischief! Suppose we take cover and watch their little game?"

The only shelter worthy of the name was afforded by a clump of withered thorns. Foliage there was none, but by lying flat on the ground and keeping behind the thick uncovered roots, the officers could follow the movements of the men of the mysterious airship.

Evidently the clump was the objective of the strangers, since from it they could command a view of theOlive Branchwithout appearing on the skyline. The new comers were three tall, bearded men dressed in a brown uniform. One carried a revolver in a pouch, the others were apparently unarmed; all had field-glasses slung over their shoulders.

Unsuspectingly they stopped at the clump of thorns, only a few tangled branches separating them from Gerald and his comrades. Out came their glasses, and with them glued to their eyes the chance of detecting the concealed officers was materially lessened.

"Yes, there she is," exclaimed one of the strangers, speaking in a guttural tongue that both Gerald and Sinclair were conversant with. "Adolphe was right this time."

"Looking at her from here, sir, one would not imagine her to be such a formidable ship."

"Appearances are deceptive, Captain Dorge. However, there she is, and now is our opportunity. Once we settle with her our chances against England are wonderfully improved."

"Will forty kilos of the explosive be sufficient?"

"It will wipe her out of existence. We must be sharp, for the moon rises at two."

"If we blunder?"

"There will be no blunder. I'll bring the 'Voertwards' immediately above her, and drop to within thirty metres of her deck. They will never expect an attack in this harbour, especially from the sky."

Gerald's grasp tightened on Sinclair's shoulder. That officer nudged Temple in a manner that required no verbal explanation; while Stockton, who had observed the signal, was not slow to comprehend.

"Now!" shouted Sinclair.

Simultaneously the four men sprang to their feet, burst through the intervening bushes, and threw themselves on the astonished foreigners.

The man addressed as Captain Dorge made as if to draw his revolver, but Gerald had already seized him round the waist, while Jack Stockton deftly took possession of his weapon. In an instant he was capsized, Stockton sitting on his chest so that he could only writhe helplessly in the dust.

Temple, a strapping great Scot, had little difficulty in overpowering his antagonist, but Sinclair found all his work cut out in tackling his man. Fiercely they struggled, the stranger striving to grip his adversary by the throat. Failing that, he inserted his fingers in the lieutenant's hair and tried to gouge his eyes out with his thumbs—a continental trick that Sinclair was conversant with.

The first lieutenant's left arm shot out straight from the shoulder, and, taking his antagonist fairly in the chin, sent him reeling a dozen paces ere he fell like a log.

"Now what's to be done?" asked Gerald breathlessly, as he wiped the perspiration from his forehead.

"Done? Why, drag the bounders back to the ship," replied Sinclair. "We've three important hostages for the airship's good behaviour."

"Easier said than done."

"Not when you know the way, but we must look alive, for I see yonder gentleman isrecovering from the effects of my knock-out blow. I wonder if the other fellows belonging to the airship have spotted us?"

So saying, Sinclair relieved the two prisoners of their belts, and, ordering the men to stand side by side, he fastened the left arm of one to the right arm of the other by means of the leather straps, tying their thumbs together by means of a piece of thin cord as an additional safeguard.

Meanwhile Gerald and Stockton had raised the semi-dazed officer, while Temple brought up the rear with the captured revolver well in evidence.

It had taken nearly two hours to climb the crater, but the descent occupied barely twenty minutes.

Smothered in clouds of pumice dust, continually dodging enormous boulders that rolled down the mountain side, the officers of theOlive Branchand their captives pursued their headlong descent, and on gaining the beach they found that a boat had already been despatched to bring them off to the ship.

"What has happened, gentlemen?" asked Captain Brookes as the party gained the quarter-deck. "I was watching you through my glasses, and could see that you were having an encounter of some sort."

Briefly the "first luff" made his report. The captain's brows clouded.

"This is bad news," he remarked. "Whatever design these people have against Great Britain is evidently a secret. I've been in communication by wireless with our Swanage agent, and he assures us that there is no sign of international complications. However, it's lucky you nipped this little plot in the bud, for I have no doubt that that airship would deliberately violate all the etiquettes of neutrality. I'll ask our prisoners a few questions."

"I am Hans von Rippach," replied the man who was evidently the senior officer of the airship.

"Herr Hans von Rippach, I salute you," rejoined Captain Brookes, without betraying the fact that he understood the nature of the foreigner's reply, though he shrewdly suspected that his prisoner was a member of the Royal House of a powerful European State. "Might I inquire the reason why you proposed to attack my vessel treacherously in neutral waters?"

"I refuse to offer explanations to a pirate," replied the prisoner, rudely.

Finding that it was useless to attempt to gain further information, Captain Brookes ordered the captives to be removed and confined in a cabin under an armed guard.

"Couldn't we have a smack at the airship, sir?" asked Lieutenant Sinclair. "A six-pounder could be taken ashore and dragged up to yonder ridge without much trouble."

"We might harm some of the inhabitants of the island," replied Captain Brookes. "There's bound to be a crowd gathered around to see the sight."

"I venture to suggest that the crew have kept them at a respectful distance, sir."

"I'll not take the risk. If the airship ascends I'll wing her sure enough, not otherwise. But I mean to get under way at once and head at top speed for English waters. There's mischief brewing; of that I feel certain."

Ere nightfall theOlive Branchhad cleared Santorin Harbour and was tearing towards the Straits of Gibraltar. The English agent at Swanage was kept constantly in touch by means of wireless, greatly to that individual's annoyance, since he saw no reason for Captain Brookes's continuous messages. But, four hours after clearing the Straits, a wireless was received that caused the blood of every member of the crew of theOlive Branchto surge madly through his veins. It was brief and yet to the point: "Triple Alliance has commenced hostilities against Great Britain."

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